Masoul (Harmony War Series Book 2)

by Michael Chatfield

  Nerva worked his way down to the third floor. Fighting was sporadic and across the level. Level five was the worst, while the first level was completely cleared.

  He saw sections move through the remains of offices. A grenade went off, and it must have caught something extra, as suddenly a large chunk of the offices went up in a large fireball, the explosion throwing office cubicles in every direction and flattening the section moving up on the weapons fire.

  Chosen were thrown, screaming, and a number of them were on fire and running.

  “No mercy!” Nerva heard someone call.

  “We are troopers!” the others returned, letting Chosen run burning to death. A few took the easy route out, putting their guns to their heads and pulling the trigger.

  The troopers regained their feet and moved forward; medics moved to help those that had caught some kind of office appliance or Harmony renovation that had been turned into shrapnel.

  Nerva played through the recording, trying to figure out what the explosion had come from. He looked at the oxygen levels; they were kind of low.

  “It’s from the waste recycling systems; the bathrooms are now bombs,” NIDenise supplied.

  Nerva sighed and shook his head, opening a channel to his officers.

  “Seems that the Triple-Threes blocked the shitters, backed them up, and now they’re gas bombs. Watch out for them when you’re shooting,” Nerva warned, getting green lights on his HUD. He sent another message up to Domashev, who had the word passed around.

  “Sounds like a bad comedy,” Captain Ortiz said.

  “Quite,” Nerva said dryly, looking to the four other divisions that were moving to support him.

  He opened a channel to the other two majors assaulting the central tower with him.

  “Push on through us. I want to keep them off balance and hopefully leapfrog our divisions down. We’ve got resistance fighters on the lower levels making Harmony’s lives shit. Pass them your sensors and mini-mines; they’ve got ways to get a sensor grid up and running instead of going in blind. Also, watch out, the shitters explode if you so much as look at them with a spark,” Nerva said.

  “That has got to be one of the weirdest sit-reps I’ve ever heard,” Major Duvall said, laughing in her helmet.

  “Exploding fucking shitters, sounds entertaining,” Loa laughed.

  “Masks and filters on, the gases will kill most who start sniffing it in. Seems that thirty years of gases and nastiness were pumped into the air,” Nerva said.

  “Ughh, nasty,” Duvall said. Nerva saw her forces moving down past his own and deeper into the tower.

  Sporadic fire came from his right; he saw the Chosen firing. He brought his rifle up and fired controlled bursts at the red halos. The three troopers with him joined in, one popping a grenade off in the direction. The Chosen, blind and confused, didn’t stand a chance.

  Nerva went back to scanning, the grenade putting an end to the fight.

  “What’s that old saying, better out than in?” Soo said with a laugh.

  Loa groaned as Duvall laughed.

  Might slap a rank on them, but they’re still troopers at heart, Nerva thought with a sigh, watching as troopers moved out onto new floors, sections fanning out and cutting down Chosen as they found them.

  Greens changed colors as they pushed on, but the Chosen couldn’t shoot what they didn’t see. Troopers hit the ground, shooting from their stomachs, the Chosen firing over them, the rounds leaving their barrels blinding their night vision and making them useless.

  Their city had turned into a prison; they couldn’t see their targets, their air was getting stale and used, and at lower levels, resistance fighters would throw grenades in their midst, usually making Chosen cut one another down.

  This is planning, this is how war is waged, and how it shows you just how terrible it can be.

  The Chosen were learning; in the dark, they couldn’t see their losses, so they were charging the troopers.

  They were cut down, most times; other times they reached their lines.

  Brawls were breaking out, coming down to blades and strength.

  Again, the troopers had an edge, but the Chosen had numbers.

  They had nearly thirty times their number; they could afford to lose a few to close with and kill the troopers.

  ***

  Jerome flipped his face shield down and went to work with his welder, adding extra armor to the vulnerable joints.

  A few were moving in their powered armor, others running tests as they tried to work out the kinks and bugs they’d noticed.

  They were packing months of development into hours, maybe days.

  Haas had set up a rotating list of people to work on the powered armor, some working to reinforce them, others that were made to rest, and those watching the doors.

  They had lived together for nearly a year; they had become closer than they thought possible in many ways.

  A look or gesture from one was all they needed; words were a bygone.

  They might have hated one another after the shuttle ride, but now they were focused on the goal that they had worked for nearly a year to obtain: the fall of Harmony on Masoul. It was within their grasp.

  Excitement filled them and pushed them to do more, to finish up the final steps. They worried about the EMF forces that were descending through the city.

  They waited and improved, knowing that all too soon they would be called on, yet it would always seem like it took too long.

  Haas moved across the floor. His control had improved in bounds in just a short time of practice. He wasn’t a pro—none of them were—but they acted more like kids going through an awkward growth spurt than walking on stilts for the first time.

  Moretti was moving around the tech area, floating from terminal to terminal, unlocking their secrets, downloading them to his implants and making extra files that were uploading to everyone’s implants. As long as one of them made it to the troopers, then the message would get back to Earth.

  The information was apparently vital to Earth and her colonies. As they were now able to talk freely, Dan Moretti had finally given them his story.

  The man hadn’t had it the worst, but he had needed to hide his true self for so many years that it wasn’t until the troopers had arrived that he’d thought there was a possibility of him ever escaping Harmony’s control.

  He talked of his thoughts that Harmony hadn’t come from Masoul, that someone else was using Masoul as a proving ground.

  The troopers had come to trust the spy and took his suspicions seriously.

  Jerome finished tacking the armor plate in place and started to get to his serious welds. The armor plate had been bent and formed to fit over the shoulder joint; it was already welded to other plates, which made armored shoulders like the ones the troopers used on their regular strapped-on armor.

  It took him time, but it also took his mind off the fighting above him. He, like every trooper, wanted to get in the fight, to help out their brothers and sisters, but here they waited.

  Jerome flicked his mask up a while later, checking his welds. He moved, his back aching from the concentrated and slow work; it took a lot of time getting the armor plates to melt and fuse to one another.

  He saw Moretti standing with Haas and Zukic; no one looked happy as Moretti stopped talking and Haas rubbed his face, obviously having to make some kind of decision.

  Jerome was impressed with the control Haas showed with that simple act; it would be only too easy for him to break his own jaw with his new strength.

  Haas looked around, seeing Holm and Sasaki.

  The two were wearing unaltered powered armor, all unarmored joints. At least their control systems had been fixed up.

  The suits that the troopers were going to use were all in their cradles except for Haas’. They wanted to have them at a full charge as soon as they stepped into them. They’d been training every moment they could. They still weren’t the best at handling the machines, but they
had the basics down.

  With a glance and a wave, Holm and Sasaki stomped over to the group.

  Jerome watched with interest as the two nodded, their helmets dropping over their heads and sealing.

  They checked their weapons out of reflex and Moretti moved for the doorway. Holm and Sasaki walked with him, easily catching up.

  They had done nothing but work on their control of the powered armor during every minute they hadn’t been planting bombs or inciting the resistance, and it showed.

  Jerome caught Zukic’s eye. Haas was watching them leave; not many would see the tension in his jaw or the emotions that Haas tried to hide, but Jerome knew the man almost better than he knew himself. He could see the pain that lay there, the apprehension at sending two people he respected and cared for deeply, out into the madness that had consumed Landing City.

  “Gather in,” Zukic said to the rest of the troopers watching the exchange. They finished off what they were doing and huddled around Zukic and Haas.

  “Moretti’s going to head up to the command center Harper is holed up in, get us a better read of the situation. Holm and Sasaki are going to act as protection,” Haas said, looking at them all.

  “Now get back to work, that powered armor ain’t gonna reinforce itself,” Zukic said, his look telling them he would brook no argument.

  “Only two to go, for us at least. Shall we up armor the others in case we can get some more troopers down here?” Yu asked. He was technically a higher rank than Haas, but he was a combat shuttle pilot, no trooper, and he was a smart dude. Bit of an adrenaline junkie, but a good dude.

  Jerome would take his shuttle any day of the week, but here on the ground, those smarts turned to common sense as he looked to Holm for guidance.

  “I can see what you’re saying, but no, can’t leave the risk of the enemy getting them and using them against us when we get out of here. I want them stored in one of the armories; if we can, we’ll grab them afterwards. Booby-trap the place so only we can get in there,” Holm said, looking to Yu.

  Yu nodded in understanding. He might not have been a trooper, but he could understand their line of thinking.

  “Now git! Damn lazy bastards!” Zukic said, effecting a sour mood, but the smile that showed through took the bite out of his words.

  They grinned and talked in their groups, moving back to their projects.

  “Need a hand?” Mark asked, coming over to Jerome.

  “Sure, I’m pretty beat,” Jerome admitted.

  “You look it. After you up-armor Niemi’s, get some sleep. We need you ten by ten,” Mark said, tapping Jerome on the shoulder.

  Mark didn’t show his feelings much, a tap here, a quiet smile there.

  It was why the two blades he’d given Jerome meant so much. It wasn’t just two weapons, it was an admission—Mark and Tyler were brothers by their actions, and they both wanted to add another brother to that mix, and sister, in the case of Alexis.

  “I will,” Jerome said, flashing a smile, but it didn’t last. His mind quickly turned to Alexis, who had become like a sister to him, and all of the other troopers he knew were fighting for their lives across Landing City.

  ***

  Close to twenty-five thousand troopers had been dropped on Landing City.

  In eight hours, they had secured the first seventeen floors before the Chosen either made a mistake or started rubbing brain cells together. They couldn’t see in the dark and electricity didn’t work, so they went caveman.

  They set fires to illuminate the floors in yellow flickering light. The troopers’ HUDs had to compensate for the flames, making it harder to see Chosen in contrast to the pure darkness, though they still held an advantage in that area.

  Alexis and her platoon were on floor nineteen; it looked to be an office area, with a large cafeteria in the center at some point.

  All paths led to the cafeteria, so they moved through the offices.

  Alexis opened a door slowly, throwing a sensor stick into the cafeteria.

  They hadn’t had them on Sacremon, but they’d proven their worth on Shipping Station and Masoul Actual already.

  Serving cubicles lay along the walls, and the center of the floor was filled with tables. Tables that had been ripped from the bolts in the floor and turned into a circle to create a crude defense.

  Flammable materials had been thrown outside the circle, illuminating the space. The heat was high, as was the carbon dioxide; without the air systems on, they were burning up their oxygen.

  Chosen were moving behind the barricades. Pallets of food had been used to bolster the defenses, and four of the large machine guns that were able to punch through trooper armor were facing down the corridors leading to the cafeteria.

  “I want a firing line across these offices. Ready murder hole charges,” Dang said to the entire platoon. Alexis let the door close slowly. Wiz took up a firing position behind it, lying down with his repulsor.

  The platoon spread down the length of the offices.

  Alexis saw the other platoons and companies with them moving into position in the offices they were in.

  She would have cleared the offices out, but the Chosen were ad-hoc fighters—lots of fanatics, not a lot of tactics.

  Alexis placed the small charge about the size of a pack of cards against the wall. Green lights showed her section was good to go; she relayed that to Dang.

  Everyone was doing their utmost to stop themselves from making noise. Once they were in position, they moved as if in molasses to avoid stepping on the broken glass or trash that littered the offices like the rest of the towers.

  “On my mark, blow the murder holes and open fire,” Nerva’s voice was calm and reassuring, as if reminding them that they’d done this tens, possibly hundreds of times in training. Here was no different. They knew what to do; they just had to trust themselves as he trusted them. “Three, two, one… mark,” he said, his voice never rising or lowering, just calm and collected.

  That’s why he’s called Iceman, Alexis thought as the murder hole charges went off across the offices. Her own blew out, giving her room to put her E-12 through.

  It seemed everyone had the same idea as grenade launchers fired.

  Cafeteria tables were made of aluminum sheet metal. They were pretty strong for everyday use; for barricades, they made good shrapnel.

  Shards of super-heated aluminum tables ripped through the Chosen. Their new armor stopped it where it could, but unprotected limbs and heads were ripped apart.

  Repulsors opened up and Chosen returned fire, ripping through the thin office walls. Troopers went down, but it wasn’t usually deadly.

  Machine guns let loose. Moving from side to side, cutting down troopers.

  A lucky grenade found its way into one heavy gun’s ammunition storage. Green tracers ripped through the Chosen around the gun; they shredded the defenses and mangled the gun.

  It was one gun of tens, maybe hundreds. Chosen filled the gap left and fired with their rifles, moving forwards.

  It made Alexis think of the fighters on Sacremon, advancing and pushing forward.

  A grenade landed next to Wiz; he jumped on it as everyone dove away.

  Nothing happened. After a moment, the troopers started to rise cautiously. Wiz grabbed it from under him and threw it out.

  “Fuck, must be dead from the EMP,” Wiz said, the fear and shakiness in his voice clear.

  “Lucky bastard!” someone called. Everyone started laughing as they got back to their positions. Alexis replaced her magazine, smirking in her helmet.

  Death had landed at their feet, and now here they were laughing at it.

  She wanted to pick Wiz up and hug his dumb ass. Without thought, he’d looked to saving them, even if it took his life.

  No one did or said anything else; to do so would have been to admit that they could have died. Thinking on that could drive a person crazy.

  If you don’t laugh, you cry. She slammed her fresh mag home and stood up in he
r murder hole, flicking to semi-auto, following Chosen halos and putting rounds into them.

  Pedro grunted. Alexis’ eyes flicked to her section’s status and saw that he was red.

  He’d taken a round in the leg, but someone was already with him, applying sealant and the necessary needles. A medic had already been called for, and her section was staying on task instead of focusing on Pedro.

  She decided to take a page from their book and got back to nailing targets.

  “Alexis, get your screamer into that thing,” Dang said in her ear.

  “Okay,” she said, clipping her rifle to her stomach and grabbing the tube on the right side of her pack. “Wiz, move! Blowing a screamer.”

  Wiz grabbed his gun and rolled sideways. He and his second got their blades out, making a new firing position on the wall as Alexis pulled the tabs off the front and back of the screamer’s tube, sent up an alert that she was firing, opened the tube, and checked into her back-blast.

  Before anyone had time to walk into her back-blast, she had the tube up on her shoulder. She was braced for impact and facing through the door she had opened originally; it was now hanging by one hinge and sported fist-sized holes through it.

  She sighted the defenses and pressed the firing stud. The screamer rocked and kept true to its moniker. An ungodly howl ripped through the air, drowning out the weapons’ fire making lines of light through the darkness. Air blasted back in its wake, washing over Alexis as she dropped the tube and saw the missile hit the defenses.

  The first charge went off. Tables and barricades were thrown aside, tumbling through the air as a hole opened up through the defenses. The area shook from the impact. The second-stage accelerated shrapnel was ejected from the missile’s body, and anything near the missile’s impact or in its path turned to a holed mess. Not even armor could stop the screamer’s wave of destruction.

  A section was moving to the hole. People stopped firing as they moved past; their weapons were up and ready, searching for targets.

  Red haloes appeared, and the assaulting section’s guns blazed.

  Weapons fire from the offices slowed down as two more sections joined the first. They moved steadily through the wreckage that had been the Chosen’s defenses. Bodies burned, and the fires they’d set before were everywhere; some offices were starting to go up in flames. Most fire suppression systems were broken, but a few still worked; they did what they could, but the troopers moved from the fire.