Between each wave of missiles, the Kilvar unleashed their particle beam at whatever ground targets they’d selected, and each discharge produced a rending crack of expanding air, audible over everything else. So far, not one of those beams had struck anywhere close to Vance and his platoon, but he was beginning to wonder if his time was running out.
From his single experience with the Kilvar, he’d assumed an underlying intelligence lay behind the apparent randomness of their attacks. Here on Basalt that randomness was happening again and he asked himself if this was a case of aliens being aliens and doing their own damn thing that only made sense to them. The only explanation Vance could think of was that they needed time to locate the exium.
“Another shuttle,” said Sergeant Tagra. Even when he talked at his normal volume it sounded borderline like he was shouting an order.
Faces turned upwards to look just as the enemy transport emerged into full view across the avenue, no more than a hundred metres ahead. It was the same shape as the last model, scaled up to twice the size. It banked and the nose, tail or whatever it was, tilted downwards. Vance spotted an assembly of some kind mounted on the transport’s underside and he cursed.
“Raimi, Stanar, Danstol, bring it down,” he snarled. “The rest of you, take cover!”
There wasn’t much cover to be had - the next vehicle was fifty metres away, just outside a darkened doorway. After that was a side street another fifty metres further. That left the side wall and it wasn’t going to save anyone from a nose cannon. If the rockets didn’t take out the shuttle, death for the platoon was the likely outcome.
An unspoken competition existed between the squad’s rocket troops, as to who could fire first and still hit the target. The sound of rocket coils whining reached Vance’s ears. A whump of discharges and a whoosh of acceleration made him duck instinctively and three missiles raced over his head.
“Raimi wins,” said Raimi while the missiles were in flight.
“Negative, human,” said Stanar. “The Daklan eye is triumphant.”
Vance didn’t want to call a winner. For him, it was sufficient that all three missiles hit their target and within a split-second of each other. The shuttle’s tapering nose was ripped open and one of its flanks sagged and then tore with the rapid heat expansion caused by the multiple detonations. Still, the vessel was tough and it didn’t break up. Its engines beat a throbbing resonance of distress off the side walls and it rotated towards the platoon. Vance guessed its nose gun was disabled, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Run!” he yelled, waving the soldiers on with his free arm. Maybe the shuttle’s forward sensors were destroyed, he thought, even if the gun wasn’t, and that would mean its crew would be firing blind at the last known position of his platoon.
Given the incredible rate of fire of most repeaters, it was a scant hope that they’d escape the pulverising bullets. As he ran, Vance stared at the shuttle, willing it to come down or fly elsewhere. It was too late. By some twist of fate, the three rocket strikes had missed the shuttle’s nose turret and Vance saw the weapon’s seven barrels pointing in his direction. In the shortest of moments, they spun up to firing speed and he saw his death coming.
Chapter Fifteen
The gun barrels turned but no bullets spewed out. From the corner of one eye, Vance saw the reason. Still following him, the exium prototype was only three metres away and any attack on the soldiers stood a good chance of hitting the device at the same time.
“Shit,” swore Vance angrily. He was happy to be alive, but not happy at having to rely on a floating cube of exium in order for it have happened. “Destroy that shuttle,” he said.
“Waiting on coil recharge,” said Raimi.
Several bulky shapes fell out of the shuttle’s open flank exit and crunched to the ground.
Setting his Rodan to a narrow spread, Vance fired, aiming high to find out if the Kilvar soldier was vulnerable to head shots. Recoil made the gun thud into his shoulder and its power supply whined softly as the weapon readied itself for another discharge.
“Kill those bastards!” roared Vance.
Even as he said the words, three new rockets launched from his platoon struck the shuttle. Pieces of armour were hurled around and the largest section dropped like a stone. This time, the Kilvar troops scrambled clear with the same piston-like movement as the one Vance had seen close up on Tibulon. As one, they turned towards the platoon, no more than two metres separating each. From this distance and in the twilight, their faces were identical, with depthless eye sockets and a seeping hatred.
“Six targets,” bellowed Tagra. “Grenade out.”
With a convulsive heave of his arm, the Daklan sent a fist-sized plasma grenade towards the enemy soldiers. The explosive glinted in the air as it spun, catching the firelight from the falling shuttle. Drawl believed himself to have the most powerful throw in the entire alliance and Vance saw the soldier whip out a sideways throw, sending his own grenade after the first.
“Fast arm Drawl,” said Private Carrington in a rare compliment. Adjacent to Vance, she stood upright and fired her Rodan into the closest enemy soldier. “I see you’re fully healed after that punch you couldn’t handle.”
“Stronger and fitter than ever, Carrington,” shouted Drawl to be heard over the crashing of the shuttle as it hit the ground.
For all the man’s bravado, Drawl really did have the best throw Vance had ever seen and the soldier’s grenade exploded between two of the Kilvar soldiers, while Tagra’s landed short. The blast engulfed the enemy, turning them into rough outlines amongst the brightness. Neither flinched and they paid no attention to the flames clinging to their limbs.
Vance fired at the same target again, his shot producing a spray of flesh. The top of the Kilvar’s head was half gone, but it didn’t seem to care. “Get ready,” he said. “They’re going to come at us.”
“Deploying MG-12,” said Gantry, sprinting wide and kicking out the tripod on his gun.
“Also deploying,” said Private Rendos. The Daklan swung his heavy repeater magazine from his back and snapped the barrel into a firing position. In a single movement, he dropped low and readied himself.
“Second shuttle incoming!” called Bautista. “This one’s east.”
“Waiting on reload!” said Raimi.
“Another on our six!” shouted Private Fidel Coates. “Damn it’s getting hot out here.”
Vance sent his third Rodan shot into the same enemy soldier’s head. Its face collapsed inwards and it shuddered violently without crashing to the ground. Twisting about, Vance got sight of the two new shuttles – one south and one approaching east over the flat roof of a four-storey research building. They weren’t close but there was no mistaking which way they were headed.
“Kilvar soldiers deployed from that southern shuttle,” said Coates. “Estimate eight or ten, sir. They jumped straight out.”
In a sign that the Kilvar weren’t having everything their own way, a rocket launched from elsewhere struck the eastern shuttle on its underside plating. The vessel banked and accelerated on a course that would see it emerge into the street a short distance behind Vance and his platoon.
“Stay close to the prototype,” joked Private Raven. “It’s the only thing keeping us alive.”
A hard-edged clanking of rapid fire told Vance, without looking, that Gantry and Rendos were putting their repeaters to good use. Eager to find any sign of weakness in his opponents, Vance wheeled away from the two incoming shuttles to witness the effect. In the three or four seconds his attention had been elsewhere, the Kilvar had broken into a run, seemingly oblivious to the concentrated Rodan fire which was punching vast holes in their bodies. They were eighty metres away but coming fast.
The repeaters were more effective than the Rodans, but that was to be expected given the disadvantages in portability and their setup time. The torrent of bullets ejected clouds of matter from the ravaged bodies of the Kilvar and the head of one enemy soldier va
nished entirely beneath a concentrated burst of fire. For a few paces, it stumbled on and then collapsed chest-down.
Vance tested something out. He aimed low and shot one of the Kilvar in its lower legs, counted a quick one-two, which was all the time the coils in his Rodan need to recharge and then fired again at the same place. Vance was face-on to the enemy, making it easy to land his shots. One of the alien’s lower legs was shattered by the impacts and, with its enormous weight unsupported, the Kilvar fell to the ground, hardly making an effort to put its hands out. Awkwardly, it tried to rise, only for one of Drawl’s grenades to explode in its face.
With his Rodan tucked into his shoulder and its barrel waving about, Drawl whooped and thew again, dropping his next grenade in the same place. Having suffered enough punishment the Kilvar lay still, flames licking at its body and thick smoke rising into the air.
For the first time, Vance caught the odour of burning Kilvar. He hadn’t expected it to be steaks on a summer barbecue, but the scent was almost caustic and it was only because he’d experienced so much of warfare that he was able to hold down his urge to gag.
“Three still moving to our north,” said Sergeant Gantry.
“There’s shooting to the south,” said Steigers. “I think it’s that Daklan officer and his platoon we saw earlier.”
“I count more than ten Kilvar south,” said Corporal Charnos, staring that way intently.
“’Ware to the east,” said Private Bautista. “Those bastards are dropping from the roof. Sixty metres.”
It was suddenly clear to Vance how much trouble he and his platoon were in. Their lack of cover didn’t matter too much against these unarmed opponents, but the sheer quantity of bullets the Kilvar were soaking made him feel like he was building walls of sand to hold back the tide.
Over to the east, two Kilvar had already dropped from the roof of the flanking building and they were heading directly for the exium prototype. Once again, Vance found himself looking into pools of darkness and this time he sensed a hunger in the Kilvar, as well as the same hatred he’d felt before.
“Private Danstol,” snapped Vance.
“Yes, sir,” said the Daklan. His launcher was already on his shoulder and he fired at once, targeting the ground directly between the two Kilvar. The rocket detonated and the force of the explosion knocked the aliens off their stride. Rodan slugs punched into them the moment the fireball had receded.
“Here come another bunch,” said Bautista. “Falling from the same place.”
“I recommend we move, Lieutenant Vance,” said Sergeant Tagra, his gun up to his face. He pulled the trigger and swept his gaze east, noting the location of other targets.
Vance looked north, where only two of the Kilvar were upright, though from the ragged state of their grey flesh, they wouldn’t be standing for much longer. Six others were on the eastern side of the street and a little way south of the platoon. When Vance focused south, he saw plenty of activity. He estimated that maybe fifteen Kilvar were running full pelt towards the exium prototype. Those Kilvar were being subjected to concentrated fire from human and Daklan soldiers.
Vance prided himself on being able to deal with pressure. “Squads A and B, focus on these last Kilvar to the north and then we’re going to make a run for the building entrance ahead!” he shouted. “Squad C, slow down those assholes to the east!”
Just then, everything seemed to step up a notch. A missile, travelling so fast that Vance didn’t see it, landed south, behind the coming Kilvar. A second and third landed on the roof of the building closest to the platoon. The flash lit up the darkening street and the rumble was a physical force that buffeted Vance and reminded him acutely of his mortality.
Directly after the missile strikes, one of the red energy beams lanced into a building about five hundred metres away. The walls of the structure turned red and then orange, bowing out as they absorbed the heat.
“Down!” yelled Vance.
In truth, he didn’t know if hitting the deck would have any affect against the coming heat blast. He dropped to his chest and felt his Rodan fall naturally into position. The final two Kilvar ahead were less than twenty metres away and their gaits were uneven. Vance fired at one and then again when his gun recharged.
Sensing movement, Vance twisted so he could look up. He was just in time to witness a salvo of hellburner missiles detonating against the side of the huge Kilvar warship. The blasts were vivid and they roiled against the vessel’s armour. Orange propulsion trails and an energy beam went the other way, fired at an alliance warship Vance couldn’t see.
Diverting his attention again, he put another densely packed cluster of slugs into what was now the final Kilvar to the north. Strangely, its face was almost intact and it was staring right at Vance.
Superhot air from the nearby beam strike swept howling along the avenue. Vance thought he detected an orange cast to the winds, like hell’s inferno was blowing his way. The last of the Kilvar before him died and Vance kept low, watching the temperature readout in his HUD race upwards towards the design maximum of his suit. An alarm bleeped twice in his earpiece and the polymers of his suit went from universe grey to a yellowy brown.
The engagement wasn’t finished with Vance’s platoon.
“Shit, shit, coming east!” yelled Private Jay Arnold. “Need backup!”
Gunfire resumed at its highest intensity yet. Vance surged to his feet, yelling at the others to do the same. Detecting the panic in Arnold’s voice, he wheeled that way, readying his weapon for a shot. Somehow, Arnold had got himself a few paces further across the street than the rest of his squad, maybe to get a better firing angle around one of the vehicles in the centre of the avenue. Now, one of the Kilvar, its flesh a mess of Rodan wounds and heat charring, was bearing down on him.
Scrambling away, Arnold couldn’t aim at the same time. His squadmates directed a fusillade of slugs at the onrushing Kilvar, yet still it came, its eagerness a palpable thing which made Vance’s blood boil and his teeth clench. He couldn’t get a clean shot and took rapid, sideways strides north to obtain a firing angle that wouldn’t hit Arnold at the same time.
It all came too late. The Kilvar swung one of its massive arms at Arnold, swatting his body seven or eight metres north. Even before the soldier had landed on the ground, Corporal Hendrix was on her way, shrugging the med-box off her back.
Having landed its blow, the Kilvar kept on coming, but at the same time, it tipped its head back and opened its mouth, shuddering in what Vance took to be a state of repulsive ecstasy. That ecstasy didn’t last long and the withering hail of Rodan fire shredded what was left of its face and torso. The creature dropped to its knees, still convulsing, and then toppled face down into the road where it went abruptly still.
“Corporal Hendrix, report!” shouted Vance, hurrying after her. The way north was clear and he wanted to resume the sprint.
Private Arnold was on his side, facing away and not moving. In two or three seconds, Corporal Hendrix had wires from her med-box linked to receptors on the soldier’s combat suit. She swore loudly, grabbed Arnold’s shoulder and flipped him over.
“Dead.” She swore again. “You should look at this, sir.”
Vance had seen enough dead soldiers that he should have been numbed to it by now, but somehow it never got easier. He crouched next to Hendrix and looked into Arnold’s visor. All that remained of the man this soldier had once been, was a husk, shrivelled up and with yellowed skin tight against bones.
Hendrix’s voice was low and accented, and Vance almost didn’t hear her next words. “Like it sucked everything out him and left this behind.” She pointed at Arnold’s combat suit near his hip, where the Kilvar’s blow had struck. The material was blackened and corroded and Hendrix reached out as if she wanted to test its strength with her finger.
“Best not,” warned Vance, pulling back her arm. “He’s dead, but we aren’t. Let’s not waste the gift.”
“We’ve got a bad time ahead,
sir.” Hendrix was one of the veterans and she’d seen the worst atrocities war could bring. She looked scared and her dark eyes searched Vance’s face for reassurance.
He had none to give – at least none that was convincing. “We’ll get through it, Corporal. Same way we always get through it.”
“The price might be higher than we can afford,” she said, her voice still soft.
Vance didn’t want to think about it – not now and not with his platoon under threat. He pushed himself upright. North was clear and a check eastward told him the next closest Kilvar was forty metres away. It was being subjected to a hail of slugs fired by alliance troops south along the street, as well as shots from Vance’s platoon. If he was any judge, the creature would be finished before it covered another five steps. Unfortunately, more of the huge creatures were dropping from the roof of the building opposite and would soon be on their way.
A link was created to Vance’s comms unit.
“Lieutenant Vance, I’ve got the Lost Boy heading your way to give you some cover,” said Fleet Admiral Recker.
“Sir?” asked Vance. The name was familiar, yet for some reason he couldn’t place it. He opened his mouth to say what fate had befallen Private Arnold, but Recker was already gone.
“We’ve got us another enemy shuttle!” said Private Raven. “Make that two shuttles!”
With the pressure ratcheting, Vance pushed himself into motion. He twisted his gaze south and saw how close the next wave of Kilvar were coming to his platoon. Without thinking, he put slugs into the Kilvar east, just as it collapsed in a pile of churned up flesh, and sprinted north, his feet slithering on a layer of char which came from hell knew where.
“With me!” he snarled in a voice which brooked no hesitation. “Private Arnold is dead, but I’m damned if the same thing is going to happen to the rest of us.” The name Lost Boy slotted into Vance’s head. He didn’t like to believe in coincidence, but this was a big one right here. “We’ve got some air cover heading our way,” he called on the squad channel. “Smile and wave when it arrives.”
Dark of the Void (Forged Alliance Book 1) Page 16
