Ignoring the DP that popped up, Devon tasted blood as she bit her lip in frustration, scanning the tacmap for a solution.
'Angels, ignore the mechs, target the infantry. Knobkerries, engage enemy mechs on direct fire only. Katana and command, engage all enemy mechs.'
Not waiting for confirmation she set The Bitch into a run, tears streaming down her cheeks as the refugee casualties climbed to over 50 per cent.
#
The mood in the mech bay was sullen, pilots and crew snapping at each other as the battle they had just been in was played back.
A couple wept as they considered their new cybernetic enhancements. Both 49ers, they had been forced to carry their wounds through to the end of the mission. Under the rules of World Domination that meant that any injuries, including loss of limb, would not only be carried through to subsequent missions, but that this would also be reflected in real life.
Elective surgery was one thing, but knowing that enemy surgeons had removed your legs - no matter how badly shattered - was a devastating psychological shock.
Devon made a note on her data pad, ensuring that they would have to complete a psycheval before being allowed back into the fray.
'We did everything right,' she said, stopping the playback, 'everything. None of you are, nor should you even consider yourselves to be, at fault.'
The Spanish liaison officer shifted at the back of the room, opening his mouth as if to speak.
'I don't give a flying fuck what our allies say. If they were so keen for the refugees to have been saved, they should have supported us. They didn't. We managed to get 30 per cent of the civilians away to safety. We managed to get away to safety, even if we did suffer casualties. It was a carefully planned trap. Our analysts are currently working on finding out where the information about the so-called deserters came from. Once we know, we'll make the bastards pay!'
She paused at an answering growl of rage from her people. One of the injured started to weep loudly. Signalling to a 'script, she waited until the gunner was removed from the room.
'Moving on. I also have some good news. iCaptain Hotston and his people have made an astonishing discovery.'
She said nothing further, hiding a smile as her people leaned forward, curiosity piqued, despair replaced by hope.
'Battle suits. One-man battle suits which will see our beloved ground pounders give a rough 10:1 advantage when facing normal infantry. Cue iCaptain Hotston.'
There was a dramatic pause as the mech bay doors slowly rolled apart, revealing a back-lit humanoid. With heavy steps the suit thudded its way into the bay, Whisk appearing from behind it.
'Ladies and gentlemen, we have a whole new class of kick ass!' Lights blazed into life and there was a collective gasp as the suit was revealed in its full glory.
Twin exhausts poked over the shoulders, a shark's mouth painted over the red lacquered armour of the pilot's hatch, 'Bloodletter' in white stencilled lettering across the belly.
Blades sprang from its firearms with a loud sching, as Hotston sprang forward, landing in a fighting crouch as light machine guns popped up on his shoulders, whilst chest panels opened to reveal banks of 40mm grenades.
Cheers and laughter, as well no small amount of back-pedalling greeted Hotston's showmanship, and Devon smiled as she too took a step back.
These suits are terrifying, she thought as Whisk started to list the various weapon systems. As he finished talking, the front of the suit opened to reveal Hotston, still wearing his full battle rig.
'Show's over ladies and gentlemen,' he said as he popped a quick release tab and stepped smoothly out of the suit as it lowered itself to its knees, 'iMajor Devon and I had some planning to do. Feel free to have a closer look.'
Dodging out of the way as the eager mech crews swarmed forward, he gave Devon a huge smile and two thumbs up
Returning the gesture, she noticed that their liaison officer looked less than happy.
Fuck you, she thought as she gestured for him to follow.
#
'It is not acceptable!' Torres slammed his hand down into the table that separated him from Hotston and Devon, 'those suits are the rightful property of Spain!'
Hotston winced. Torres had been winding Devon up the wrong way ever since he had been assigned to them. Shouting like a little prick is going to go down badly, he thought as Devon replied in a remarkable calm tone.
'And we're not disputing that. The plans for them have already been sent to Spanish High Command.' She said.
'As well as being uploaded to ECAF command without my permission!' Screamed Torres, his face turning a bright shade of red that even his tan couldn't hide.
'My country is on its knees. Those suits will be invaluable in assisting my people in defending the UK. I'm sure that if there had been time, your superiors would have agreed with my decision.' Hotston smiled as Devon's tone took an edge of steel. Anyone who knew her knew that when she spoke like that it, it was a bloody good idea to wind their neck in.
Unfortunately for Torres, he's too far gone, he thought, fighting back a smile.
'You stupid bitch!' A pistol appeared in Torres' hand as he leapt to his feet, 'you are part of Spain! You are under our command, you fucking traitor!' A vein pulsed at Torres' temple as he moved the pistol back and forth between Hotston and Devon.
Mouth dry, Hotston opened up his command cadre comms channel, hiding the motion behind a flinch.
'Easy man, easy. We're all the same side here. No need to be pointing your sidearm at us. iMajor Devon and I are no threat.'
The chatter that had been on the command cadre channel immediately went silent as he spoke. A second later Windsor replied with a simple, 'On my way.'
Knowing he had to play for time, Hotston caught and held Torres' haze, praying that Devon would let him take the lead.
'Im going to reach for my sidearm and put it on the table, the iMajor will too. You keep your weapon, but please just point your weapon at the floor. Just to avoid accidents, naturally.'
Slowly, the two of the drew their weapons and placed them on the table. Hotston ignored the way that Devon looked daggers at him.
'I'm outside.' Windsor's voice was taut, detached. She's BLOODRAGED thought Hotston, a chill running down his spine. The room they were in was small. The potential for utter carnage was huge.
'Look, no-one needs to get killed over this,' he emphasised the "no one", 'but it's time to finish this. Now.'
Windsor's roar was deafening. The door to the office literally shattered as she crashed through. Pushing hard, Hotston shoved Devon out of the way, using the force to propel himself backward.
The sickening sound of breaking bones filled the air as Windsor slammed into Torres, sending the unfortunate man flying over the table and into the concrete wall.
'Medics to Room 325!' Rushing over to the limp Spaniard, Hotston set about making sure he didn't die.
#
Hotston sipped carefully from the plastic coffee cup a nurse had just passed him. He was never able to take sip without spilling some fluid, and nearly always burnt himself on the first sip. Still, coffee was coffee and it was a risk he was willing to take.
Torres lay before him in the hospital bed. Wires lead from various medical instruments to attachments at various points on his body, whilst electronic beeps sounded.
Sitting forward, he placed a hand on the Spaniard's arm, 'Torres, wake up.' Shook gently on the arm. It was encased in a rigid cast, as were both his legs and his other arm. Windsor's charge, as well as the impact on the wall, he caused a surprisingly large amount of damage. His face was particularly badly injured, the lower part of his jaw having been removed. The Spaniard shifted, eyes opening slowly.
'What happened?' His voice was croaky, throat dry. Words slurred as his new cybernetic jaw struggled to work properly for the first time.
'Unofficially? You pointed a weapon at myself and iMajor Devon. My aide then assisted us in subduing you, during which you received life-changing injuries. You a
re now the proud owner of a new liver, spleen and left kidney. As well as a new jaw.'
Torres sobbed at that, raising his arms to his chin, gasping at what he no doubt felt with his hands, and through his synthetically grown skin.
'Officially? You were taking part in a small action and were seriously injured during combat. You've earned yourself a Wounded Warrior medal, and High Command have also said to take your time getting better. We couldn't have given you more praise.'
Hotston leaned forward, staring hard into Torre's eyes, 'Unofficially, if you ever try and pull that shit again, we'll destroy you. You'll end up more cyber than man, and our medics will give you the most hideous body our mechanics can dream of. From now on, you keep your mouth shut and only send the information we tell you to send. Do you understand?'
At Torres' jerky nod, Hotston sat back and took another sip from his coffee, watching as the Spaniard wept.
CHAPTER SEVEN
'Spanish Command is satisfied with the accident report we filed. As he didn't die, no Team Kill was registered, and they've accepted that it will take a while for him to get used to his new jaw.' Hotston dropped into the chair opposite Devon's.
'Thank God. You know, Windsor scared the living shit out of me when she came through that door.'
'Ha! She scares me most of the time.'
They both laughed, relishing having the time to just gather their thoughts.
'Business,' said Hotston, leaning forward and bringing up a holographic map, 'the Spanish have finally started to stump up intel. Also, it seems that the local populace has also started to help. Resistance has sprung up everywhere since the massacre of the refugees.'
He tapped a number of green icons, over which were crossed wrenches, 'these are enemy repair depots. Hit them, and we increase the time takes to get units back into the fight.'
Next he tapped a number of red icons with three stars above them, 'Command points. Remove these and it's much harder for them to coordinate and the NPCs will be next to useless. I want to hit this one.'
Devon nodded as she zoomed the map in, 'good choice, lots of ways in and out, close, and perfect for us to set up an ambush with the mechs.'
'Nailed it in one. It's a regimental command. 23rd Mech Infantry. Regular infantry of the line. Not too hard, not too soft.' He didn't want to put the mockers on it by saying it would be easy. But it should be.
'Okay. I'll pass the word to the Spanish. We attack in one day. Enough for your people to be ready?'
'More than. I'll get my command cadre and put together the mission plan. As you'll be in support for this, we'll lead. Agreed?'
At her nod, he opened up a command channel and started to call his people together. There was a long day ahead of them.
#
Hotston grinned as he gunned his Command-class suit. Movement was effortless and he flipped through the air as he leapt over a low field boundary wall.
Windsor was next to him, gleefully giggling over their private comms channel as she kept pace with him, her heavy weapons suit at least half as big as his.
Choosing a sub-menu, he fired off a couple of drones, sending them out on a standard recce pattern. Fire and forget, they would carry out their mission and return to him, attaching themselves to the suit automatically.
The first thing that he noticed was the amount of dust they were causing, even in the early morning darkness it was going to be visible.
'All units, slow down, now! We're causing too much dust.' It was easier said than done, the suit's weight and momentum joining forces to make it as hard as possible.
'Halt. Just halt.' He dropped onto his knees and slid to an ungainly halt over the next ten metres or so. Clouds of dust enveloped him for a few seconds as he just knelt there.
'Devon, what's your status?' The mechs were moving into position to the north of the command HQ, the road there being the shortest distance to the nearest enemy unit. With Hotston attacking from the south, it would also make sense for any enemy reinforcements to come from the North and join any of their brothers-in-arms that remained.
'Ready when you are. Screen of bots is out. Knobkerries are ready for any fire missions you have.'
'Roger that. Recommending approach. Revised ETA, two minutes. Out.'
He stood, waved his suit's arm before pointing forward. This tone he started out slowly, building up to a steady jog, keeping the dust to a minimum.
'Scout 3, in position, enemy dumb. Pinging.'
The scouts had been sent out ahead if the mission, their task to not only recce it, but to act as snipers when the attack started.
He glanced down at his drone screen and saw the scout icons start to appear on his map. A second later it started to fill with confirmed enemy.
Jesus, that's a lot, he thought as the confirmed enemy count continued to rise. They were expecting at least a platoon of infantry, as well as the usual numbers if command staff, but the count had reached at least two platoons.
'Scout three, any vehicles beyond command?'
'Negative.'
Hotston's stomach twisted at that. The infantry would have had to arrive in vehicles. Granted they could have been ferried in by air, but that meant there were gunships somewhere. And mechanised infantry were, by their very nature mechanised.
'This feels wrong,' he pulled up his command map, checking to make sure that he wasn't missing anything from the drones. Everything looked correct. Bar the fact that his stomach was doing loops and everything felt off. 'Winnie, how does this feel to you?'
'One hundred per cent, good to go sir. Even if it's off, we've got enough man- and fire power to absolutely smash anything that comes our way into little pieces. That and the Demons are on the main choke point. Go.'
He nodded, even though there was no chance she could see that, their comms channel being audio only. He couldn't stand having too many screens open, and even with a quick close, the time it took to clear his HUD could prove to be time that he didn't have in the middle of a fire fight. His map showed that his people were now all in position. The enemy seemed to be completely unaware of their presence. How long that would last was up to him. Pushing down the worry, and the taste of stomach acid in his mouth, he comm'd Windsor again.
'Send it.'
No sooner had he spoken the words than a flurry of missiles raced into the command point. Explosions bloomed out of every icon on the map, not one missile missing. DPs started to pop up all over, and he irritably supressed them, not needing to know how many more people were dying. 'Best job I ever had,' he muttered, quoting a film that had been big early in the 21st century.
Tracers and pulser shots flew back and forth between his people and the enemy. Granted, there were thousands more coming from his people but he still winced as he saw a stream of red tracer lick over one of his sections, screams filling the air as the bullets found their mark.
'Up and in! Up and in!' He leapt to his feet and charged across the open ground, the realisation that if there was an ambush, the safest place to be would, paradoxically, be in the middle of the enemy position. Not even the knackers can be callous enough to kill their own. Can they?
#
'The squishies are really lighting that position up,' said Devon as she turned down the gain on her HUD. The explosions and resultant fires were making it hard to distinguish between legitimate heats sources and already destroyed enemy positions. Looking over at her own command map, she quickly updated it so that if Mtube and his people had to fire, they wouldn't be engaging targets already destroyed.
'What was that?' Kirton's voice sounded more curious than anything, but it stood the hairs on her neck on end.
'What was what?'
'Five hundred metres, south east, here.' He marked the map for her, 'There was a heat trace, one of the drones picked it up and then it was gone.'
'How big?'
'No bigger than a rabbit, but it was the way it just disappeared. You'd think that there would be some sort of trace, foot prints and such.'
She selected the drone that he'd been talking about it and overrode the search pattern it was following, tasking it to head over to the anomaly. Whizzing through the air it took mere seconds to reach the position. Nothing showed. Frowning, she brought it back to them, using the route that she would use if she was planning a counter-attack of her own and didn't want to be spotted.
She switched through the various light spectrums that were programmed into the drone.
'Mtube! Fire mission! Fire Mission!' She rapidly set a series of markers along the path, praying that Mtube's people would get shells into the air as quickly as possible. Not waiting for his answer, she retasked all of the battle bots, setting them an objective 100 metres further along the path. All the time she did so, she watched the enemy mech force, revealed by the very fact that the drone couldn't see them.
'All Demons, mech force inbound, estimate one platoon. Estimate, one Ghalfiqi-model mech'
'Shit me, we're fucked,' whispered Kirton as she gave name to one of the largest mechs known. The sudden burst of white noise across their external comms channels confirmed the presence of a heavy hitter. Only mechs as large as the 8-man Ghalfiqi had the power to jam comms this way. Cut off from Hotston and his infantry, the Demons were now forced to rely on Line-of-Sight lasers to communicate with each other.
God help Hotston and his people she thought, the knowledge that Hotston wouldn't be able to receive the support he had planned upon.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hotston ducked as yet more tracer reached towards him from the carefully camouflaged enemy position. The enemy had literally boiled out from the ground as soon as he and his people entered the ambush point. Suicide bots had leaped onto his people, hugging them tightly before detonating. Some were high explosive, others were biowire, phosphorous, incendiary. All were intended to sow fear and confusion.
'Demons! We need fire support now! Marking targets!' As he spoke he saw more of his people falling to the enemy fire. Wounded were screaming for help, the medics and their comrades focussed more on trying to stay alive themselves than get to their wounded comrades. No matter where he turned, enemy fire cut through the air.
Devon's Demons: A Permadeath LitRPG LitFPS Novel Page 4
