Cartwright's Cavaliers (The Revelations Cycle Book 1)
Page 29
“Cavaliers!” Jim yelled over the radio, “Jump! Hit ‘em hard!” All sixty-six surviving Cavaliers leaped into the air on their jumpjets and rained high explosive K bombs down on the MinSha unit. The little bombs were standard for all CASPer troopers. They weren’t designed for hard targets, but they worked really well against troops in the open.
Each CASPer carried a dozen of the K bombs, and the troopers dropped half their loads with the bombs set to detonate on contact. Over 400 explosive charges, each with almost a pound of K2, rained down on the mercs of Chaka-Cha.
Each bomb had the explosive power of an entire block of the old C-4, and the rolling wave of detonations crashed through the ranks of workers and partially set-up weapons batteries. Equipment and aliens were blown apart in spectacular sprays of blood and parts, while the munitions cooked off and secondary explosions spread the carnage.
Sailing over the carnage, Jim fired his jumpjets and came in for a not-quite-perfect landing on top of an alien-designed APC. The top turret was open and the MinSha gunner looked at him with an expression of surprise that would have been recognizable in any species. Jim shot the gunner through the head at point blank range with his left high-velocity machine gun, while his right hand snatched his seventh K bomb and dropped it in the hatch. He heard the animated chatter of confusion from inside the APC as he did a non-assisted jump off the side of the vehicle. The explosive went off, slaughtering everyone inside. The hardened armored vehicle held in the detonation, only blowing out the top hatch in a gout of flame and debris.
On the ground, Jim found himself in the midst of an entire platoon of MinSha, all as confused and surprised as the gunner. They wore what was, for them, standard light body armor – color-shifting and form-fitting. Most weapons were still slung, and none had helmets on. Jim activated the high-velocity machine guns on both arms, gritted his teeth, and started spraying.
Surprise turned to horror as Jim dispensed with the MinSha mercs. His entire squad had the same task, to completely disrupt the enemy merc company and keep them from forming a coherent defense. Hargrave had command of the rest of the company and a substantially different mission. Jim could hear the thunderous crashing of their heavy shoulder-mounted cannons in the distance.
The bulk of the enemy troopers fled toward the nearest APC. The door on its side opened, and a MinSha gunner leaned out, bringing her weapon to bear with two arms and gesturing for those nearest to jump inside with the other two. Her weapon fired, and a pulse laser slashed out.
Jim whipped his left arm out and up, triggering the laser shield. Laser beams flashed, bouncing wildly off the shield, some scoring hits on his shoulders and waist. Yellow warning lights came alive on his status displays, and Splunk came alert in her little safe place.
“We’re okay for now,” Jim said, and he leaned the suit forward into a loping run. The MinSha gunner chittered in alarm, but didn’t try to shift her aim to less-defended areas of Jim’s suit. A dozen more laser bolts were deflected by the shield as he raced toward her.
A handful of alien troopers were trying to scuttle into the APC past the gunner. Jim turned his approach slightly and rammed into the backs of the rearmost MinSha troopers. He was nearly three times their size in his suit, and five times their mass. Servo-driven legs made him into a pile driver. The gunner stopped firing for fear of hitting her own compatriots, and Jim collected three of the troopers before slamming the entire assemblage into the side of the APC like a raging bull.
Jim gave a guttural roar as the suit collided with a thunderous crash. The craft used ducted fans to move, and it balanced on retractable landing gear when grounded. As Jim slammed into it, he crushed the troopers, and the force of the impact tipped the APC sideways.
As it came back down to level, Jim jumped through the door. The interior of the APC was a whirling dervish of blood and flailing MinSha limbs. The suit was a hulking behemoth, leaving little space for movement. As he entered, several of the soldiers tried to fire their weapons at him. Bullets and laser beams flashed and ricocheted around the inside, doing little to his heavily armored suit, but far more to the lightly armored troopers. Seeing no more movement, Jim dropped a K bomb, stepped out, and triggered his jumpjets. He rocketed up out of the APC, watching it detonate below him a second later.
“This is kind of fun,” he said.
“Smash, fight...
“Oh yeah!” Jim said, checking for signs of organized resistance. Below, at least a platoon of enemy troopers was wrestling a heavy laser into position to fire at Hargrave’s wrecking crew. He angled to the right, set his legs, and closed his eyes. The half-ton combat suit came down feet-first on top of the heavy laser like a sledgehammer.
Like most portable lasers in the Union, including the ones in the CASPers, the laser was chemically powered. A mixture of halogens and hydrogen halides was introduced into the lasing chamber, hit with a relatively low electrical charge, and the result was a powerful beam of coherent light. The resultant inert residue was flushed from the chamber, and the process repeated. It did not have a high cycle rate, but the power was considerably more than one of the same size that ran on direct power. The downside was the chemicals, if mixed in an uncontrolled fashion, were rather...excitable.
Jim’s suit and his own bulk crashed into the laser and its associated hardware. The chemical tanks for the laser, even though they were made of a high-tech monocarbon filament, weren’t made to be smashed by more than 1,000 pounds of hurtling steel. Several burst open, and the bulk halogen and hydrogen halides mixed with the predictable results.
An impressive explosion was produced, vaporizing the gun, crew, and blasting Jim into the sky. He had a moment to think, “Oh fuck, not again,” as a dozen system alarms went off. He cartwheeled through the air, struggling to control the flight.
“Not, good...
* * * * *
Chapter 33
The Cavaliers marched in through the gates of the city/industrial complex to a cheering crowd of elSha defenders. Their buildings tended toward tall and spindly with many handholds and exterior doors. As an arboreal race, they just climbed up the buildings and through entrances. Multi-race structures were more recognizable to the humans.
The city had weathered the battle well. Just because the elSha wasn’t a merc race didn’t mean the citizens wouldn’t fight if their lives were threatened. In fact, their defenses had been designed by The Golden Horde, and they had held up quite well. The defenses depended on having an offensive-capable garrison to work, though, and the attack had begun before the Cavaliers could get there. They had clearly arrived just in the nick of time.
Jim walked on foot along with two other troopers, their suits disabled during the fight. The jubilant cheering of the reptilian elSha wasn’t quite enough to overcome Jim’s frustration at having destroyed his fifth CASPer in as many engagements.
“Don’t worry about it, son,” Hargrave said. “Your plan with those logging trucks worked to a T. The MinSha never knew what hit them.” Splunk glanced at Hargrave without interest. She rode on Jim’s shoulder, untouched by the battle, as usual.
He’d managed to control their spin and slow the descent. When they’d hit, it was on top of a MinSha transport. It cushioned the impact, saving Jim and Splunk at the cost of his suit, and the transport. Unable to bring the suit back to life, Splunk had spent the rest of the battle noisily devouring the beef jerky she found digging around in his equipment pack.
The remainder of the battle hadn’t been close. The MinSha tried to rally twice, and both times were met with withering fire from the heavily-armed and disciplined Cavaliers. Knowing they had no backup or retreat provided Jim’s mercs with considerable motivation as well.
The orderly procession of Cavaliers reached the town center where the elSha leaders waited. They all bowed to Jim as
Hargrave stopped his CASPer, popped open the cockpit and scrambled down to join them. The party of roughly two-foot-tall lizards in vests would have looked strange in any other situation.
“Jim Cartwright, commander of Cartwright’s Cavaliers,” Jim said as he returned the bow, “and this is my Executive Officer.”
“Asa-Took-Pashka-Grato,” the elSha leader chittered with a flourish of arms, “my title would roughly translate as Prime Minister of Chimsa. You may call me Grato, if you wish. This is my Defensive Commander, and this is the Installation Executive,” he said indicating two others. “We thank you for your timely arrival and mourn your losses, particularly that of your starship.”
“Thank you, Prime Minister Grato,” Jim said, biting his lip as he thought about those who’d died getting them here.
“Unfortunately, it happens,” Hargrave said. “The Cavaliers have lost ships twice before, though we’ve been lucky and haven’t for many years. We understand you have a stockpile of standard ammunition suitable for our weapons?”
“Yes, of course!” the Defensive Commander exclaimed, snapping his short jaws for emphasis. “The warehouse is over here. Anything you need is yours, per the terms of our contract.”
“Great,” Jim said. “Hargrave, get the dropships in here and rearmed. He turned back to Grato. “Can we access your communications system? We’re hoping to regain contact with any other friendly merc units.”
“Of course,” the Installation Executive said, “I can take you to our communications center.”
“Hargrave, have a comms expert get on that. See if any of our missing sheep are still out there.” Hargrave nodded and gave orders that sent a pair of now unsuited troopers after the executive. Nearby, the three disabled CASPers were positioned next to each other after being carried in by a squad of functioning suits. Jim’s looked by far the worst, blackened and twisted. It looked like it had been blown up and dropped from a high altitude, which was almost exactly what had happened. The other two were in better shape; one had its power and control systems wrecked, the other one had both legs seriously damaged.
“Get our best tech on those,” Jim said, gesturing to the ruined suits. “See if we can put together even one functional suit out of them. At least strip them for weapons and ammo; we might be here for a long time.” He looked at his perpetually hungry companion. “Are you done eating yet?” Her extra-long ears stood up at the word eat, and he sighed. “I need you to help with those,” he said and indicated the three wrecked suits. “And I don’t mean just take them apart, see if you can get them working. All, if possible.”
“Yes, fix...
A flash caught his eye, and he looked up into the bright sky. More flashes, hard to see in the light, and tiny stars moved and flared.
“The battle continues,” Grato said, noticing it as well. “That is bad.”
“Not necessarily,” Jim said, “if it were over it could be because our side lost. Given that as an option, I’d just as soon they fight on.” As if that had been a cue, a pair of surface-to-air missiles lifted off nearby with a loud “WHOOOSH!” and raced into the sky. The Defensive Commander tapped an implant on his head and spoke for a moment.
“Several heavy transports are landing about 100 miles to the east,” he said and indicated the direction. “We shot down one, but the others made it through.” He listened some more. “The sensor technicians also say some units or vehicles with friendly transponder codes landed a dozen miles to the west. They say the codes were yours, Jim Cartwright.”
Jim thought about racing out and investigating them, then flushed with embarrassment when he remembered he was on foot. Thinking about the weapons stores, he addressed the elSha commander.
“Are there any craft in the defensive stores? APCs or drones?”
“There are no combat vehicles, no,” he said. “However, there are a few scout craft. Toboo-class ground-effect skimmers.”
“That’ll work,” Jim said. “Please, lead the way.”
The Toboo reminded Jim of a cross between a hydroplane racing boat and a pickup truck. They were meant to cross open terrain and water at relatively high speed with modest cargo. This one had a pintle mount on top sporting a medium laser and room for a dozen unarmored troopers. Jim liked it just fine.
“Jim,” Hargrave said before he could climb in, “there are others who can do this.” He eyed the craft with a dubious gaze. “And that thing is hardly something you want to rely on so close to a combat zone.”
“It’ll be harder to detect than a dropship. It flies low, and there may be enemy scouts about with anti-air. As for anyone else to do it, they all have jobs and armor. Let Splunk and the techs work; I can be spared at the moment.” He could see the distress on his second-in-command, so he added, “Send two troopers with me, for security.” That seemed to placate him, so Jim and the troopers quickly loaded the vehicle. The driver started it, and the craft floated up a dozen feet, its electric-powered fans screaming as they taxied from the warehouse and raced off down the hard-packed dirt road.
The two troopers stood in the open cargo area, the magnetic clamps in their boots anchoring them securely to the bed. They looked in opposite directions, their suit’s sensors scanning for danger. Jim rode shotgun next to an elSha driver, a specialist with an unpronounceable name whom he’d nicknamed Bob. The little reptilian drove the Toboo with a reckless abandon that any Baja racer would have found enjoyable back on Earth. For Jim, it meant he tightened the harness straps as tight as they would go – thankfully, they were more than long enough – and hung on with white knuckles as they shot out the west entrance of the city at more than 100 mph.
Unlike the east, where their battle had taken place, the grassy and tree-scattered landscape here was all but untouched. There were occasional burnt patches here and there, or a smoldering pile of wreckage to mark where a stray missile had landed or a downed enemy drone had perished. The city had accounted for itself quite well. From what Jim had heard about the Horde, that didn’t surprise him one bit. The problem was, he knew the enemy would eventually be back and would try to set up more heavy weapons to assault the defenses. Worse, it looked increasingly like Cartwright’s Cavaliers were the only merc company of the eleven contracted to defend Chimsa to actually make it to the ground.
Given the lightning speed of the skimmer, the trip only took a few minutes. As they approached, the troopers in the back alerted him.
“We have the signal,” one of them announced. “Looks like three separate signals, and they match our codes.”
“Keep your sensors open for any sign of attack or sabotage,” he told them. He instructed the driver, “First hint of a trap, get us the hell out of there.”
“As you order,” Bob said. A moment later, they passed through a line of trees into a wide-open area of fallow farmland. Jim’s jaw dropped, and he gawked. There sat part of the EMS Traveler! Not only had it landed, but it had landed completely intact. Rocket nozzles were still emitting gas after breaking the descent, and dozens of parachutes were collapsed on the ground and blowing in the breeze. Clearly the section had been designed to survive reentry. And that meant the other two signals were more parts of the ship!
“Is that our ship?” asked one of the troopers.
“Sure looks like it,” Jim said.
“I didn’t know it could do that,” the other said, echoing Jim’s thoughts.
The skimmer zoomed close and slowed, the section of hul
l looming tall over them. The hull was scorched and ablated in places. The reentry hadn’t been an easy thing, but still, here it was. Now that they were next to it, Jim recognized the section as one of Traveler’s massive cargo holds; Cargo Hold Number Two, to be precise.
“Stop!” Jim ordered Bob, who quickly complied. The skimmer came to a stop and lowered to the ground, and Jim popped open the passenger compartment and got out. He half-jogged over to the side where the access controls were located, but before he could use them, the wall split open, and the massive doors yawned wide. Light spilled from the interior revealing eight APCs with various crew and drivers standing near them. A man came forward and saluted.
“Glad you made it, sir.”
“Damned glad you made it too, Corporal Glazer,” Jim said and returned the salute. “How many in there?”
“All the APC drivers and our mechanics. About two thirds of the ship’s crew. Everyone who wasn’t on the bridge, basically. And all the non-combat trooper staff.”
“What about...” He’d been about to ask about Adayn when she pushed past the APC crew and gawked.
“Jim?!” she said, shock on her face. He smiled and was about to say something flippant when she flew down the ramp and into his arms. He was too shocked to do anything but grab back and be the recipient of the most tearful, heartfelt kiss of his life. Fireworks exploded somewhere in his stomach and his brain. He didn’t even hear the hoots and cheers from the other men.
Adayn finally broke away, pushing back a bit to look at him. Her customary ponytail was loose and mussed, and her face was tear-streaked. “We didn’t have a powerful enough transmitter to call,” she explained, still crying, “but we could listen. We heard your orders to the dropships after the captain broke up the ship. Then,” she shook with a sob, “we heard your ship get hit...and I thought you were dead!”