“What’s going on?” Major Gage asked as he jogged up, along with Major Sulda, and looked around the hangar. While the CASPers were spread out, covering the approaches to the building, none of them gave any indication they were going anywhere in the near future. “Are we actually assaulting something today or just taking it easy?”
“We’re still trying to determine that,” Nigel said. “Something’s wrong—it’s like they are trying to bait us in—and it’s making my skin crawl.”
“Asbaran Actual, Dropship One.”
“Go, Dropship,” Nigel replied.
“Just wanted you to know there is movement from all around you. We took much heavier fire lifting off than we did coming in. It’s almost like they didn’t want us to leave. I can see several new laser burns on my wing. What do you want us to do?”
“Stay out of range of their weapons. We’ll handle it down here.”
“What are we going to do?” Valenti asked. “If we’re surrounded—if this is a trap—shouldn’t we have the dropships come back and get us?”
“If we did that,” Nigel said, “we’d have to leave all our CASPers here. Since we dropped in, there wouldn’t be enough room to get everyone back up.” He shook his head. “No, they want us to go north, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
“But that’s where the trap is,” Valenti noted.
“Yes, it is, but there’s no way they’re going to be expecting us—two companies of CASPers, one of which is in Mk 9s, and two companies of Lumar. They’re expecting our forces to get pinned down there, but we’re going to hit them and blow right through them. Then we’ll spin around and envelope the forces coming from behind us. Here’s what we’ll do…”
* * *
The Raknar Fist, Approaching São Paulo, Brazil, Earth
Heavy MAC rounds exploded from tank barrels with brilliant flashes of ablative linings. As they had drilled, all seven Raknar had their large leg-deployed shields on their left arms, held in front of the mecha as they cleared the mountains. The hypersonic projectiles boomed against the shields and deflected away instead of pancaking against the defensive armor.
“Return fire at will,” Jim/Splunk ordered. All seven Raknar raised their right arms and engaged the tanks. Each possessed a pair of starship-class 100-megawatt pulse lasers mounted along their forearms in recessed fittings. The Fist directed their laser fire across the battalion of Zuul tanks arrayed along the southern shore of Billings Reservoir.
The position would have been highly advantageous against aircraft cresting the mountains to attack the city. Aircraft would have been climbing, and their high speed would have made it difficult to angle downward and attack. But the Raknar were traveling under 200 kph and didn’t need to change their angle of attack in order to bring their weapons to bear.
The tanks used local businesses and residences as cover. The 100-megawatt lasers tore through the civilian structures like a katana parting rattan mats. Buildings exploded, were cleaved into pieces, and burst into flames. The tanks hidden amidst them fared no better. The Raknar flew low across the reservoir and landed in a line, sensors seeking the next enemy targets. It didn’t take long to find them.
A massive residential area just past the reservoir disgorged thousands of highly mobile, heavily armed and armored Besquith sappers. Many wore assault armor, which included flight packs, and carried breaching charges. It was an assault designed to deal with a Raknar. It wasn’t an attack designed to deal with Raknars.
They attacked en masse as the mecha grounded and took their first steps. The machines’ titanic legs didn’t walk over or around the multi-story apartments and condos so much as through them. Even sturdy buildings weren’t made to survive a 200-ton robot leg ramming it. Several groups of Besquith never deployed; they were crushed by collapsing apartments.
Their instructions were to mass attack a Raknar. When seven of the 30-meter-tall mecha appeared and began chewing the tanks to pieces, the Besquith sapper platoon leader tried calling his company commander for instructions. He was still waiting when the Raknars crashed into the buildings they were using for concealment. Realizing the opportunity to deploy was quickly coming to an end, he ordered an attack on the two closest mecha.
With two squads lost in collapsing buildings, and two targets instead of one, the sappers’ attack wasn’t nearly as practiced as it had been during their drills in the previous weeks. More ended up on one Raknar than the other, and because of the late launch order, their low-powered jumpjets only got them as high as the knees, just above ten meters.
“Boarders!” Fenn/Peanut said.
“Us, too,” Thompson/Shadow said.
“Cook ’em,” Curran/Dante told them.
The two Raknar with the Besquith sappers aboard stopped. The aliens were desperately trying to get their explosive charges in place, but the fast-flash thermite style attachment packs weren’t holding, so instead they attempted to attach them by wedging climbing pitons into the Raknars. Now that the Raknars were fully serviced by the Dusman, though, they possessed the full breadth of weaponry. Previously, Jim would have been extremely troubled by a sapper attack like the one which was occurring. Now, both Raknars under attack simply pointed an arm at their lower body and fired their flamers—nozzles on the arm which channeled superheated plasma directly from the fusion cores. They were really designed to assist in maneuvering in space, but when a small amount of flammable fluid was injected to the plasma, it created a 50-meter-long tongue of 1,000 degree fire. The Besquith sappers had just long enough to realize what was happening before they were incinerated.
“Nice,” Curran/Dante said, and the Raknars resumed their march.
Now, less than ten kilometers from the starport, the buildings began to change. Inexpensive housing and high rises began to give way to light industrial and ten- to twenty-story high rises as the star town came into sensor range. The high rises were too large and substantial for even the Raknar to easily tear through, so they stuck to the large avenues in their preassigned groups.
The population density increased steadily as well. The streets were crowded with tens of thousands fleeing the battle, and innumerable cars and trucks were stuck in the sudden gridlock of the afternoon attack. The 1,000-ton bulk of the Raknars crushed occupied and empty vehicles with equal ease, the crunching akin to walking on bubble wrap. A few flyers were unfortunate enough to approach the marching Raknar and were swatted from the sky by point defense lasers.
As they reached the last line of buildings, a ripple of missile fire rose from the port’s defensive batteries. These were intercepted, the same as the flyers had been. The starport itself was situated in what was once São Caetano do Sul. The remains of the old district was now the star town—the extra-jurisdictional area around the starport. Jim/Splunk noted the missile launcher locations. These were portable, vehicle-mounted erectable launchers, not the static defenses they’d known about prior to landing.
The two flanking groups both lifted off in short, 200-meter-high jumps. Once they cleared the nearest buildings, all four deployed their arm-mounted lasers and began destroying the mobile launchers. That was when the squad of heavy tanks on the north flank opened fire. Mays/Aura was hit in the right leg with a 200-megawatt particle cannon, damaging the thruster mechanism there. Kleve/Sandy spun an arm around and pumped their 100-megawatt laser energy into the tank that had hit Mays/Aura. In turn they were hit in the side by another particle beam, which severely damaged their armor without penetrating.
“Ground!” Jim/Splunk ordered as they examined the Zha Akee.
Mays/Aura struggled to land, using a five-story apartment building as an improvised crash-bag. They completely destroyed the building and ended up on their back.
“Nice landing,” Kleve/Sandy laughed.
“Bite me,” Mays/Aura replied as they extracted themselves from the debris.
Jim/Splunk found the tanks. The data wasn’t 100%, though it looked like six of the huge, particle cannon-equipped Zuul ta
nks were hidden in the midst of a tank farm three kilometers away. The tanks were identified as liquid hydrogen storage; more than a million liters per tank.
A particle beam lanced out at Jim/Splunk. They side-stepped behind a 25-story office building and the beam only chewed a chunk of armor off their shoulder.
“Curran/Dante, the tanks.”
“Got it,” Curran/Dante answered. The Zuul heavy tanks blasted at the Raknars, all of which were now using buildings as cover. Fenn/Peanut held up their shield as the tank’s particle cannon penetrated the building. The shield easily took the remaining energy.
Curran/Dante moved to the side, toward a hulking 20-story industrial building as a particle beam took a huge gouge from the shorter building they’d been using for concealment. They shouldered into the industrial building, turned, and slammed both arms into the structure. Then, slamming a foot into the concrete and rebar, they reached up a hand, rammed it into the building, and pulled themselves up ten meters.
The Zuul tanks took advantage of roads and terrain to snipe at the Raknar. Curran/Dante stopped climbing just below the top of the building. A pair of particle beams lashed at the building, burning through the skyscraper just below the Raknar. The second the beams missed, Curran/Dante gave a small burst of their jets, rocketing up to land on the roof. The Raknar’s legs crushed the roof’s structure and sank twelve meters into the building as it settled.
The shoulder-mounted particle beam rotated down and fired a single beam. They weren’t shooting at the armored tanks, but the storage tank farm, which exploded like a small nuclear bomb. The blast incinerated every structure within a kilometer, and the shockwave wrecked buildings for another kilometer. The Zuul tanks were obliterated, along with every living thing for kilometers in all directions.
“That works,” Jim/Splunk said, examining the enemy damage without taking notice of any collateral damage to the city. The Zha Akee showed objects dropping from orbit ahead of their course. They were immediately tagged as friendly. A formation of 120 “mini-Raknar” of three different configurations, rated from less than 20% as effective as Konar to about 50%. The part of him that was Jim knew those would be the Cavaliers dropping into São Paulo. Without another thought, he advanced toward the starport.
* * *
Cartwright’s Cavaliers, HALD Drop, Target São Paulo, Brazil, Earth
“Clean up the formation!” Hargrave ordered over the squadnet and heard the individual squad sergeants snap out orders. Quickly the companies dressed up to take advantage of the 360 decoys. The Phoenix dropships inserted them under 100 kilometers, and they had absolutely screamed though the thermosphere. When he’d triggered his pod ejection via pinplant (the first time he’d ever done it), the data feed from the dropship said they’d been traveling at ten kilometers per second, or 36,000 kilometers per hour.
“Ten fucking Gs,” he grumbled, careful to keep it off the squadnet. He knew he blacked out for a few seconds. For once, he didn’t have to worry when he came around that the CASPer in its pod might have tumbled or gone all catawampus. The Mk 9 had not only stayed on course, the damned thing was evading brilliantly. “I’m too old for this shit.” Of course, at nearly 70 he was too old for a lot of things.
They’d blown the decoys ten seconds after ejection, when the Gs were passing six. It was like flying into a car crash, feet first, for minutes on end. His decades-old nano treatment that hardened joints and ligament attachments saved him from serious injury, but it didn’t keep him from feeling like he’d been beaten to hamburger, even though he was in better shape than he would have been in an older Mk 7 or Mk 8. The Mk 9 was tight and fit like a glove, leaving less room to rattle around inside during high-G maneuvers.
Now they were under ten kilometers, and the shit was hitting the fan. The decoys were only effective when there was enough thermal ionization to make it uncertain what was a CASPer and what was a decoy. Only the most advanced, densest, and well-deployed defenses were capable of not being overwhelmed by an assault three companies strong.
Laser fire began to lance out at them, and he saw one of Charlie Company, Second Platoon disappear from the squadnet.
They were at terminal approach.
“All squads,” he called. “Break, break, break!”
The Cavaliers went from dropping like stones to actively evading, the various suits spinning, jinking, and dodging wildly in completely random patterns as much as their particular CASPer allowed. As the final few kilometers fell away, he lost seven more troopers, all of them in older Mk 7s. Jim Cartwright used to like the old models as they suited his extra-large frame. Now he only talked or cared about the Raknar, and Hargrave was afraid he was losing the kid and failing Thaddeus.
Equipped with two platoons of the new Mk 9 CASPers, Jim elected to give them all to Alpha Company, dispersing the Mk 8s formerly operated by those Alpha Company members to those who were qualified in Bravo and Charlie Companies. When they’d deployed ten minutes ago, there’d been fifteen Mk 7s left. Now there were only seven.
One of the most fundamental differences between the older model CASPers and the Mk 9 was flight capability. The combat suits had possessed the capability to do orbital drops, or HALD, since the Mk 5. However, it was always with the addition of special thruster packs, or, in the early days, something akin to a miniature starship faring; not a cheap prospect. The new Mk 9 did away with all that. Their flight capability was a quantum leap forward. They dropped from orbit with only a three-sided ablative shield over their feet and lower legs, and a pair of drop-tanks. Equipped with more powerful and efficient jumpjets, the Mk 9 was capable of long, sustained flights instead of merely short 20-second jumps. The addition of the drop-tanks allowed them to either fly for hours or make reentry in a dense atmosphere.
This is pretty badass, Hargrave silently admitted as his CASPer came to a hover less than 100 meters above a city street. The rest of Alpha Company were all within a kilometer. He hadn’t lost a single trooper from the two Mk 9 equipped platoons. Switch to combat operations, he ordered the suit through his pinplants, and the drop-tanks simply fell away. Like the ablative shields, the tanks were not expensive components. These new suits would be both better in combat and more cost effective.
He set down on top of a nearby restaurant, and Sergeant Panka landed next to him. When Hargrave took over Alpha Company for the operation and equipped them all with Mk 9s, Buddha had a problem; even though he was top sergeant, the man was simply massive, and the Mk 9 couldn’t accommodate the Samoan’s frame. Instead, Buddha was piloting one of the last Mk 7s, helping Major Alvarado with Bravo Company. Under protest, of course. Having a single Mk 7 in a Company of Mk 9s wasn’t tactically feasible. Alvarado gave Panka high praise, and Hargrave was happy to have him.
“What’s the plan, sir?” Panka asked.
“Muster First Platoon over there, on that hotel,” Hargrave said, indicating with his pinplants in battlespace. Jim was right, it was just like a fucking video game. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but it was efficient. “The low roof will give us cover while we rally. Second Platoon needs to move over to the Avenue 23 de Maio,” he said, working a bit to handle the pronunciation. “Data on approach indicated a platoon of Oogar holding the town hall. I want them contained while we coordinate with Bravo and Charlie Companies.”
“Roger that,” Panka said and started issuing orders.
Hargrave examined the battlespace. Their objective was clearly marked: the former Mirante do Vale, now known as SOGA Headquarters. He could just see the 101-story monolithic slab with its split walls of glass. Remodeled in 2030 to become the world government headquarters, they had added 60 stories, reinforced the structure, and added multiple landing platforms near the top where the president’s office was.
On the battlespace, Hargrave could see the Raknars rampaging toward the starport. A second later, a mushroom cloud rose into the sky from a huge explosion. The battlespace indicated it was the fuel farm. Hargrave tried not to think about how many were pr
obably dying, only that the Raknars were keeping the enemy’s attention away from the city center. With any luck, his troopers would be at their objective in just a few more minutes.
* * * * *
Chapter Seventeen
Merc Internment Facility, Lagos, Nigeria, Earth
First Squad dismounted from their CASPers, and Flint started down the stairs. Just below floor level there was a switch. He flipped it, and light illuminated the stairway, allowing him to see that it descended to a narrow hallway with three doorways—one on each side and one at the end of the 30-foot corridor.
“Well, at least now we can see where we’re going,” Flint said. He went down the stairs slowly, as if expecting something bad to happen at any moment.
He approached the door on the left side, and the members of his squad stacked up behind him.
“Wait,” Sansar commed. “Something’s wrong here.”
“What do you mean?” Flint asked.
“This was too easy; it feels like a trap.”
“So don’t use the door?”
“No. Let’s blow a hole in the wall.”
The squad backed up the stairs, and the demolitions expert, Sergeant Green, moved forward and made a rectangular outline with advanced det cord. He backed up, blew the charge, and a door-shaped hole opened in the wall. The smoke and plaster dust hadn’t even settled when Flint led the squad through the breach, followed by Sansar.
There was nothing there, aside from some boxes and plastic crates, and an eye-watering stench.
“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Flint said. “And God above, that smell!”
“Don’t open the crates,” Sansar said. “I don’t know what’s in them, but I don’t want any more of that smell to get out.”
“Want a new door into the room across the hall?” Green asked.
“Yes, please,” Sansar replied.
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