Science Fiction Hammer's Slammers: Weapons Free

?Lafayette, we are here!?
Lieutenant Kelso looked up from his paperwork upon hearing the forward gunner of his combat car utter this non sequitor.
?What?s that?? Kelso asked.
?Oh nothing sir. Ancient earth history. When the Americans entered Great War I in the early 20th century, this was a war cry amongst its soldiers. It refers to an old debt repaid: One owed by the United States of America to France.?
Kelso mulled that for a second. ?Why is that banging around your forebrain??
??Cos of our current contract.? The gunner said. ?Earth. We?re going to the motherland so to speak. We?re coming to her aid in her time of need. It?s a decent analogy.?
Kelso nodded with only the faintest interest. His Forward Gunner, Sergeant Nijers, was a bit of an amateur historian. It was odd. Many of the men who were deployed at the Sharp End of battle knew their jobs -knew how to do them well, otherwise they wouldn?t be in the Friesian Defense Force- but often knew little other than that. Somebody of Nijer?s demeanor and intellectual acumen would be more likely found in the intelligence section or on some other staff position in the rear.
Yet here he was in a line company, and a good gunner at that. Nijers was stripping his tribarrel as he gave the history lesson. He slid one of the iridium barrels out of the receiver and lay it on the coaming of the Combat Car, right above the stylized stenciling that Kelso had chosen when they scrawled the name onto the hull: Widowmaker.
Kelso shrugged and turned his gaze back to the electronic paperwork.
?We didn?t take the contract out of some sense of loyalty to the Cradle of Civilization or anything like that. We?re getting well paid. If the Invasion were happening on some dirt-poor rock on the edge of the Outback and they couldn?t afford us, we wouldn?t do a charity case. Besides, Earth has indirectly opposed our Ops before.?
?When it was the Slammers, you mean.? Nijers said, jimmying a slightly lethargic receiver.
?Yes, when it was Hammer?s Slammers.?
?Which I?ve always wondered, Lieutenant: Why are you still in?? Nijer?s glance flicked down to the patch on Kelso?s right breast: the Red Lion rampant on a gold background. The patch given to all who had served in Hammer?s Slammers before the regiment had come home to Melpomone, and after a coup, had become the Frisian Defence Force.
?Yeah, I could?ve retired with a full pension.? Kelso shrugged. ?But hey. I?d be bored. I?ve got a much bigger fear of being bored than of dying in combat.?
Nijers said nothing, his query answered.
?It?s still relevant.? Nijers said after a moment. ?The analogy. Even though we?re not doing it out of loyalty or high morals, we?re still coming to save the place we all came from, from a bunch of aliens that want to burn down a lot of history and culture that?s been there for thousands of years.?
Kelso looked at Nijers, trying to figure him out. Nijers caught the hint of disdain in his Lieutenant?s eyes and immediately tried another tack.
?Well, in any event?? he said. ?The women and the booze will be better than the usual deployment. Something to look forward to.?
?True enough. We?ve got six hours before we land. If we ever want to know for sure about the booze and girls, we better be ready to roll, otherwise Hammer?ll decorate our scalps with a soldering iron??

Six hours came and went, and then became eight, and then ten hours. They had dropped out of FTL, they all knew it because the men of Kelso?s platoon were all nursing headaches. They were a side effect of FTL travel that analgesics couldn?t quite dull. They?d be gone soon enough, but everyone was wondering what the holdup was. The ship had probably done at least one full orbit around Earth. Nobody knew what was going on. As usual, Kelso was the last to know what was going on with the regiment, then he told his men.
His men (and women), had long since abandoned the Full Alert Ready status, and stood down from their vehicles. A couple of card g

 

Name: John L. Castile

Gender: Male.

Rank: Lieutenant.

Planet of Origin: Amazon.

Age: 26 (In Terran Years.)

Personel Items & Weapons: Tanker's Complete Camo-Duty Uniform including Combat Helmet with communications array, night vision optics (IR/Starlite) and AI interlink,
Equipment/Weapons 'H' Harness. Multitool, Combat Vibroblade, Tanker's 40 Caliber Ceramic Slug Thrower Carbine with 50 round rotory magazine x
8. 8 Power Grenades. Hover Combat Car with three Tri-barrel Gatling configured Power Guns mounted in a delta configuration on the Combar Car's
deck this includes foreward facing ceramic shielding for the gunner's protection mounted on each Power Gun. Combat Cars include

Background & Biography: With all his relatives dead from a tragic accident while vacationing on Friesia. John had no direction, so he joined the Friesian Military partly
as a death wish and partly out of a need to do something to give vent to his frustration at losing his parents and brother. Surprise of surprises
John's new found military carreer took off as he took all the chances-partly because he couldn't care less if he lived or dead-this resulted in
his steller rise to Lieutenant. He's getting his first chance to face an as yet undiscovered enemy attcking the old home world of the human race.

 

Correction: Combat Cars include IR defeating smoke screen dispencers and anti-infantry reactive armor. Replace Carbine with a side arm Power Gun Pistol.

 

The combat cars laagered, creating two vaguely triangle shaped patterns. They awaited the infantry to finish deploying from the freighter. So far, nothing shot at them. They could see the spaceport a couple of klicks ahead. Flames licked in and around it. silhouetting it's traffic control towers and other structure that hadn't been destroyed. All the slammers were on high alert and watching their designated zones. Gradually, all the car commanders sounded off "All clear!" and they relaxed a tiny bit.

in another minute, the infantry platoon had finished deploying, and the freighter immediately roared away, its captain wanting to get out of the combat zone immediately. Kelso couldn't blame him. He couldn't fight back. Kelso touched his screen and began to illustrate his plan of advance, assigning his Cars a few sectors and the infantry the others. He planned to deploy and advance in line to contact. The cars would advance with four in the center of the line, and the infantry on either flank. Two other combat cars would advance behind the infantry on either flank, providing a degree of overwatch.

They set out, watching the flanks. Watching the front. Watching.



TAG: Vang

 

Castile's starboard gunner liked Beachnut chew. How in the name of God that man could chew that stuff was beyond him. The one thing that journeyed with man out into the stars was chewing tobacco and Slate was a 'REAL' fan of that. Castile had warned him only once not to spit any where on MATILDA-their assigned combat car-or there'd be hell to pay. All that aside Slate was good at what he did. He never wasted rounds-which was a plus-because even power guns didn't have an unlimited supply of ammo waffers. Cody had port side and a better view of the infantry as they disembarked from the freighter they all had arrived on. The last of them was skimming down the ramps and even before theyd hit the rain soaked muddy ground the ramps started raising. Within thirty seconds the ramps were back up and everyone by then was clear of the engine flare zone. The freighter lifted slowly at first then gained speed quickly as she climbed back up out of the gravity well.

Castile heard the 'Roll call' order on the Com Net and complied with an 'all clear'. It wouldn't be long now. He linked with his driver to make ready for the order. Flames were still undulating all around the Starport blown by wind. Fueled by the varying assortment of consumables and ruptured fuel storage tanks for arriving traffic. Two weeks pryor to this it had been peaceful enough or so he'd heard from the scuttle butt. Castile eyed the tower then receaved fresh orders from Kelso to do port side overwatch position and give the infantry some extra backbone. He relayed the info to Danielson down below. MATILDA which had been hovering on her plenum skirts slide sideways to port from its earlier position along the port stern position of the portside delta formation. The morass of infantry groups began dividing like water from a scene out of an old Cecil D. Demil movie from the mid twentieth century as they manuevered their Skimmers into the new position. They flanked the sides of the four remaining combat cars eqaully, but not too closely so as to not become colateral damage as a result of active ADS activity.

With his assigned position attained, Castile began scanning the Silhouette of of the Control tower again. He had an uneasy feeling about it. It could be a real asset to the opposition as a spotter location. "Ping-Click.. All units commence foreward at a gallup. Let's not give them too easy a target while we approach the Star Port," came the voice of command. Inafantry Skimmers and Combat Cars alike moved foreward at speed.

Ten seconds into the advance, the sound of 'Whomp-whomp-whomp' could be heard coming from behind the string of large buildings lining the outskirts of the objective. Blue colored flare like beacons-mortars streaked into the sky, arcing towards their direction followed by more 'whomps' with accompanying blue flare tailed mortars. Com Net's answer was plainly simple. Sprint with all possible speed covering the distance between them and their objective at the building line. The first volley came down behind the infantry's main body by several yards. It was obvious from the heat given off that it was some form or another of incindiary/explosive. About a dozen or so troops caught it hard and didn't finish out the day with their brothers-in-arms. Yeah it definately had dropped in the pot. They were running now, the infantry, pell-mell and head long into the race against being turned into carbonized steak, fit perhaps only for the vultures that would surely be coming to roost and dine on them all if they didn't reach the buildings.

"Slate see if you can hit some of those mortars at the top of their arc when they're slowest and take some of the pressure off of the infantry, said Castile.

"Roger that," said Slate.

Slate's tri-barrel reconfigured into AA mode as it whined up spitting blue cyan lighting into the sky meting out vengence in the face of the incoming mortars. Each one that was hit exploded prematurely at top arc like he'd wanted. Within seconds the rest of the combat cars each spared one gunner for AA