“Affirmative,” answered the war bot again.
Masters was the second member of the team to reach the freight lift. Mimicking Wraith, he took up a position behind a shipping crate, concealed by shadows. “You’re fit, brother!”
Wraith gave an emotionless “Thanks,” and waited for the rest of the team to join.
Chhun was the next to glide into the darkened recesses of the warehouse dock, with the others trailing him at twenty-meter intervals.
“Nice work so far,” Chhun said over L-comm. “Any chatter over the comms we should be aware of?”
“Nothing that stands out,” Wraith said, checking the time he had left for his remaining missiles. Thirty minutes. Good. “There’s a general who was wounded in the first missile attack—Nero. Sounds like a big shot. Apparently they’re looking to take him to the moon, but having some trouble. We should dust him if the opportunity presents itself.”
“Copy that.”
“Otherwise, just reports from patrols looking for us—” Wraith stopped short as a series of loud, mechanical clanks came from the freight lift. It began to lower on its industrial repulsors, slowly sinking into the floor to reveal a dark shaft punctuated by consecutive rings of light, each one marking a new level.
“That’s probably not good,” Masters quipped.
Wraith put a hand up to his bucket, listening to transmissions. “Sounds like a patrol is heading this way.”
Without needing to be ordered, the legionnaires hid themselves even further in the shadows.
As the freight lift started its ascent back to their level. Chhun looked at the indicator light showing the lift’s progress. “Still three sub-levels down. You getting anything useful, Wraith?”
“Not a lot of talking. They’re definitely looking for us. Sounds like they’re going to patrol the grounds we just left before entering the warehouse dock.”
“We gonna dust ’em?” asked Bear.
“No,” Chhun said, shaking his head. “Keep back and out of sight. Don’t engage unless you have to. These range-bangers will be more useful to us alive and reporting that they haven’t seen us than dead. They’re doing ten-minute check-ins, same as we would in the Legion. We dust someone, and we’re leaving a calling card, so let’s avoid it until the last possible moment.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bear said. “I know. Just gettin’ the itch to drop these smug sons-of-eldritches for walking around like they own the place.”
“Always make ’em pay,” added Fish.
“Ooah.”
The indicator on the freight lift moved up again. Just one more level.
“You all know you’ll get your shots,” Chhun said. “But we make them count. Here they come.”
“Garret is saying he can isolate this particular squad’s comm channel,” Wraith whispered, though his bucket naturally kept the words from reaching the warehouse walls. “Patching it through…”
Slowly, like monsters emerging from the deep, the platform brought no less than eighteen shock troopers to the warehouse level. The lift stopped with an abrupt ka-klank as the hard brakes took over for the repulsors. The shock troopers lurched forward or to one side from the abrupt halt in momentum, taking a small step to steady themselves.
The packed-together soldiers were such a tempting target that Wraith worried the kill team would simply open up and dust them to the last man. But the kill team remained disciplined, keeping to the shadows, trusting their armor’s deflectors and heat bafflers to keep them invisible from whatever tech these shock troopers had in their buckets.
The glossy, black-armored troopers didn’t seem to suspect that the kill team would be anywhere this close. Hardly any of the eighteen ventured to look anywhere beyond what lay before them, and only a single soldier gave even a cursory check at the containers and freight staged in the shadows next to the freight lift.
“All right,” said one of the shock troopers over S-comm. “Blue Platoon, we’ve got conflicting orders. I want Second Squad to check out the generator blast zone. Look for survivors and secure the area until engineering can arrive and start repairs. First and Third Squads, form up on me and begin sweeps for the Republic kill team. Death to the Republic!”
“Death to the Republic!” answered the other shock troopers, and they took off, forming a fairly good impersonation of a squad of leejes on patrol.
And by the looks of them, it seemed that the shock troopers did indeed include a mix of the real deal—former legionnaires. Of course, they also had their share of pretenders; there was no shortage of those in the galaxy. Guys who lied about serving in the Legion—usually these were just support staff in the Repub Army—or guys who desperately wished they had joined the Legion if they could’ve done it all over again. And maybe Goth Sullus’s pitch had been just the opportunity they were looking for.
“Stinkin’ amateurs,” muttered Bear when the shock troopers had left the warehouse and were completely out of sight. “No way we would’ve missed who was around us if the roles were switched.”
“Yeah, well, don’t mind me for being glad they didn’t see us,” Masters answered. “Kind of nice not being shot at by almost twenty blaster rifles at close range.”
“Pssh. Like we wouldn’t have KTF’d ’em all before they got fingers on triggers.”
Masters inclined his head as though he was thinking. “Huh. Yeah, you’re right. We’d’ve dusted ’em all.”
“Black armor don’t make Dark Ops,” Chhun said, cautiously coming out from behind the skid of wrapped containers he’d hid behind. “But let’s not underestimate them all the same. The unknown enemy is the biggest threat, and we don’t really have any idea who it is we’re dealing with.”
Wraith cleared his throat. “If general comm reports aren’t propaganda, it sounds like these guys breached the eastern wall of Fortress Omicron. That means they’ve overpowered a company of legionnaires.” He had wondered whether or not to share this piece of information, but decided ultimately to do so, because like Chhun, he felt the team needed to stay sharp. Apart from the Intrepid failing to show up, things had all been easy thus far.
“Bet it wasn’t an even fight then,” Sticks said. “And I bet the boys on that moon made ’em pay for every inch.”
Wraith nodded. “Sounds like you’re right. But the moon is just about lost if the comm reports are true. They’re asking for General Nero to arrive and take command.”
Stepping onto the freight platform, Chhun said, “Then let’s get this super-destroyer drive rigged to blow up before whatever forces took the moon are sent down here.”
***
“Back so soon?”
The question from the shock trooper standing guard at the super-destroyer’s level was meant for someone other than a Republic kill team. It was transmitted over external speaker, as it was too banal to be worth adding to the already overtaxed S-comm, even on a squad-only channel.
This was all fine and good, and Chhun had expected that there’d be at least one sentinel guarding the freight lift at this level. They’d seen him from their descent, spying him through the opening at the bottom of their lift as it traversed from one level to the next. The guard had seen them too, had looked right at them, but the lighting he peered into would have made the kill team appear only as dark figures. Mere shadows. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it beyond wondering what the six-man squad had forgotten, or what new orders they’d been given that no one had bothered to inform him of.
But Chhun, having a situational awareness that the guard lacked, was ready. His kublaren tomahawk, a weapon that had served him well in the years since his teammate had gifted it to him, swung down in a blinding and furious arc. The shock trooper was taken so off guard that he didn’t even raise a hand to protect himself. The obsidian-like head of the war axe buried itself in the minute open space found where the helmet and shoulder pieces met. It dug through synthprene undersuit, flesh, muscle, and bone alike. It was a good, clean stroke, and Chhun was sure he’d managed to
break the soldier’s neck.
The man collapsed as though shot in head. Bear was there to catch the man’s body before it hit the floor. Not out of pity, but necessity. Armor crashing down onto the polished floors of build sub-level three would make noise, and the hallways and corridors might carry that noise to men listening for signs of infiltration.
A Republic kill team offered its enemy no such assistance.
Bear hoisted the deceased shock trooper up by his arms, and Masters picked up the man’s legs. Together they carried him out of view, making the truck bed of an unenclosed one-man repulsor sled into a burial tomb.
But the blood… Chhun marveled at how much blood a body could pour forth when savage, ancient weapons were used. When wounds weren’t cauterized by searing hot blaster bolts. When the life of a man simply… emptied.
And when that metronome finally stops, is that my fate? Do I just bleed out and fade to black?
It was only a matter of time, Chhun told himself. Too many years of warfare. Constant fighting before ramping things up by joining Dark Ops. The galaxy only had so much luck.
These thoughts came and went in an instant, a quickly recited monologue he’d learned by heart, rehearsing it again and again as he lay, unable to sleep, during the still times of the night. Words he’d learned so well that he no longer needed to say them to give them power. They were something he felt. Something he knew in the very core of his being.
But he would die a warrior. And Chhun felt fine about that. Wouldn’t want it any other way.
“Pike, buddy,” Chhun called over L-comm. “We’re inside. Almost there. Mission success looks probable.”
“Well that’s good,” answered Pike. “Because there’s no sign of anything helpful up there. Just a lot of ship-to-ship fighting lighting up the sky. You want me to stay put? I can make the hike and join you.”
“Negative. Stay in position for another ten minutes, then hike back to the ship. If this reactor blows, I don’t want you out in the open.”
“Copy. Pike out.”
The Dark Ops leejes re-formed around their team leader.
“Okay,” Chhun said. “Getting here should have been the hard part. So far, not so much. But there are no easy ops. Expect at least a platoon guarding this thing unless insurgent command is made up of complete idiots. Stay cold and KTF.”
“About time,” Bear said, a smile evident in his voice.
16
The kill team moved swiftly down the long corridor that led to the super-destroyer’s drive build. An advance creeper bot had already traversed this route before them, pinging back visuals of every room, every corner, every place shock troopers might be set up. It seemed that they would be all clear until they reached the room itself. The creeper bot sent back holo-pics of a platoon-sized force inside the room.
If that force locked itself in, the kill team would have to perform a breach, and go in with force. But so far the shock troopers didn’t seem to be taking up defensive positions. They looked more like a security element hanging around at the most volatile location of this particular sub-level, passing the time while the real fighting was done elsewhere. Still, regardless of how prepared they might be, they stood between Victory Squad and its objective. And they would pay for the distinction.
“Sounds like we lost our opportunity to dust General Nero,” Wraith informed the squad as they moved past glass partitions on either side of their corridor. The work stations on the other side were empty, all left just as they had been at the end of the previous day’s work.
“Any chance you can get one of those missiles of yours to shoot him down?” Chhun asked.
“Good idea. I’ll see if the Six can track the shuttle.” As the team moved ahead, Wraith paused and hailed his ship. “Leenah, this is Wraith. I’ve got something for you to do.”
There was no response.
“Repeat, this is Wraith. Leenah, what’s the holdup? Everything all right?”
Still nothing.
“Leenah? Do you copy?” Wraith felt a pang of worry. “Garret, do you copy? Hell, even Skrizz or the kid. Is anyone home?”
“Problems, Wraith?” Chhun asked over squad comm.
“Can’t reach the Six.”
Chhun considered. “Pike should be on his way back soon. Ask him to hail the ship.”
Wraith sent a signal to Pike. No answer from him either. “I’m getting nothing.”
“There must be too much interference from being in this sub-level. I’m thinking it’s shielded pretty well…”
“I hope so. My HUD says the link is a weak one. Maybe it’s just not enough for voice. I’ll try sending a text burst.”
“Don’t sweat it now,” Chhun said. “We’ll check into it when—Oh!”
A pair of shock troopers had just entered the corridor, walking in tandem as if patrolling together. They were only a couple of meters ahead of the kill team; had Victory Squad been any farther up the hall, the two sides would have bumped into each other.
Chhun and Fish were in the lead, with Masters and Bear behind and Sticks bringing up the rear. Chhun had his blaster up and double-tapped a pair of blaster bolts into the chest of the shock trooper in front of him. Fish, with his squad automatic blaster, wasn’t able to bring the heavier and longer weapon up as quickly. The shock trooper opposite him sent a scorching blast into his shoulder, sending Fish down with a painful shout of “Dammit!”
Before the shock trooper had a chance to line up a new target—even before Chhun had the opportunity to swing his own blaster rifle on the soldier—Bear threw himself into the man, sending him to the floor, rifle clattering away from the impact. The massive legionnaire reached down and wrapped both hands around the shock trooper, lifted the smaller man into the air, and hurled him like a refuse sack into a wall. The shock trooper hit hard against both wall and floor, then began to claw his way away from the behemoth.
“I’m not finished with you!” Bear bellowed. He grabbed the soldier by the back of his head, lifted him to his feet, and slammed the shock trooper’s head repeatedly into one of the heavy glass walls. It spidered and splintered from the impacts until the shock trooper’s helmet began to split.
Masters grabbed Bear by the arm. “Bear! Bear! It’s all right, man. Fish is fine, see?”
Fish was already getting to his feet. His armor had taken the brunt of the blast. “Yeah, dude. I’m okay.”
Bear nodded, as though the status of Fish wasn’t on his radar until that moment. He dropped the shock trooper to the floor.
The soldier pushed off his helmet and spit out a stream of saliva and blood. Bear wound up to kick the soldier in the head, but stopped short. “Parris?”
The shock trooper wheezed out something close to a confirmation.
Wraith caught up to the group, feeling perplexed at the way they all stood around the battered shock trooper. “Who’s Parris?”
“Dark Ops, man,” said Masters, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “We did some joint missions with him on one of the zhee worlds.”
Chhun looked down at the former comrade. “Parris, what’s going on?”
But the shock trooper was in no condition to talk. He held up a hand as if to ask for some time, then coughed and spat out more blood.
Looking down at the man called Parris, Wraith said, “Well… bad choice.” He held out his NK-4 in one hand and fired a single shot into the shock trooper’s head.
The other legionnaires looked at Wraith, and even though their buckets were on, he could tell they were stunned by what he’d just done. He shouldered his way through them. It was the enemy or him, as always. “C’mon,” he said. “Rest of the shock troopers know we’re here. Not much time now.”
The kill team followed. Because, in spite of what was or what might have been, their job was to KTF.
***
With the kill team stacked and ready, Wraith gave a series of verbal commands inside the solitude of his bucket. “Missile two, clone course of
missile one.”
Gnawing at the pit of his stomach was the fact that no one from the crew had responded to his text. The shielding down here was really interfering with the link, so he was probably worrying over nothing, but still. If he couldn’t reach them once he was out of this sub-level, he’d contact the ship’s AI directly—much as he hated conversing with that little twerp. For now, the mission required his focus.
“Impact in fifty seconds,” the missile’s AI responded, its voice using the usual polite, slightly accented feminine tone common to most if not all artificial intelligences. These could be changed, but for whatever reason, this had been the standard for as long as anyone could remember.
“Missile three, set course for one of the construction spires, preferably one with a corvette in dock. Target for maximum structural damage.”
“Request confirmed. Impact in forty-nine seconds. Query: Would not more damage be done by impacting a populated living center inhabited by humanoids?”
Wraith’s face blanched. This was why you didn’t provide so functional a level of AI to warheads.
“Uh, no.”
“Very well,” the missile replied.
“Okay,” Wraith reported over the squad’s L-comm, “missiles are on their way. Any luck and we’ll take out a few more shock troopers with them.”
“Everyone knows the plan,” Chhun said from his place at the head of stack. “Fraggers after the first explosion, go in hard after the second missile hits.”
It was another stroke of spectacular luck that, in spite of the shooting, the shock troopers guarding the super-destroyer’s drive hadn’t left their posts. Whether because of orders, or just because they were unaware of what was happening outside, it boded well for Victory Squad. The team excelled when on the offense, overwhelming opponents through ferocious, irresistible violence.
A HUD-assist showing the ETA to the missile strikes superimposed itself on the interior visors of the kill team. As the seconds counted down, the kill team steadied itself for impact. There was no way to be sure just how much they’d feel a second hit on the primary generators here on their sub-level, but S-comm chatter suggested that the first missile had been felt throughout the shipyards. The legionnaires needed to use the seconds after the impact to add more chaos through fraggers and ear-poppers. So they would be prepared.
Sword of the Legion (Galaxy's Edge Book 5) Page 13
