“Ah shit, sorry Che,” Tyler said.
“You know what’s going on better than I do. I’m fine with the demotion. I would have suggested it. I’ve been promised that when we get a few more sets of powered armor that I’m going to get my platoon back and you’re going to get your shot at being a Sergeant Major, you’ll have to compete for it though. You triple twos are rank climbing monkeys if I ever did see,” she said with a grin that belied any harsh intent.
“Thank you Che, we do try our best,” Tyler grinned. “When will you be ready?”
“Ten minutes. We’re gonna have some pissed off people, but we need this to work, people’s egos can get fucked,” Che said, her eyes hard and unwavering.
“Good to hear,” Tyler said, looking back to Alexis who was listening to the exchange.
“Now do you mind getting off me, my little limpet?” Tyler asked her.
“Fiine, but you owe me dinner,” she said, her eyes thinning.
“Okay.” He tried to make it sound like a chore, but was smiling all the same. She punched his armor, her face turning serious.
“How is Mark?” Alexis asked as Che left them to go get the armor sorted.
“I don’t know,” Tyler said, the words heavy on his soul. Mark’s condition worried him. He was driven, he’d always been driven, but now he was cold. He’d joked before, and he’d always had something soft under that rough exterior. Now, there was something haunting in his eyes. It was as if he had seen something that had taken his soul and twisted it into something nasty and dark.
“You think he’ll be okay?” Alexis said, worry in her voice; she cared for Mark deeply.
“I don’t think it’s something we can help.”
Alexis could read the emotions in his eyes and face as surely as he could read them in hers. Her lips pressed together in a worried white line as she looked away. “We’ll help him where we can.”
“Yeah,” Tyler said, wishing that there was something that he could do to alleviate some of the pain his brother was going through.
Mark, seemingly summoned by their words, stalked into the room. There was a heaviness to his actions, and a predatory way that he looked at everyone and everything. Tyler hadn’t noticed it before. He knew his brother was a killer, Tyler was too. But the cold look in his eyes was of someone who had seen so much death that they had become immune to it. Tyler had seen it a few times, and it was the kind of look that scared a man to the core.
Osdal had changed Mark.
“Hey Alexis, got you your party-going outfit. Shuttle lift in fifteen,” Mark said, setting the armor down next to a pallet of supplies. It was open and waiting for a user.
“Thanks Mark,” she said with a smile.
A touch of something warm opened his features as he nodded to her, a slight smile on his lips. “I’ll see you two later.” His helmet swung shut and locked as he turned and made for the doorway again.
Alexis and Tyler shared a worried glance.
“We look after our own,” Alexis said, kissing Tyler’s cheek and getting into the armor. The panels closed around her and started locking together.
“Lee, you’re good with everything around here?” she asked an armored Trooper who was moving his hands in a way only someone using their implants would.
“I’ll be fine, Warrant. The Major’s aide’s contacted me saying that they needed you for a mission.”
“Thanks Lee.”
“No worries Victor, good luck.” His hands were moving before the last word left his lips.
***
The flight to the maintenance pad had been fast. Figuring out how to get the conveyor running was a pain but they got it working eventually.
Jerome was the first section at the front of the belt. The belt was ten feet wide and ran from the refining station to the city.
There was little to do but sit back and wait, hoping that no one started looking too closely at the refined ingots that were coming out of the refinery. Jerome stayed down not moving an inch, just talking to his section, getting to know them as they rolled past the kilometers. Diggers were still edging out of the ground here and there, but none of them were actively throwing themselves out of the ground now.
“I see the ramp down,” Jerome said after some time. The towers were a hell of a lot closer and the conveyor belt was sloping down and under the city.
He tensed as they went down. It was dark underground, but his powered armor made up for the lack of light, giving the area he was in a greenish glow.
“Up and at ‘em,” Jerome said, getting to his feet. He jumped and rolled, losing the momentum of the speeding conveyor. He got up a little dizzier than before but none the less worse for wear. Another section jumped off of the conveyor on the other side.
Jerome pushed up a fire team made of Feng and Av. They moved for the only door nearby, and Jerome was pointed down the length of the platform.
“Good, no sign of Chosen. Dropping censors and rigging the door,” Feng said.
“Understood. The rest of you fan out, we’ll move in extended line up the platform, the section below will clear the doors as we pass them,” Jerome said, including Hama, the Sergeant of four’s section who was right behind him.
A green light showed that Hama got the message as he flicked off the channel, probably talking to his own people. They advanced, a platoon on either side clearing up the platform and checking doors. They made quick progress, heading for the doors that would take them up to their targets. The powered armor made the few kilometers disappear.
There were three doors, each getting a platoon’s attention. A tower could easily take in an entire force and spit back out a platoon, that’s just how urban ops went. Their job was to hit hard and fast, then fuck off to the next target.
Then, somehow, get to one of the towers that the Chosen have left behind and get the fuck out of here.
The plan had a few flaws, but if they got these chargers then the PACs should be fucked. The AMRs had been blasting solar panels for the last couple of days, all the Chosen had left should be their emergency batteries.
“Execute,” Lieutenant Sook said.
Jaz’s section was quick and efficient in their movements. They made through the floors quickly to the lobby, and red haloes started appearing. The red haloes were removed and Jerome saw that Mark and Sasaki were among them.
Jerome followed up behind, the platoon moving to the cryo bunker. The first red halos looked like they had been cut down by Vibra-Blades instead of much louder Repulsors.
The first weapon fired, and the platoon continued to advance. Jerome’s section stayed back in the lobby to make sure they had a clean escape.
The cryo-bunker was separate from the conveyor belt access point, with only one way in and out.
There was more muffled shooting in the bunker. Hama’s section was sent back out to assist Jerome’s because the Chosen, if they were around, had heard them by now. It didn’t take long for someone to show up; unfortunately, those someone’s were PACs.
Jerome didn’t hesitate, opening fire on the PACs, and the rest of his section added in their fire. Hama kept his section back, ready to be deployed if necessary but not wasting rounds.
Jerome’s people knew how to shoot, and their Repulsors took the PACs down quickly as they came around the corner. Jerome heard a deep thump of explosions in the distance and checked his HUD, the rest of the platoon was pulling back.
“Jerome, Hama, hold position, cover the rest of the section out,” Kumer said.
Jerome greened up, his section were firing in sequence so there were always rounds hitting the target, but they weren’t all firing at the same time.
The two sections moved past them, and someone tossed a grenade in the general area where the PACs were coming from. Three or four PACs ran out, getting cut down.
The grenade went off, crap coming out of where it had gone off, and Hama’s section pulled back to the conveyor belt access.
“Peel back,” Jerome order
ed. His people were waiting for it; in fire teams they ran back a distance, turned and fired on the point where the PACs were coming from.
PACs appeared, but there was always someone waiting for them. The cocky armored up bastards were cut down. People seemed to be getting the idea that there was a threat downstairs.
Jerome shut the door behind him tossing mines all over the place.
“Move it Troopers, got more battery stores to fuck with!” Mark sounded almost happy.
The Troopers got moving to their next target.
“Hama, Jerome, your section’s on me, we’re splitting the platoon to hit more targets,” Mark said a few moments later, and they were sprinting on the platform, their weapons up and ready for threats to their front.
“Understood,” Jerome and Hama said.
“We’re working with four section, we’ll be splitting off from two and three with Mark,” Jerome said. Saying Warrant Mark sounded weird as hell.
Green lights came back on Jerome’s screen, his people were dialed in and on mission. Hama was on point, leading the way up the stairs.
“Blades if you can,” Mark said.
Jerome checked his blade, and Hama gained access to the lobby, same as the last one, except a bit bigger, and it was clear. Jerome still stayed to make sure they could exit.
There wasn’t any gunfire, just the noise of a charge going off and Hama’s section booking it back to Jerome. They merged, ran back to the tunnels and Jerome peeled after them.
For two more towers it went that way.
The third time, Jerome was on point.
He heard a noise in the lobby and readied his sword, preparing to take down the Chosen with a quick execution. As he turned the corner, he found Chosen sleeping, eating and hanging out around their powered armor units, which were stuck into charging cradles.
The Chosen seemed to look at him in alarm; his armor was different to theirs and his name was carved into his breastplate, not something the Chosen did.
“Contact,” Jerome yelled, hugging the wall and opening fire.
Dooks took over, getting people into firing positions on the access point into the lobby. It was a slaughter. Hama moved around the back of Jerome, moving to the other access to the lobby, closer to the stairs that would lead to the bunker.
They ran into the lobby, firing at the Chosen. Already Jerome’s section’s fire was slackening, and the Chosen were dead or dying.
“Dooks, get a detail together, start hauling those things towards the bunker, then lock the thing down once Hama’s done,” Mark said.
Hama showed some red contacts, but a few bursts of weapon fire and they were no more. Jerome had four of his section on security, the other six were helping Dooks grab powered armor, tossing it to one another and into the bunker.
PACs showed up, and got hosed by Jerome’s people on watch.
It seemed to call the bloodhounds, as more charged down the halls. Jerome’s people didn’t stop firing as they concentrated their fire, only shifting targets when their tracers were rattling around the first targets’ armor.
In the long corridor it was a bloodbath.
They didn’t have time to sit around hitting their objectives was more important than killing the Chosen right now.
Hama and Dooks finished their labor and they filed back into the conveyor belt areas.
“We’re grouping together and hitting central tower, the hope is that we can get control of the computer systems and control the rest of the city,” Mark said.
If you could get to a tower you could control it, and only it. If you got to the central tower of a city, you could control the entire thing. The lockouts were on the first floor, right in the middle of hundreds of Chosen that used the central tower as their barracks, and were trying to kill the Troopers above.
Well, shit.
***
Mark’s three platoon were to the rear, two was ahead, and one platoon was up in front. All of them were running full out along the platforms.
The first PACs made it into the conveyor area behind the Troopers. Mark didn’t need to say anything, Jaz’s three section turned and fired on them.
“Covering!” Dominguez yelled out as her section fired past Jaz’s section.
Hama’s fourth planted, three section running past them and giving them clear sight.
“Covering!” Hama barked, his section firing.
“Moving!” Dominguez said, her section running back. So it went, the sections covering one another and running, their fire keeping the PACs back.
Most of the PACs still not used to being affected in their powered armor ran into the fire, and were getting cut down. They were learning though, and too fast for Mark’s liking.
“Two platoon is making entry,” Mark called out, passing information to his Troopers.
“Keep moving and keep that fire up,” Kumer added.
It was a slow process, pulling back and keeping the pressure up on the PACs. They were firing their metal storm rifles, but they didn’t have the power to get through the Troopers’ additional armor.
Mark could see that they were already under contact, and even the lower areas of the building were a hectic mess of Chosen.
“Any combat shuttle, this is Captain Sook requesting fire support mission on these coordinates,” Mark heard the conversation, but didn’t see where she wanted the air support to come in.
“Understood Captain, inbound on your position, hold out,” a pilot replied.
“One section hold your position, three get up next to them. Four and two be ready to assist,” Kumer said. The sections made two lines, firing at the PACs that were still rushing them.
Someone in three section got winged in their shoulder joint. The section behind was already pulling them out and looking at the damage. Mark could tell from the readings that as long as the Trooper wasn’t wounded then they should be good to go. They would need to cut the helmet off though.
There was a rumbling from above as heavy ordinance hit the tower, and Mark was thankful he was under the tower instead of at its peak.
“Move in!” Captain Sook barked.
“Three section move up, mine the area behind you,” Haas added.
“Two, four section, get moving, Mark coordinate, tell me when you’re clear,” Kumer said.
“Sir!” Two and Four Section followed Mark and up the stairs. “Clear!”
“Coming in!” Kumer said, and the rest of the platoon rushed in. Jerome’s section stayed in the rear, tossing down mines to make whoever came in behind them have a very nasty day.
Mark continued up after two and four platoon.
The lobby and the first floor were chaos. There were Troopers and PACs everywhere, the Troopers were in firing lines holding the PACs back, and slaughtering the Chosen not in PA.
Tracers ripped through the twenty or so meters between people. Troopers were falling, not even their armor could withstand that much firepower so close. Joints were being wrecked and people were fighting with whatever was still functional.
Two and four section made to reinforce one platoon and, just as they pulled out their blades, the PACs hurled themselves at the lines. Their fists caved in armor, but so did the Troopers’.
Vibra swords came free and it turned into a violent frenzy of hammering on one another’s armored shells or plunging a blade into them to try and kill the human inside.
Mark fired on the PACs closest to him, pushing some of them back. He got hit by a fist, sending him tumbling, and ripping his Repulsor’s ammunition feed.
He threw the weapon away and grabbed his blade, rushing his attacker, and they punched him again, but he buried his sword in their gut and pulled it upwards.
He turned, letting the PAC fall, punching another PAC in the face.
They rocked back with the vicious attack and Mark sliced across their front, opening their ribcage and dropping them to the ground.
The melee on the first floor didn’t look anything like a modern battle, it look
ed like a medieval battle of armor hammering on one another until the enemy gave in.
Vibra swords were a clear advantage, slicing through the armor instead of just denting it.
A PAC tackled him from the side, and it felt like a Combat Shuttle had run into him. The breath went out of him as he felt his ribs crack against the armor. He hit the ground, his head fuzzy from the impact. There was no time to recover as the PAC mounted him.
Blows raining on his armor, denting it. Mark used his left arm, hammering on the bastard’s knee. The PAC just continued to hit his forearm, not even the joint. His instincts were taking over rather than his brain.
Mark broke through the armor and smashed the PAC’s kneecap. They stopped beating on him, moving to protect their knee. Mark grabbed their helmet, viciously chopping into their neck-helmet joint, powered by the frenzy of survival. The PAC hit on him again, panicked now, but unable to land any good hits.
Blood fell on Mark’s helmet and the PAC went limp as his hand broke through the join and pierced the Chosen’s neck.
Mark tossed the PAC away, bashing into another PAC that was winding up their attack and grabbing his blade again.
They came in again and Mark slapped them away, the PA turning them. He stabbed with his blade, catching them in the helmet and pulling out quickly, their lifeless body dropping to the ground.
There was a rumbling explosion, and Mark knew that it was the cryo-bunker being hit with chargers.
Mark shook off the pain, his augments giving him a perfect mix of chemicals to keep him in top fighting condition. Then he checked his platoon; five were dead, four wounded, and Kumer was one of the dead, making him platoon commander.
Fuck.
“Jerome, I want a casualty area where the command center is, see that the wounded get there. Dominguez, I want you covering the lobby, Jaz assist. Hama, you’re reserve,” Mark said, giving his section’s tasks as he looked at the battle. The other platoons were fighting in a rough circle around the command center, one taking the pressure off two as they returned from their tasks.
Osdal (Harmony War Series Book 3) Page 29
