Earth (Harmony War Book 5)

by Michael Chatfield

  The lobby and trench Repulsors focused on the Chosen who were using the vehicles as cover. The Screamers, AMRs and Repulsors on the higher floors shot at the vehicles as more missiles rained down to meet the vehicles.

  They exploded with more than just the mere force of the missiles.

  “They’re all fucking bombs,” Ortiz growled, looking at the frontrunner troops through his sensor feeds. One was hit with Repulsor rounds. They were wearing something across their bodies that went up in a flash, leaving a crater in the cermite pad.

  A vehicle made it to the trenches, but its front wheels slid into the trench, stopping it from advancing. The Troopers closest tried to get to the driver, but it was too late. The vehicle went up in a fireball, the explosion focused by the trench as the vehicle flew backwards.

  Ortiz watched reinforcements fill the blast zone, techs repairing what they could as the mangled guns were thrown away and new ones put in place.

  It went on for twenty minutes, with tracer fire ripping across the battlefield. The vehicles seemed to have been spent.

  No more Chosen ran out and the fight started to slow down as fewer Chosen targets showed.

  “Looks like we won the first round,” Ortiz said.

  Injured were funneled to the medical center, ammunition and supplies were passed forward, and units ran checks.

  “The Chosen are shooting at the launchers,” Williamson suddenly announced in alarm.

  “Shoot back at them with the launchers, then rake their positions in the other towers,” Ortiz ordered.

  “Sir.” Williamson worked the console in front of him.

  The launchers fired at the opposing towers, tearing the sides off them and diving deep inside.

  No one was left to shoot back as the launchers turned and fired downwards. They swooped in, smashing into the base of the towers, killing Chosen that were working on defenses and preparing for their next offensive.

  ***

  Tyler saw the offensive start off, with light shining off a heavy machine gun in the setting sun.

  Someone stepped out, waving forward. Chosen once again poured out of buildings, firing, and moving. Guns that were on higher levels shot over them. Tyler breathed, hitting the one that had been waving. They went up in an explosion.

  He hit another and another, barely feeling the recoil as he shot target after target, bringing them to the ground. He reloaded and fired by instinct, his muscles doing it by the rote repetition learned over the years.

  Trucks came around the buildings, firing from beside the towers or from inside them. Screamer gunners had to open themselves up for attack in order to fire on the trucks.

  A few Chosen made it past the mines and over the planters. None of them made it to the trenches.

  Yet, Tyler thought as the Chosen’s second attack was pushed back.

  They hadn’t used artillery or most of their tricks yet, but the Chosen were pushing hard enough that Ortiz would have to use them sooner rather than later, otherwise they’d get overrun.

  Tyler shot retreating Chosen. He left the ones screaming and writhing on the ground to die.

  Let them suffer like Ko.

  He put in a new magazine, pushing spent casings away from his spot. A machine came around collecting casings and empty magazines and a tech dropped off extra magazines.

  “Thanks,” Tyler said, sorting out the magazines so that they were in easy reach.

  It wasn’t long until the Chosen went for their third attack. The sun set as Tracers, Screamer trails, explosions and weapons fire illuminated the night.

  ***

  Mark moved to the side of the trench as the fallen Troopers’ bodies were pulled into the citadel.

  Their armor was torn from the blasts of the suicidal Chosen that had leapt into the trenches and detonated themselves.

  Not many had got into the lines, but those that had were brutally effective.

  The trenches cut into Mega City’s cermite pad served to focus and channel the blast of the bomb-wearing Chosen.

  “Mark, you’re not supposed to be up here,” Alexis said as he moved to a Repulsor position and looked over the battlefield that had been the citadel’s square.

  “Well, I’m not going to be sitting behind those walls any more. I’m a Trooper, same as you. I’m a fighter,” Mark said.

  “You’re a leader,” Alexis sighed.

  “Yeah, but I’m not going to be doing much leading from back there, am I? You and the officers know your jobs; the Troopers know their jobs. There’s little need for leadership unless we pull back, and I don’t see that happening for a few days,” Mark said, stepping down from the position and looking at Alexis.

  “It’s good to have you up here, Mark.” The two of them tapped arms.

  “Just give me a hole to fill and I’ll give you dead Chosen,” Mark said.

  Alexis sent him a waypoint.

  “They’re coming,” someone said. It was more of a sigh instead of a yell. The Troopers had been rotated on and off the various lines, but they were all on edge and they hadn’t got much sleep over the last week.

  Mark jogged to his position, watching as symbols started appearing. Troopers started firing, just a few at first, but then more as the Chosen numbers grew. It was the largest push Mark had seen yet.

  He got into his position, stepping up to the Repulsor.

  There were Chosen everywhere, firing their damned Heavy machine guns and Metal Storm rifles.

  Mark focused on the turret, pulling the two charging handles on each Repulsor.

  A round dropped out of both of them as he swung the gun onto target. All of the lines had opened up.

  Mark fired, guiding tracers over the biggest groups he could see.

  Trucks appeared, and their fire was coordinated. Half of them were firing on the trenches and the barricades, the others were shooting at the Screamer positions and weapon emplacements on higher levels.

  A speeder, one of the unarmored but fast vehicles, shot out around the truck nearest Mark. He fired on it, but he couldn’t stop it.

  It jumped the planters, coming down in a spray of sparks as it swerved for the trench line. Other tracers were ripping into the vehicle, tearing off paint, metal, and the bodywork of the car.

  It didn’t stop as it passed over the first trenches, losing its front tires and flipping. It landed on the second trench, going up in a massive fireball.

  There were four more cars using the first’s explosive end to race forward. Mark fired on them, but there were too many and the second line had been fucked up by the first explosion.

  A car crashed a few feet away from Mark.

  He turned, trying to grab the Repulsor at his side. The car went up and Mark was thrown backwards down the trench.

  He woke up some time later.

  There were more car wrecks over the lines. He sat up, hissing in pain, and looked down.

  “Well, for fuck’s sakes,” he growled, pushing himself to his feet. His front was covered in holes as parts of the car had turned into shrapnel and cut through his armor.

  His implants were flashing angry colors at him, and his augments were doing everything in their power to keep him combat capable.

  He looked around, there were dead and wounded all over the place. Medics were working their way through them, hauling them to the rear.

  Mark stepped up to the nearest gunner nest.

  The Chosen were over the planters and working their way forward. They were just a few hundred meters away.

  He grabbed the turret and fired back at the bastards that had blown him up.

  The pain was hell, though everyone on the line would buy the wounded more time. He knew that the Chosen would make it into the first line of trenches.

  “Prepare to draw blades!” Mark yelled to the Troopers on the front lines. He changed channels to Ortiz.

  “We need that artillery support, or the Chosen are going to be in our fucking lines,” Mark yelled, something that had hurt more than he’d expect
ed.

  “Alright, I won’t give you artillery yet, but we have something else. We need to draw them in, though. Get as many of them out of their towers as possible. This will only work once,” Ortiz warned.

  Mark knew what the man was asking.

  Hold until you’re just about to be overrun, then we can kill a ton of the bastards, but you and yours might be dead before we can get to you.

  “Yes, sir,” Mark said, closing the channel. He checked his blade with one hand, firing his turret with the other. He fired at the Chosen that were hiding behind cars, or in craters made by their buddies blowing themselves up.

  “Ready grenades. Get in behind those fucking cars and flush the cunts out!” Alexis barked.

  Mark checked her status, she was yellow, which was better than the yellow/red that Mark was showing.

  Smart fucking lady that one. Mark grinned, pulling a grenade off of his belt, still firing with one hand.

  Sergeant Balhauser would have my head for shooting with one hand like some fucking cowboy. Mark laughed, wincing with pain as he remembered his training sergeant.

  Mark primed and tossed a grenade, missing his target and sending it rolling under a car.

  It went off, flipping the car onto the Chosen behind it.

  “Well fuck, that works,” Mark said, bringing his gun to bear on the fuckers that were trying to get out from under the car. Repulsor rounds cracked their armor.

  They did the dead man dance as rounds pinged around inside their armor and Mark found new targets and grabbed another grenade.

  The Repulsor went dry, and Mark tossed the grenade, opening the Repulsors up to cool them as much as possible. He threw out the empty ammunition boxes, grabbing new ones and locking them into the Repulsor. Rounds fed in as he closed the guns up and pulled on the charging handles. He fired at the Chosen making a run from just a hundred meters away.

  “They’re getting close,” Alexis said in Mark’s helmet.

  “We keep shooting for as long as possible, then we need to spread out and use blades. Most of these fuckers are walking bombs. If we clump together, then we’re one nice big juicy target.” Mark hit a Chosen hiding behind the still burning wreckage of a truck.

  They went up in an explosion, further deforming the truck.

  “Got it,” Alexis said.

  “Yule, Nguyen, have your people spread out, get them ready to use their blades. We need to pull in as many of these fuckers as possible. Do not group together, it’ll just make us easier for these bomb fuckers. Try to get into groups of Chosen, that way they kill their own if they turn into flying fucking mince,” Mark said.

  Two green lights said that Yule and Nguyen were passing his orders on.

  Mark watched word pass through the Troopers as they spread out. Wounded were hauled to the rear and reinforcements took up positions. It wasn’t enough to make up for their losses but it meant that every other turret had a Trooper sitting at it.

  “Come on, you motherfuckers, let’s party,” Mark said as Chosen continued to pour out. Trucks were still firing but now just at the barricades and upper floors, scared to hit their own people.

  A Chosen made it to the line, and Mark saw an area of the map turn to red and black markers where there’d been greens and yellows.

  The Chosen had claimed more of Mark’s Troopers.

  He felt his anger building, and it continued to mount as he worked like a machine, killing anything that ran, cutting it down with the precision of a life-long veteran.

  More Chosen made it to the lines, jumping, falling, doing anything they could to get into the trenches.

  Mark continued to fire as the gunners around him fought with blades.

  He cut down a Chosen running right at his position and Mark was thrown backwards as the explosion hit him.

  I fucking hate bombs. Mark got to his feet, grabbing the blades on his ammunition pack.

  “Come on, you fucking bastards!” Mark shouted, seeing the reds and blacks of his Troopers was too much. He’d get Ortiz the time he needed.

  Mark jumped out of the trench, and dialed off his implant alerts as his augments went into overdrive.

  He landed outside the trench among five Chosen. In seconds, he’d cut them apart. He took two steps, kicked a truck and went right back into the trenches into the middle of Chosen that were fighting the Troopers toe to toe.

  Mark kicked those he landed on until their helmets were caved in and they stopped moving.

  The Chosen looked at him and his blood stained armor.

  “AHHHHH!” Mark charged them. They fought back with the hardened spears and daggers that could crack a Trooper’s armor. The smart ones did, the ones either too stupid or not thinking straight tried to use their rifles.

  Mark’s vibra-blades cut through it all.

  These Chosen had been taught disciplined fighting all their lives.

  “Welcome to the Slums, you fucks!” Mark yelled through his speakers. He hadn’t been taught in a nice school hoping for war. He’d been born fighting to survive, fighting to fit into the Westerly Three Complex Crew and then fighting to be called a Trooper. He drove his foot into a Chosen’s crotch.

  They howled, falling down. Mark guessed he’d just ruptured their genitals as he drove a blade through the back of their skull.

  He wasn’t a clean fighter. He would use anything he had to kill Chosen.

  He pushed off a wall, getting out of the way of a spear strike. He twisted and drove his sword through their neck and had pulled it back out before they had even begun to fall.

  He kicked another back. The Chosen were packed like sardines as they stumbled.

  Mark threw himself backwards, dropping his blade and grabbing his Repulsor hanging from his sling. He pulled the trigger, spraying the Chosen.

  Bingo. A PAC’s bomb vest went up. Mark slammed into Chosen. He felt pain along his right side and something cracked near his neck.

  The Chosen Mark had been fighting were dead, but the ones he’d landed on weren’t. Mark ignored his new injuries, the augments applying painkillers and adrenaline to make him forget.

  He threw himself forward, earning a complaint from his broken collarbone.

  “Well fuck,” Mark growled; it hurt like hell to move his right arm.

  He faced his new opponents, gauging them.

  A Chosen jumped for the trench, driving their knee into Mark’s right shoulder.

  “You motherfucking son, of a fucking bitch,” Mark drove the blade in his left hand into the Chosen’s gut and stabbed them repeatedly “That fucking hurts! This is the second fucking shoulder I’ve had to get you useless fucking waste of oxygen.”

  He looked at the Chosen, who looked like a perforated voodoo doll.

  “Fuuuuuck!” Mark yelled, charging his new opponents who had moved forward and away from his frantic stabbing.

  Mark heard what sounded like Combat Shuttle auto-cannons.

  “More, give me more!” Mark hissed, and his implants registered the voice and pre-set commands.

  Mark stopped feeling anything. Pain disappeared as he tore a spear from the Chosen trying to hit his wounded right side.

  He felt the bones grating in his collar but they didn’t hurt any more. It was just an itch as he flipped the spear, cutting with his blade, driving the spear forwards, slicing stomachs and groins open.

  Bloody and crying Chosen lay in Mark’s wake.

  His implants beeped. Mark turned and hurled the spear with all his strength. It impaled a Chosen, driving them back in mid-air.

  “Come on, I’m fucking Diablo!” Mark let himself sink into that dark well, his pain, his training. Past the morals that people placed on themselves.

  Mark laughed and smiled, grinning like death itself as he drove a blade through a Chosen’s helmet, ripping their metal storm rifle from them and firing back at the Chosen at point blank range.

  They died, leaving Mark without anyone to fight. He pulled up his map, and found new targets and a wounded Trooper.


  He pulled the Trooper out from under Chosen carcasses, stabbing a few of them that twitched.

  “Sir,” the sergeant said, looking at Mark.

  “We have some Chosen to kill, sergeant, you with me?” Mark demanded.

  “Till the end, sir!” the sergeant had murder in his voice.

  “Very well, Hughes, let’s go hunting,” Mark said, taking off at a run. Hughes followed right behind.

  Mark ripped a spear from the Chosen he’d killed. He drew it back and threw it at a Chosen running across the battlefield. Mark grabbed another from the ground, throwing it along the trench and hitting more Chosen in the back.

  “Move right,” Hughes said.

  Mark did so without question, and a spear went sailing past and Mark grabbed another from the ground as they ran.

  He looked up to see Hughes’ target dropping to the ground.

  “That’s what I’m talking about, sergeant!” Mark howled. They rounded a corner, finding Chosen filling the area, in a wild melee with Troopers.

  Mark kept his spear and slammed into the Chosen’s rear.

  Hughes stood beside him, making a wall as they used their vibra-blades and spears to cut down the Chosen.

  The Chosen tried to turn but they were too close together with Mark and Hughes pressing hard.

  “Don’t give them space, cut them down, Troopers! No mercy!” Mark barked.

  “No mercy!” The Troopers who looked like they were on their last legs took the words to heart and fought with renewed and frantic energy.

  Mark drove his spear through a Chosen’s lower back, driving it up into another’s back and out of their chest.

  He let the spear go, the dead pinned the Chosen and pushed them forward into the Troopers to the front.

  Mark cut and moved forward. He shifted sideways, opening the Chosen up. Hughes’ blade ripped through their side and back out, dropping them as Mark slashed a Chosen attacking Hughes where he’d left himself open.

  Neither of them said anything as they continued on.

  Mark kicked out a Chosen’s leg, punching their helmet, which he felt jar in his collarbone and fucked up shoulder.

  He cut their arm off and slashed their chest.

  He moved forward, ready to cut down the next Chosen, but only found himself facing one standing Trooper and another that was leaning against the wall, blood coming down their side.