"The time has come," he said, pushed up from where he had laid prone, and jogged to his mech that he’d left in a crouched position. "Release the blimp."
Once he’d climbed into his Argonaut, he kept it low as he advanced to the hilltop once more. This section of mountainous terrain had shielded their advance thus far, but it was the last cover they would have until they reached the spire.
Which, of course, was the purpose of the Zeppelin and the reason why they’d put so much time and effort into it. They needed it to create cover where there was none.
The Prophet looked into his scanners and scowled. "I said to release the blimp. Why is it still grounded?"
There was no immediate answer and he glanced at where it was buffeted by the wind.
"We can't release it under these high winds," someone finally shouted. From their accent, it was one of the Auburn rebels. "Otherwise, it'll drift out into the open and could take hours to bring on track again."
They were right and that would be disastrous. It didn't mean he had to like it, though. Waiting for conditions to become favorable wasn't how he was built. He had always advocated the benefits of a speedy assault and the ability to maintain the speed and agility required to advance and retreat continually to sting the enemy a hundred times until they died.
But that wouldn’t work against this enemy.
"Patience…is a virtue," he muttered aloud in an effort to calm himself.
The wind gauge on the Argonaut confirmed that they were dealing with gusts that blew at almost a hundred kilometers an hour. With the open grassland all around them, they wouldn’t find any advantage to it until it shifted to blow from the direction of the rock formation they used for cover.
"Come on, come on," he whispered.
"What was that?"
The Prophet realized his comm lines were open and cleared his throat. "Nothing. What's the status on the blimp?"
There was no response again, but he was more than able to judge the situation for himself. The group comprised at least two dozen—some in mechs and some not—but all now struggled to hold it in place. They had set up a series of ropes and anchors in the ground to facilitate this but even so, they fought an ongoing battle against the gusting wind.
He turned his mic off but continued to listen to the communication between his people. They were all anxious to enter combat but once they initiated their final march, they would have to impose radio silence during their attack. It wasn't likely, but the possibility that the people in the artillery mechs at the top of the spire would be able to triangulate their position despite the chaff release was too high.
Coordination was key, and they had spent hours running over the details during the day to plan their assault as meticulously as they could.
With that done, all that remained was to hope that nothing went wrong.
He studied the wind gauge with barely harnessed impatience. The speed didn't decrease but the angle shifted slowly to finally reach a trajectory toward the spire.
Surprisingly, the velocity slowed and seemed to settle into a steady and fairly substantial drift toward the target with none of the unpredictable gusts that would have caused significant interference.
He turned his mic on. "The winds are down. Release!"
His team released the mooring ropes and the balloon elevated smoothly. When it reached its optimal altitude, the rotors engaged to work with the wind and it began to surge forward. It looked almost impossibly slow but gained speed and advanced steadily toward the spire.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
While a clever idea, it remained an enormous gamble. The artillery guns would have no problem eliminating the blimp in mid-flight if they wanted to, and that would massively stall the assault while they tried to find another way to neutralize the defenses. The absence of an existing alternative plan was a reminder that they had no other options, to begin with.
But, as Robert7 had pointed out, the defenders believed that the blimp had been destroyed in the battle and therefore that they were the only ones who possessed any. It might seem a slim advantage, but not when added to their inevitable assumption that their trap had worked and no more enemies were left to defy their dominance of the area. Together, these would lead them to think there was no way someone would attempt a frontal assault.
They had good reason to believe that, obviously, and therein lay the gamble. One single question as to why a blimp had appeared on their radar, even in the strong winds, would lead to a challenge and that would be the end of it.
But the Desert Warriors and their allies would find a way through. They had to. He would not allow failure to plague him, not again.
The Zeppelin continued its progress and its speed increased as it glided a little higher as well. He had previously considered the possibility of using the cloud cover to hide its advance, but that would have delayed their attack further since they would have needed to start from kilometers away to allow it to gain sufficient altitude. Besides, cloud cover wasn't something they could rely on.
The Prophet pushed these futile what-ifs from his mind and focused on the fact that the die was cast. The people manning the guns could see it by now, and if they intended to fire, it would happen soon. He tensed in his Argonaut's cockpit but try as he might, he couldn't see any way to calm himself. His body and mind had been ready for a fight for what seemed like hours and he’d chafed during the long wait for the right conditions.
The seconds ticked past and the balloon continued to move. He could discern no sign of the cannon barrels moving to engage their new target or that any kind of alarm had been raised about an attack.
He could barely believe that their plan seemed to have fallen so easily into place. Of course, it wasn’t complete yet and all he could do was hope—and maybe pray—to push the blimp a few hundred more meters into its firing range.
His mouth was dry and the blood thumped in his ears as it finally moved into position directly over the spire.
The seconds ticked past and its speed decreased when the rotors turned off. It was time to fire.
When the expected response failed to materialize, he scowled.
"Why haven’t you fired?" he demanded over the comms he opened to the people who controlled it.
"We're trying," one of the pilots answered. "There's something wrong with the trigger."
He cursed his fucking luck. Had they not checked the trigger mechanism beforehand, or had something been destabilized during the short flight?
"Shit," he snapped while he tried to think of some way to drop the chaff despite the technical failure. It would need to happen soon since the wind had already begun to push against the side of the blimp and force it to the left and away from its attack position. "I think if we maybe have someone who can shoot that far…"
His voice trailed off as a small cheer erupted from his people. There was enough of a response to indicate that something positive had happened, and he turned quickly to identify the reason for their jubilation.
The blimp had been pushed slightly out of position but it didn't quite matter at this point. The cloud of chaff had already been released over the spire. He had talked to the people who controlled it and they would turn it to try to deliver weather damage. The reasoning was that even if it was shot down, it would draw fire away from the real attack.
Speaking of which, it was time for the Desert Warriors to act.
They chose not to use their horns this time. As much as the Prophet appreciated the psychological effect it had on their enemies, it was simply a bad idea to announce this particular assault. The cannons could still see well enough, even if their radars were down.
He delivered the order on their commlinks and made a dual statement to command them to advance as well as initiate radio silence from this moment forward until they engaged fully with the defenders.
The Prophet moved out first and his lieutenants fell in beside him while the others assumed battle formation behind them and they began the charg
e. The troops included a mixture of the mechs the Desert Warriors were known for, the colors reminiscent of the desert and spikes jutting from their armor. A number of rebels had joined them as well. The mechs they used were mostly those that had been recovered from both sides after the battle in Auburn. The Knights had left a few functional mechs behind and a few others that needed minor repairs.
It was, he decided, an army. There was no other word for it, and he could appreciate the support as they raced forward. The larger Argonauts couldn't run properly, but the longer strides did allow them to keep up with the smaller, lighter mechs, at least over the open ground.
Their numbers and sudden movement were enough to capture the attention of the people who manned the defenses. When they were about five hundred meters from the spire, he could hear that alarms had been triggered inside. The cannons at the top began to swivel to aim at the attackers, but they looked uncoordinated and leaned to the side and almost intersected with the others. They would no doubt open fire, but they would effectively be blind.
Despite that assurance, it was still daunting given the sheer size of the weapons and the devastation they could deliver.
Even from a significant distance, the grinding whirr was clearly audible as each cannon powered. This was followed by a thump as the five-kilogram rounds were launched with enough force to make an impact that shook the ground all around like an earthquake. The warriors already knew to remain in a wide, loose formation, and the first volley missed. They overshot the attacking mechs and only one shot landed inside their ranks. Fortunately, it was too far from any of them to deal any real damage.
The sheer impact was still a sobering thought, and the Prophet pushed his mech a little faster.
The next volley seemed a little more coordinated. They had abandoned trying to aim by sight and now focused on suppressing fire in selected locations in an effort to disrupt the charge.
They were still firing blind, however, and the signal went up among the warriors. The mechs at the back fired flares that arced into the sky and slowly descended as the second volley was launched. The bait was taken, at least partially, and most of the rounds were aimed much higher than they should have been to be effective.
A few struck home, however. The Desert Warriors drew back from a crater that had suddenly materialized in front of them, and one of the Auburn rebels was all but obliterated when one of the rounds found him.
The Prophet hadn't expected to reach the spire without taking casualties, but every man or woman lost would be painful to watch. He steeled himself and pushed forward. It was foolish to even imagine that they could accomplish their assault without losses but at the same time, he was also forced to acknowledge that each and every fighter was needed if they expected to break into the city.
Their plans had been partly based on the reasoning that their group would be practically unreachable by the mechs above the spire when they came too close. At a certain distance, the cannons wouldn’t be able to swivel enough to target them.
It appeared that the defenders agreed. The firing slowed as they continued to advance and when they were about fifty meters away from the entrance, the gates opened slowly and mechs rushed out to set up defensive positions.
"So, it begins," the Prophet stated. He lifted the radio silence, let his warriors form up a little closer, and pressed forward.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
It occurred to him that they would miss Hammerhand's shield in this assault. With it, they would have been able to push in behind the barrier and time their volleys for the few moments when it dropped. The Knights had shown how effective the tactic was time and time again.
But there was no point in crying over missing tactical necessities. They would have to make do, something the Desert Warriors were extremely capable of.
The mechs that had brought up the rear suddenly rushed to the front. They carried heavy loads on their backs, and as the defending forces opened fire, they dropped their burdens in front of them. A couple more moved in on either side, pulled out what looked like large steel bars, and opened them into massive steel sheets.
It wasn't the same as Hammerhand's shield, but at least it would protect more mechs as they surged forward. The smaller rounds all ricocheted off the newly constructed shields, but the larger shots powered by the Guardians in the defense left dents and even broke through, although they also fired blind at this point.
Tinker had, fortunately, left a wide variety of interesting weapons and gadgets in his Beast, and with the help of Jessica13, they had been able to determine what each was for or at least what it could be used for in a fight.
The distance between the two lines diminished and finally, the shields pressed into the defending mechs. They weren't pushed back but they didn't need to be. The Desert Warriors, equipped with swords and buzz saws, shoved through the gaps of the shields or, with help from the support mechs, were able to vault over them. Showers of sparks erupted as the warriors unleashed a determined assault.
The defenders tried to withdraw from their outer defensive position and retreat behind the gates where they could work from cover as well.
The Prophet and his two lieutenants thrust closer to the shields and two of the support mechs shifted the barriers to create an opening for them to push through. They opened fire and the depleted uranium slugs punched easily through the armor of the assault mechs that attempted to pull back.
The defenders retaliated, but the Prophet barely felt any of the rounds they used. All were unable to penetrate the heavier armor he and his troops wore.
Those Desert Warriors who had melee weapons converged on the heavy mechs that had remained to try to hold the outer defense. They looked like ants crawling over the heavier mechs as they sliced and hacked chunks of their armor off and dragged them free before they struck at the vital sections.
It was accomplished quickly, the kind of work the Desert Warriors were more than capable of performing. They were in their element now and their coordination and skill definitely outclassed those who hadn't been prepared for the attack.
The order to retreat became obvious when those who had survived turned and withdrew behind the gates they had emerged from. It was clear that they hadn't expected someone to breach the defenses that had been set up. There was no other explanation for how unprepared they were.
Fortunately, their unreadiness worked to the warriors’ advantage. The Prophet reloaded his rifle and continued to fire at selected targets among those that had already turned away from the fight. He maintained a slow but steady rhythm to add to their casualties as much as he could in the time he had available to him.
The defenders retreated into a larger chamber that was already protected by the spire structure. A number of mech-sized elevators would most likely allow them to return to where they had come from. From the way they ignored the damage and focused on pushing clear of the battle, the Prophet knew it was in his army’s best interest to prevent them from reaching their destination.
He highlighted the location while the support mechs retrieved the shield to allow their full troop to attack as one. They surged forward and pounded into the lines of the mechs that had defended the gate. He was at the front, together with his lieutenants, and they drove hard into their lines and punched holes in their armor for the buzz saw fighters to take them apart for scrap metal.
The lack of coordination among the defenders was their downfall. The Desert Warriors decimated their ranks in a concerted push toward the back lines. They eliminated the support mechs as they churned over their fallen comrades in an effort to get over them. Most failed, and the carnage slowed the retreat to the point where the invading force was able to defeat them all.
A small cheer of victory issued from the group as the last enemy mech fell from the group they had engaged. The Prophet and his forces knew this wasn’t the last of the defenders. They were probably only the first wave, the immediate response while the others prepared better defenses.
St
ill, a partial victory was better than what they had endured on their first attempt.
"Gather the wounded!" he shouted, anxious to resume his men's formation lest they be caught unawares. "Reload and make what repairs can be done quickly."
Those who needed to remain behind did so while the rest entered the elevators. He knew it wouldn't be quite as simple as walking into the city. The element of surprise was long gone, and all they could do was steel themselves for what was likely being prepared for them below.
The larger mechs pushed forward and the shields were placed at the front to provide some cover to work from. The elevator doors slid shut and they began to descend.
It was a long and slow journey into the earth. Robert7 had said that it was almost a hundred meters and the elevators couldn’t cover that distance in the kind of speed he would prefer.
Still, they seemed to move more sluggishly than expected. He looked at the mechanism and scowled as the system seemed to slow even further until eventually, they ground to a halt about thirty meters down the hundred-meter drop.
"They've done something to the mechanism from down there," the Prophet surmised and tapped his foot on the door in front of him. "We'll have to find another way down. Buzz saws, you know what to do."
Those who had the weapon in hand immediately worked together to cut a hole in the elevator large enough for the mechs to climb through. Another group opened sections of the top and used grapplers to provide cables to climb down with. It was quick work and something they had done before. It wasn't long before the first group of five proceeded down the cables.
They moved quickly and only slowed once they were close to the bottom. When they did, they were fired upon immediately. A couple were dropped and their mechs caught fire.
The others managed to take cover in the small chamber, while more of the Desert Warriors followed with shields held level to support their attack. The Prophet elected to move after the next group, clamped hold of the cables, and rushed to the bottom where his troops rallied and positioned themselves to allow space for more of their numbers to enter the next level.
Bulletfoot One Page 70
