The First Contact War Short Stories
Chapter 1
A Metal Machine
"Tanks come in two forms: the dangerous, deadly kind and the 'liberating' kind." Robert Fisk
"Tanks being deployed far forward is an indication of offensive action; tanks in depth is an indication of defensive action." Norman Schwarzkopf
22nd November 2621 Earth Standard Calendar, Sergeant Shakra Tutsi, Tynna.
The T-600 Titan Tank, The O.A.G.'s premier main battle tank. Instead of engaging tanks and heavily armoured vehicles like it was designed to, it was now used to destroy houses, small firing holes and camouflaged enemy encampments. It was a metal box made to kill other tanks with a crew of four. A commander, loader, driver and gunner worked together as a well-oiled machine to operate the heavily armoured vehicle. Sergeant Shakra Tutsi, part of the 4150th Armoured Regiment, B Company and the platoon leader's tank's gunner. They were one of three Regiments pushing from the Tynna Badlands to the capital. They started off from a forward base after a large formation of fighters and transport transporting tanks, armoured vehicles and logistical trucks to the airport. A group of Rangers acting as pathfinders cleared the Spaceport.
With the Separatists occupying the city and were pushing aggressively west, the locals had no qualms for more allied troops and units to help them push the aggressors out of their territory. The 4150th Armoured Regiment was given the task to be the forward spear of a large push towards the Capital.
It was the longest one hundred and fifty kilometres in his entire life.
23rd November 2621 Earth Standard Calendar, Sergeant Shakra Tutsi, Tynna.
"Hey Hawk!" screamed a gruff voice, waking him from his sleep, "wake up!"
Stirring from his sleep, Shakra lifted up the cap he had placed over his face. He slept in the small pit at the very bottom of the tank on the right side of the cannon's breech where the gunnery optics and fire system were. Just above him sat Specialist Walt Ingram, their loader. He was a strong former football player who chucked forty pounds of shells into the breech to load the powerful Smoothbore 240mm Main Gun. Strong-arm, the nickname they gave Ingram, too was sleeping in his small and uncomfortable station. The voice belonged to Second Lieutenant Peter Bergman, gruff, rough and with a bald head to boot, he was easily one of the most frightening men in the entire Regiment. At seven years of experience, Bergman was a recent second lieutenant officer. Having served as a Staff Sergeant and gone through the Officer Candidate School after attaining his degree in Business, was now back to commanding a tank platoon as a leader instead of being 2IC (Second in Command).
"Yes sir!" Shakra bellowed, with his eyes still shut.
He sat up and threw his hat to the side, hearing the light ruffling of cloth as it landed right in the bag he had placed for personal belongings and reached down for his helmet. The lightweight helmet sat snuggly on his head as he heard the roar of gas turbine engines screaming to life. It was loud enough that even with earbuds in his ears and a headset covering my ears, the engine's roar still bled through.
"Porter!" Bergman screamed, "start the engine and prepare to move out."
"We got the briefing LT?" Strong-arm asked, wiping his mouth.
"Yeah and I'll brief the three of you while we're enroute," Bergman explained, his voice buzzing in my ears as he sat with his upper body outside of the tank, "Porter, get the tank on the road and follow A Company out onto the main road. We're going to the Capital boys!"
"We green lit for bringing the fight to the Sepi's sir?" Shakra asked, rubbing his eye and powering up the thermal gun sight.
"You got it Hawk. We've got about four days before the OAG Valkyrie floats on over to the Capital and the Separatist ships are parked right in her path! We cannot, repeat, cannot lose the OAG Valkyrie. She has a VIP on board that needs to get to the Capital," Bergman replied as their engine roared to life and hummed idly.
"Following A Company's last vehicle, roger sir!" Porter yelled in reply, the T-600 Titan suddenly lurched forward.
"All Victors, this is War Hawk Actual, we are rolling towards the capital and will be meeting heavy, repeat, heavy resistance! Marine Force Recon units have reported a large number of AATs! AAT-1Bs and yes, it is the one with the bunker buster rounds! We aren't fighting innies anymore, we aren't fighting the farmers anymore, and this is an actual tank on tank slugfest! Not all of us will live, not a lot of us will come out unscathed, but this is our job! We start the fight, we finish the fight!" screamed Lieutenant Colonel Joshua Peary, the leader of the 4150th Armoured Regiment, riding in the middle of the entire formation.
"Hawk, scan left," ordered Bergman.
"You got it sir," Shakra breathed, tilting the yoke left to hear the turret buzz in reply.
The sound of the tracks rumbled beneath his feet like a bundle of logs rolling down the hill. Bobbing up and down, the tank's suspension did as much as it could with new air suspension hissing from the sixty-five tons being pressed down on the chassis. A loud whump suddenly pulled him out of his trance. Shakra glanced up and pressed his eyes to the optics. Distant gunfire peppered the still air like small firecrackers. Not even half a mile out of the gate and the action had already begun. His head snapped back at Lieutenant Bergman. His face was stoic, calm and collected like a face chiselled out of stone.
A sigh escaped the visage.
"MARSOC and Force Recon has started their assault," murmured Bergman into the intercom, "if all goes well, we'll be able to ride into the Capital without their artillery smashing holes into us. Here's to hoping that they do their job correctly."
The Lieutenant took a sip from his camelback.
"Strong-arm, you take first watch. I haven't slept a fucking wink since last night's briefing," grumbled Bergman.
"Yes sir," grumbled Strong-arm, "I've already slept like three hours anyway…"
Bergman slid down from the hatch, slipping into Strong-arm's seat. He pulled out a small pillow from Strong-arm's pack and placed it around his neck. Bergman leaned against the metal hull of the tank with his travel pilot and closed his eyes. Seconds later, he started snoring from exhaustion. Shakra sighed understanding the hours of boredom he had in front of him. Traveling to the frontlines would take at least three to four hours and even then trapped in a vibrating metal crate didn't help.
Hours later, Shakra groaned and flipped his wrist over to see the seconds ticking past on his digital watch. The boredom was quickly forgotten as a loud bang slammed into the side of the tank. A fast moving wall of dust almost threw Strong-arm from the commander's hatch and outside the tank. Bergman was already awake when the initial explosion happened. His eyes were reddened and angry. Porter brought the sixty-five-ton tank to an abrupt stop. There was a silent pause, the engine still humming excitedly in my ears.
Shakra was confused.
"Strong-arm, get the fuck back down here!" Bergman yelled, scrambling up to the hatch.
There was another pause.
Then, an order.
"Load Sabot, direction 014 at one thousand five hundred and three meters! Tank hiding behind a slope, hull down!" screamed Bergman with urgency.
"Load Sabot, direction 014!" Shakra echoed and slammed his eye into the gunner's sight.
"Load Sabot!" Strong-arm confirmed as Shakra heard the rustling behind him.
He tilted the yoke left and heard the whirl of the turret swivelling. Through the gunsight, he peeked through to see nothing but darkness and the slowly rising sun. He pressed a switch and turned the gunsight from normal light to thermal vision. A small patch of dirt was lighter than the test and it wasn't just that one patch, it was a row of them pointed straight at them. Then Shakra heard a ripple of whumps and bangs. A quick moving series of light soared through the sky before slamming into the slope with many of the rays bouncing off the slopes. He aimed the turret at one of the lighter patches of dirt and watched a small rectangular box appear and hover over the patch.
"Sabot, up!" Strong-arm yelled.
"On the way," He screamed in reply and stomped on the foot activated trigger.
There was a whump as he felt the tank rock backwards, the bright dart of light was the sabot that had exited the barrel. It flew into the sky and slowly dropped just from above the slope and disappeared in a bright flash of light.
"Fuck! ERA, ERA, load Sabot!" Shakra screamed, and pulled himself off of the sight.
"Porter, turn the tank in the same direction of the gun and move one hundred meters off the road! Do it now!" screamed Bergman.
"Yes sir!" Porter screamed back.
The tank jerked forward suddenly. He looked back and up to see Strong-arm slamming the ammunition storage door open. He pulled out a shell as big as his arm and turned around. He slammed down on the gun breach, opening the chamber to the moving main gun. Strong-arm shoved the shell into the open and smoking breech. The burly man swung the chamber close as the thick ammunition storage door slammed shut. Strong-arm's rehearsed movement allowed him to load the shell extremely quickly, within twenty to thirty seconds of the door opening.
"Sabot, up!" Strong-arm replied, barely panting.
Shakra turned back and looked through the sight, confirming the gun was still on target. Seeing the lighter patch still there, he slammed his foot down on the trigger. There was silence in reply. He slammed his foot down again to hear nothing. Looking back up, he caught Strong-arm's gaze.
"Misfire?" Shakra asked on the intercom before his eyes caught a lever that wasn't pulled upwards, "arm the fucking gun Strong!"
"Sorry," he grumbled and slammed the lever up, "up!"
"On the way!" Shakra screamed and looked back down the gunner sight.
The reticule bobbed up and down as it tried to compensate for the movement of the sixty-five-ton tank. Shakra waited for the right moment. Just as the reticule bobbed upwards as far as it would go, it started to sink back down. Right before the reticule touched the sloped ground – Shakra stomped on the trigger. There was a satisfying thump from the main gun. Shakra watched the shell disappear from the recoil. Seconds later, the tank rocked forward and came to a complete stop. Shakra tried to open my eyes as wide as they would go to see the impact of the shell. A loud clang from behind Shakra told him that Strong-arm had ejected the shell and was patiently waiting to load the next. And there it was, a small spark of white light among the green of the thermal sight.
"Hit! Load HEAT!" Shakra screamed, aiming the tank cannon back at the same spot on the mound of blown out dirt.
"Load HEAT!" Strong-arm screamed, Shakra could already hear the shell being slid into the breech and locked with a clank. Just as Strong-arm screamed, "HEAT up!" Shakra saw the lighter shade of green start to move and it was adjusting its aim towards us.
Shakra slammed the trigger.
Whump!
The tank recoiled once again, the round arcing predictably down towards the light green patch. A small spark of white erupted from the shape before a loud explosion erupted from behind the mound. A fountain of white light shot out from the mound and the light green patch was blown clean from the AAT's body before slamming back down on the Earth with a puff of dirt and dust. A smile started to form on his face but the happiness didn't last as a loud klaxon went off inside the tank. Shakra looked up to Bergman to see him locking the hatch close.
"ATGM!" Bergman screamed.
Pop! Pop! Bang! Bang!
A pair of pops exploded from outside the tank. The TROPHY Active Protection System went active, firing small discs into the air before detonating them to destroy the warheads. Shakra could hear the remnants of the flying rockets splatter the side of the Titan with the sound of water splashing against sheet metal, except the water was burning hot shrapnel. When Shakra thought the onslaught was over, the tank was rocked with another hit. A loud explosion slammed into the right side of the Titan and made the sixty-five-ton main battle tank lift off one of its tracks.
"What the fuck was that?!" Porter screamed on the intercom.
"ERA, ERA, ERA strike!" Bergman yelled at the report, tapping on his commander's vehicle system display, "Porter! Face 026! Same direction Hawk, scan for the fucking target!"
The tank jerked towards the right. Hull being directed straight at the incoming rounds instead of being sideways. The rear and sides of the tank were the most vulnerable to tank rounds if it weren't for the extra ERA plates bolted onto the tank to stop the tank rounds and multi-shape charge rockets. With the introduction of the new T-600 Titans, NERA plates were bolted on optionally to the front of the turret and different sights were moved towards the top of the turret instead of remaining at the front. Extra ERA plates were fitted to the front of the tank to better help protect the driver and maintain a more aggressive frontal profile against tanks firing from directly in front of the Titans. Spall lining was mounting on the vulnerable rear of the Titans to stop rockets that slip past the active protection system as opposed to actual tank rounds.
Shakra spotted the AATs through the thermal sight speeding across open ground with its turret slightly exposed from behind the same dirt mound. Slewing the turret far ahead of the speeding tank, Shakra locked the turret and turned to Strong-arm whose hand was on the ammunition door button.
"Strong-arm, load sabot! Then load HEAT! Understood?!" Shakra screamed into the intercom and waving to get his already focused attention.
"Load sabot, then HEAT! Got it!" he bellowed and slammed the lever opening up the main gun's breech.
Strong-arm pressed the button opening the storage. The five-inch thick ammunition door slid open quickly and quietly as he pulled out the shell and held the heavy projectile in his bulging elbows. He positioned the sharp end of the sabot round over the entrance of the cannon briefly before slamming the giant shell home. It locked into place with a loud clunk as the breech was mechanically closed after the shell was loaded into place. Shakra glued his eyes back into the gunner sight. Watching the Separatist MBT unmagnified, Shakra waited for Strong-arm's signal and for the tank to get closer. It was just a few seconds away from where he needed it to be.
"Sabot up!" Strong-arm screamed a few seconds later quickly after the clank of the arming lever.
His breathing stopped, the pounding in my ears grew louder and louder as time seemed to slow. Shakra magnified the thermal sight. A second later, the Separatist main battle tank appeared on the screen. Just as the AAT reached the right most of the target reticule, he slammed his foot on the trigger and felt the tank recoil. There was a loud whump and a clang that rang in his ears. It was the sound of the electric primer being discarded into a small tinny metal box. The round arced over the mound and slammed through thick metal meeting the Spearatist main battle tank with a small glow of white light. Shakra could see the impact was from the rear of the tank. The armoured vehicle screeching to a halt. There was another series of clangs, clanks and clunks next to me.
There was another clank followed by, "HEAT up!"
Shakra twisted the yoke hard to the right for a split second, making sure to be quick and aiming at the centre of the tank instead of the rear. Shakra slammed on the trigger and another jolt shot through the tank. There was another whump and the distinct clang of the electric primer rattling into the discarding container. He watched as the hatch of the tank opened just as the shell was fired. A shape climbed out of the turret, turning around before there was a large spark of blinding white light. Then a large explosion erupted from the AAT that consumed the entire greenish hue of the main battle tank. One moment the silhouette was there, the next was a burning wreckage of a tank with its ammunition storage on fire and detonated.
A breath escaped his mouth as Shakra blinked.
Once, then twice.
He pulled away from the eyepiece, drained.
"All Victors, War Hawk Actual, report!" came the bellowing yell of Colonel Peary.
"War Hawk 1, sound off," Lieutenant Bergman spoke into the radio.
"War Hawk 12, track is shot. Received a couple of blows but 12 is operation, should be five mikes before the tracks repaired. Over," the second tank in their platoon replied.
"War Hawk 13, multiple hits received and one round penetrated the turret. Sabot missed the ammunition storage but…" there was a solemn pause over the radio, "Gunnery Sergeant Lucas Jeffords was KIA'ed during the engagement."
"Oh fuck," murmured Bergman, "alright. I'll get someone to fill in from the Regiment. Shakra, you're Tango Charlie now. Stand-by for a new loader, get Huerta to man the gun."
"Roger that 1 Actual," replied Sergeant Brian, the third tank's gunner.
"War Hawk 1 Actual, War Hawk 14, front right turret ERA has to be replaced and one of our oil coolers are shot. The sabot went through the rear spall lining and pierced the primary oil cooler. Second round did the same thing to our secondary cooler. We're not moving anywhere until our engine gets replaced," sighed War Hawk 14's tank commander.
"War Hawk Actual, War Hawk 1 Actual, two Victors combat ineffective, two Victors still combat effective. War Hawk 13 needs a new loader Actual," Bergman murmured with a long sigh, rubbing his temples vigorously.
"Roger that War Hawk 1, stand by and wait out," Colonel Peary replied curtly.
"So much for that," grunted Bergman, "did not think that I would see fucking Galactic War on my first tour of duty."
"What do we do now sir?" Shakra asked, suddenly realizing that his throat was dry.
"We wait for the new loader to sub in for one-three and then we continue moving. We push straight to the fucking capital and wipe of any sepi's we see along the way," grunted Bergman, "we don't stop until that fucking planet is clear of sepi's and the OAG Valkyrie sails over that capital!"
"Hoorah sir," Shakra replied.
