"Next!" shouted one.
At first, the gunfire was light, and then the entire area lit up with so much fire his helmet's visor was forced to compensate for the light, or his vision would have been compromised in the middle of the battle.
"I see them, near the aircraft."
It’s too late to change my mind now. There's only one thing left to do.
"Press forwards and attack!"
Bullets sparked as they glanced off his armour while multiple members of the Blood Pack fanned out. Next to him they seemed gigantic and barely seemed to notice lances, thermal rods, and bullets glancing off their armour. One took thermal harpoons to his chest and simply pulled them out one at a time, throwing them aside in derision. Khan was at the head of the group of synthetic warriors and threw himself into the fight, as if he had something to prove.
"Who's first?" he shouted.
Scores of Red Scars opened up on Khan and his retinue. At least two of the Blood Pack dropped down, though neither seemed to have suffered a mortal wound. Khan advanced forward until alongside Spartan, with the double-barrelled Thumper held out in front and blasting away at the entrenched enemy.
"About time," muttered Spartan.
A shot flashed between them, and both turned their guns on the unfortunate soul that had lifted his head from cover a little too long. The firepower from the pair proved unstoppable and quickly killed their assailant. At the same time, the external speakers on Khan's armour translated his words into the Red Scars regional dialect, as a crude attempt at psychological warfare.
"With me," said Spartan.
He clambered over a pair of bodies and off the landing platform. Inside the main structure, he found broken glass and metal littering the floor, as well as more bodies. Flashes of light marked a handful of defenders, but he was surprised to see so few of the enemy in this important part of the facility. A great scream marked the arrival of another Jackal as it dropped down to disgorge its cargo onto the pad. Dozens of Blood Pack warriors stormed out, wielding their odd assortment of weapons in their arms. Spartan took a sip of water from the feed tube as he paused, giving them time to form up into their squads.
"Syala, report."
"Spartan. We've breached the upper floor. They didn't stand a chance. Working our way down to you."
"Good work," he replied, "Casualties?"
Syala grunted, and then shouted something abusive at an unseen enemy. Spartan smiled as he heard her going to work before returning to speak.
"Light casualties, nothing major. You?"
A bullet rushed towards his face, but Spartan twisted at the last moment. He couldn't have had the reactions to avoid a bullet, yet something had warned him. As the thermal round embedded into a metal panel behind him, Khan snorted.
"How the hell did you do that?"
Before Spartan could answer, another slammed into his own chest plating. This time the thermal round stuck out like an arrow embedded in the chest plate of a medieval warrior. It hissed and fizzled as the superheated projectile worked its way through the outer armour. Khan snarled and grabbed the end of the piece with his left hand. Smoke pumped from the wound as he ripped it out and cast it aside, leaving burn marks on both his chest and hand.
"You done?" Spartan asked.
Khan grunted and signalled for the other members of the Pack to fall in behind him. They advanced forward, a slow, methodical machine that destroyed whatever got in its way. The first Jackal was already heading back up. The pair of flank positioned gun turrets opened up on the occasional stray sniper that tried to pick them off. The 20mm coilgun turrets made short work of them.
"Multiple heat signatures ahead," said Khan.
The Blood Pack spread out into a wide line with gaps between each . Spartan and Khan moved to the centre three metres apart. The interior looked like a vast cave, easily big enough to house a small town. The ceiling was tall and rough in places. Some lights still operated, but vast sections were now hidden in shadow.
"Watch your step, but keep moving," said Spartan.
He moved forward, looking for signs of the enemy and possible booby traps. More guns opened fired, and then they were into the open space. Large dark shapes hung from the high ceiling, betrayed this area as having been carved out of the rock. Spartan estimated it consisted of at least the equivalent of ten levels.
"There!"
In the far distance a trio of large warships sat silently. In the sky they looked huge, but at this range, the Ma'heen armoured transport were massive. The side plates were all open, and warriors clambered inside, presumably ready to launch.
"Hit them! Do not damage the transports."
The Blood Pack opened fired in a great crescendo. Thumpers sent hundreds of 12.7mm explosive rounds into the open space, blasting flesh, bone, metal, and stone apart with ease. Several rockets whooshed by and slammed into the defenders, scattering them. By the time the mercenaries were in the middle of the vast hangar, the battle appeared over. Spartan stopped and looked in every direction, scanning for any more of the enemy. The odd stray shot marked a single survivor or sharpshooter, and each was quickly dispatched.
"Wait!" Khan shouted.
Forty-nine Jötnar warriors were in the vast cavern, spread out in three large formations, Spartan and Khan in the centre and Kanjana approaching from behind.
"What is it?" Spartan asked.
Khan paused and deactivated his visor, leaving his face vulnerable to the elements.
"Something has changed."
He sniffed the air as though out on a hunt and trying to follow a trail. A handful of shots clattered around them but caused no damage.
"They're broken. Let's finish them!" said Tanis.
Khan shook his head again.
"No, stand your ground."
Spartan deactivated his visor and checked the interior of the facility. There were a hundred hiding places where the enemy could be, but based on the scans made by his suit, also a number of large tunnels running off into the hard rock. Some presumably led to other parts of the facility; the rest probably old mining tunnels and shafts. Several lights flickered and then vanished, but that told him enough.
"They're moving in around us. It's a trap!"
A massive flash lit up everything behind them, and then a cloud of dust obscured everything. Part of the ceiling at the entrance crumbled, and sections came down, entombing both sides in the underground structure. More flashes continued at the far end, making sure no one could escape what was to come.
"Laager!"
Those were Spartan's last words before they were drowned in smoke and dust. The term was an old one, derived from the system used back on old Earth. In times of trouble, travellers and traders would pull their wagons and carts together into a circular formation. From there they could shelter safely and fight off a more numerous, or more mobile foe.
"Come on, into formation, now!"
Spartan had not drilled this with them before, and he could only hope Wictred had included it in his own training regime. Something bumped into him, and he nearly pushed back before realising it was the bulky form of Khan. Others passed him by, and then the dust cleared, but only a few metres away. He sighed in relief at seeing a full fifteen or so of the massive Jötnar in a rough crescent facing the direction they'd arrived from.
And the others?
Spartan twisted his head around, as the rest of the five units coalesced into one great knot of metal and muscle. Kanjana and Lahok were thankfully there, huddling in the middle beside an overturned loading machine. The dust settled towards the ground, creating an odd sea of powdery brown. Off in the distance, shapes moved in the darkness.
"We're surrounded," said a Jötnar.
"Yes, that is true," replied Khan, "but that makes our job easier."
"Exactly," said Spartan, "No matter which direction you shoot in, you will be hitting the enemy. Check your weapons and prepare yourselves."
A single bright lamp, a searchlight, flickered on some
where high in the ceiling. The unit was so far up it looked like a small star. Another came on, and then another, until the open space was more like a sports arena, with a large circular formation of forty-nine Jötnar at the centre.
"There!" Khan shouted.
Spartan squinted and spotted a great sea of shapes. They were moving closer and closer.
"Contact over here, too," said Kornag.
All Spartan needed to do was to turn his head to see more shapes coming out from the shadows. They moved slowly but then increased into a run from a hundred metres away. More lights came on, and finally he could see the great crowd. There were hundreds and hundreds streaming in like rats from every direction. The Red Scars were no great threat individually to him, but these were armed with blades, pistols, rifles, and thermal weapons.
"Ready!"
As one, the unit of Jötnar lowered their weapons, the Thumper rifles pointing directly at the heart of the horde. Other Jötnar raised their melee weapons or jammed Thumpers to use as clubs. Khan activated the blade on his Thumper, and it shot out in front and below the muzzle. He turned to his comrades, and then nodded to Spartan.
"This is it, boys. Remember Euryale, and remember Gun!"
"Gun! Gun! Gun!"
Spartan smiled as he thought of his old friend, the largest, strongest, and probably the bravest of all the Jötnar. Now his kin treated him like some ancient god. Spartan licked his parched lips and then squinted down the sights of his own weapon.
This is how it should be.
"Aim!"
This territory was the stronghold of the Red Scars , and hundreds of them rushed at the Jötnar with only one thing on their minds, victory, or slavery at the hands of their tormentor, Nakoma of the Spires Clan. Scores opened fire, hitting the dense formation of Jötnar with all manner of projectiles. Five went down under the blistering volley, and then they were thirty metres away. Spartan could see everything, the thin armour, long blades, and ancient rifles. Each screamed and yelled in rage.
"Fire!"
Spartan pulled the trigger of his carbine, and at the same time, the entire unit of Jötnar opened up with everything they had. The laager formation erupted in a sea of fire, the Jötnar roaring and howling with bloodlust. As Spartan held down the trigger repeatedly on his carbine, he did the same.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Free City of Melantias, Stone Teeth Hills, Northlands
21 October 2472
A single Byotai fighter circled lazily over the city as it climbed above the fortress. It was one of few Imperial fighters still in service on the planet, and now relegated to reconnaissance roles only. As it lifted away, the sound of its engines faded to a distant rumble, leaving the city to its own sounds of people shouting, the clanging of metal, and hundreds of workers labouring away. Melantias was no longer a city under siege, but now the workhouse of the North, and a beacon to those seeking safety.
The heavily armoured form of Olik marched along the open space in front of the city wall with a slight limp. He'd sustained so many injuries during the siege that he should have been dead. His legs had been badly torn, bones broken, and his torso punctured in three separate places. For all of that, he acted as though he'd suffer a light sprain his foot, but his face betrayed a much deeper pain. At his side, as always now, was the figure of Sergeant Tyler. Every person stopped whatever they were doing and nodded or spoke softly as the metal clad warrior passed by.
"They seem...somewhat intimidated by you, Captain."
Olik laughed.
"That is hardly surprising, Sergeant, but I suspect it is not just me. Look at our guards."
He indicated behind them. They were followed by a single large platoon of fifty militia; each personally selected by Olik and Tyler for their skill, courage, and bravery during the Siege of Melantias. Most settlers on Karnak were civilian in background, but there was still a small core of professionals, and they had been critical in the formation of the unit. Though all of them were clearly Byotai in origin, they continued their local tradition of forming their own military units, even against the wishes of the new command structure in the city. Sergeant Tyler nodded to yet another civilian as they marched on past.
"You can't have missed the fact that not a single Exile volunteered for your Brigade. Isn't that interesting?"
Olik shook his head and looked ahead.
"Not really. It is exactly as I expected. The Exiles appear more interested in their own ambitions than those of the people in general. I suspect there will be trouble between them before long."
He lifted a weary eyebrow.
"Let's hope we are all well gone by then. I don't know about you, but this rock is getting dull."
The unit of fifty volunteers marched in silence behind the two Alliance warriors, identifiable by their unusual red-coated breastplate fashioned from their Helion issue equipment. At their shoulders were slung Helion Vorex VX-19 rifles, and like their armour, the weapons glistened red. They were the 1st Platoon and functioned as the Brigade’s best unit, and a personal bodyguard for him and Sergeant Tyler.
The glossy plates made them stand out when compared to any of the other soldiers, even the Exiles, in their borrowed pieces of armour, the colour added by Olik's artificers. Rumour had it the armour had been coated in blood and then protected behind a layer of epoxy. Olik had laughed at hearing that, but the rumour served its purpose well enough. Somebody had coined the rather unimaginative name of ‘Bloods’ for them, and it had stuck. He looked to the Sergeant and then snorted upon spotting a familiar unit.
"Talk of the Devil."
An Exile company marched past and toward the armoured vehicles. Their leader saluted Olik as they approached. They carried a motley selection of weapons and armour, and nearly half helped to drag the large wheeled trailers filled with drums and cases to the waiting vehicles.
"Captain."
Olik returned the courtesy and watched as they moved past.
"Lieutenant."
The words were English but dripped in the unusual hybrid accent of the Exiles. It was friendly enough, but even Olik sensed something off about it. He watched the unit march away, unimpressed by their posturing and attitude. It was an under strength company of ninety or so individuals, and one of dozens now under the direct command of their own Captain who seemed very friendly with Tenskwatawa.
With a single barked command from their leader, they snapped their eyes directly forward and continued to march. In theory, the units raised by the Exiles, and those formed in the city, were under Olik's personal command. They had fought together during the siege, and now they were nominally under his command as the Captain of the city’s defences. The ranks were Human, a consequence of the Exiles having been trained by Alliance operatives months before. Now the system had spread, with the entire military of the city divided up into platoons and companies.
"Is it me, or do they change their tone when they talk to others outside of their group?"
Sergeant Tyler shrugged.
"No idea, Captain, but I know that the preacher Tenskwatawa is definitely calling the shots out here. When it comes to the fight, will their Captain answer to you, or him?"
"Yeah...tell me about it."
They paused and looked to the massive formation of armoured vehicles waiting to the Southwest of the city walls. Olik counted at least thirty, and over half were patched up transports taken from the defeated enemy in the siege. Olik nodded towards the first few in the column.
"And here they are again, testing the vehicles for the drive to Montu. It can't be long now before they send off the entire army."
Sergeant Tyler sighed to himself.
"And, of course, we only have authority to administer the defences of the city, not for the surrounding area or other combat units."
His nostrils flared as he complained.
"They should be using our own skills and training to help them."
Olik laughed at that.
"Why? You assume they intend to win."<
br />
He nodded to the line of vehicles.
"I suspect Tenskwatawa has his own plans, and they don't involve us. Come on, let's see what the Iron Brothers have done with our Brigade."
They turned to their left and past one of the small entrances carved into the armoured wall. A thin cloud of dust swirled along the base of the Southern Wall, partially hiding it from those out at the landing pads. Engineers had continued raising the dirt banks around the pads until nearly four metres in height. Though still relatively low, they kept the worst of the dust away from the waiting aircraft. One powered down its engines, and its doors opened to disgorge an engineering team from their work in one of the many distant settlements.
"Life continues," said Sergeant Tyler.
"If you call living on this barren rock, life. Then yes," muttered Olik.
The pair moved away from the heavily protected doorway in the base of the wall and out to the strip of land marking the border between the landing pads and the city’s defensive walls. Olik pointed to the open ground as they walked.
"That imbecilic governor wanted to use this open space to set up trading posts and new buildings. It's as though we never fought a battle here."
"They don't understand conflict like we do, Captain. This open ground must be kept clear for the safety of the city. In times of war, this will be the killing ground."
"Indeed," said Olik.
As they moved through the strip of flat land, Olik thought back to the bloody siege. He could see the marks where artillery had pounded the defences and created several small breaches. His chest lurched as he noticed the major breach was still undergoing heavy repair. It was the point where he'd fallen in battle in the final moments of the siege.
"It was a good fight."
The words were quieter than normal and unusual for Olik.
"Is everything okay?" Sergeant Tyler asked.
"Just thinking. I just don't like what I'm seeing."
It took just a few more steps, but Sergeant Tyler couldn't keep it to himself.
Battle for Karnak (Star Crusades: Mercenaries, Book 4) Page 18
