However, it was obvious that this “surprise” assault was expected, and there would not be many easy status kills of what humans called civilians. Their so-called soldiers were not overly tough individually, but in a group, they cooperated well, and drew in rash warriors for an apparent easy kill, only for them to find that it wasn’t that easy when the ambush came. True, many of the ambushers didn’t get away, but they were killing more warriors than they once did in the process. The kill ratio had shrunk from twenty to one in the early days, to ten to one here on Poldark, and so far today it was down to three to one, because they had not managed to close with the enemy in larger concentrations.
The humans were making a far more rapid retreat than usual, and didn’t appear to be panicked or in a rout, as sometimes happened. They had what seemed to be an unending string of fallback positions, where the retreat of those under direct attack always seemed to have heavy covering fire, and waves of that cursed artillery protection as they retreated. The highly mobile artillery was the most annoying, because the heavily armored Krall repeatedly ranged well ahead of their laser defense systems. The thermite loaded anti-personnel bomblets would explode from the delivery shells, scattering among the Krall, and then they would be occupied with frantically knocking off the blazing little “joint killers” before the limbs of their armor froze in place, partly immobilizing them.
That was exactly when nearby humans, driving fast little tracked transports appeared, immune to the same little bomblets because their own weapons knew friend from foe. They used heavy tri-barrel plasma guns to burn through the armor of any warrior that was exposed and preoccupied with the thermite bomblets. Then heading for cover before their targets finished knocking off the one or two clinging bomblets, which might have time to weld the attacked joints, or cause a severe burn.
However, permitting hits from the heavy plasma bolts would cost a limb, or your head, even if you took one or both human gunners with you as you went down.
Telgrad had lost one of his octet to a pulse cannon mounted on one of the two man little all-terrain tracked vehicles. Those had a driver, who fired his personal plasma rifle through a six-inch opening, using powered armor and his visor sights to hold it steady from behind a curved shield, using a view screen on the inside, so he could see to steer the vehicle. Another shielded and armored gun operator crouched in the back and handled the powered weapon that fired triple pulses of vaporized metal. He kept the three barrels supplied with the copper and iridium alloy rods of metal, which were incrementally vaporized at the back end of the three barrels, to form the heavy plasma bolts that were accelerated at the targets in rapid succession. The operator selected targets by eye, using his helmet visor and outside sensors that covered 360 degrees. The AI on the gun mount continually slewed the cannon to place the sights on the eyeball chosen targets, and fired three bolts in less than a second after a target was identified, when the gunner bit down on the trigger mouthpiece.
Artillery quickly came after Telgrad’s warrior suffered a fatal head shot, as she beat off three burners at her knees and one elbow. Telgrad and another warrior’s return plasma bolts were deflected by the rounded shielding as the gun cart retreated.
Soldiers had nicknamed the little transports ladybugs, because it was partly round in circumference on the back part, due to a humped back for the rotating turntable, which shielded the gun and gunner. The driver’s own shielded compartment resembled a bug’s head, with two rifle holes for eyes. Low armored skirts protected the tracks that moved the lightweight gun platform at high speed.
The gun was effective even on Dragons, if close enough, because the mass and temperature of the first two superheated bolts could crack or split the white ceramic, and the third bolt could often burn through the underlying metal skin. The weapon had a higher cycle rate than the pure plasma cannon of the Dragon, because it didn’t have a plasma chamber that might run empty, or that needed a slow preheat to protect a cold ceramic muzzle. Fusion powered pumped lasers converted four ounces at the tip of the three ammo rods into a hot metallic vapor, confined by powerful magnetic fields before being slammed downrange at several miles per second by a rail gun armature, firing in rapid succession for each of the three barrels.
The ladybugs worked in concert with the artillery, so they represented a double hatred for Krall warriors. Telgrad had seen the direction where this particular ladybug had retreated several times, between barrages. Its unique image was burned into his battlefield memory. He was going to take the remainder of his octet in that direction, even before the current barrage ended, and find where they went when they left to await the next barrage.
“Follow me,” he rasped. “We will find and kill the humans that earned status from Gitlod.” Leaving cover before a barrage was ended was riskier than usual, but obtaining higher status points for killing the human fighters that had ended their clan mate’s breeding line was appealing.
Revenge for Gitlod herself was of little motivation to the other octet members, because she had been a caustic presence, using her slightly higher point status as justification for constantly identifying combat flaws in the other six lower ranking members of the octet. Naturally, she held her criticism in check when it came to Telgrad, their leader. None of them therefore missed her personally, but still wanted revenge for a lost member of their octet. Besides, having killed a warrior in combat, those particular humans had now become valued at four status points each. Any one of the octet could earn eight points if they killed both on their own.
They pressed against a battered wall of a warehouse running along a narrow alleyway, using that as shielding from the motion detecting shells. The passage led in the direction the gun platform had fled twice before. They passed another octet, down by two warriors, who were just inside a ripped open section of the same wall, waiting for the hail of bomblets to pause. The other team surely wanted to take on some of the ladybugs, but knew they would return from where they took cover soon. They always did.
Waiting was too passive a tactic, and too human-like for Telgrad, who preferred the aggressive tactics of the warrior greats that had founded his finger clan. At the end of the alley, he paused to flick his red pupil eyes up and down the street, and then dashed across the wide main avenue to the alley on the other side, turning to provide cover for his octet if a gun cart suddenly pulled into the wider street. The last member of the octet had just made it to the alley when an incoming round air detonated over the street some distance behind him. The incoming shell must have detected Krall signatures moving in the open as it descended. Four bomblets used their short-range propulsion units and jetted in his direction, seeking and finding joints of his armor.
Two of the octet helped the warrior that was hit, slapping at the four small thermite bomblets before they did more than scorch the knee and elbow joints of his armor. They performed that task while still on the move up the alley. Suddenly, the octet leader halted and held up a clenched left gauntlet, and then pointed silently over his head at the wall to the right side of the alley. His external mikes had picked up the faint sound of humans speaking on the other side of that wall. There were more humans speaking than the two voices they sought.
The high smooth textured wall was typical of the sides of other large warehouse facilities in this industrial city. No more than a Krall hand thick between support beams and partly hollow for holding insulation. An unarmored Krall could bust through in seconds. Seven warriors in powered armor would tear through as if the walls were hardly there. Telgrad used the ultrasonic range of his external speakers to issue instructions to his warriors. By avoiding his suit radio and low frequency speech, or imprecise hand signals, he issued detailed oral orders that human ears couldn’t hear, and their electronic detection equipment would not sense.
“Spread along the side of this work nest, and stand a leap apart. When I signal, we will rush the wall and smash through, and kill any of the enemy that is close. We were told we needed no prisoners for information ab
out their forces, but we are not forbidden to enjoy killing them. If possible, keep those alive from the gun cart with the black dots. They killed Gitlod.”
The gunners they were after had personalized their vehicle with small round black spots all over the outside. That cart was the only ladybug he’d seen marked that way. Capturing those two humans alive would make this morning end much better. His warriors spaced themselves along the alley, watching for his signal.
****
Stanislav was bragging on his gunner. “Branko got another one of them on our last cycle. That makes three for us today. The other two were killed in the mass charge on the berms, right in the middle of the heaviest bombardment. Those first two bastards were so busy swiping at the thermite all over them they never saw us take a bead on ‘em. The last one though, was a thing of beauty. We really set up an entire octet for that one.”
Branko had to jump in to add to the story. The pause between artillery barrages would be over before he got a chance to talk, if his pal told it all. “Stan saw ‘em run out of a building, just before it imploded from a booby trap they tripped. He gunned ole Daisy here,” He patted the ladybug, “and charged into the dust cloud billowing out right behind them. They were looking for new cover, since the next barrage was about to start. The dust and sound from the falling building concealed us. We only had seconds to nail one of them.”
The artillery and ladybugs coordinated their punches. The Krall took cover for the heavy part of a barrage, and just before it let up the ladybugs darted out of hiding to snipe at the Krall as they started to advance. Some would still be swatting at thermite bomblets on their armor, or may have just removed a leg or arm section, to try to flex them to break any weak welds on stiff joints. That’s when they were most vulnerable and distracted.
Stan had another two cents worth. “I drove Daisy right through the middle of the octet. I shot one in the back with one hand, steered into the legs of another with the other hand, and Branko killed the one those two had been helping knock off bomblets on its joints. The octet leader and another warrior fired on us as we got away clean, just as the next barrage was starting. It was that last short break in firing, or we wouldn’t have taken such a chance.”
The length of the artillery pauses ranged from a few minutes to fifteen seconds, to keep the Krall from working out a pattern. The mobile artillery and ladybugs had the prescheduled intervals loaded into their suit AIs, and took advantage of the knowledge. Since the artillery shells and bomblets would not target a “friendly,” the gun platforms could be moving about at any time. However, it was when the Krall were just rushing for cover as a barrage started, or at the end of a barrage for an exposed octet, which offered the best opportunities for ladybug kills.
Warriors with attached bomblets were less attuned to remote surroundings then, distracted by closer threats. They truly hated the robot mechanical killing devices, because it was insulting to be wounded by them, let alone killed. You gained no status for knocking off bomblets, although they would get points for knocking out a mobile artillery platform. Particularly if the four crew members died. That was a twenty-five status point score for them, because it was always assumed they had killed warriors.
A ladybug was only fifteen status points, with dead crew. More points for the crew if a warrior could show a specific crew had scored a kill of their own. That was partly why helmet cameras were left on, to review the images, to seek additional points for any prey that had in turn killed a warrior.
Not that the Krall didn’t pick off ladybugs often enough. Unlike artillery, which stayed well back from the front, mobile gun platforms often came in close. They had killed five of the squadron’s fourteen “bugs” in the first thirty minutes of the assault. Waiting for the Krall in among the berms had been a mistake for several crews, who discovered they had no path of retreat when the fast advancing warriors got in front and behind. The absence of human fighters in the berms, and the obstacles they represented to fast movement, led some crews to believe they could get out fast enough.
Concentrated rifle fire from two or more warriors could burn through the driver or gun compartment shields, if given the few seconds to do that. Grenades and heavy plasma fire through the driver’s rifle holes could disable the driver, or damage the steering system or throttle. Tracks could also be knocked off under the skirts. The gunner was better protected, but an obvious tactic for the Krall was to leap onto the rounded turret, hold onto the gun as it tried to traverse, and fire plasma bolts down through the small gap between the clamshell shield dome, and the gun mount.
Stan’s high-speed dash through an octet, only fifteen minutes ago, had worked because of the start of the next artillery barrage, which caused the octet to separate wider to avoid presenting a group target to the smart shells.
Proving he had a “whimsical” side, Branko said, “There’s nothing as lovely as a Krall helmet popping in the morning.” That drew a laugh.
There were four gun crews gathered in the cavernous, nearly empty warehouse, helmets off and standing by their machines comparing notes. The rest of their squadron was a half-mile away, at the front line that was inexorably pushing this direction. These men had been holding the Krall’s attention on that line while their comrades took their turn at a breather. Now it was their turn for a short rest. Falling back in a planned manner didn’t mean racing away from the fight. In a few miles, they would reach the first of the prepared defensive positions their armored and infantry units had established yesterday in some foothills. The ladybug crews would only need to go through two more artillery cycles before they’d rejoin the ground support they normally had. That would literally keep the Krall off their backs.
The Krall forces would be fragmented and strung out when they reached the next defense position, because individual clans almost never coordinated or worked together, and many of the warriors leading today’s attack were from various small clans. Naval space planes were slated to come in to furnish air support. That aerial help was something the front line troops rarely received, because the Krall normally stayed closer to their own lines in measured short advances, and had ample plasma cannon defenses. Human air support had proven very vulnerable to Krall laser and plasma cannons. The Krall single ships were not nearly as maneuverable in atmosphere, but they could shrug off most beam weapons for the seconds needed to get clear, and had ferocious acceleration.
One of the other “bug” drivers made a typical army comment about navy pilots. “Even if they show up, they ain’t gettin’ down on top of the enemy with us, for close-support. They on’t answer to our commanders, and on’t get low enough to be effective like they should be. That’s why we on’t have them for cover at any of the fronts. They want’a stay high to avoid ground fire from warriors, and then fall to the Krall’s laser and plasma defense grid. So we on’t never get no help from the navy.” It was the usual bitching.
In random conversation, one of eight, Malvy, said she’d heard it rumored that pilots in O’clubs had described some new aircraft to their ground pounder counterparts. They were ground based near here, rather than detached from the navy carrier orbiting safely out by a gas giant in this system. Supposedly, these space planes looked about the same as what the navy flew now, but had a different gray finish on their outer skin, with no unit markings. The pilots weren’t navy and wore unadorned black jump suits, and didn’t hang out with other pilots or even go to the O’club. She’d heard some of the men were reported to have tattoos occasionally seen on spec ops troops. However, the navy pilots said that made no sense, because none of those troops had ever been to any of the flight schools. They might be able to fly a shuttle or a recon ship, but not the more complex and demanding high performance fighters.
Stan said, “I don’t care who flies the damn things, if they can keep Dragons from getting too close to us.” A ladybug squad could fight back against a Dragon, but a Krall could do things in a Dragon that a human couldn’t match. A moving Krall mini tank driver could p
ut a plasma bolt through the six-inch wide rifle slot of a ladybug driver’s compartment at almost a half-mile. The flash heat of that bolt bouncing around inside would parboil the driver inside their armor. He shivered and stayed quiet as his thoughts turned fearful.
Branko, seeing his driver’s expression change, added to their earlier exploits with future ones he visualized, hoping it would boost his partner’s spirits. “If we can keep falling back until they start their own withdrawal, I’ll enjoy pounding the crap out of their retreating butts. With air and ground support helping us as we push them back, I’d like to increase our kills from today.” He patted the three new stickers he’d slapped on Daisy’s side for the kills made today, joining only two from the past six months of warfare, after he and Stan had first arrived on Poldark.
Replacements were frequent in this war, even if the enemy usually paced themselves slower than they were doing this week. The other three ladybug crews were very recent replacements, having arrived this month. Only two of their vehicles had even a single Krall silhouette sticker on the side, and those were added today. They held Branko and Stanislav in high regard, for their number of kills, and the tales of experience that they needed to hear if they wanted to survive for six more months.
As it happened, they would have been safer out fighting with the other five crews from their squadron, rather than taking a break in a quiet warehouse a half mile from the fighting. The ragged front suddenly caught up to them, and they weren’t ready.
As the far wall exploded inward in seven places, leaking Krall, Branko grabbed Stan and pulled him around the side of their gun cart, as the other six gunners either froze, or futilely drew pistols or raised plasma rifles. They wouldn’t have time to concentrate fire on even one warrior to bring it down, let alone seven. Escape or a tri-barrel gun was the only hope for a very lucky crew. Branko wanted it to be his.
Koban 4: Shattered Worlds Page 20
