Osdal (Harmony War Series Book 3)

by Michael Chatfield

  E-12s and Repulsors spat out rounds, but it took long, concentrated bursts to cut through armor. Few if any were taking their time to aim carefully and hit the joints of the PACs, they were too scared, pulling back and firing everything they could to try and slow or stave off the ever-advancing powered armor.

  “Major Ortiz, this is Combat Shuttle Three Seven Eight; heard you need some fire power on target. We are inbound to your location. Heard your message over the wide band,” the co-pilot said, telling Ortiz that Flight Control hadn’t given them permission, but they were ready to go for it if Ortiz needed it.

  “Understood Three Seven Eight, be ready for targets momentarily,” Ortiz said, keeping the channel open and linking his tactical views to them. The co-pilot could refine them down to her pilot and cargo master.

  “Szerba, how are we looking?” Ortiz said, breaking into the Sergeant’s channel.

  “Ready and waiting sir.”

  “Very well, you have the green light, Combat Shuttle Three Seven Eight is on standby for fire mission, linking you to them,” Ortiz said, doing so.

  A Trooper tapped him, signalling they needed to move or else they would be caught on the front lines.

  Ortiz fired short controlled bursts at the PACs, pulling back when they started firing on his position. He turned, keeping low and running. The office seemed to be coming apart, the PACs had come through the line in several places, turning it into chaos.

  He turned a corner, finding PACs rushing through office cubicles. He fired his grenade launcher at them, his aides doing the same. A round hit the aide in front of Ortiz. Ortiz grabbed them and kept going.

  “Linked up and good to go, moving forward,” Szerba said.

  Ortiz looked to the man he was carrying; his vitals were black, his head just held on by tendons.

  “Fuck,” he spat, letting the man down and grabbing his E-12. The PAC’s burst out of the offices ahead of Ortiz and his aide’s.

  “Get down!” a Trooper yelled to Ortiz and his aides.

  Ortiz dropped to the ground, firing at the trio of PACs focused on him.

  A screamer ripped down the corridor they were in, blowing out the windows with the pressure wave.

  The PACs were backlit by the screamer, and the floor and roof had impact craters on them from the explosion. The PACs were burning metal and cooked meat.

  “I’ve always like my meat a little charred, get moving Troopers!” Ortiz said. When death just gave you a smile and you kicked him right back in the face, there’s not much you can do but smile back at the bastard.

  Not yet, you wide toothed bald mother fucker, Ortiz thought, the Trooper aides following him down the hall.

  “Gangway!” Speakers cut through the weapons fire and explosions that were tearing the building apart.

  Ortiz moved to the side of the hallway as powered armor came careening around the corner, overlapping armor plates, etched symbols and their IFF reading them as Troopers.

  While they were moving fast they weren’t hip-firing their weapons, they toted their Repulsors as if they were E-12s up and ready.

  Powered armor that must have seen the trio get washed away by the screamer appeared out of the massive hole that had been expanded by the rocket’s explosion.

  The PA Troopers didn’t give them time to react, they fired and moved forward. The PACs took their hits, firing back wildly, a few rounds found the Troopers but they just left dents and scorch marks on their armor.

  Ortiz sent them silent luck, turning to his feeds once again. The non PA wearing Troopers were sitting back behind the cafeteria defenses and through the offices and school on opposite sides. The PA Troopers were moving through, cutting off the PACs where they’d broken through the lines and giving Troopers time to reorganize.

  Once they had a firm line, Ortiz was going to get platoons to trail after the PA Troopers and start hauling PACs to the techs and armorers. They needed the armor and they weren’t above stripping it off of the Chosen to get it.

  ***

  Jerome moved up with his platoon, they were acting as the reserve for Lieutenant Szerba. He was from another carrier, and in his conversations with Haas he didn’t sound like he knew how to use them.

  Jerome and the rest of the platoon wanted to prove themselves, having the Lieutenant think of them as a liability instead of a strong platoon grated on their nerves. They weren’t about to disobey orders to do so, so they trailed after the leading PA sections that were quickly engaging and clearing behind the Trooper’s lines.

  “Spread out right, we’re past the other section that are being held back by PACs,” Haas said.

  In their eagerness to close with the enemy and push them back, the sections were rushing past their fellows, leaving openings in their rear.

  All of the triple twos worked as if they were in their regular armor; it was slower going, but they were in more cover, harder to see and hit, and they could react and fire at threats easily.

  Jerome was far left, opposite where the forward section was engaged with PACs. There wasn’t much fighting going on, he was just ten or twenty meters from the front lines but it seemed like he was in a twilight zone as he peered out of an office cubicle, looking out over the dozens that were strewn about the place, some intact, most showing bullet holes and blast radius from explosives.

  “Contact, five PACs moving from my position rearward,” Jerome said, seeing PACs wandering through the offices, not even trying to hide their extra height.

  Jerome fired at the lead PAC’s head, on his HUD Sasaki and Dooks moved up to either side of him, adding to his firepower.

  The PACs sprayed the offices, and as their guns ran empty the PACs charged, Jerome’s first target went down and he switched to one charging him.

  His and Sasaki’s rounds took them down, Dooks’ gun jammed and Jerome saw his Vibra-Blade come free in the corner of his eye.

  Shit, too late to pull my blade, Jerome thought, firing on the two that were charging him and Sasaki.

  Then they were on top of him.

  “Check fire!” Tyler said.

  “Don’t you fucking dare shoot me in the ass!” Dashtund added. Ali followed his two section mates crashing through the offices around Jerome, and hitting the PACs. The PACs were so focused on Sasaki and Jerome, that they were caught off guard.

  Blades swung and plunged. Tyler cut one along the side and then buried his blade in their back. Dashtund and Ali had cut the other down.

  The final PAC that had charged Dooks went flying back.

  “Motherfucker,” Dooks said, cleaning his blade with a flick.

  “Advancing,” Mark said, Repulsors raised and moving towards where the PACs had come from.

  Haas and Zukic were checking everyone over, Haas reporting to higher and Zukic checking that Dook’s gun was in working order.

  Tyler’s section cleaned their blades and put them away.

  “Thanks,” Jerome said.

  “No worries,’ Tyler shifted his Repulsor back into his hands.

  “I’ve got movement on the right flank,” Holm reported.

  “Tyler, help them out, move in and make sure they’re not more PACs breaking through the lines,” Haas said.

  Tyler and his section moved quick and low towards Holm’s position.

  “Gun’s good,” Dooks said, him and Zukic fixing whatever was wrong with it.

  Jerome kicked himself for not ordering them to draw blades when the PACs had charged, he’d been too focused on shooting, thinking that would take the bastards down. “Looks like we’re going to have to go medieval on these fuck heads,” he said, checking his blade would come free if he needed it.

  “You got that, Sarge,” Sasaki agreed.

  “Looks like there aren’t any more of them,” Mark sounded almost disappointed.

  “Stay frosty, we’ve got holes all over the place, people are charging down the enemy that they see instead of advancing in line,” Haas said.

  “Like a fucking sieve,” Dominguez gro
wled.

  Units from sections to platoons and the company at large were all over the floor, engaged in various firefights. Their job had just become to make sure that no one got past their position, or they’d be right in the rearguard of the Troopers lines. Having PAs among their wounded and supply areas was not a happy thought.

  “Well this is messy,” Ko volunteered, Mark’s section moving back to Jerome’s.

  “Contact!” Bairamov called out, Repulsor fire ripping across the right flank of the platoon’s front.

  New targets appeared, and Jerome’s instinct was to turn and help his buddies out, in reality he stayed where he was and looked out over the left flank. If he turned and looked, then the PACs could come in behind them.

  He had to trust that Holm and Tyler’s section were able to defeat the enemy to their front.

  “Zukic, start getting to work on a defensive posi...” The entire level shook, dust and debris blew out through doorways to the platoon’s front.

  “Get that position set up so we catch the stragglers, and send someone to find out what the fuck that was,” Haas said, heading to Holm and Tyler’s side to control the fire fight there.

  “Mark, Niemi, find out what that was. Jerome, take the remainder, put out security and start making defensive position. I want it along this line,” Zukic said, making a line that went across the offices they were in and up the side facing a large open hallway.

  “Ko, I want you to remain here, clear yourself a firing position, Dominguez I want you to act as link man, Sasaki take the corner of the offices, Dooks I want you along the office wall ready to cut people down using that school or corridor to run through on our left,” Jerome said, placing them over the roughly L-shaped area.

  They passed through the wide doorways, their glass doors flung off into the hallway between the office they were holing up in and an identical set across the hall. There was heavy weapons fire up ahead.

  “Shit,” Zukic said. Jerome checked positions and helped to break open walls and office cubicles so the gunners had good views.

  “Clear on our side,” Holm reported. Iliev was showing yellow, but everyone else was brilliant green.

  Just how I like it, Jerome thought.

  “The PACs just blew a hole in the floor and they’re moving to the rear of the rest of the company,” Mark yelled. Jerome could hear his and Niemi’s Repulsors opening up.

  “Understood, I’ve got reports of the PACs using vibra swords and crude melee weapons. They’re not that good with them, but they have enough strength to pierce our armor,” Zukic was calm and reassuring.

  “I’ve just talked to the section to our right, they’ll secure that area and hold,” Haas said.

  “Going to have to pull back soon,” Mark muttered.

  Jerome saw that Holm and Tyler were moving down to add to the rough line he’d created.

  “We’ll draw them to us and then call the bird in that we have ready on fire mission,” Haas said. It was a simple plan, Jerome liked simple plans, less to fuck up.

  New markers were added to Jerome’s view; the powered armor had just run into the Chosen’s heavy machine guns. Thankfully not many of them had been fully set up, but they were a right bitch to deal with. They didn’t have the punching power of a Repulsor, but their weight was enough to ring anyone's bell inside an armored helmet.

  Zukic ran out to the opposite hallway, tossing breaching charges on the walls, their putty backing made them stick.

  “Pulling back, they’re not happy,” Mark said.

  He and Niemi must have thrown out sensor sticks; Jerome could see the oncoming PAC’s halos through the cubicle he was squatting next to.

  “Contacts,” Sasaki said. Dooks was the better gunner, but with his Repulsor being funky, Jerome wanted him to have time to fix his gun if he needed to.

  So Sasaki, laying down under a desk, got to see the corridor running between the open area, school and offices, as well as the hallway that cut across their front and made their forward line.

  Jerome saw more red haloes appearing on his HUD, so he moved in between Dominguez and Sasaki, laying down and punching out a murder hole.

  He saw Mark and Niemi come bursting out of the opposing offices, most of the walls had been ripped apart showing the strewn offices in the other side. Mark and Niemi quickly got down and facing the direction that they’d come. Rounds ripped through the offices’ remaining walls and well above the prone Troopers.

  A few PACs ran out of rounds, Jerome only knew because of the metal storm rifles being thrown like javelins at where the PACs thought Mark and Niemi were.

  Fine motor skills in powered armor were atrocious, reloading was an absolute bitch and it seemed like the PACs didn’t even want to reload.

  They almost made it to the edge of the offices, and the breaching charges went off, throwing the armor back.

  No one needed to give an order, the entire line opened up on the PACs just twenty feet away.

  They were stunned and shocked seeing their buddies go down in their invincible armor. The real panic and anger set in after a few seconds, when more people started going down under the red-lines of tracers.

  The PA surged forward again, picking up momentum, and they were cut down in the tens. They had little to no cover and the Troopers could see them, even if they were hiding.

  “Blades!” Haas called.

  Jerome surged to his feet, grabbing his blade.

  Seconds later, a PAC came flying through the wall he’d been hiding behind. He was swinging his metal storm rifle like it was a club. Jerome moved to the side and cut at the PAC, blood staining their armor and his blade. Jerome moved in, slashing at the downed PAC, ending it by cutting through the PAC’s helmet.

  Another tried to jump on Jerome, but he turned in time, interposing his blade and letting them skewer themselves. He hit the ground, dust and debris thrown away by his weight and the weight of the PAC on top of him.

  He threw them off, but his blade was stuck and a PAC’s metal storm rounds were pinging off his armor.

  Jerome grabbed his Repulsor, swinging it on target to the PAC and opened fire. The rounds hammered into the PAC, cutting them down. Jerome stood over the PAC with his blade still in them, firing at the PACs as they charged.

  It was a melee of weapons fire, blades; hell, people were even punching one another in their powered armor and tumbling around the ground.

  Jerome didn’t see any more targets he could fire on without hitting one of his own people. He planted a boot in his old opponent’s breastplate and heaved his blade out.

  A PAC smashed into his side, sending Jerome sprawling. They hammered on Jerome frantically, and Jerome had lost his sword, holding his arms up trying to stop the PAC from breaking his helmet and then his head. “Risk it for the biscuit!” He slapped the floor with his servo enhanced strength, leaving dents in the floor. The PAC bastard had their legs around Jerome’s midriff. Instead of getting clear, Jerome was now the one on top.

  They hit one another frantically, both of them fighting to stay alive. Jerome felt something bang against his side.

  Repulsor!

  He threw himself sideways, grabbing the Repulsor. The PAC turned to face Jerome as Jerome pulled the trigger.

  The person was yelling. Jerome took mercy and shot upwards. Their screams stopped and Jerome got to his feet, grabbing his sword from nearby and charging into the fray. He could see more PACs coming from the hole they’d made in the floor. Right now, his platoon, barely a section all told, were between them and the rear echelon. The cafeteria was still a hundred meters in front. The armored company of Troopers was spread from there to two hundred meters in front of the main lines.

  There were no more defensive lines, the entire level was one big fray of fighting. There wasn’t any rear, meaning no fresh supplies could get in, or wounded out.

  Jerome hoped that they could hold long enough for the newly armored people from the maintenance pad to form up and storm through the lines.
>
  ***

  “Fuck,” Young said, looking at her screens.

  “What?” Yu focused on flying the Combat Shuttle, one heavy machine gun position seemed to go down and two more took their place. As long as the gunners survived, then they had dozens of positions to pick between. It was giving Yu a headache.

  “Bastards broke through the floor and are jumping up into the rear of the Troopers. There’s two sections of PA holding the PACs back, but they’re on borrowed time. I don’t see any firing solutions on the floor,” Young’s frustration was palpable.

  A new heavy machine gun tired to tag Combat Shuttle Three Seven Eight. Her new paint job was being broken in nicely, with an array of blast marks and weapon dents.

  The auto turrets reacted and fired on the position; Bobbie seemed to be using one to rake a floor as they went past.

  “What about the floor below?” Yu asked.

  “That’ll work, just dump missiles in, stop more getting in and reinforcing. Hopefully they can hold out for reinforcements,” Young said. She didn’t sound all that hopeful.

  “Well, let’s do what we can to help them out. I’ll get the cannons on the office space they’re coming out of, hopefully that’ll be enough,” Yu said, throwing them sideways, then banking hard right around a tower and pushing the throttle to the max to gun it out of the city.

  “You’ve got a minute,” he said, banking around and coming back at the city. He was supposed to have dropped his supplies and returned to Fearless. But everyone was well stocked for supplies and the Troopers needed a fire mission. If someone had a problem, they could court-martial him later.

  “I’m good to go,” Young said.

  “Loaded and ready,” Bobbie said. The turret rarely stopped firing, just switched targets, throwing tracers at the heavy machine gun’s competing lines.

  “Here we go,” Yu said, pushing the engines past their limits. They were always underrated by about twenty or thirty percent of their true high speed, but it burnt out their engines in a matter of hours instead of years. Reaching those top speeds required a handy little hack that all self-respecting Combat Shuttle crews knew.