The Gates of Hell:
More Tales from the Lyon’s Den
Book Four of the Four Horsemen Sagas
Edited by
Chris Kennedy and Mark Wandrey
The Gates of Hell: More Tales from the Lyon’s Den
edited by Chris Kennedy and Mark Wandrey
Published by Seventh Seal Press
Virginia Beach, VA, USA
www.chriskennedypublishing.com
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States’ copyright law.
The stories in this collection are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used in a fictitious manner. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Editor: Chris Kennedy
Co-Editor: Mark Wandrey
Cover Design: Brenda Mihalko
Cover Image: Ricky Ryan
Copyright © 2020 by Chris Kennedy
All rights reserved.
The stories and articles contained herein have never been previously published. They are copyrighted as follows:
BAYONETS by Kacey Ezell Copyright © 2020 by Kacey Ezell
THE THELOSI GAMBIT by Quincy J. Allen Copyright © 2020 by Quincy J. Allen
FIRST STEPS by Richard Alan Chandler Copyright © 2020 by Richard Alan Chandler
UNNATURAL SELECTION by Dan Bridgwater Copyright © 2020 by Dan Bridgwater
FIRE FROM FIRE QUICKENED by Rob Howell Copyright © 2020 by Rob Howell
LONG LIVE THE HUMA by Chris Kennedy Copyright © 2020 by Chris Kennedy
THEY CALLED HIM POPS by Kevin Steverson Copyright © 2020 by Kevin Steverson
BUSHWHACKED! by Terry Mixon Copyright © 2020 by Terry Mixon
THE MUSHROOM FARM by Casey Moores Copyright © 2020 by Casey Moores
JAWS OF DEFEAT by Jon R. Osborne Copyright © 2020 by Jon R. Osborne
NO GOOD DEED by Alex Rath Copyright © 2020 by Alex Rath
FREEDOM OF MANEUVER by Kevin Ikenberry and Casey Moores Copyright © 2020 by Kevin Ikenberry and Casey Moores
THE PRICE OF VICTORY by Zane Voss Copyright © 2020 by Zane Voss
THE BITTER END by Mark Wandrey Copyright © 2020 by Mark Wandrey
ROLAND THE HEADLESS MECH DRIVER by William Alan Webb Copyright © 2020 by William Alan Webb
* * * * *
For those who went to the gates of hell to protect
the ones they loved…and never returned.
* * * * *
Get the free Four Horsemen prelude story “Gateway to Union”
and discover other titles by Mark Wandrey at:
http://worldmaker.us/
* * *
Get the free Four Horsemen prelude story “Shattered Crucible”
and discover other titles by Chris Kennedy at:
http://chriskennedypublishing.com/
* * * * *
Do you have what it takes to be a Merc?
Take your VOWs and join the Merc Guild on Facebook!
Meet us at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/536506813392912/
* * * * *
Contents
Bayonets by Kacey Ezell
The Thelosi Gambit by Quincy J. Allen
First Steps by Richard Alan Chandler
Unnatural Selection by Dan Bridgwater
Fire From Fire Quickened by Rob Howell
Long Live The Huma by Chris Kennedy
They Called Him Pops by Kevin Steverson
Bushwhacked! by Terry Mixon
The Mushroom Farm by Casey Moores
Jaws Of Defeat by Jon R. Osborne
No Good Deed by Alex Rath
Freedom Of Maneuver by Kevin Ikenberry And Casey Moores
The Price Of Victory by Zane Voss
The Bitter End by Mark Wandrey
Roland The Headless Mech Driver by William Alan Webb
About The Editors
Join The Merc Guild
Excerpt from Book One of the Salvage Title Trilogy
Excerpt from Book One of the Progenitors’ War
Excerpt from Devil Calls the Tune
Excerpt from Book One of the Earth Song Cycle
* * * * *
Bayonets by Kacey Ezell
Renzo blinked the sweat out of his eyes for the millionth time and toggled open a communication channel.
“Almost there, Alces,” he said, static crackling through his voice as he broadcast on the company’s local network. “It’s been a hell of a fight, but we’re nearly at the end. Five more klicks to Phase Line Green and friendly lines, and then that’s all she wrote on this damned contract. We get to sit back and wait our turn to evac this rock.”
“Praise all the gods in all the pantheons,” said Tom Chamberlain, his deputy commanding officer and best friend, causing Renzo to grin. Tom was an equal-opportunity worshiper, but his faith ran deep. Renzo didn’t consider himself able to judge one way or the other. If Tom’s faiths gave him strength, more power to the man. All the gods in all the pantheons knew they’d needed it lately.
It felt as if they’d been on blasted Laupapalaiti for decades. In reality, it had been just under two years since Alcey’s Alces, an Earth-based mercenary company under the command of Colonel Jackson Alcey, had accepted the contract to protect a small Caroon settlement in the hilly uplands of the planet. As a first contract for the hundred-CASPer-strong company, it had seemed a good choice.
But that was before they’d realized the hyper-ionized atmosphere prevented any possibility of air support on the planet. Before the Zuparti mining concern that also had a stake in Laupapalaiti decided they wanted possession of the natural caverns the Caroons had claimed for their colony. Before the negotiations broke down, and the fighting started. Before the fighting got ugly in a way rarely seen in mercenary combat; prisoners were killed, and whole companies were slaughtered. And somehow Alcey’s Alces’ happy little garrison contract had become a bitter slog in a grinding war of attrition.
Renzo had taken command four and a half months ago, when Colonel Alcey had taken a MAC round to the chestplate at the end of a long day of firefights. His CASPer had imploded, and he’d been unable to get out while it burned. Sometimes, in his dreams, Renzo could still hear Jack screaming as they tried to tear open the CASPer while the stench of over-roasted meat filled the air. He hadn’t been able to sleep downwind of the cookfires ever since.
“Colonel Stewardson!”
Renzo turned his CASPer just in time to see a trooper in a scout rig come bounding up their current path, broadcasting audibly using his loudspeaker. The scout CASPer didn’t carry the moose-head insignia of the Alces. Rather, Renzo recognized the mottled grey paint scheme as belonging to the headquarters element of The Strong Company, led by Colonel Rangith Vincent. Technically the Alces were subcontracted to The Strong, but Renzo respected and appreciated Col. Vincent’s leadership and expertise, and saw him more as a higher commander and a mentor.
“Here, man, what is it?” Renzo asked, toggling his own speaker on.
“Message from Colonel Vincent, sir. The atmospheric ionization has taken the command net down again.”
“I thought they reinforced the signal and hardened the repeaters?”
“They did, sir. It wasn’t enough. The weather algorithm is predicting a dry electrical storm for the next two days because of the increase in ionization. Only our local line of sight network is working, and that just barely. Anything outside of five hundred meters is useless.”
“Fantastic,” Renzo grumbled, toggling his mic off so he was his only audience. He took a deep breath and switched the mic back on.
“Very good,” he continued once he had his reactions under control. “Please relay my thanks to the colonel for the update and advise him of our approach. ETA to the Settlement, approximately two hours for food and resupply.”
“Negative, sir. That’s the second part of my message.” The trooper had the grace to sound apologetic, but it didn’t change the ringing sense of doom Renzo heard in the man’s every word. “Colonel Vincent requests you alter your course to attend him immediately, thirty-five klicks to the south and west of here, on the extreme southern edge of Settlement Ridge. He’ll meet you there with further orders.”
Renzo’s CASPer chimed with an incoming data burst, and a topographical satellite map appeared in his heads-up display, with a small hill highlighted in blinking white and orange.
“Trooper,” he said, “my men and women are on the brink.”
“Colonel Vincent knows, sir.”
Renzo pursed his lips, and then nodded, though the man couldn’t see the expression. Rangith knew the losses Alcey’s Alces had taken at Fred’s Highway and earlier on this contract. He was asking anyway. Shit.
“Very well,” he said. “Return my compliments to the colonel and tell him I’ll see him in approximately two hours at the coordinates he specified.”
“Renzo,” Tom said on a private channel as the scout CASPer lifted its hand and turned to head back up the path. “The troopers…”
“I know, Tom,” Renzo replied, “but you know Rangith as well as I do. He really wouldn’t ask unless there was a need. That hill is key terrain for the rearguard action. Without it, the civvies aren’t getting out of here, and neither are we.”
“Fantastic,” Tom said morosely, his voice crackling with static. “And now we’ve got an electrical storm to deal with, too?”
“Looks like,” Renzo said, reaching out to clap Tom’s CASPer on the shoulder with his own metal hand. “I’m bursting the coordinates over to you now, before we lose our line of sight comms. Let’s move.”
* * *
The “small hill” turned out to be a hill only in the most understated of terms. Laupapalaiti had some of nastiest, most vertical terrain Renzo had ever seen. On Earth, the steep edifice stretching up at least seven hundred meters from the valley below would easily have been classed a mountain…or a cliff, for the slope wasn’t far from vertical. As if that wasn’t enough, the western and southern faces of the “hill” were littered with tumbled, broken boulders, some twice as tall as a CASPer. The whole thing was heavily forested besides, with the thick-trunked, iron-hard, barkless trees native to the planet creating tangled, impassable thickets here and there.
“I’m sure glad we don’t have to attack this position,” he muttered softly as he turned slowly in place, watching as his officers and NCOs directed his troopers to begin improving their defensive positions. They set to work gathering boulders and fallen trees to create a makeshift breastwork. Several of those thickets were coming in quite handy, he could see.
“Renzo!”
The colonel turned at the sound of his name ringing through the trees and smiled. Another CASPer painted in The Strong’s livery bounded forward, but unlike the earlier scout, this version was configured for full-on heavy assault. It also carried the subdued eagle insignia of the unit commander, and Renzo raised his hand to greet his friend and mentor.
“Colonel Vincent,” he said, utilizing his external speaker. “We’re here, sir, as ordered.”
“And I’m damned glad of it, too,” Rangith Vincent said as he caught his jump at the last second and settled neatly beside Renzo. “How are your comms?”
“Degrading fast,” Renzo admitted, “but usable line of sight, for now.”
“Come up on a secure channel for a moment,” Col. Vincent said. “We must talk.”
That didn’t sound good. Renzo obediently opened up a secure channel and burst the encryption information over to his senior commander, wincing inwardly at the loud, crackly static that resulted.
“The ionization is getting worse, so I’ll make this quick,” Colonel Vincent said, his voice tinny and slightly garbled by the transmission. “We’re in a hell of a bind here, Renzo. The damned Besquith of the Blood Sickle clan took the early termination penalty and have left the battlefield entirely. Seems their alpha didn’t like the terrain she was assigned and decided to move forward without orders…hell, in defiance of her orders. When General Meedo called her on it, she up and quit. But that’s Meedo’s problem at this point. Our problem is this left flank. The Zuparti have hired two Human CASPer companies, and our intel suggests they’re planning to use them to attack this position. They’re already on their way. Your orders are to hold this hill at all costs, do you understand? You’re the key to the entire line right here. I don’t have to tell you what happens if this flank collapses.”
“CASPer companies? But how? Who would—” Renzo cut himself off and forced his mind to focus on the problem at hand. “The Zuparti mercs will roll up the line of the whole army, cutting us off from the Settlement and preventing the evacuation,” he filled in, his voice grim as the cold reality set in.
“Precisely. We’re asking the same questions. But for now, I’ve got you, The Strong, and two other North American CASPer companies here. I know your men and women are tired and you need resupply. I give you my word you’ll get it as soon as I can make it happen. But you have to hold. Understand, Renzo? At all costs. You must hold!”
“I understand, sir,” Renzo said. Col. Vincent reached out and clapped him on the shoulder with a clang. “What about arty?”
“Good man,” Col. Vincent said. “We’re working on getting an artillery battery set up on the crest of this hill. I wish I had better news on that front, but we’re all scrambling since that Besquith bitch threw her tantrum and left. I’ll leave you to it. I’ll send that resupply as soon as I can!” The commander of The Strong Company cut the connection and turned his CASPer away to begin vaulting carefully through the trees back up toward the summit of the hill.
“Orders, sir?”
Renzo turned back and looked downslope to see his senior NCO, Sergeant Major Carl Spoljoric.
“Are we dug in?”
“As well as we can be, sir,” Spoljoric replied.
“Divvy up our remaining jumpjuice, power cells, and MAC rounds. Tell the men to choose their shots and make them count. We’re going to hold this line against the enemy’s advance.”
“When, sir?”
“Very soon, Sergeant Major. Very soon.”
* * *
He wasn’t wrong.
Renzo had just turned from his conversation with Sgt Maj Spoljoric and begun to make his way to the center of his lines. Static crackled in his ear as dry lightning exploded overhead, arcing from tree to tree.
He bit back a torrent of cursing and cut the command net dead, shutting down all electronic communications between the suits, then dialed his volume up and bellowed out a message.
“Voice comms only! Stay grounded as best you can! Captain McCoy!” he called out, naming one of his promising junior officers.
“Sir,” Jim McCoy said, materializing out of the thicket to stand in front of him.
“Jim, take Bravo Squad and work east, past our extreme left flank. We’re married up with the rest of The Strong Company on the right, but I’m worried about that left. Take your troopers and form a skirmish line out there. See if you can get eyes on the enemy and ID who they are. Col. Vincent said the Zups have hired a couple CASPer companies of their own. I don’t know how that came about, so don’t ask. But I need intel, and I need to ensure they can’t work around that left flank and catch us in an envelopment, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Jim said, his voice cool and unemotional as ever.
“Good. Move.”
Renzo turned away to the sound of Jim relaying his orders. As he worked back
toward the center of his line, Renzo could hear his officers calling out voice commands to dig in and be ready. Overhead, more dry lightning cracked through the air with a blinding flash and deafening report. A high-pitched ringing reverberated through his skull, and Renzo shook his head to try to clear it.
“Stay grounded!” he shouted again. “Squad leaders, call your fire!” He blinked rapidly to clear his vision from the temporary flash blindness. The shapes around him began to resolve into McCoy and his men, crouched low and moving off east across the slope, when another sound caught his attention: the crack-boom of MAC rounds, and the crashing of CASPers vaulting toward them up the slope to the right.
“Here they come!” Spoljoric shouted. “Be ready!”
The first few CASPers appeared through the trees, and Renzo’s troopers opened fire. Renzo sent Jim a silent wish for good luck and turned his attention to the slope in front of him. More lightning crackled through the trees, arcing from branch to boulder. A deafening burst of static rocked through his comm set, despite the fact that he’d killed all the network comms. “Stay low!” he shouted. “Don’t let the lightning fry your suits!”
His troopers knew that, he didn’t need to tell them, but shouting it out made Renzo feel as if he weren’t entirely helpless as the sky exploded in electrical fire overhead, and the shouts and MAC rounds ricocheted up the slope from the attacking enemy.
Crack-Boom!
The ground shook beneath his CASPer, threatening to topple him as a physical shockwave of sound rippled out from an explosion somewhere on the left. Dirt and rock flew up into the air to pelt down on the lines of his troopers and the charging enemy alike. The smaller, buzzing crack of a MAC round whizzed by his suit, and it seemed almost inconsequential by comparison. What had happened?
The Gates of Hell Page 1
