Up!
With a quick push, he was back on his feet, and his hands already down to his side to grasp a camouflage-painted L52S. This stumpy weapon was based on the L52 carbine's upper receiver, but with a small magazine and power pack, no stock, and a barrel cut down to little longer than a man's thumb. As he lifted the weapon, four warriors rushed in, blades drawn, and looking for revenge. Spartan laughed as he pulled the trigger and sprayed the group with high-velocity gunfire.
"Looking for this?"
Two fell down, but the others staggered away, bleeding from their wounds. The leader of the group, with his entourage rushed ahead in a wide crescent, all now firing at Spartan. Something fell to the ground and landed between them. A bright flash, like the report from a grenade, blotted out those in the middle, and was then enveloped in a cloud of dust.
What?
The distraction bought him time. He took quick aim and opened up on those he could see. Three more fell before the dust cleared, and in the middle of the group was a single, black figure twisting left and right. In her hands a pair of automatic machine pistols just like Spartan's.
"Syala!"
He rushed forward, blasting away with his machine pistol. By the time he reached her, she had stopped, and around her lay dozens of the enemy's dead. Others rushed away, but she ignored stray rounds and grabbed Spartan, pulling him close for a moment. As they separated, Syala spotted clan warriors manning improvised weapon mounts fitted along the top of the nearest vehicle. Bright white shapes marked out tracer fire as they did their best to hit back.
So be it. Spartan thought, as he took aim.
Syala opened her visor for a second and gave him a knowing wink.
"I'll take it from here."
He grinned as she blasted away from him, her pack sending her in a tight arc that would allow her to land on top of the vehicle. Three had already leapt out and were throwing their weapons down before she reached them. By the time the black armoured warrior was among them, all fight had gone. Five more dropped to their knees to surrender, leaving just the gunners to deal with.
Spartan shook his head as he grabbed a fallen long rifle and took aim at those inside. The first two shots glanced off the armour, but the third hit a gunner in the face. The unfortunate soul panicked and staggered around the open top of the crawler, screaming at the top of his voice. His comrades tried to take over on the gun, but Syala was now in the middle of them. She howled like a Jötnar, as one by one she cut them down. Something heavy hit him from behind, and he staggered forward and dropped to one knee.
"It's like that, is it?"
Spartan instinctively leaned to the side and jumped up, as a bayoneted rifle slid past his face. He dropped his empty weapon and yanked the long rifle away from the hands of his attacker.
"I'll take that."
Without thinking, he swung it around over his head and struck the clan warrior in the side of the head. Down he went, leaving the ground clear of enemy soldiers, all bar one who ran to the side of the crawler. With no other weapons to hand, he lifted the weapon he'd just taken from the clan warrior. It was a bolt-action long rifle; little different to the other Jezzail rifles he'd seen before. This one seemed much more modern and constructed from a hardened synthetic material, much like carbon fibre. He took aim at the middle of his target and pulled the trigger. The shot struck a little higher than expected and punched right through the shoulder blades. As his foe collapsed to the ground, he slung the rifle on his back and headed for Syala.
"Spartan!" she yelled from on top of the vehicle.
"Yeah?"
"You need to take a look at this gear. I think you might be right."
He reached the side of the crawler and clambered up onto the large wheel. Syala leaned over the side, reaching out for him.
"They're landing beacons all right. But there's more."
With a hard tug, she helped him up over the side, and he dropped down onto the metal decking with a loud clunking sound. Once there he noticed the large display unit fixed to the vehicle, and to his astonishment, it showed the movement of scores of different units across the planet.
"A tactical mapper. Are they insane?"
He nodded to Syala.
"Record this, now, before it locks us out."
As Syala fiddled with her secpad bracelet and activated a recording function, Spartan leaned in closer to the mapper. It was a tough unit and designed to show tactical dispositions in battle. They'd found them before, but they were programmed to deactivate after a short period of time disconnected from an encoded user. A blinking shape in the top right increased in speed, and Spartan knew right away he had but seconds.
"Okay, what have we got?"
Taking care not to touch the unit, he looked at the centre. It showed a city surrounded by mountains, and numerous icons for combat units of vehicles.
"Okay, that's Montu, the capital."
Syala sighed as she held her secpad unit close enough to get a good view.
"Is it me, or is the capital much more heavily fortified than it was a month ago? Nakoma is expecting trouble all right."
"Yeah," agreed Spartan, "and look at the landing strips. She must have hundreds of aircraft now. That's a problem."
"And this?"
Six separate units, each comprising of multiple craft were moving quickly.
"Nakoma is on the move. We need to send out a signal to our forward units to get their heads down, and fast."
"What about the Byotai rebels?"
Spartan shrugged.
"We have almost no direct contact right now. We'll reach the ones we can."
He deactivated his visor and rubbed his brow.
"The rest will have to survive. That's why we cannot keep going like this. It's time to use the resources we have."
Spartan looked over the side of the vehicle as the members of his two squads moved around the burning vehicles, taking prisoners and checking for anything they could salvage. The light was already fading, though the burning machines helped alleviate the loss of light for the next few minutes.
"Either we mobilise for a full-scale uprising, or we hand over this planet to Nakoma."
At that moment, the mapper turned black and hissed as its circuits automatically burnt out. Spartan tapped it with his left fist.
"And this just confirmed it. Nakoma isn't running. She's hitting back and intends to win. I told them this war wasn't over."
He licked his lips with barely concealed relish.
"If I'm right, it hasn't even begun."
His eyes narrowed as he imagined what might happen, and what was to come. Months of fighting had kept the Byotai on this planet, but victory had eluded them so far.
"Nakoma thinks she can win here."
He shook his head slowly.
"And I intend on changing that, permanently."
CHAPTER THREE
15km North of Hyndla, Southern Depression
19 October 2472
A flash of light marked the arrival of the assault force as it passed the unmarked border along the Southern Depression. Their engines roared as the open-sided gunships dropped down over the Northern edge cliffs and into the vast open basin that provided the home to the ten major settlements of the South. Their powerful engines hung down low on each side, the small winglets covered in rockets, missiles, and lance guns. The gunships bore the markings of the infamous Spires Clan, perhaps the largest and cruellest of the nomadic tribes encountered so far.
The aircraft left long, arcing trails behind them as they passed through the cool morning air. Behind them came even larger craft, great winged monstrosities that hid their form inside a single lifting wing design. The small gunships bristled with weapons, and their open interiors were packed with armed warriors. The battle to retake the city from the Byotai rebels would begin in minutes, and the results would prove devastating.
Inside the cramped gunships were the veteran clan warriors of the recent fighting. Most were Spires, but there w
ere also Red Scars, Zuni, and even a handful of the primitive Kolchans. All shared the desire to get to the surface and away from the dangers of high-speed travel as they moved in for their dawn attack. All of them carried long rifles or a mixture of deadly looking blades and handguns. This was no raiding party; they were equipped for a direct frontal assault. Some even bore light amour plates on their upper bodies in a desperate attempt to find extra protection from the weapons that awaited them.
Thin streaks of yellow and orange light marked the few points where the rising star lit up the horizon. Every few seconds the colour shifted and then vanished, leaving the Southern region in utter darkness. This bleak approach was worsened because none of the aircraft used lights. Their exteriors were as dull as their interiors, leaving their pilots to fly using night-vision and darkened instruments.
"Six minutes, Ogimà," said the pilot of the lead craft, "We are beneath their radar system."
The formation of Raptor gunships and their heavier cousins skimmed over the rocky terrain, instantly demonstrating the superlative skill of their pilots. With the sun still well below the horizon, it was almost impossible to make out their predatory shapes until the occasional glimmer of light from the rising star flickered in the sky. In that brief moment, the aircraft could be spotted, and then vanished just as quickly.
"Shall I send the signal?"
The lightly armoured figure of the Ogimà Nakoma nodded slowly to the pilot. Her mere presence kept every one of them uneasy. She had no real reason to be along for the ride, and by flying in the Abn'dak gunship, she placed herself in as much danger as her clan warriors. It could mean only one thing, that she was there to ensure everything worked according to the plan.
"Yes. It is time, pilot. Send the signal. It is time to unleash my vengeance."
He turned away from her, saying no more, and that was just as she expected. He was a pilot, not a politician. All he needed was orders, and the rest was down to him. Though she couldn't hear him speaking over the communication system, it was easy to tell what he was doing, based on what she could see from the open sides of the gunship. The engine cowlings of the nearby gunship altered shape, and then longer streaks of heat pushed out from the back, as they all increased in thrust and accelerated towards their unseen target.
Good, very good.
Nakoma had planned this operation personally, and the sixteen aircraft were to be the vanguard of her operation to solidify her hold on the troublesome South. She sniffed the air and relaxed. At this very moment, there were five other operations taking place around Karnak, and all conducted via her overwhelming aerial superiority.
"Prepare yourselves, my clan warriors. Soon you will have your revenge for the outrage in the North."
Her face was visible, her bald head covered by a tight fitting plated cap, and eyes hidden behind red-tinted goggles. She was the leader of the military operation to take control of the entire planet, and she'd almost succeeded. She was small, even compared to the slight build of her Spires Clan comrades, but what she lacked in stature, she more than made up for with her brutal personality. None of her soldiers chanced even looking directly at her, for fear of provoking her well-known rage. The pilot looked back, spoke, and then quickly moved back.
"Reports from the East, the first units are landing now. They are meeting light resistance."
The pilot seemed happy at this news, but a glance at Nakoma suggested otherwise. As she sat there, a hundred thoughts occurred to her, but of them all, only two appeared likely. Either their intelligence was wrong, or the Byotai and their underground fighters had been warned. Instead, the pilot focussed on the targets ahead.
"Red Scar units are withdrawing to the East of the city, ready to assist us."
Nakoma could barely conceal her pleasure at what she was hearing, so much so she almost forgot about the rest of the operation on Karnak. For now she could focus on this one city.
"Excellent. It is time to remind them who is in charge on this planet. The Red Scars should have taken full control of this sector a month ago. Instead, they hide in their fortress and raid the cities every few days."
She pulled one of her cruel looking knives from its sheath and ran the edge along her tongue. It cut into the flesh easily, sending a gentle flush of blood into her throat. Small streams dripped from her lips, as she withdrew the blade and rubbed it clean on her left arm.
"No wonder I am having problems with the mercenaries at Melantias. I am betrayed by the incompetence of my allies who would rather raid than fight. Remind our allies that I expect the city pacified by mid-day. Failure will result in decimation."
"Yes, Ogimà."
The pilot blinked repeatedly and did his best to avoid any further conversation with her. Luckily, she had other things on her mind and was busily thinking long and hard about her recent failures, and could only imagine that it was the fault of those around her. Everywhere she took personal control resulted in success, that much she was certain. The clan chief leaned out of the gunship and looked out at the distant improvised defences that lay around the city.
"Four weeks ago this was under our control, and now they turn on us."
She looked to the other soldiers waiting in silence. Although technically soldiers, they were actually clan warriors, and more used to raiding and banditry than full-scale combat. They were only marginally better protected than those on the ground, but what they lacked in heavy armour, they made up for with their skilled marksmanship and mobility.
"The Red Scars have proven their ineptitude, once again. This attack will show them and the Byotai who is in charge. When we leave, I expect them to mop up and take control once more."
She snarled as she said the words, and then pointed at two tall structures ahead. They looked liked improvised towers, and both shone powerful beams of light into the dusty, early morning sky.
"The cold-bloods have nothing to match the power of the Abn'dak. What do the humans call them?"
One of the youngest clan soldiers tried to sound smart and spoke in aloud voice, "Hornet, Ogimà. It is a large insect from their..."
The return gaze from Nakoma silenced him instantly. There was no place for camaraderie or kinship here. Nakoma was in charge, and she needed no allies or friends, just warriors who followed orders. Her eyes narrowed and then she laughed.
"An insect? They continue to show their ignorance."
She was right, of course. The Abn'dak Raptor class gunship was not the slow and pondering aircraft of the Byotai, or the technologically advanced machines of the Alliance designed in the last few years. The Abn'dak was a design that had a history of more than a century throughout the disparate clans, and had proven itself a thousand times.
"The Abn'dak is a machine cold-bloods can only dream of."
As she gazed into the darkness, she smiled again.
And we will turn those dreams into nightmares!
These were the standard transports of the Spires Clan, one of the largest and deadliest of the nomadic Anicinàbe tribes. A clan that prided itself on mobility and violence more than any other. It was an incredible machine, and though capable of only atmospheric flight, it was perhaps the most powerful vehicle on Karnak, and available to Nakoma and her collation of tribes in vast numbers. The victories against the Byotai settlers could be placed almost entirely down to the hit and run tactics used by both the Spires and Red Scars clans. It might be the smallest of their aircraft, but it could perform the roll of gunship, as well as a transport for a small combat team while being incredibly fast and manoeuvrable.
"And our new Ma'heen will seal their fate."
Nakoma leaned out further and then looked back at the second formation of aircraft. These were the infamous Ma'heen, the heavy gunships now carrying eighty or more warriors inside each of their armoured hulls. She scanned them, checking that all four were in position and ready to strike.
Four centuries of experienced Spires. They will beg for mercy, and when I leave, our pathetic allies will fin
ish what I started.
Her face contorted as she imagined their looks. She didn't even notice a warrior looking at her, his eyes wide open and visible, even behind his red-tinted goggles. She would have happily run this entire campaign with just her forces, but with the losses in the North, she refused to weaken her control over the central Khagi region and its capital. Raids and small attacks were fine, but the major action in the South had to be conducted by the Red Scars, and they could suffer the problems faced by all occupiers in such a conflict. Just thinking of the Byotai running in fear sent a shiver of excitement through her body. The kind of pleasure that made her pant with blood lust.
"Death!" Some of the passengers looked at her briefly, and she continued even louder, "Death to the cold-bloods!"
She screamed her orders to the rest of the group of gunships. It wasn't intended to garner any reaction; it was just something she did before battle and helped fire her up. Her cry was as shrill as it was terrifying to any that might have heard it, and the clan warriors nodded quickly before looking down at their weapons and fidgeting nervously.
Nakoma pulled herself back inside and looked to the other seven warriors. Six were veterans of the bloody assault on Melantias, the seventh the oldest of her warriors, and one of the few Spires to make it inside Melantias and escape with his life.
"Okemos, are we ready?"
He lifted his gazed from the other warriors and bared his teeth in a smile. Several were missing, and those that remained were sharp beyond reason.
"Yes, Ogimà. The harpoons are primed and ready."
"Good, and the second wave, Senior Centurion?"
The rank was only recently vacated, and Okemos seemed as good as any to take the place of the fallen Siwili. However good her previous commander had been, he'd fallen like so many others in the futile siege. Her nostrils flared as she recalled her failure at the wall. The thought of that defeat vanished as she spotted lights in the distance.
Battle for Karnak (Star Crusades: Mercenaries, Book 4) Page 4
