Just the kind of man the Corps likes to recruit, he thought, throwing a glance at the man.
The officer was directing the guard unit into a safe formation; a vanguard of four marines and the rest in small groups at the sides of the street, and one kept close to him at all times. It seemed excessive to Gun, but he wasn’t going to argue. If nothing else, it meant he always had a body of marines to send into combat on a whim.
“Sniper!” Private Larned shouted.
Three shots rang out, and the inbuilt defensive measures inside Gun’s armor tagged the incoming fire, and then used a mixture of radar range finding and acoustic matching to locate and track the source of the gunfire. A small flashing red diamond appeared on his overlay, showing the proposed position of the shooter. He looked in its direction and spotted two more flashes. The marines returned fire but not before Private Larned took a thermal charge in the visor. It shattered his helmet and killed him instantly.
“Bring him down!” he roared in anger.
It wasn’t necessary, of course. There were hundreds of marines moving through the cover of the abandoned capital. Drones were en route to the target, and he watched with satisfaction as a single missile fired from a hunter-killer hexrotor eliminated the sniper.
“Target’s KIA,’” said Lieutenant Read.
Gun nodded and pointed forward with his right hand.
“Keep moving forward. We have work to do.”
They continued on and only a short distance behind the skirmish screen of marines from 4th Company. In the middle of the street moved two of the Bulldog Mobile Gun vehicles. Each was equipped with the latest model 60mm railgun, a much larger and heavier version of the L48 weapons used by the marines and Vanguards in the past. Railguns were difficult to use on a smaller scale, but miniaturization had seen a major leap since the end of the Uprising. The technology was now at a stage where a single weapon and its accelerator unit could be contained inside a Bulldog vehicle. It wasn’t perfect, but when the two vehicles tore apart an Animosh armored vehicle with a single volley, Gun could barely conceal his pleasure.
“What do you think of them?” asked Lieutenant Read.
Gun answered without moving his head even a millimeter.
“They have a lot of problems, limited ammunition, overheating, and very few in production so far. Even so, just look at that!”
He extended his right arm out toward the column of smoke rising up from the ruined Animosh vehicle.
“What would I give to have one of those guns strapped on my arm!”
Lieutenant Read did his best to hide his smile. The marines were professionals, but none of them seemed to relish the opportunity for combat and blood like Gun and his people. Gun wasn’t the first of the Jötnar the young Lieutenant had met, but he was the first he’d seen in battle, and it had been a revelation.
“Captain Jackson reporting. We’ve secured the lower street levels. Animosh security forces are withdrawing back across the sector bridges. Do we have permission to blow them before they get back to safety?”
Gun wanted to say yes so badly. By launching surgical strikes like this, they could end the battle in hours. The Animosh had numbers and defensive positions, but they couldn’t handle the firepower, skill, and the sheer brutality of the marines.
“Negative, we have our orders from the General. The Zathee have to win this, not us. We open the door. They have to do the rest.”
“Understood. In that case, watch yourself, Colonel. Some of their forces are falling back in your direction. Rumors have it the Helion Guard is in the area too. Looks like the rumors were true.”
A formation of Thunderbolt Fighters screamed overhead and unleashed a barrage of laser-guided missiles at a group of Animosh armored vehicles. They had vanished behind the peaks of the tall tower blocks, and they exploded in a bright orange explosion. More fighters rushed past, engaging in a massive dogfight with dozens of Helion drone fighters. Trails from missiles mixed with their own vapor trails left curled lines in every direction.
Just like old times, Gun thought and took another step forward in the street.
He was on one of the many raised walkways running at multiple levels in that part of the city. A single marine Bulldog troop carrier had crashed into a barricade and lost three wheels. Even so, the top-mounted gun unit continued to track and fire on the defenders further down the roadway.
“Helion Guard, who the hell are they?”
He remembered hearing something about them in one of the many briefings, but nothing solid came to mind. As he thought about it, the computer sprung to life. He had been talking to himself, but the onboard computer fitted to the JAS assumed it was a question directed at the system. It checked all available reports and status indicators before collating them and running them through its analysis engine.
“The Helion Guard is reported to be an elite battalion of a nine-hundred female Helions, each handpicked from the finest genetic stock of the main Helion cultures. Each of the cultures provides an annual tithe of people, and they are never seen or heard from again.”
So, no Zathee. Makes sense.
“According to the public record, they are known informally by the Zathee as the Night Hunters, due to them never seen and remove threats silently and without casualties.”
Gun smiled at the last part.
Really, no casualties? Well, we shall see about that.
Scores of marines fanned out around him and rushed from cover to cover, putting down an accurate and deadly rain of bullets. Hidden behind a concrete block came two fighters, both carrying bomb harnesses and rifles. He spotted them out of the corner of his eye and extended his right arm to point at them. One of the Vanguards behind him tracked the target and blasted them with the suit’s built-in weapons. They were cut apart before they could respond.
That was my target, he smiled.
Unlike the Vanguards, the JAS armor was optimized for close combat. The Jötnar were hardly known for their stealth tactics and marksmanship, but when it came to direct assault, there was nothing better; not even the Vanguard platoons could match the speed, strength, and sheer tenacity of a unit of the humanoid Jötnar. He checked his systems for what must have been the tenth time before spotting the status indicator for the armor-mounted weapon.
You idiot!
There were two models currently in production, but he had chosen the one fitted with serrated blades on each arm and a single shoulder mounted weapon unit. He had forgotten the thing was even there, being as he’d always carried his weapons in his hands or on his arm. By placing the unit directly onto his torso, it freed up his limbs for full movement. He twisted his head but could only just make out part of its shape. Having such a powerful weapon attached to him reminded him of Prometheus, and the weapon they had fitted to him to kill humans. Back then it had been nothing more than a Gatling gun strapped to his arm. Times had changed, but in other ways they were still the same for him.
Bastards!
He remembered those he’d killed on the fiery world of Prometheus. He didn’t regret the killing, but his hatred for those who forced him to do it had never abated. He looked back at the hundreds of civilians waiting well behind the marines and in cover. Many more were following up along the smaller walkways and passageways littering that part of the city. He looked back to the outer defenses. Heavy weapons and snipers were positioned high up, and on the lowest level a number of barricades and concrete blocks had been erected to hold back the rebels.
We’ll create an opening for you, and you’ll have your chance.
Gun was happy to fight, and most of the time even the cause didn’t matter to him. But one thing he didn’t like was being used for somebody else’s gain. The crimes he’d been forced to commit on Prometheus were a constant reminder of what he wanted to stop. He glanced at the overlay, spotted the weapon activation, and flicked the switch, all by using just his eyes. It was fast and surprised even him.
“Weapon system armed and active,” said the
computer.
Five Vanguards strode past him in their large exo-armored suits. To the uninitiated they might look similar, but they couldn’t be more different. Gun wore a modified armored suit, whereas the Vanguards used heavily modified combat engineering units that had been fitted out with enclosed crew sections, thicker armor, and additional weapons. Spartan had pushed hard for their introduction, and his hard work was coming to fruition. Bullets and thermal rounds bounced off their thick hide as they moved ahead, the marines following them. They made a whirring sound as their servomotors and hydraulic units moved them at a surprising speed. He even spotted some Jötnar wearing armor much like his own. They were working alongside a similar size group of Vanguards, and smashing their way through a pair of heavily defended barricades.
“Watch out!” cried a nearby marine.
Five combat drones came from the ruins of a repair station just ahead of them. They were fast and their weapons leveled. It wasn’t unusual to run into these combat robots, but the effect they had on the rebel civilians was devastating. At least thirty of them turned and ran. The machines gunned them down, closing the gap to Gun and his line of marines.
“Take cover!” called out the Lieutenant. The marines scattered. The first rounds struck about them, and they were forced to throw themselves down to avoid the gunfire. Gun signaled to the remaining three Vanguards in his own force and stepped ahead of the marines in plain sight of the machines.
“They are not man enough to fight us; cowards. They hide behind their machine toys!”
His words caught some of the marines by surprise. There were already hundreds of robotic Rams supporting the ground troops, and small numbers of robotic fighters also in use by some escort ships in the fleet. Gun had a particular hatred of them though, especially those used against them. As far as Gun was concerned, there was nothing more cowardly than having a machine do the fighting for you. He pointed both of his armored fists at the machines.
“Destroy them!”
Round after round struck his armor, and at least two smashed through the plating on his left leg. He ignored it and took aim with the shoulder-mounted weapon. It was a heavily modified L56 Mark III and fitted on a fully rotating gimbal. It was essentially a larger scale version of the L52 carbine, but with five short barrels and two separate ammunition feeds that ran into a pair of large boxes on his back. It was only being fitted to a small number of vehicles, as well as some Vanguards and other units. He tracked from left to right, tagging each target. The gun followed the direction and opened fire in its maximum firepower mode. Like the carbine, it loaded, charged, and launched the magnetic projectiles simultaneously at the target. Up to nearly two hundred meters, the rounds were so close they struck as if one massive round. After that, they started to spread like a hypersonic shotgun. Every second it sent a powerful blast; putting a massive smile on Gun’s face.
“Keep moving forward!” he growled, upon spotting his marines taking cover. One jumped up without checking and took a round into his helmet. If it had been the old PDS armor, the man would have had his head torn right off. Instead, the PDS Alpha armor had the reinforced gorget around the throat. It was this that took the impact and sent the man sprawling. One of his comrades dragged him to safety; the others climbed over the cover and pushed on.
Good, that’s better.
Gun continued forward, quickly checking his overlay to ensure the rest of his units were doing the same. He now had over fourteen hundred marines, Vanguards, and Jötnar on the ground and moving in small forces to push the Animosh back. Even so, his entire battalion was only large enough to cover five percent of the ground around the triangle. It was falling on the rebels to do the bulk of the work.
“Colonel!” cried out Corporal ‘Killswitch’ Durham, a middle-aged marine with an L52 across his chest. Gun recognized the distinctive paint scheme on his back. He'd failed one of his scenarios by accidentally hitting the cargo bay vent release. If it had been a real mission, the entire squad would have died.
One of the surviving drones made it through the gunfire and brought its heavy metal arm down to crush Gun. The Corporal jumped in the way and opened fire. Although his rounds struck the machine, they proved ineffective; unlike the machine’s attack that cut the man clean in half. Blood sprayed over the front of Gun’s armor and over his face.
“Try this then!” Gun snapped.
He reached out and grabbed the heavy combat drone with both arms. His left fist with its serrated blade jammed into its arm. He proceeded to lift it until the machine was nearly a meter from the ground. It flailed out, but he simply laughed and looked right in the center of its body. With a massive roar, the shoulder-mounted L56 fired a powerful round directly into it. The impact threw the drone back five meters, and it crashed to the ground with smoke belching from its ruined carcass.
“I love this!” he growled, to the surprise and amusement of the marines around him.
The drones were smashed, and the defending Animosh broke and fled back to the safety of the tall walls and structures of the outer defenses of the Triangle.
“The sentries in Sector Seven are withdrawing,” he said over the radio to his liaison officer with the Zathee. He didn’t need to say anymore though; from the protection of the debris came a great wave of rebels. They surged past Gun and the marines, over the barricades, and into the outer defenses protecting the area known as the Triangle.
Good, now it’s time for Koerner to do his part.
He sent a request to the Colonel, at the same time checking the aerial feed from a pair of hexrotor drones that were buzzing over the city like predatory birds. The streets and raised overpasses were a mess; crash-landed vehicles and improvised barricades stretched out on hundreds of different points. His frontline marine units were now heavily intermixed with the huge numbers of civilians that had come out into the streets. Through it all though, it was simple to track his forces and maintain control over them, even if to the untrained eye it looked like an uncoordinated mess.
Gun reckoned only a tiny number of them had any useful military experience, but they were eager to end what must have been a long and bitter repression. He identified the rest of his units and updated their new objectives. He wanted the marines to keep hitting the defenses hard. As breaches were made, he would give the signal and let the Zathee continue onward. No matter how messy the situation was, Gun hadn’t been happier in months, perhaps years. Fitted out with the latest JAS armor, he felt like a metal god as he advanced with the marines through the upper levels of the city.
“Gun, my forces are ready to strike out for the precinct,” Colonel Koerner said over the communications channel.
“Good work, that’s ahead of schedule. Keep me posted on your progress.”
“I will. How is the assault on the capital?”
Gun did his best to hide a grin of pleasure.
“These Zathee rebels will not hold back. My drones show the Animosh security forces have fallen back to this fortified position, a killing ground the scouts are calling the Triangle.”
“That’s the pyramid section north of the government buildings, right?”
Gun nodded, not that the man could see him. His own position was roughly a kilometer from the southern end of the Triangle, and already they were finding progress slow. Ideally, he would bring in artillery, mortars, and airstrikes, but General Daniels had refused his request. The battle had to be won by the Zathee and with minimal damage to the city.
“Yes, it is the size of ten city blocks and six levels high. There are landing platforms, anti-aircraft mounts, and reinforced positions at every point. The Zathee reached it an hour ago and were forced back with heavy casualties.”
“Numbers?”
Gun checked the overlay on his visor, something that he never really had much access to in the past. It showed the tactical disposition of all Alliance units in the area, as were tagged enemy units.
“It looks like half of the Animosh have withdrawn to the Triang
le, along with most of their leadership. Maybe fifteen thousand plus combat drones and heavy weapons. Twice as many are trying to withdraw underground from their remaining bases. If they make it there, they will be impossible to move.”
“I see. And the transport hub?”
There was a short pause.
“Our marines are still fighting to secure it. Listen; even if it is captured, they will have the number to overrun the place within the hour. You have to reinforce Captain Carter, or this will turn from a short revolution to a full-scale civil war. We cannot afford a stalemate.”
“Gun, I will demonstrate in and around the precinct with everything I have. I promise you that within the hour the precinct and the hub will be in Alliance hands.”
Gun nodded to himself.
“Good luck, Colonel. I’ll continue the encirclement of the Triangle; nobody is getting out of there.”
* * *
The interior of the T’Kari ship was almost identical to the one he and Khan had been trapped aboard during their incident so long ago, though he suspected it might be a fair bit smaller. Spartan couldn’t even remember how long ago it was, other than that it felt like a lifetime. The T’Kari had split into two groups, one staying with Khan and Spartan, and the others heading further along the docking ring toward another of the ships.
“You reckon they can start this thing?” asked Khan.
The door hissed shut behind them, and one of the shorter T’Kari beckoned for them to enter the passageway to the left.
“I know. This goes to your control room,” he replied, knowing the alien wouldn’t understand him, “Just get your ass moving. I’m not going back!”
They moved at a brisk pace, and one of the T’Kari almost stumbled trying to keep up with Khan. It was the image of the newly arrived reinforcements at the station that did it for all of them, and the image was still fresh in their thoughts. Once they’d made it aboard the ship, a large number of guards, including at least eight Biomechs machines, had rushed into the docking ring. The thought of those powerful things gave Spartan all the motivation he needed to keep his aching legs moving. It took them less than three minutes to reach the front of the vessel where two of the aliens were already sitting down and running through a number of system checks. A third opened his helmet to reveal an old, haggard looking face. He started to speak and then waited. Spartan looked to Khan and back at the alien.
The Great Betrayal Page 19
