'Winnie, I can't get hold of the fucking mechs. We need to get out and we need to do so now. Grab every medic you can and get them to patch up the walking wounded. I'm going to find us a way out of this cluster fuck.'
Ducking low, he scooted out of the crater in which he'd been sheltering and sprinted towards a pile of crates that had somehow miraculously survived the battle. Dropping to his knee, he opened up his command map. Most of the drones were down, but he sent one flying towards the Demon's positions, needing to know why he wasn't receiving the support he'd been promised.
What he saw made his mouth dry. Battle bots, arrayed around the crest of a hill, and a tight ravine were heavily engaged with enemy mechs. Artillery rounds splashed all about them, and he could see that a couple had been destroyed. Flipping the drone, he faced Devon's position and cursed as he saw burning mechs. Friends.
'Safety in numbers, safety in numbers,' he muttered, not realising he was speaking until Windsor asked him to repeat himself.
'All 49ers, fighting withdrawal along these lines.' He slashed rough paths along the route he wanted his people to take, leading them up to Devon's position. Perfect for a last stand, he though, consciously not giving voice to his worries.
#
'Katana, get in there dammit!' Devon weaved The Bitch to one side, easily dodging the tracer that rose lazily towards her. Trapped between her position and the bots that she had deployed, the enemy mechs had been forced to fight on two fronts. Although they were small in relation to the mechs, the three-metre tall bots packed a punch far above their weight, even more so when they link their targeting computers and picked off vital points.
Her ground radar spiked as the Knobkerries sent more shells screaming through the air. The enemy replied in kind and she curse as her number two, Widowmaker took two hits that red-lined nearly every point on her body.
'Widowmaker, get back now!' She moved The Bitch twenty metres to their right, covering the hole that Widowmaker's withdrawal made. Their lines were seriously stretched thin now that Widowmaker and all of the Angels had been forced to withdraw out of the enemy's line of sight.
The Ghalfiqi mech was suspiciously absent from the fight. Every drone they sent into the air was swept away by a deluge of enemy fire, forcing them to rely on the diminishing number of battlebots. It seemed that the pilot had managed to not only avoid being tagged by the bots, but had also kept his mech out of the engagement entirely.
'We can't wait here any longer, we're going to have to move,' Kirton's voice might as well have been her mind's own. Staying meant certain death for the Demons. Leaving would mean certain death for the infantry. It didn't matter that they had lives to spare now, dying was an experience that no-one wanted to experience once, let alone 50 times. 'All Demons, up and at them!'
Screaming at the top of her voice, she launched The Bitch forward, the thunder of the mech's charge echoing all round.
#
'For crying out loud!' Hoffmeister skidded to a halt as hundreds of tons' worth of mechs charged down the hill away from him and the rest of his platoon. 'Sod it, missile launchers and mortars here. Now!' He took a knee as his people rapidly assembled their weapons. Hotston had assigned them positions further up, but since the mechs had vacated their holding position, he didn't see much point in continuing to climb up.
'Number 1 mortar ready!' The rest of the teams rapidly followed suit, annoyance at having being beaten to the punch by the first team evident in the tone of their calls. He encouraged healthy competition, and the call of a free round or two of beer lent wings to some of the most recalcitrant members of the platoon.
'Fire at will!' He'd already marked the targets for them, and anything that he hadn't marked would soon be tagged by the smart shells they were firing. As soon as they hit their maximum altitude, the smart bombs would deploy small propellers that would enable them to hover above the battlefield, their on-board scanners looking for the most opportune target. Once seen, they would tag it, communicate its location to any fellow bombs and then fire a shaped charge into the weakest point of armour. Infantry absolutely loved using them.
The mortars started spitting bombs into the air as quickly as the soldiers manning them could feed them into the tubs. Leaving the mortars in good hands, he made his way over to the missile launchers.
'Lads and ladies, hook the missiles into the mortar's targeting systems. The angles we're firing at; it's going to have to be indirect unless you get a clear shot at one of the buggers. Clear?' He patted the launcher section commander's shoulder as she nodded at him, and then checked his comms map. Two thousand metres above them, the mortars were spotting target after target. Not long after that, the first missile roared away.
CHAPTER NINE
The arrival of the mortar shells was, to use an understatement, a total shock to the Demons. Engaged in the sort of close combat that such injured mechs would normally avoid, the rapid series of explosions on the enemy mechs completely threw not only the enemy, but also the Demons into confusion.
'What the hell!' Kirton screamed as he loosed a las burst into an already staggering enemy mech. It was a Fatima class, light and quick, more of a scout than anything else. The laser scored a perfect hit, burning straight into the pilot's compartment, killing them instantly. With the pilot dead, the mech continued staggering until it reached tipping point and crashed to the floor.
'We levelled up,' Devon said, knowing that Kirton was going to have a field day back at the base once they'd completed the mission. If we complete the mission she thought.
'Looks like the squishies have come to our aid this time!' Kirton was already charging the laser for another shot. He sent a ripple of rockets at an enemy mech as it strode through the mortar and missile fire as if it didn't exist. 'Oh shit, I think I just tickled the damn Ghalfiqi!'
The mech was huge. With a crew of 8, its arsenal of weapons matched those of her entire platoon, outclassing even Mtube's Knobkerry platoon.
'Don't bloody stop!' She painted the enemy mech with every targeting device she had and opened fire with any ready weapon. The Bitch rocked as she launched everything they had at the mech, the laser continuing to charge as she closed in.
'Err, pilot? You're getting closer. Have you missed the great big gloves?'
'Shut up,' she snapped through gritted teeth, 'the closer we get, the less of those really big weapons they can use. We need to get into their dead zone. Suzuki! Priority target! Kill the Ghalfiqi!'
#
Hoffmeister was seriously beginning to regret leaving the rest of his platoon behind, but there was a reason that Gorillas had been created, and that was to do the heavy fighting that even humans in augmented armour couldn't. Mech killing was one of those tasks.
Racing along the ground, he set the timer an anti-mech mine on the move, angling for an outcrop of rock that would take him above the mech battle raging a few hundred metres in front of him. Beside and behind him, the other anti-mech section Gorillas did the same, knowing that their only hope was to get as close to the mechs as possible before killing them. That the mechs might kill them never entered their minds. They were the mech-killers. It was a one-way thing.
Shit I'm getting too old for this lark, he thought bitterly as he panted up the sharp incline. The mortars and missiles continued to crash into the enemy armour, the air filled with smoke and dust from the battle. Crouching down as he reached the top, he gasped in awe at the sight below them.
Suzuki was the only remaining member of Katana platoon in action. The man was poetry in motion, throwing his mech through manoeuvres that he knew he wouldn't be able to perform even out of his armour. The Ghalfiqi utterly dwarfed Suzuki's mech, over 15 metres tall to Suzuki's mere five. But what he lacked in size, he more than gained in speed.
Sparks flew as Suzuki's white-hot blade gouged a chunk of armour from the enemy mech's leg greaves, even as he rolled to dodge a huge fist that smashed into the ground where he had been a scant second before.
'We n
eed to get them closer,' muttered one of his section, a heavy-hitter called Cross. Aptly named, thought Hoffmeister as he gauged the distance between them, and the two mechs.
'I disagree. With me.' He turned and jogged away from the outcrop, counting his paces as he did so. Checking that the mine was primed, he turned and faced the incline. 'On the count of three. One, two, three!' As one the section charged forward, pushing their suits as hard as they could, pumping legs and arms as fast as possible. Waiting until the very last moment, they launched themselves through the air, arms wind milling as they flew across the void.
With a massive clang, Hoffmeister smashed into the shoulder arm of the Ghalfiqi. Acting on instinct, his arm slammed the mine onto the armour, the explosive attaching itself with a fatal determination. Hanging from the handle, Hoffmeister shook his head to clear the stars that had exploded before his eyes when he hit the mech.
'Set and drop, set and drop!' Reaching up he armed the mine and, swallowing hard, let go to fall the 40 metres to the ground. Even in this armour it's going to bloody oooofffff stars once more exploded before his eyes as even his newly equipped armour struggled to take the impact of such a plunge. 'Move it!'
#
'Where did they come from?' gasped Kirton as Hoffmeister and his anti-mech section suddenly plummeted to the ground. He winced as one of them was pulped as the Ghalfiqi accidentally stood on them before they could get to their feet.
Tracking up the enemy mech, he strained to see where they could have dropped from, the size and proximity of the mech preventing him from seeing much further past where its breastbone would have been had it been human.
Bright light suddenly flashed before his eyes, and The Bitch staggered back a dozen metres or as she was hit by the concussive force of five anti-mech mines detonating. As the distance opened up, he was able to see the destruction had wreaked upon the enemy mech.
'Lasing!' If there was one thing Kirton was good at, it was taking opportunities when they offered themselves. Mashing his thumb down on the laser-firing stud, he snarled as the targeting system sent the beam lancing into one of the gaping wounds. There was a flash, whatever the laser hit exploding with a violence only such a weapon could cause.
Devon took away control of the railgun for a split second, letting rip with both of them, forgetting in her excitement to properly ground The Bitch. She cursed as the supersonic projectiles raced upwards as The Bitch lost her balance due to the force. Enough of the rounds had entered the gigantic mech however.
Hatches suddenly blew off from all points as the crew ejected from the doomed mech. A mix of smoke and white-hot fire roared out from the awful wound.
'Everyone! Back away now! The Ghalfiqi's going to blow!' She was running as fast as she could push the wounded Bitch, all around her the remaining Demons limped away, Suzuki's mech trailing an arm from the hundreds of metres worth of cabling that normally attached it.
The death of the Ghalfiqi was, in Kirton's words, 'An utter anti-climax.' Smoke and flames continued to engulf it, but there was no catastrophic overload of the system. With the death of their leader, the other enemy mechs - still harried by missile and mortar fire from the infantry - made good their escape.
CHAPTER TEN
If Hoffmeister had been asked how he expected his day to end, having an enemy mech pilot parachute right on top of him, would not have been the first thing to spring to mind. The first he knew of it was when the pilot's feet slammed into his battle suit's helmet with a dull tung. Had he been wearing his normal armour, he was certain the impact would have broken his neck. As it was, he stared in amazement as the silken shroud completely enveloped him, the pilot sprawling at his feet.
Instinct took over and Hoffmeister stamped forward, crushing the man's leg before he could rise to his feet. Three pairs of crossed swords indicated that the pilot was a NAC major. The regimental patch on his shoulder made Hoffmeister's heart leap.
Well, I'll be buggered, I've got myself a Janissary. Leaning forward he gently picked up the pilot who was, at that very moment, too busy screaming at the shattered bones in his leg to put up any form of resistance.
+5000 DP - JANISSARY PILOT CAPTURED
The message made him grin wider than a cat who'd got the cream. He wasn't bothered about the DP, no-one in the 49ers was any more. What he was grinning about was that his suspicions had been confirmed.
Chinning a control in his helmet, he sent a cluster of red, white and green flares high into the air, whilst comm'ing across all channels, 'Hoffmeister, all units withdraw, repeat all units withdraw.
#
The withdraw had, in comparison to their attack, and the enemy's ambush, been easy. Thrown into confusion by their losses, the mechs and mechanised infantry had struggled to co-ordinate correctly between themselves. They had been in the mind-set of the all-conquering elite. To have their arses handed to them on a plate, and the reverse in mind-set had been too much for them.
Hotston finished typing up his after-battle report, preferring to do it by hand rather than dictate. It gave him time to consider his words. The butcher's bill had still been high. They'd suffered nearly 25% losses in the ambush and fighting withdrawal. Of those, 5% were never going to respawn again, their lives forever lost at the hands of NAC technicians. Although it was good to have everyone that was going to respawned back at their base's reinforcement point, those losses still hurt and he scrubbed at his face as his eyes prickled.
'With today's additional losses, my people are down to 92% strength. Thank God for the new suits. Combat simulation says without them; we'd have lost 75% of our people in the first engagement alone. That would have meant roughly 5% more of our people dead. And we'd be down to 77% strength.'
He watched Devon wince as she leaned forward to put a hand on his knee. The Demons had been just as battered, and she was struggling with a whole side of broken ribs.
'I'm sorry Hottie. But as the report says, you got off lightly with those new suits. The ambush was a good one, and it was planned for you in your previous capacity.'
She leaned away, trailing her hand off his knee, 'I kept all of my people, but the Angels are all 49ers now. The crew of Widowmaker both lost a limb. They're currently freaking the fuck out in the med-bay. Mtube's Knobkerries had their pride bruised, and the crews of Hammer 2 and 3 are also 49ers.'
She paused to sip at a coffee that had long before turned cold, 'And Katana, are down to Suzuki only. He's inconsolable.' She sobbed, the pain of having lost her people too much for the moment. She'd lost a huge chunk of her company's combat capability, as well as friends.
'Well, one down, let's go and talk to the bastard,' said Hotston, standing as he spoke.
#
'At ease Sergeant,' said Hotston as Hoffmeister slapped the pilot hard across the face with a meaty palm. Bruises had rendered the man's face unidentifiable. All that, in just 30 minutes? Wondered Hotston as he sat down in a chair opposite their prisoner.
'iMajor Damala Al Man, former pilot of the Ghalfiqi, Heaven's Sword, member of the 90th Moroccan, and a Janissary. What's the patch on your shoulder?' Hotston leaned forward and gently stroked the large patch on the pilot's coveralls. Round, with a dark-red background, it featured a mech overlaid on two crossed scimitars, Arabic for Holy Warriors circled the edge. Nothing in their database had showed for the unit.
Al Man lifted his face and sneered. The effect was lessened somewhat by the swelling of his lips and the bloody gaps in what would once have been a perfect smile. Before Hotston could react, Hoffmeister stepped forward and slapped Al Man across the face. The crack in the small room made Hotston's ears ring.
'You were asked a question.' Hoffmeister leaned forward and pinched Al Man's face between his fingers, 'It's rude not to speak when spoken to.'
'Thank you sergeant,' Hotston shifted on his seat, a mission SING LITTLE BIRD had popped up on his HUD. The mission objective was to get the pilot to speak. Whether or not he was an NPC was irrelevant, now that he was captured, he w
as being treated as a mission just like any other.
'Could you get the iMajor some water?' Hotston decided to try the carrot. Beating someone senseless, even if they had killed his people, didn't sit right. He watched as Hoffmeister sketched a quick salute and left the room.
The two of them sat in silence broken only by the bubbling of air in Al Man's broken nose. Blood had clotted around his nostrils in large scabs that practically covered them. Al Man flinched as the door opened suddenly, Hoffmeister walking up to him and gently helping him to drink.
He's played this game often it seems, the thought shouldn't have shocked him. Hoffmeister was a veteran and had been attached to a special operations support unit before being transferred over to the 49ers.
'Thank you.' Those were the first words that either of them had heard the pilot speak. They'd gained what little information they had from another one of this crew that had been captured after landing near one of the mortar sections.
'We have another of your crew, an iSergeant Aabis Ahmed. He's been speaking to us in the room next door.' Hotston said no more, watching as Al Man raised hate-filled eyes. 'We haven't questioned him like we have you. He shattered both legs ejecting, so we pumped him full of painkillers. He talked a lot before passing out.
'So,' Hotston leaned forward again, 'What's the meaning of the patch?'
Al Man sagged as Hoffmeister stepped forward, large hand raised for another slap. 'Fine, please, just don't let that man hit me again.'
Looking at Hoffmeister, Hotston tipped his head, the big man stepping away from Al Man. 'Please, tell me.'
'We're the 1st Murad Janissaries,' whispered Al Man.
'Thank you.' Hotston leaned forward and placed a hand on Al Man's knee, 'And what is your mission?'
'To pacify the area. Once we learned about an enemy force around Jaed, we were tasked with finding them, and destroying them.'
Devon's Demons: A Permadeath LitRPG LitFPS Novel Page 5
