First Contact - Part One

by Maurice Fitzgerald SAN ISABEL NATIONAL FOREST DECEMBER 16, 2130 SECTOR 29 – COALITION AREA OF OPERATIONS, CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN, COLORADO BATTLEGROUP PROWLER 1941 (GMT) “Blue Three, contact north, engaging!” came the call over the battlegroup frequency, shattering the previous silence. The group’s recon team, “Blue”, had found the UN force and was engaging the enemy. Operation Infinite Nighthawk had begun.

Battlegroup commander Major Torvald Magnusson brought up his CAIRO (Computer Aided Imaging Ranging and Optics) feed from Blue’s vehicle vids to get a better feel for the situation. Bouncing off of provisional satellites placed in low orbit above their area of operations, the data was transmitted with a 1.2 second delay. Not much, but enough to be slightly behind the curve and Magnusson hated being a second behind the action.

Muddy images initially flashed on his helmet visor in the commander’s HUD before the media filter washed them through multiple algorithms allowing them to auto-correct. Magnusson tweaked the white balance slightly to gain some brightness and what he saw got his pulse racing with the familiar feel of pre-combat adrenaline. A pair of UN Ares Heavy Walkers were unloading with their single rail guns, each firing as quickly as they could cycle in an attempt to eliminate the more maneuverable but lighter armored three Scarab APCs of the Blue recon team. Geysers of frozen soil, rock and vapor from superheated ice jetted into the air from errant bolt impacts forced by the Scarab’s well-practiced contact drills. The Ares pilots were persistent and aggressive, maintaining contact with the Scarabs whose return fire was sporadic and ineffective. Battlegroup Prowler’s recon team was earning its due today,  just hopefully not with its own blood,  Magnusson thought to himself. Continuing to watch the video feed, Magnusson switched over to the battlegroup frequency on the secure data link; he had to send a situation report up the chain. Keying the comm he heard a whisper like chirp in his ears signaling the link was open, “Gold Six this is Prowler Six sitrep over.” A faint trace of Swedish accent could be heard in his voice as he spoke.

He didn’t have to wait more than a couple of seconds before hearing the response, “send it.”

“Blue element in contact to the North with a pair, repeat, two Ares walkers. Appears to be a small security patrol, will continue to advise, over.” “Roger that, good hunting, out.”

The firefight continued to unfold before Magnusson’s eyes, visible in a miniature window of the HUD projected on the visor of his helmet. While the CAIRO in the cupola of his Command Growler Infantry Fighting Vehicle gave him a complete picture of the battlespace, the helmet visor allowed him to receive key data and video feeds from any external source, allowing him to focus on individual units in the battlegroup.

He saw that the Ares Walkers were continuing to engage the Scarabs rather than laying back and calling for assistance. This indicated to him that their intel was likely correct, this was a soft spot and a perfect insertion point for their reconnaissance squad. But the initiative was now lost as a Quick Reaction Force was surely alerted by now. If it wasn’t for this chance encounter with the Ares, they could have gotten a better look at the inner security perimeter of their main target, Cheyenne Mountain.

Cheyenne Mountain, what was once NORAD was now home to one of the UN’s main ScanFab Research and Recycle facilities. Compounds like these that “don’t’ exist” are where the governing body takes the genetic remnants of people who’ve been ‘fabbed, or scanned and transmitted off-world, and repurposes them as cannon fodder, to whittle away at opposition forces across the globe. With their minds wiped, these “blanks” only know war. A ghastly way to wage it, but that was the way of the New Order.

Infinite Nighthawk was launched to breach the facility and gather hard proof of the misuse of repurposed ‘fabs by the UN, which to this point had only been rumor. If proof of these atrocities could be brought to The Hague, maybe there was still a chance to stop the madness that has enveloped the world and find another way. A better way.

With only two Rail Guns against three speedier targets, there wasn’t much hope of the walkers cashing in and scoring damage while Blue Three actively jammed the Ares’ targeting with its electronic warfare suite. Luckily, Magnusson thought, they hadn’t massed their fire on that critical vehicle, but it was only a matter of time until their luck ran out. There was troublesome terrain ahead for the Scarab’s that would allow the walkers a chance to close the range and increase their hit probability. They needed to buy some space and time, fast!

As if reading their commanders mind, the three APC’s skidded to a stop and trained their guns on the pair of oncoming UN walkers. Raising their Immolator Plasma Guns, Blue fired a linked double-volley on the lead Ares. Fire belched from the guns as paired triplets of directed energy streaked across the expanse and converged on their lone target, the lead walker.

As soon as the shots were sent down range, the Scarabs were back in the throttle and on their evasive pattern before the walkers had the sense to react. Half of the shots impacted upon the front armor of the lead 25 ton Ares near the cockpit, rattling the pilot hard against his harness. The onslaught caused the giant machine to falter for several seconds while the walker’s computer and pilot worked feverishly to avoid going to the ground.

Inwardly Magnusson cheered,  ‘take that ya blue bonnet bastard’,  referencing the UN’s traditional headgear. The second Ares raced past its dazed partner, in unrelenting pursuit of its fleeing quarry. Magnusson keyed up the Battlegroup’s air team to see if they had a better perspective from their vantage point. “Red One, this is Gray Six. Do you have a visual on Blue over?”

Captain Shane McNulty, the Red Flight team leader had been monitoring both the traffic and his tac-map updates while he hovered on-station several kilometers to the rear of the formation. His pair of Dragonfly VTOL’s were ready to pounce the minute the call for support came from Blue.

“Gray Six, Red One. Negative visual on Blue at this time, over.”

“Copy that Red. Be ready when the call comes, pedal fast and hit hard on your run, out.”

At the tacops console of Magnusson’s Growler, Lt. William Daniels kept scanning through the CAIRO’s frequencies. “There are other indistinguishable signatures out there sir, they’re at very long range and extremely weak, likely the QRF. Trying to work up positive idents now.”

“Understood, get everyone’s weapons spun up and hot, we’re moving out.” Magnusson ordered the crew.

“Yes sir, Weapons are hot and good to go, all systems appear in their nominal ranges” responded Collins, the vehicles gunner. Daniels continued to monitor the computers, trying to build a better overall tactical picture for his commander that suddenly seemed more fluid than expected.

“Find me those other bogies, I know they’re out there. Switching over to the battlegroup freq now.” Magnusson left Daniels to his job, having full confidence in his young lieutenant as he prepared to order the main body to move.

Magnusson addressed his team first. “Five, go active ECM, everyone else make sure you stay in that cover. We have contact ahead and we don’t need any other surprises. – break – all Prowler elements this is Gray Six, Blue is in contact to the north and we are moving to Checkpoint Omega. Go weapons hot, watch your intervals, keep comms clear except for essential traffic, good hunting.” Like a well-trained machine, the primary armor group joined in an arrow formation to stay within the protective confines of Gray Five’s electronic counter-measures.

“Gray Six this is White One, moving to overwatch, out.” Lt. Ivanna Gregorovich announced as her Warthog fire support group headed on the way to their designated position for Omega, the fallback point for the recon group.

The Warthog’s of Gregorovich’s team housed paired Quad Bolt Guns which should help dissuade any attempts by the enemy to close with the main body. Things were about to get very hot in the cold Colorado forest.

Read First Contact - Part Two