Sons of the Lion

by Jason Cordova

  The drone feed suddenly cut out as a Zuul spotted it and shot it with his laser rifle. Samson grunted. He had known the drone would get taken out eventually, just not so soon. The captain would now have to rely on the third-rate cameras which provided security around the compound. While decent, they paled in comparison to the equipment the Korps used. Samson cursed as he realized he was unable to determine just how far away they were from the gate.

  Should have used upgraded cameras for security, he mentally chided himself. Hindsight is 20/20. “Leopards, here they come. Fire only when you have a clear shot, ken?”

  Seconds ticked by and despite the cool air in his suit, Samson began to sweat. Being in combat was one thing. Assaulting an enemy position was easy, because he did not usually have time to worry. Defending, on the other hand, was not something he was used to doing. Much like Antonious and the Jackals, 1st Company lived for the assault. Let Zion and the 3rd handle defensive positions along the eastern drag.

  Them running off and punching aliens in the face is weird, he thought as he began to pick out the distinct shapes of Zuul on the other side of the steel barrier. It was obvious what they were about to do, since the only way to “kill” the CASPers protecting the mansion was through the gate. The main question was whether they were using satchel charges or shaped incendiary devices.

  Multiple explosions ripped apart the gate near the rear of the compound, creating a large breach in the wall. As the dust began to clear, Samson could faintly see the ocean beyond, before the gap was filled with Zuul in combat armor pushing through the opening and into the killing grounds.

  “Fire!” he ordered, and thirteen CASPers opened fire almost simultaneously, their magnetic accelerator cannons ripping through the first wave of Zuul mercenaries. The aliens fell but the next group was undaunted, returning fire with deadly accuracy as they slipped behind some of the outer concrete barriers that had been set up in case the attack had come from a different direction. One CASPer immediately turned yellow on his Tri-V screen. It was still operational but Private Asselmo in Alpha Four wouldn’t be running any marathons anytime soon. “Leopards, hit them with K-bombs!”

  All five CASPers of Bravo Squad stepped back from the front line and knelt down behind the concrete. Angling back a little, they began to pop modified K-bombs into a high-trajectory flight path. The first wave of the Zuul heard the familiar whistle of the incendiary devices and moved to find new cover. Unfortunately, the Zuul still flooding through the hole in the wall missed the memo and were caught out in the open as the K-bombs began to detonate.

  Flames erupted from the bombs as they struck the ground, and the Zuul were unable to move away from the white-hot flames in time. The alien howls of agony nearly drowned out the gunfire.

  “Keep feeding them rounds!” Samson barked as the Zuul started to fall back slightly, trying to find some relief from the withering gunfire and the heat of the flames. For the time being, it appeared the Leopards held the upper hand, though Samson knew this wouldn’t last forever. It just needed to last long enough.

  “They will learn to love the taste of hate!”

  * * *

  West Pier, Freeport of Monrovia, Liberia District, Earth

  Antonious sprinted down one of the smaller side roads to cut off the Tortantula’s advance. His Mk 8 was lighter and had an agility his previous suit couldn’t match. However, his previous CASPer had been able to carry more ammunition and K-bombs, and he sacrificed some armor as well. However, the used suit Mulbah had purchased and retrofitted for full pinlink connectivity meant instead of remaining behind and doing nothing, Antonious was able to join the fight and lead his men from the front.

  He had no idea where Greg Donahue or Mattis Aerospace had dug up a Mk 8 Command CASPer, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially when it was something as precious and amazing as the mecha was turning out to be.

  Accessing the last recon drone orbiting the HQ, he saw the mass of Tortantulas which had split off and headed west were pushing all the way to the edge of the old concrete docks by the bay. He blinked, surprised. He wasn’t aware the Tortantulas even liked water. Judging by their frames and weight, though, he doubted they would enjoy the experience if they fell in.

  Could they swim? He thought it unlikely but suddenly had a desire to know. Only one way to find out.

  His Tri-V showed an up-to-date map of the docks, and he saw there was another potential chokepoint. Accessing his pinlink, he pinged certain spots with red to mark the areas he wanted the rest of the Jackals to cover and sent the data to his company.

  “Cut them off there,” he told his men over the secure channel. “We make them swim, ken?”

  “Yes, bass!” they replied in unison. Almost every member of 2nd Company had been there since the Korps first started bringing in new mercenaries after the nearly-failed kidnapping attempt on Troubadour Station. It had allowed for a bond neither of the other two companies had managed, especially given the losses they had suffered. Undermanned they might be, and not the fastest when it came to drills, but the Jackals knew how to fight as a team.

  Antonious launched himself high into the air and saw the group of Tortantulas had split into two smaller groups in order to navigate the narrow confines of the dock area. A Flatar spotted him and took a shot with his pistol, but fortunately missed. Landing badly, he stumbled and nearly crashed into one of the leftover containers that hadn’t been cleared from the converted port.

  “Stupid, stupid,” he muttered and watched as the rest of the Jackals got behind cover. He updated the Tri-V data and set up firing lines. If they were to have any chance, they would need to stop the Tortantulas now, before they could rejoin the second group moving out onto Bushrod Island to the east. “Lock and load! We got aliens!”

  “Paint the sky!” Master Sergeant Oti called out.

  “First Squad, form the line!” Antonious ordered as the lead element of the Tortantulas appeared in front of them. The Jackals had timed their approach perfectly. Now they needed to finish the job. “Second, be ready to plug the gaps! Ain’t none of them ugly craw craws making it past us today!”

  Directing their fire on the lead Tortantulas, the Jackals tried to create a clog in the narrow funnel between the old shipping containers and the edge of the dock. The Tortantulas with Flatar riders tried to stop the tide and change direction but the mass of bodies was packed in too tightly; there wasn’t enough room for the large aliens to maneuver.

  Even with his magnetic accelerator cannon blazing away, Antonious was able to direct fire from the company and make minor adjustments while they fought. Being fully outfitted with pinplants was not something he’d thought he would ever be comfortable with, yet now that he was fully one with his CASPer, there was no way he could ever go back to fighting the old way. The controls were too good, and his ability to direct his men greatly increased.

  If we live through this, everyone in the company needs one of these, he thought.

  One of the suits from First Squad turned red as a Flatar managed to put a round through him. The impact drove the CASPer backward and to the ground. The shot had instantly killed young PFC Diaby and rendered his suit inoperable. Every member of the Korps was familiar with how deadly and accurate the Flatar laser pistols could be.

  “K-bombs!” Antonious ordered and immediately Second Squad dropped down to a single knee behind the main line created by First. The soft whoomp of K-bombs mounted on the shoulders of the Second Squad being launched was a pleasing sound to Antonious. It meant death was about to rain down on his enemy’s head.

  The first bombardment shattered the charge of the Tortantulas. The alien mercenaries, struggling to push past the bombs detonating in their midst, were forced over the edge of the dock and into the water. More followed as the pressure of the mass charge found somewhere to move, even if it was unwittingly. Too late did the Flatar realize where their riderless Tortantulas were being driven.

  Antonious spotted one old, grizzled
-looking Flatar who had some sort of bionic apparatus on his head. This one appeared to know what he was doing and was directing the Tortantulas to avoid the sea while simultaneously firing at the CASPers. His laser rifle snapped up and Antonious quickly squeezed off a few rounds. One shot glanced off the thick, armored thorax of the Tortantula the veteran Flatar was riding. This got the alien’s attention, and the Flatar, evidently not impressed with Antonious or his shooting, fired back in return.

  The captain yelped in surprise as the shot caromed off a rusted metal shipping container and glanced across his chest. Panicking, Antonious looked down and saw he was still alive. The shot had somehow not had enough power after the deflection, so instead of a smoking hole, there was simply a black scorch mark. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Too close, menh,” he whispered. He took careful aim and put a round directly into the head of the offending Flatar. The small, furry alien’s head evaporated in a fine mist as the large caliber round struck true, leaving only the cybernetic part of the head attached to the body. “Fuck off, craw craw boy.”

  “Bass, we hit them with more bombs, ken?” Oti asked.

  “Do it,” Antonious ordered. “End this quick, then move back to the front gate.”

  They lofted more K-bombs high into the air, which landed in the midst of the Tortantula swarm. Spidery legs were blasted everywhere as the last of the smaller group were either killed outright or pushed into the waters by their dying brethren. Flatar struggled to climb the concrete walls of the docks but the concentrated fire of the Jackals was simply too much. One by one the small furry aliens disappeared over the edge and fell three meters into the polluted waters.

  “Keep killing them,” Antonious ordered as First Squad began to walk toward the last few Tortantula. What had originally seemed like a large horde was now shown to be a rather small collection of Tortantulas, with only a few riders. The majority of the alien mercs had apparently taken the less obvious route onto Bushrod Island. The Jackals had killed, at most, maybe two dozen.

  “Seemed like there was more, bass,” Oti said, the same thought going through his head. “They’re going to go to the Lion’s Gate now, ken?”

  “Yeah,” Antonious grunted as the last Flatar was killed with a single shot from a laser carbine. He checked the status of the other companies and grimaced. Samson and the 1st were getting absolutely hammered at the Executive Presidential Mansion, and there was little he or the Jackals could do to help them. “We go to the Lion’s Gate and kill more of these guys. Protect the base as long as we can. Move it, jockos!”

  * * *

  PAC-VL Command Site, Chocolate City, Liberia District, Earth

  “Oh, shit,” Greg Donahue muttered as fighters screamed across the sky. The alien design sent chills down his spine as he watched them bank effortlessly as the aircraft made a run toward the Executive Presidential Mansion a few kilometers away, pulling G forces which would have made a Human black out. “Fucking MinSha…”

  Shooting down the unprepared assault shuttles had been a walk in the park. The alien mercs had obviously not been expecting it and had paid for it dearly.

  “How long until we’re reloaded?” Donahue asked the burly Ghanaian soldier nearby. He had seen the massive giant of a man during the recruitment drive, and the American had snagged him to be his NCO for the missile launch team. It didn’t matter that the soldier from Ghana could barely read or write. Donahue had made him the task master of their little group, and in this, Dior Mtumbe was a brilliant people person.

  “Good now, bass!” Dior replied. “Them boyos work hard, yeah?”

  “Perfect!” Donahue exclaimed, pleased. Dior was proving to be a godsend who could motivate even the laziest to work. “Clear the launch vehicles!”

  “Tsamaea tseleng, litšoene,” Dior screamed at the loading team, brandishing a billy club. Donahue had no clue what the big man was saying but it appeared to be effective as the men scattered like frightened dogs. “Kapa u shoele ka mor'a moo!”

  Donahue waited as the command vehicle was fed data from the passive radar system that had been set up to receive from the CASPers around the city. Using the location of the suits and the data they sent, the command system was able to determine the flight path of the fighters. It cautioned that launching would cause the fighters to be shot down over civilian population.

  Donahue swallowed. It would be pointless if he ended up killing civilians, which was who he was trying to protect. Checking the projected flight path, he saw it would be Mulbah and the Command Squad who were going to have to eat the fire from the fighter’s first pass.

  “Good luck, Mulbah,” he whispered as he prepared a new firing solution.

  * * *

  University of Liberia, Monrovia, Liberia District, Earth

  Of all the places they could have stashed his command CASPer, the School of Forestry was the last place on Earth anyone outside the Korps would have suspected.

  Suggested by Zion and seconded by Antonious, the school was a separate building off the main administration building. Other than the mechanics garage, it was the only building with enough clearance for the CASPer to be safely stashed inside without damaging the ceiling. The Command Squad was inside in standby mode, watching his suit just in case the Mercenary Guild decided to attack. They complained about the tediousness of hauling the suit all the way out to the school from HQ but now Mulbah was doubly glad they had.

  “Staff Sergeant Ange,” Mulbah radioed, huffing as he reached the building. He hated cardio with every fiber of his being and couldn’t wait to get inside the suit. “Everything ready?”

  “We’re all powered up and ready, bass,” Casimir confirmed. “The LT is here already. Just waiting on you.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Mulbah grumbled. He would have been there ten minutes earlier, but Lieutenant Sunshine had neglected to consider the possibility of carrying him while she ran to the rendezvous. He couldn’t blame her, really. He hadn’t thought to ask her for a lift, even if it could be considered demeaning.

  He reached the Forestry building and paused, heaving for air as he doubled over. Unwittingly or not, too much paperwork and not enough exercise had left him with a slight pooch in the midsection. When combined with his natural hatred of cardio, Mulbah had gotten out of shape.

  “Running sucks,” he gasped as the faint scream of jet engines filled his ears. He glanced up and saw a trio of unfamiliar fighters tearing through the sky toward him. Or more accurately, toward the Parliament Building across the street from the Executive Presidential Mansion. “Oh fuck.”

  The fighters began firing, and their rounds tore easily through the ancient stucco and plaster covering the outer walls of the Parliament Building. Mulbah could hear the impacts from the large caliber rounds chewing into the building and whispered a brief prayer that it had been evacuated when the alert was first given. Otherwise there were going to be a lot of unnecessary casualties.

  Finally able to breathe, Mulbah pulled open the door to the Forestry school and was greeted with the barrel of a laser rifle pointed right at his face. Behind it loomed a solid black CASPer. The rifle shifted away almost immediately. It dawned on him he probably should have told them he was there before yanking open the door. He was lucky he hadn’t been killed.

  “Sorry, bass,” Private Ibara apologized, turning his CASPer slightly. “Been seeing some shady looking people wandering around. Didn’t want anybody thinking they could get lucky with our stuff.”

  “No problem,” Mulbah said and trotted over to his CASPer. “We’ve got fighters overhead and troops on what looks like three different assault vectors from the feeds I’m getting. 2nd Company has HQ under control for now, and 1st is holding at the president’s mansion. 3rd is headed toward Tubman High School. The Liberian Army is assisting on Bushrod, but they’re dragging ass so they’re probably not going to be much help to the Jackals.”

  “What’s our plan, bass?” Casimir asked.

  “Support Captain Tolbert and the
Leopards until we get the signal that all the diplomats are safe and away,” Mulbah said as he climbed into his CASPer. Activating the suit’s computer systems, the entire mecha shook slightly as it powered up. He began to run through the pre-op and cursed himself. “Should have left it in standby like you guys.”

  “Bass, what about Donahue and his missiles?” Sunshine asked, her tone filled with worry. “Why did he not shoot the ships down?”

  “Probably because they’re over a civilian area right now,” Mulbah said as he tested the arms, then the legs. The suit responded perfectly. Satisfied, he turned to look at the others. “He wouldn’t want the jets to crash in the city. Probably waiting for them to get clear. Plus, they’re not the priority targets. The assault landing shuttles are.”

  “He needs to do it quick then,” Sunshine pointed out as the highlighted a section of the map on her Tri-V and sent it to Mulbah. “Because Captain Karnga is about to hit the wall.”

  Mulbah glanced at the map and grimaced. If he had known there would be Besquith and Tortantulas involved, he would never have split the Korps up this much. It would have been easier to simply sacrifice himself and allow the rest of the Korps to defend from HQ after taking care of the Presidential Mansion.

  “That’s a whole lot of hurt on its way in,” he muttered. His suit showed green on his Tri-V and everything felt right in the world. It was time for the command squad to get to work. “Okay, let’s move. We’ve got aliens to kill.”

  * * *

  The Lion’s Gate, Freeport of Monrovia, Liberia District, Earth

  The Jackals moved rapidly along the back routes across the base. Antonious and the rest of 2nd Company knew there was no possible way for the Liberian Army to hold off the Tortantulas they were about to run into. He knew the best-case situation would be for the army soldiers to die before they were eaten by the ravenous spider-like alien mercs.