Over in the battlefield HQ, the 667th’s commanding officer Colonel Savage stared at the 3rd holographic map table intently.  Blue symbols indicated friendlies and red the hostiles.  There seemed to be a company sized Imperial unit heading his way from the northeast.  Before him lay the latest intel briefing.  There was good and bad news in it.
   
      General Evans, commander of the 189th Marine Corp made planet-fall on 01/7/2560 and immediately relieved General Hodges, who, after a charade of a trial was publicly executed by impalement 24 hours later.  When ordered to hand over their equipment Hodges men refused and barricaded themselves into their barracks.  This revolt was brutally suppressed and one man in five of the survivors was summarily executed.  The remaining personnel, regardless of rank or trade, have been demoted to Privates 3rd Class Penal and formed into a new unit called 1st Knaresborough Penal Regt.  Standard Operating Procedure (SOP) for Imperial Penal units formed in this manner is to commit them to combat at the very earliest opportunity.  When the unit is reduced to approximately 10% of its original size the survivors are pardoned, reinstated to rank, and posted as reinforcements into normal Imperial line units.      
   
    Little currently info exists about General Evans.  He is an experienced officer with a solid track record of success in combat, although his victories have always come at tremendous cost in terms of men and material.  He was withdrawn from active service 3 years ago.  No official reason was given, which usually indicates that a serious personality/psychological problem has come to light.    
  
    The 189th Marine Corp is a mixed unit comprising Ground and Aerospace asset.  The headline units are 156th Armour Regt, 1456th Mech Regt, and 23rd Space Wing.  The large number of fresh troops just out of training is balanced by a hardcore of professional NCOs and Officers.  Overall troop experience is assessed as ‘Regular’.   

    Savage’s staff moved around him with the quiet assurance borne out of many such operations.  The HQ itself was in fact a wide six legged walker at that moment sitting on its belly, with five variously sized other vehicles connected by airtight walkways.  Multiple weapons stations protected the complex from attack, slaved from an automated state of the art battlefield computer.  A powerful satellite and radar antenna on top of the HQ was not in regular use, but was there to provide emergency back-up should the remote station over 500 meters away get taken out.
  
   “As I say Colonel Savage, we should attack immediately!  In my experience these Imperial scum will be easily dealt with,” the speaker, Captain Bishop, finished with a sneer in his voice.  “If your Dreadnought boys are half as effective as I’m led to believe we can easily see this rag tag bunch off.”  He waved his arm airily over the approaching in red pointers.  The holographic display, offended, quivered before resetting itself with a flash.  
  
    The Colonel blinked but didn’t look up from the map.  Inwardly he sighed deeply to himself.  He found he was doing that a lot these days since he had been ordered to take Captain Bishop and his company of Government troops within his command.  Within was the key word here, not under.  If it were under, he would have relieved the incompetent blustering fool immediately.  Sadly, political niceties dictated that he could not run the idiot off his base either.  His rag tag company was all that had survived from a unit five times its current size after the Imperials had kicked them out of Knaresborough.  Admittedly they had given the Imperials a bloody nose a week ago, but his own intel put the Imp losses three times lower than Bishop kept boasting about.   After this ‘success’ the fool now seemed to regard himself as a tactical genius!  High Command had ordered him not to let the Government unit get itself wiped out.  The political ramifications would be too great.  He had therefore assigned his best Dreadnought platoon, unit DN2, to bolster its strength; but feared the end result still might be just the same.   
    
    Savage sighed again.  Without looking up, he growled out “Captain Bishop, as I’ve repeatedly said to you, even with SS to support you……”

     Bishop interrupted him “SS ?”  
    
     “I’m sorry, I should explain SS is slang for the 2nd Dreadnought platoon leader Simpson.  He’s a bit of a character and his personal callsign is Snakebite, so people refer to him as Snakebite Simpson or SS for short.  Anyway, I digress, as I was saying, even with DN2, it’s folly to engage the Imperials when we do not yet have our own aerospace assets in place.  Until the technical problems are overcome with the dropship, and they land, we cannot move out from underneath our protective anti-aircraft umbrella”.

    “I disagree,” Bishop retorted.  “We have our mobile triple AAA and will shoot down anything that comes our way!”  He waved his hands in the air, as if this in itself would be enough to swat away such irritations.  He paused a moment before continuing.  “Besides they haven’t used flyboys yet so why should they start now!  My company moves out in one hour, Colonel.  We’ll sweep this area clean.  My troops are battle-hardened now; we can deal with anything we meet!” he ended confidently.  Turning on his heel he marched out of the HQ before Savage could respond.  A stunned silence filled the void left by him.  
   
     “They haven’t used flyboys yet so why should they start now?” murmured Savages 2nd IC Major Rackstraw” in wonderment.

     “Enough!” snapped Savage grinding his teeth in frustration.  Turning he spoke to a grossly overweight Major who had squeezed into an overstressed chair whilst tucking into his third breakfast rations container of the morning.  “Guns, I want all three of your ground batteries available and ready at a moment’s notice to slave direct to Sgt Simpson.  In addition, I want both SCUDS launchers ready at a second’s notice to slave through as well.”  He paused a moment before continuing,  “one standard warhead, the other Anti-Armour”.

    Major Peter Slim nodded and replied, “Both missiles already in that configuration, Sir.”  He paused to split out a bit of tough gristle.  “What about the turtles sir?”  These rather strange, elderly vehicles had the nickname simply because they really did look like huge turtles.  Crewed by four men, they served the needs of the massive 500mm mortar which projected up through the shell at the back of the vehicle.  The 667th had purchased them from of a military scrap yard some years ago, and spent a small fortune on refurbishing, modernising and having a special range of ammunition developed.   

    Savage replied,  “Have them stand by, one with Anti-personnel and the other with an Anti-armour round, already loaded.  DN2 is going out on a limb here; the least we can do is make sure they have support if they need it.     

    Simpson having ammo’d up was now with his platoon at the refuelling point.  The Dreadnought suite had a heavy duty Jetpack integral to the design.  Sometimes they would undertake missions with the packs disabled, but more often than not they went into combat fully fuelled, capable of making ten 100-metre long jumps.  The advantage this provided on balance outweighed the risk associated with having what was essentially a small bomb strapped on your back.  At the refuelling point there were five fuel booths.  Simpson’s men, in turn sealed their suites, went on to internal recycled air, and entered them.  Once in, a remote controlled arm with a hose attached, swung out and plugged into the ten-litre tank.  The process of filling this only took a couple of minutes.  Once over, another remote arm with a camera attached undertook a detailed inspection of the fill valve to ensure no leakage was evident.  When the operator was satisfied a green light came on and the solider would exit the booth.  Jetpack fuel was one of the strongest, most toxic liquids known to man.  So harmful in fact, that should a leak occur, anyone breathing the vapour within 5 metres of the spill would be dead in 15 seconds.  Anyone 20 metres away would suffer burns on exposed skin within 30 seconds and experience difficulty breathing.

    With everyone fuelled up, the platoon moved en masse to the agreed assembly point at the northern base exit.  As they arrived Captain Bishop, standing atop a Yokel APC with megaphone in hand, greeted them.  “Glad you could join us Simpson,” boomed out his voice.  Sgt Green standing beside him openly sniggered.  “Pitching up after the actions started, as normal, from what I hear!” guffawed Bishop, seemingly amazed at his own wit.  A few laughs rose from the Yokel company as they turned to stare at the new arrivals.

    Simpson struggled to contain his anger.  Without thinking he snapped his visor helmet shut and at the same time raising his Gatling gun aimed it 6ft above Bishop’s head, and triggered the barrel motor.  The four barrels spun up to 600 rpm emitting a distinctive howling whine.   

    Green dived for cover with a yell of alarm, and Bishop, although sure Simpson wouldn’t fire, couldn’t help but blanche as the whine reached a crescendo and the barrels were nothing more than a blur of movement. 

    “Simpson, quit alarming the Yokels,” came the irritated tones of Colonel Savage over the radio; he’d been monitoring developments through live video feed.  “The guy’s a buffoon, but we are ordered to work with him, and most of his troops are good men so we need to look after them”.

    “Yes sir” ground out Simpson through gritted teeth.

    “I’m dedicating Turtle 1 and Turtle 2 to support you.  T1 has Anti-P loaded and the T2 Anti-Arm. 

    “Could I call Anti-P down on my current location please ?”   Simpson joked.  

    “That’s a negative.  Good luck.”  With that the line to HQ went dead.

    Simpson flicked up his visor.  “Apologies, sorry to alarm, just doing a systems test,” he shouted to Bishop.  Turning to his squad he announced,  “Time to mount up team.”  Ignoring the Yokels DN2 climbed aboard the three waiting 667th ‘Raider Class Anti-Grav APCs.  Due to the dreadnought suits bulk, there was only room for 5 men in each.  Open backed, it was really no more than a flat-bed, but did have the advantage that in an emergency or combat situation they could jet-pack off the back.  Fully enclosed APCs were of little use to men in battlesuits, deployment in and out was slow, and in a combat situation this could be the difference between life and death.

    Bishop, who by now had recovered his poise, resumed his speech to his company. “The Imperial scum have sent out a Recon unit.  We are going to ambush them, and kill them all. Kill them all !!”. 

    “Three cheers for the Captain,” chipped in Green now back on his feet, as he made an attempted to recover face.    

      Dutiful cheering broke out, then ceased as the gathering dispersed and the men of the 1st Richmondsmall Battle Group as Bishop had named them, gathered their equipment and started climbing in to and on to the motley assembly of vehicles that comprised their transport.  The battlegroup itself was approximately 100 men strong organized into three platoons of thirty men, each armed with a mixture of Gyrobolt Rifles, RPGs, plus a couple of captured Missile Launchers.  Most of the vehicles were imported from off-world and had little or no armour protection to speak of.  At one end of the spectrum, they had a modern fusion powered Hover APC armed with a 50mm CPP cannon and a close in defence system, and at the other end a twenty year old pick-up truck that need liquid hydrogen to run.  All however were armed with flamethrowers and multiple grenade launcher firing stations.  This level of armament was a pre-requisite to survival on the planet, due to the hostile indigenous life forms that would fearlessly attack whenever they could.

       Simpson switched to an all platoon channel.  “Okay men, here’s the formal brief for today, so listen up.  DN2 is tasked with supporting the 1st RMB whilst they ambush what is believed to be a company sized Imperial Mech unit.  Standard Imperial fit is expected, so they’ll be in either wheeled, tracked or hover Glaives.  Firebase support is available in the form of T1 and T2, which are linked through direct to me.  I’ve decided to take our Droids with us, they’ll be joining us shortly.”

        Loud classical music interrupted him as Jenkinoff’s four strong sled platoon swept alongside with a flourish.  Shouting above ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’, booming out from a large speaker strapped to the glacis plate Jenkinoff greeted the assembled gathering with, “Heard you ‘ladies’ were going rambling today.  Thought we’d tag along to keep you safe!” 

        DN2, to a man, waved enthusiastically.  Things were looking up all of sudden!  They had been paired up with 3Sled3 as they called his platoon many times before and rated them highly. 

       Two additional anti-grav vehicles joined the gathering.  A small three-manned armoured sled led a huge armoured articulated vehicle formally designated as CLK-5B.  Nicknamed ‘The Slug’, this impressive vehicle had a huge reactor in one compartment and a large complex electronic array in the other.  Essentially an electronic warfare platform, it could jam and intercept communications, and throw an electronic cloak over friendly units out to a radius of a mile to prevent them being electronically detected.  The massive power output meant however that no one was able to go within 50 meters when it was active, otherwise they would receive a lethal dose of radiation.  The two operators had their own separate vehicle from where it was remotely controlled, using an unjammable narrow beamed microwave laser.  It’s own inbuilt point defence system ensured it could see off most direct threats.
 
        Bishop, wanting to know whom the new arrivals were, headed over to see them.  Jenkinoff quickly put him in the picture.  “Slug 1 here,” he jerked his head in the direction of the CLK, “has been attached to my platoon for this operation.  This is a high value asset and I’ve been ordered to protect it all costs.  Seeing as how I don’t like the sound of that, and don’t wish to put any of my team in greater risk than necessary, my primary mission is to protect this vehicle.  We are of course available for fire support, however.”  He paused to ensure then next element would sink in.  “I will only accept direct orders from Sgt. Simpson or 667th HQ.  For this mission I am under his command.”  
 
       The snub was evident and Bishop after staring at him for 30 seconds whilst he digested the information, turned away fuming.  Without saying a word he stalked back to his command vehicle.

       A final vehicle joined the gathering.  A flatbed anti-grav sled drew alongside Simpson’s with three large combat droids squatting in the back.  When upright each was 8ft high and 6ft across the shoulders.  Two powerful legs supported a heavily armoured body.  There was no head as such, just a large slit near the top that contained an array of sensors behind armoured glass.  The arms on each droid were configures differently, with flame-throwers, missile launchers and fearsome 6 barrelled gyrobolt gatlings spread between them.  All were painted in the same green and blue camouflage pattern that Simpson’s men had on their suits, plus the snake motif.    

        “What the hell?”  screamed Sgt Green storming over.  “Bloody robots, you can’t be serious, don’t you know anything you fool?”

         “The man versus robot war was 80 years ago, and these three cannot be hacked into,” said Simpson calmly.

        “You are out of control!  I’m going to...”

        “I know, you’re going to report me to HQ!  Off you toddle little man,” interrupted Simpson.  Turning away he shouted across to the droids.  “You guys all prep’d and ready to go?”

       “Yes Sir” they responded.    
    
        With everyone now mounted up, Bishop led the way as the battlegroup snaked out of the north entrance.  Flanked by two massive tracked 10cm 8 barrelled Gatling cannons, that looked as if they could hold off an entire Imperial army on their own, the operators tipped the barrels skyways in salute as the column of vehicles passed between them.

         Once clear of the base the entire unit accelerated up to 60 mph, wheeled and tracked vehicles on the road with hover vehicles on the flanks.  The whole unit formed a rough oval around the CLK as it activated the cloaking shield.  Jenkinoff’s sleds, acting as outriders, kept everyone within the one mile radius.  Just as the cowboys of old would have done with cattle, reflected Jenkinoff, as he buzzed up on the lagging antique pickup, waving furiously at the driver to speed up. 

        Rackstraw stood at the Holographic display.  A cluster of blue blips, someone had joking designated ‘Bishop’s mob’ was about three miles north of the base and about four miles from the stationary red Imperial blip labelled ‘Imp 1’.  This wasn’t what was grabbing his attention though.  Five minutes before, twenty miles to the south just outside of artillery range, a large red blue blip had appeared, designated as ‘Imp 2’.  How had that managed to get so close, unless they were being jammed, or the unit was cloaking ?  To cloak however massive amounts of power were needed, with specialist vehicles being involved.  A sudden wave of misgivings hit him.  Without aerospace cover they had to rely on other sensors.  He would have liked real-time satellite feed, but they had already had one shot down yesterday by a huge ground based laser.  That had come as a nasty shock, and meant it was pointless to launch another at the moment.  A UCAV was a good solution but 20 miles out was too far.  The ones they had available at the firebase were too slow.

          He continued to stare.  Why were the Imps stationary ?    Suddenly the blimp started to move, split into a line of 5 and then vanished, as the entire display became a haze of interference.  “We’re being jammed, switch to backup”. 
The comp-tech who had been half expecting such an event confidently switched systems.  The display shuddered, but stubbornly remained unchanged. 

         “Shit !   Get this display back !” Rackstraw yelled.

        They’d seen this happen once before so the Tech flicked to the third and final back-up system.  The haze immediately cleared but, instead of a map, it showed a slowly spinning Imperial Crest.

        The entire ops room froze with horror at the site.  

        “Fuck ! Get the Colonel in here!”  Rackstraw shouted, a hint of panic in his voice.  He keyed his throat mike  “All HQ personal beware, we are under e-attack!  Consider all comms with the fleet and ground units to be compromised!”  His hand stabbed a red button to his right.  At once a warning Claxton sounded across the camp and he picked up a microphone to his right.  Across the base his voice echoed out,  “This is a priority Alpha alert!  Personal are to assume battle positions for base defence.  All combat companies prepare to move.  This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill”.  He turned to Guns who was unconcernedly eating with one hand whilst typing with the other, his podgy fingers flying over the keyboard.  “Prepare for SCUD launch on the Colonels signal”. 

         Guns confidently replied, “We are all set, M1 and M2 ready for launch, mixed warheads.  Launch window for best accuracy, in the next 30 seconds.”

          Almost before he had finished the Colonel came rushing in.  He took in the spinning Crest for a second, blinked twice, then fired out a series of orders.  “Launch SCUDS, get two UCAVs up, deploy companies 1, 2 and 3 to the east, 4 to the west, one mile out, defensive posture.  All base defences to manual override.  Interdiction fire from all batteries on anticipated lines of attack, NOW !!”   Savage paused to draw breath before continuing, “Major Rackstraw, get me a secure HQ!  Your meant to be in charge of security for Gods sake!  You’ve got 10 minutes to find the problem otherwise you are bloody sacked !”

          Organized chaos took over the Stonehenge firebase as it made a good attempt at replicating an ant’s nest being disturbed.  The mech infantry units led the way, screaming out of the base exits at full speed with everyone cursing each other.  The Battalions unit COs screamed at the company commanders to move faster, the Company COs screamed over the company nets for the drivers to get a shift on, and the soldiers cursed the drivers as they were thrown around the inside of their transports.  Following closely behind came the tanks, the massive roar from their anti-grav engines as a virtually full battalion of 50 impatient drivers in turn applied full throttle and exited the base in clouds of dust.            

          The 677th, as part of its artillery compliment, had two mobile tracked rocket launchers, official designation SSM-SA-SS Mk16.  Nicknamed the SCUDS although nobody could quite remember why, each was capable of launching a range of two-ton warheads either at ground, air or space targets.  This gave the 667th enormous flexibility when dealing with opponents.  Linked by cable to the HQ to avoid jamming, the targets could be adjusted at a moment’s notice.
 
           With the launch order given, it only took seconds for the operator to click the highlighted target spot on the map in front of him, and for the on-board missile computers to confirm acceptance of the launch co-ordinates.  Claxtons sounded off altering personnel that a launch was imminent.  Powerful hydraulic rams raised the launch rails and both missiles moved from horizontal to vertical positions in less than a minute.  A green confirmation light on the HQ desk signalled all systems cleared for launch.  The operator pressed it immediately and an electrical surge ignited the solid rocket motors.  Deafening roars shook the Stonehenge firebase with the simultaneous launches.  Accelerating on a pillar of flame 5 miles into the atmosphere the rockets then descended in a gentle arc, before plummeting back towards the ground.  At 3,000 ft the warheads burst open disgorging 1,000 anti-personnel bomblets and 100 anti-armour bomblets of various types. 

     150mm artillery shells should have been screaming overhead as well but all the fire-control computers were out of action.  “Rackstraw, have you got this sorted yet?” shouted Savage to Rackstraw and the seven Techs huddled around him. 

       “Not yet Sir, we’re working on it.”  He turned back to the Techs.  “Okay, only two options exist - either we’re under electronic attack, or under hardware attack.  The EW (Electronic Warfare) boys haven’t reported any activity, so it’s a fair bet it’s the latter.”  He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts.  “Okay, we’ll split into four teams of two and start outside.  I want every cable from this HQ physically checked all the way to wherever it links in.  Let’s go NOW !”
 
      Within five minutes Rackstraw himself found the problem.  Partially underneath the belly of the vehicle, right where a cable plugged in, a black tube-like device about two foot long now encased it.  A tiny red light pulsed at one end.  With a sinking feeling Rackstaw called for engineering support.  All personnel were cleared away and a remote control anti-grav robot went for a closer look.  As the operator started an X-Ray scan a loud explosion shook the HQ and signified to one and all their failure to disarm.

     “Sir, all the systems have been knocked out by a massive power overload.  Maintenance estimates 12 hours to repair the damage,” reported the comp tech to Savage.
 
       “That is way too long, get me something going in 6”. 

        The Tech nodded, “We’ll do what we can, Sir.”

       “Okay, were moving HQ ops to 1st Armoured Company HQ,” Savage said turning to Rackstraw.  “It’s not ideal but we’ve few options left open to us.” 

     Savage left the HQ and entered his personal anti-grav field car.  As he closed the door he found he was not alone.  Sarah Mathews, the 667ths Senior Intel Officer dressed in mechanics fatigues and covered in oil and grease, couldn’t have looked less like the efficient killer she was. 

      “I have a job for you Sarah.”  He paused; she had the coldest eyes he had ever seen in a woman.  He’d known her for five years and he had never seen her smile once in that time.  “Find the saboteurs, attach yourself to them.  You are only to kill them on my order.”

       She nodded without speaking and looked out of the window.  They were almost at the 1st Armoured Company assembly area, his destination.

       “Let me clarify that order, just so we completely understand one another.  I do not want them harmed, either physically or psychologically.”  

        She turned.  Unblinking, her face completely impassive, she regarded him for a moment.  Then opening the door she was gone, lost amongst the swirling personnel. 
 

         “Status report?” queried Savage.  “Both warheads detonated as planned Sir,” reported the duty intel officer.  “UCAVs are still gathering information.” 

          “And…?”   
 
           The officer looked crestfallen, “Well all we can see at the moment is the remains of two vehicles, Sir.”
 
        “Just two ?”

         “Yes.  They are so badly smashed that recognition is extremely difficult, but the computer gives a 30% probability they were an Imperial Cloak unit and its operators vehicle.  I would concur with the assessment, Sir.”

        “You think !?” snarled Savage. “Only two vehicles, of course they were, it was a bloody diversion!”  Savage stared at the map in front of him.  “What the hell is about to hit Bishop and DN2?”