Battle for Karnak (Star Crusades: Mercenaries, Book 4)

by Thomas, Michael G.

  Syala grunted and then bellowed abuse at an unseen enemy. Spartan grinned as he listened to her go to work.

  "Yeah, he's with me. He helped us shattered the rearguard up here, but it looks like there are other ways back to your level. I estimate three to four hundred broke off."

  Spartan's eyebrows lifted at that news.

  "That's a lot more than expected. I thought the garrison was a thousand, at the most."

  "Intelligence was wrong, are you surprised?"

  Spartan shrugged.

  "Very true. Like it matters. The more we fight here, the easier the uprising will be."

  A short volley of shots hit the Jötnar, but all either glanced off, or were easily absorbed by their thick armour plating. Spartan switched his vision modes. Scores more Red Scars positioned themselves in a dense crescent in the cover provided by the long line of rock pillars at the back of the hangar. He counted hundreds, and more were arriving.

  They're gonna hit us, and soon, or maybe they'll just stand there and finish us with volleys.

  "Spartan. Can you hold? I can be with you in ten."

  Spartan smiled inwardly. She sounded excited and pumped up on adrenalin, but also nervous and worried. It was some time since he'd had somebody even a little concerned at what happened to him.

  "Don't worry about us. Just get down here and hit them from behind. Between us, we'll crush the life out of them."

  "Good luck, Spartan. Stay alive."

  The communications system closed the connection, but the tactical data from every squad continued to arrive on his system. A brief glance confirmed Spartan's entourage were boxed in at this part of the facility.

  "They’re preparing a major assault. Ready yourselves."

  He watched and waited as the enemy readied. He didn't like giving them the initiative, especially when he was in a vulnerable position and heavily outnumbered.

  We stay here, or we move.

  He looked across to Khan who was slipping in another box magazine from the array of pouches attached to his armour. His old friend didn't even bother to look at the weapon as he expertly prepared it for battle. What really stood out was the long, cruel looking blade that hung down low below the barrels.

  "Thoughts?"

  Khan laughed, his maniacal voice amplified by the still active external speakers.

  "Same as always, Spartan."

  The magazine clicked into place, and Khan rested it against his shoulder, as though he was preparing to go off on a march somewhere.

  "Care to elaborate on that?"

  Khan lifted his Thumper in front of him and pointed the blade off into the distance. A ceiling-mounted lamp glinted off the metal, briefly turning the blade bright white.

  "Sure. We fix blades and charge the bastards."

  He laughed again as he brought the rifle back to his shoulder.

  "Nothing scares an enemy more than sharp steel, backed up by muscle."

  He pointed to the moving shapes near the columns.

  "And they will not stand, I can tell you that now. One push, and they will run home crying to their mothers."

  Khan looked to his kin and howled.

  "What do you all think, my brothers? Will they stand, or will they run if we give them the cold steel?"

  A few of the Jötnar shouted back in reply, and then the sound increased to a roar. It was a simple plan, lacking any real sophistication, and exactly what Spartan wanted to hear. The loose line of armoured warriors raised their weapons, howling and shouting in unison. So loud were their amplified voices, Spartan was sure he could feel the reverberation through his feet.

  Good idea, Khan. Not even I can hold them back now.

  Spartan quickly checked the position of Syala, and then double-checked that Kanjana and Lahok were still safe at the rear of the unit.

  "Okay, then. Let's end this...now."

  As he turned back, he activated the retractable blade fitted to his carbine.

  "Bayonets!"

  The entire formation removed long blade from their sheaths, and a handful activated attached blades already fitted to their modified weapons. Each of the bloodthirsty Jötnar shouted in reply, their voices all stating the same single word.

  "Bayonets!"

  It was a terrifying sound to hear, especially from the lungs and speakers of the Jötnar. In just a few seconds the line of Jötnar lifted their firearms to their shoulder or at the hip, ready to continue firing, but this time every one of them tipped with sharp steel. Those that didn't carry Thumpers drew blades or lifted their two-handed iron maces over their heads, ready to attack. It was a terrifying sight, and even Spartan felt a lump in his throat as he watched them prepare for a bloody battle.

  Just like New Carlos.

  The memories of that old battle were as fresh as the day he'd been there, when Confederate marines had fought one of the biggest pitched battles of the war. Spartan had been much more junior then, and with armoured CES suits in support, they'd fought a brutal urban battle for hours. Few talked about it now, but there had been a number of close quarter engagements as well as several bayonet charges.

  We won the day that time, and we will again.

  He signalled for the Jötnar to move.

  "Blood Pack...advance!"

  As one the entire group took a single step, then another until they were moving forward. Many of the Red Scars stepped away from their cover for a better shot. The Jötnar unit was smaller in number now, and all bore the marks of the battle. Sporadic gunfire raked them, and every few moments another round made its mark. The old-fashioned Jezzail rifles varied massively in their effectiveness. The older models hurled solid slugs that embedded in the layers plates of the Blood Pack. Some of the more recent designs used a discarding sabot system to fire smaller penetrators that could punch through metal and cause light wounds. Against an armoured man these should prove fatal, but most merely created light wounds that simply infuriated the Jötnar. Some of the more enterprising warriors used explosive rounds that blew chunks of plating off with every impact.

  "Heavy weapons!" yelled one of the Jötnar.

  Spartan looked for the target, a wheeled device with a large gunnery system fitted atop. It looked suspiciously like the improvised anti-aircraft turrets from the Byotai crawlers, and now it was facing his warriors.

  "Fire!"

  The Jötnar opened up, hammering the Red Scars who ducked to avoid the conflagration. Dozens fell, but the gunners on the weapons platform stayed hunkered down behind the thick armour plated shield. Then it opened up with a low chattering sound. Multiple explosive rounds hurtled towards the Jötnar at high speed. Spartan knew immediately this was a railgun turret assembly, possibly originally fitted to an aircraft, and now in front of them.

  "Hit it again!"

  The gun shield flashed as rounds struck the armour, but it couldn't stop the weapon. Grey streaks marked the path of heavy shells, and once they reached the front rank, they exploded. They showered those nearby with burning hot metal and a concoction of dry chemicals that hissed as they burned through bone and metal. One Jötnar was torn apart from neck to knee, and another saw his right arm blasted clean off.

  "Keep moving!"

  The movement was ragged, and some of the Jötnar bent down to help move their wounded comrades forward. More shells crashed into the dense formation, and another spun around, hitting the ground as a leg shattered from multiple gunshots. For all this gunfire, the Jötnar continued forwards. Like a man leaning into the wind, the Jötnar were slowed by the impacts from the guns and leaned into the shots to keep moving. A shell bounced off Khan and hit the ground in a flurry of sparks.

  "Keep firing, boys. Don't let up now!"

  Systematically they plodded on, heading away from the collapsed entrance and deeper inside the facility. More dropped until even Spartan began to worry that maybe they should have done something a little different.

  Too late to change now, we finish this one way or the other.

  Spartan s
tepped over multiple dead Red Scars and grabbed a stubby rifle. Now with a weapon in each hand, he yelled and opened fire, raking the enemy off in the distance. Behind him the Jötnar advanced at a fast walk, still maintaining their formation. As he passed the next pillar, the weapon platform turned a little to hit to the left of the Jötnar. It wasn't much of a change, but he was sure the main gun shield was angled to create a gap.

  Hit it!

  The voice spoke to him, reminding him to take whatever advantages were thrown at him. The weapon system roared and vanished behind the muzzle flashes. Spartan lifted his carbine and dropped the captured rifle. He took his time, aiming carefully at the exact spot between the layered armour sections.

  Now!

  The carbine thumped into his shoulder, but Spartan didn't stop with a single shot. He held down the trigger and released short bursts until the heat warning on the weapon reached critical. The blasts of superheated plasma hammered into the weapon platform and crew.

  Spartan squinted as he adjusted his arm while still shooting. The small calibre seemed uninspiring, but each sealed blast shattered to release incredible energy as it struck its target. One crewmember vanished in a cloud of green and white, and part of the gun mechanism ripped apart before finally exploding.

  "Yes!" Khan shouted.

  Spartan grinned, slipped in another power cell, and then raked the entire Red Scars line. Lahok and Kanjana stepped a few metres behind Khan, but kept their heads down. There was little they could do in such a firestorm and concentrated in not getting hit by a stray round. Lahok was so careful to avoid the fire he caught his foot on the mutilated body of a fallen Jötnar, falling chest first to the floor among the blood and ruin. As he looked up, he spotted Spartan through the gaps between the Jötnar. He continued to bark orders, while firing short bursts from his XC1 carbine.

  There they are.

  Lahok had his first view of the enemy formation, and their numbers appeared limitless. The Red Scars were ranks deep and filled the end of the hangar. Some lay down to avoid fire, and many sheltered behind pillars, but the distance inside the mighty cavern was much shorter now, and the Jötnar were out for blood. Movement to the right showed the arrival of hundreds more, and they swept down a wide ramp and into the open space on the side of the Red Scars formation.

  We can't win this.

  So confident were the massive numbers of Red Scars that scores of them inched ahead in a loose formation for a better shot, others raised razor sharp lances and blades.

  They are getting ready to end this.

  Lahok shook his head as the guns roared, but then came a cry he'd not expected.

  "Give them the cold steel!" Khan ordered.

  The entire unit lowered their weapons to waist height and pushed their steel tipped weapons in front of their bodies. Shots struck their armour, but now the distance had dropped to a hundred metres, and both sides could see each other clearly. Spartan did the same as his comrades and called out the order the disciplined and badly bloodied pack of Jötnar had been waiting for.

  "Charge!"

  The pack of angry Jötnar lurched ahead. Their massive frames, strong limbs, and muscular bodies propelled them ahead at great speed. Some of the Red Scars pushed their comrades from behind, eager to get in on the fight, and by accident managed to disrupt the line. Some fell forward, and others even rushed out to fight the Jötnar. One of the mighty armoured shapes called out to the others in a blood-curdling yell.

  "One volley, then the cold steel!"

  A single mighty blast rippled down the line, and then they surged ahead into a final sprint for the last few metres. They crashed into the Red Scars like an entire herd of the long extinct species of rhino. Bodies lifted high and flew through the air. The Jötnar kept charging in, breaking through line after line until deep inside the crowded formation. With each swing of a weapon, another Red Scar was cast aside.

  "Keep fighting!" Spartan yelled.

  He found himself in front of at least a dozen of the enemy, but Spartan didn't care. He stabbed the nearest in the chest, pulled out the blade, and sprayed the group with gunfire. The gun soon ran dry, so he hacked and stabbed, cutting down another three at close-range. Two grabbed his flanks and stabbed at his armour, but Khan was there.

  "Fools!"

  The long blade punched through a forehead, appearing at the rear of the skull. Khan yanked the blade to the right, tearing the head from the torso and showering those nearby in blood. Spartan kicked the body down and then stabbed at another.

  Gunfire still lashed both sides, but at this range, the Red Scars were unable to hit Spartan and his warriors without hitting their own fighters. The fight quickly turned into a mass of small melees, and though heavily outnumbered, the Jötnar seemed to become more dangerous as time went on. They went to work with a brutal efficiency that wouldn't have been out of place at a slaughterhouse. Each hacked and stabbed, tearing off limbs, heads, and hands before moving to the next.

  Towards the back, Lahok and Kanjana sheltered with a small group of wounded Jötnar. Several had lost limbs, or had stayed there to protect their comrades from being picked off. Though few in number they provided substantial fire into the heaving mass of Red Scars that now completely enveloped the Blood Pack. Body parts, blood, and pieces of armour flew in all directions as the fight continued.

  "What can we do? We will all soon be dead," said Lahok.

  His voice sounded bitter, and Kanjana easily identified the inflections from her long experience of his language. She started to talk but stopped and took careful aim. One shot was all it took to down a clan warrior, but behind him came another dozen. Lahok lifted his own rifle, panicked, and then pulled the trigger for it to only click.

  "You're dry," said Kanjana, "Reload."

  He moved quickly, but the clan warriors were coming, eager to finish off the wounded lying in a rough mound on the ground. Two rounds glanced off a body on the ground, and one of the Jötnar lifted his head, aimed with his Thumper, and opened fire. The weapon shuddered as it tore four Red Scars apart. The rest panicked and quickly separated. Lahok rose to one knee and looked back to where they'd come from. Bodies littered the place, and all he wanted to do was leave.

  "Look, they’ve arrived."

  He watched in wide-eyed amazement as Syala and Arana leapt from a gantry four levels above the fight. Dozens more of their Black Widows comrades did the same and crashed down into the flank of the massive melee. Short-ranged submachine guns rattled away, along with thermite grenade blasts. It took seconds, and then the Red Scars were running.

  "I've never seen anything like it," said Lahok.

  Many Red Scars tried to surrender and were quickly killed by their own officers, the rest trampled down their kin as they rushed to the tunnels. Few made it that far, as the reserve commanded by Kornag emerged from the larger tunnel entrance and finished the encirclement.

  "That, my friend, is how you win a battle," said Kanjana.

  Lahok rose to his feet. There must have been four or five hundred dead, with up to a dozen Jötnar dead or terribly maimed. Almost all of them bore wounds and damage, yet they lifted their blood-soaked weapons and cheered. At the centre of the unit was Khan, and above him, lifted over all their heads, Spartan. Lahok knew this was a great victory, but all he saw was the blood and carnage of the slaughter.

  Who are these people?

  As the chanting continued, the Jötnar lowered Spartan to his feet, and he spoke with the wounded, finally reaching Kanjana. She threw herself at him, like a daughter to a beloved father. As they separated, Spartan stared intently at Lahok.

  "Well. We've taken the facility and ripped the guts out of the Red Scars in this area."

  Lahok swallowed quickly and then bowed.

  "Yes, a...great victory. Major. What happens now?"

  Spartan struck him in the shoulder.

  "Now it's time for you to work your magic. I want a network created between all remaining militias in the South, and I want it do
ne by tomorrow. I've already sent word for Commander Knaro and his forces to go underground. Our Jackals are already there to provide him with air cover before they head back to Melantias."

  Spartan's eyebrows rose as though he was amused.

  "We cannot win this war on the surface, though, not yet. And the Red Scars still have tens of thousands of warriors here to deal with."

  Lahok shook his head, but Spartan merely laughed.

  "We can win this, but it will take time. We need to rally and mobilise a dormant power in this region, your own people, but before than can happen we have to reopen the underground highways."

  He pointed to the Blood Pack.

  "My soldiers will clear the tunnels, and with help from Commander Knaro's contacts, we can create an underground resistance. We will take the fight to Nakoma beneath the cities she wants to control."

  Lahok appeared confused.

  "But how? The Red Scars will hit this site hard from the surface. They brought a hundred thousand warriors to Karnak. Even after the defeat at Melantias and here, they must still have sixty thousand or more able to fight throughout the ten settlements."

  Spartan's mouth opened, revealing a row of gleaming teeth.

  "That's why our Khreenk friends are mining the entire area and barricading the tunnels with their robots."

  "I...I thought this was to be our base?"

  Spartan shook his head and pointed to the Jötnar who were already dragging bodies out of the way.

  "No. We fight our war where Nakoma can't hurt us, underground. The Deep Core Mine is now closed for business. Starting tomorrow, we show Nakoma that her Red Scar allies are no match for us. She will be forced to intercede, and then Tenskwatawa can hit the capital and end this war. Without Nakoma, they will lose all ability to fight."

  A single shot rang out as a Jötnar finished off a mortally wounded clan soldier. Spartan looked up for a second and then to Lahok.

  "I am mean closed...permanently."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  4km South of Hyndla, Southern Depression

  1 week later

  Spartan examined the video imagery coming in from the units in Hyndla. His muscles tensed as though he was actually there, but he knew his leadership was more important underground, for now. His mercenaries had only just taken up residence in the South, and already he'd started his campaign. From his underground command centre, he now planned and orchestrated more than two-dozen simultaneous operations throughout the South. Some helped trained militia units, while others sabotaged Red Scars communications and assassinated their regional commanders. None was more important to him than this one. He looked at the imagery of the Red Scars prison building shown via a distant long-range scope.