“Whoever gets me one of his people alive I'll give them a percent of mine,” Kelu said as he slumped into his chair, a screen flashing at him.
Kelu snarled at the report as he looked to the syndicate troops.
“Get Captain Shanuolr's troops moving, or I'll take his share from him. Tell the other captains that if they hold their troops back, or they don't have the motivation, to move forward, I'll take all of their shares,”
“Yes Captain!” Urlow said. After this I'm going to get him his own ship, I need more competent people in my personal fleet, Kelu thought before turning back to the bloody battle.
Those that run were being hammered by PRC's on the station's surface. The sheer size of the station made it hard to take them all out, but eventually he would get all those damned cannons.
A corvette flying too high was torn into by tens of PDS, it dove, it's pilot overcompensating and sending the craft into Parnmal. The corvette crumpled into a rolling fireball and shredded parts.
After this there might be a few ships without Captains. Kelu's eyes drifted to the broken, dead or dying Syndicate hulks which continued on their doomed courses, their weapons and engines dead, some smashed into Parnmal, others hit asteroids. Any that showed life were hammered into noting by PRC's.
***
Grenades were the biggest problem for Henry right now. The Syndicates had gotten into the swing of using grenades to clear out obstructions such as his weapon systems littered across the station. They were also using them to great effect against the third line defences.
I'm going to have to use my Commandos sooner than I thought.
He needed to slow the Syndicate forces, and if his commanders timed the conflicts right then their people could rest and resupply in between battles, while the Syndicate had no time to recover.
“I'm going to need you and your commandos to engage the Syndicate forces sooner than we originally thought,” Henry said over the command channel. “I want you to prepare to engage them on fourth line defences.” People greened up as Henry noticed a commotion from the Commandos around him. Commandos moved out of the way for a distinct mecha.
“What are you doing here?” Henry demanded, looking to James' security detail.
Salchar checked his hair wouldn't fly free from its leather tie, chewing his gum, his face hard. Without looking Krom gave him his helmet and he sealed it, the face plate open.
“More use fighting then sitting up there,” he said as Henry saw a staff twirl in it's wielders hands. People moved out of Monk's way as he stood beside Salchar.
“Akatski has everything in hand,” Monk said as he rested on his staff. Monk's mecha was heavily armored, with a powerful Avarian exoskeleton. Even with the awkward extra size, Monk moved in it with ease. Salchar's was similarly massive due to the exoskeleton, but it had less armor in areas to provide greater mobility.
“You two are essential to the Fleet,” Henry said, wishing that Salchar's powered armor had a bit more armor to it.
“Every person in the Free Fleet is essential to it,” Salchar said. “We were just sitting up there getting in people's way. Use us. We're pretty good at taking orders still.” Krom's snort seemed to disagree with Salchar's words.
Henry was distinctly unhappy with the entire thing, but he knew there was no deterring Salchar once he had made up his mind.
Plus if the Syndicates overrun us it won't matter who someone is.
“Alright, you stubborn bastards. You'll be under Shminkt,” Henry said, knowing it was a bad idea as soon as the words had left his mouth, but also knowing that they'd take no less.
“Thank you, Henry,” Salchar said grinning, turning to go find Shminkt and his company.
Indicators started appearing on Henry's screen as Commandos started pulling back to fourth line. He pressed icons on his data pad connecting him to different units.
“Pull back to fourth line,” he said. As he cut the channel, units that had been waiting now met up with their fellow Commando's, preparing to engage the Syndicate. Hopefully they could slow and bleed them enough.
Henry's moved the massive battle-axe in his one-hand flipping and turning it absently. Salchar and Monk weren't the only ones using Avarian sized powered armor.
***
Falesh was altogether done with running around and finding booby traps in the rooms, hallways and waiting at every corner. He now had only thirty people doing as he said, his turnover rate had grown to almost four hundred percent.
The weight of the extra gravities made him sluggish, tired and pissed off as he gasped for air. Fighting these bastards was like fighting an invisible enemy. They'd gotten to a corridor that ran through a large open area and finally met their enemy. They'd had shield generators inside the station, which was something that Falesh had never seen or heard of before, and three weapon systems firing continuously. There was always one firing and at least one ready.
“General, from what I've seen these guys are at home with the higher gravity hell they've turned the station into,” he communicated to higher command. Captain Kelu wanted to know everything and anything about these mysterious defenders, making sure Falesh's information went to the highest levels.
“Why do you think that, Sergeant?” the nameless general asked, sounding skeptical. I don't have time to give you a dark-cursed written report you pencil pushing shit, he thought, forcing himself to breathe.
“The speed with which they switched barrels and reloaded their weapons makes me believe that,” Falesh panted, talking had become much more difficult.
“Sarge, they're leaving,” one of Falesh's grenade throwers said. Thankfully grenades were one thing that was not in short supply.
“Keep the pressure up then!”
One of his men charged the hallway, a burst of beads taking out his face plate. His cries ending in their throat as he dropped to the floor.
“No one fucking moves until I say so!” Falesh yelled. He didn't care if they lived or died, but to get his share he needed to take this station. For that he needed troops.
“The shields are spotting!” the grenade thrower from before yelled as they doubled their throwing speed.
The rail gun fired as Falesh's smirk at the enemy wasting ammo turned to horror. The rounds exploded as soon as they passed the protecting walls, killing troops on either side with the blast and shards.
As soon as we change to their tactics, they change them again.
Falesh wanted to beat the crap out of something, anything. He hit the wall a few times but found himself exhausted as the heavier gravity weighed on him.
It's not fucking fair!
“Get more grenades on those damn things!” he yelled as he saw that the majority of his grenade throwers had been ripped apart by the Rail gun.
Replacement's crept up, only to get washed away with more rounds.
“Stack the dead, use them as cover,” Falesh said as troops started to create protective walls with dead or dying troops.
A wounded woman was yelling for aid and Falesh absently shot her, stopping her annoying screams.
“Shields are down,” a gruffer sounding grenade thrower said. Falesh saw the new one was using a dead trooper as a shield.
“Good. Now silence those fucking guns!” Falesh barked as he checked his weapon.
Rail guns ripped into the hastily erected barricades of mechas as beaders fired against the walls trying to catch anything that stepped out. Grenade throwers arms were shredded but others quickly moved into their place. Stopping now would mean giving the shields enough time to recharge and make all the work that they'd done worth nothing.
Finally, one beader went down, then the other. The rail gun took time but it fell eventually.
“Go!” Falesh yelled as he forced those in front of him into the corridor.
They walked quickly, as doing anything more was almost impossible. As the first man made it past the corner, a plasmid blade flashed and the trooper fell backwards.
“Get 'em! T
hey're right there!” Falesh yelled as more people moved past the corner. A few fell back here and there, but the majority of them continued on. Falesh turned to look into chaos, and at his enemy.
Their mechas were essentially the same as the ones the syndicate troops were wearing. They changed them up as they needed to. Whereas syndicate troops always went for more armor, as that was a symbol of status, these fighters had different amounts of armor across their mechas. The mechas were also well used. They looked grungy compared to the polished and cleaned mechas the syndicates troops had forced their slaves to polish to perfection. These mechas wore their scars with pride as, and that made Falesh pause. These people had been in vicious battles, and yet they had somehow survived.
“G-General, there's not one group. There's five of them at least.” He steadied himself at the sight as he pulled behind the corner.
“They come from a high g planet, they move as if they were born in this..,” Falesh felt the gravity increase even more and he gasped as he strained to look around the corner.
“What was that, Sergeant?” The General sounded not pleased in the slightest.
“They're definitely not syndicate. They fight together and they have no trouble doing it in a high gravity environment,”
“We shall have a harvest of many!” one of the enemy soldiers said as they cut through two attackers, then dropped back as their comrade killed another that slashed at him.
Without a word the general cut the channel and Falesh returned to his ragtag group of troops, which were dying in the droves.
“Get up there you!” Falesh said as more reinforcements funnelled through the already cleared areas to the rear.
Who the hell are these demons?
***
I grinned as I saw who was in charge of my squad as I jogged right up behind him. I tapped him on the shoulder, grinning as he turned.
“Look, I don't have ti - Salchar!”
“George,” I couldn't help smiling as the kids face lit up. He made to salute as I clapped him on the shoulder, stopping that nonsense.
“I'm now under you, as well as my pals here.” I indicated my security detail who varied from annoyed for having to protect me in a war zone, (Dave and Janice) to outright grinning (Krom and Shreesht). Calerd looked as non-committal as anyone could be. Monk and his security detail had gone to another squad under Shminkt's command. George nodded to them all. They'd met when I'd taken George home and the few times I'd gathered my friends together for a meal wherever I'd been. George was still stationed on Resilient and hadn't taken a promotion to platoon sub commander so he could stay onboard. The kid was driven.
“I'll leave you to what you were doing and fall in,” I said.
“Ah... I'm all set, just waiting to be told where reinforcements are needed,”
“MOVE! MEDIC!” Someone bellowed and a hole was made through the waiting platoon as medics and commandos carried or pulled their comrades back to one of the med bays.
“So did you hear Marco changed to be a shipyard worker with his sister?” George said as the hole closed up. George wasn't trying to disregard the wounded, I knew he'd be doing everything he could if he thought it could help, but they were already in the best care and keeping our minds clear of distractions would help them more, if we joined them or not.
“Really? I thought he was going to stay Commando,” I said, actually surprised.
“Nah. He was going to tell you, but with Parnmal and everything he knew you'd be too busy,”
“Well, we best bug him out for a drink if Silly hasn't got him clearing room for our new front line ships,”
“When will he be laying down the new ships?” George asked.
“Silly says that he thinks he can get most of the ships we have in six months, so maybe seven,” I said as an alert sounded on my armband.
Commandos were pulling back from their initial contacts with the enemy. Wounded and dead were mounting and there were still one of us to five of the syndicates. Soon they'd get to the open areas and it would become an all out brawl. George was looking at the same information.
“Alright ladies and gents, check your gear and get fuelled.” With so many races, not all of them drank water. Some of them rarely drank like the Avarians and Sarenmenti who had a mainly solid diet. It meant that specifics had become in most cases generalizations.
Just another thing the Free Fleet had changed for the people within it, no matter their race. Another alert sounded as mass casualties were reported in a hallway where someone had used a grenade to clear not only the commandos, but their own forces.
***
“Grenade detonation in Purple nine three!” One of Henry’s controllers said as he stroked his beard, anger filling his eyes as he forced back his impulse to charge into the enemy and claim retribution.
“Commander Santos reports the next squad commander is deploying support,”
Henry nodded darkly.
“Very well.” He looked to other issues.
“They're going to break through soon. I want forces engaged in hand-to-hand to fall back under the cover of the next squad,” Henry said absently. It was odd, battle raged all around them, but in this room it was quiet, everyone listening to Henry as he orchestrated the deaths of possibly thousands of Syndicate troops.
“Have squads leapfrog back to the eighth line. I want forces past the line ready to engage. We've drawn them in, now it's time to move onto recapture. As we planned I want the re-organized squads that have already been engaged and reserve force company commander Kreum ready to engage. The remaining reserve is to get those damned ships,” Henry growled as he waited for his controllers to look back to him, showing they'd sent the orders.
“Good, now we'll have nowhere to fall back to, no reinforcements, and split up. Let's show these bastards how we fight!” he said as he unlimbered his rail gun and racked a round. Others in the room checked their gear and followed their CAMC.
Chapter – By Any Means
Cheerleader listened to the message in its entirety, as well as looking at the information that had come with it, her face revealing nothing, but inside she was a mess of emotions.
The message ended and no one said anything as Cheerleader finished musing over the information she'd gained.
“Ben, plot a course to Parnmal,” she said, as if she'd been debating what movie to watch that evening.
Ben said nothing as he turned to begin plotting the course, Milra moving to his station to assist him if he needed it.
“Vort, recall all forces that are available within six hours. Also send a confirmation to Bregend. He as well as the factory ship and a destroyer are to stay behind. Bregend will be overall commander for the scouting of this area. Send him all logs. Onur, pick a destroyer to stay in-system. I want them liaising with Bregend as soon as possible.
“I want updates from every ship on their readiness within a half hour. Every ship is to be on yellow alert. I also want Corvettes to start making a FTL comm line through the systems Bregend went through to get here. That is to be a line of retreat if the syndicate make it to this system. Walf, I want you to get an information packet from him regarding those systems, as well as a summary of what is in those systems. Pass that to every ship.”
Cheerleader continued to go through the data.
How in the hell could Monk deal with that many ships? Plus he says there's probably more on the way.
By Cheerleader's calculations it had taken Bregend nearly a month and a half to get to her, and it would take her another two weeks to get to Parnmal, time she simply didn't have. They could be dead already, she thought as cold set over her, sadness making her eyes itch as she gritted her teeth, pain being replaced by anger.
Have faith. She chastised herself. If they are dead, then we will regroup and grow until we can beat them. Resolved, she tilted in her seat, resting her chin on her hand as she cleared her mind, using meditative techniques Monk had taught her. Now was not the time to let emotions rule her.
***
Kelu's forces had finally broken through and he'd found out some not so pleasing information. It appeared that he was right about not fighting syndicate forces. The troops he was fighting were organized, able to fight in high gravity and there were only five different types of them. Either they came from a very diverse planet or from up to five different planets.
We need to win this battle or we may have a fight on two fronts. He felt cold fear trickle through him at that little thought, especially seeing how well the enemy fought. Though they've now got everything on the line and we're already in the markets and living quarters. We'll soon have the gunnery control rooms.
When Kelu had the team leaders regather some of his troops and ferry them to other entry points, straining the enemy even more.
“We have movement, Captain,” The sensor officer said.
“What is it?” Kelu asked.
“Shuttles,” Kelu looked to the creature.
“What?”
“There's shutles hugging the surface of Parnmal and creeping up on ships,”
Dread filled Kelu.
“Pull back the troops now!”
“But-”
“We have no troops and those fuckers are going to board us,” Kelu clicked, an old tic from his mother race. The General didn't say another word as he began ordering the closest units back to the ships, as well as the few thousand waiting to get into the station still.
Kelu marched to his ready room, opening his closet and putting on the mecha that waited for him there. He walked out of his charging-cradle/closet, grabbing a rifle and loading it.
Always good to have a backup. He thought, pulling the charging handle. The mecha and weapons had been one of Kelu's plan B's in case the crew ever revolted against him. It had happened more than once in the Syndicate.
He marched out now, more confident as he remembered the lessons he'd been given on the machine. Without neural implants he was running off of chemical surges through his body which allowed him to move his limbs. The mecha was equipped to do that but it wasn't the smoothest.
The shuttle pilots seemed equal parts insane and brilliant as they skimmed across the surface of the asteroid turned station, barely missing protrusions. Weapons fire spat from the fast moving craft, hammering the Syndicate troops that were racing back to their ships. Of course they armed the damned things. Out in the open as they were, it was a slaughter. Kelu didn't have time to think on it, not that he would've cared, as some of the shuttles came under fire from the laborious and slow PDS systems. They took out a few shuttles, but they were like a rock trying to stop a wave. The enemy closed with the ships and attached not to the airlocks, but the hulls.
Free Fleet Box Set 2 Page 6
