“Ten Two-threes and five missiles,” McNamara observed; “not good, Boss.”
“We’re stuck with it,” Carter replied. He activated his com-set. “Pirate from Prowler,” he said.
“Go ahead Prowler,” Price replied.
“We’ll use our IMS-7 on the five Two-threes directly in front of us. You take Bravo through the gap. Alpha will keep the rest of the Two-threes busy while you cover Foxtrot’s egress!”
“Roger, that!” Price confirmed.
“Prowler for Frogger, Do you copy?” Carter asked into his microphone.
Armand Beauchamp’s voice came through Carter’s speakers clearly, but slightly muffled. Beauchamp and the rest of team Foxtrot were, no doubt, using their IBOS’ respirator masks as protection from the thickening smoke that filled the headquarters building and billowed from its windows. “Frogger copies,” Beauchamp said.
“Did you copy my last transmission to Pirate?” Carter asked.
“Affirmative!” Beauchamp replied. “We will be ready to break out when you attack!”
“On three!” Carter ordered.
Three seconds later five IMS-7 missiles struck five of the enemy powered armor suits. Jets of molten metal and shrapnel were injected into the armor’s crew compartments; liquefying the operators and sending gouts orange flame in all directions as the heat and pressure burst their way out of the faceplates and blew off the gauntlets and boots that had once contained the pilots’ head and limbs. The air was filled with the overpowering stench of burning human bodies.
Price led Team Bravo through the gap to meet Beauchamp and the three surviving members Team Foxtrot as they finally fought their way out of the flaming Naval Headquarters. Caught between the two FIRE Teams, the infantry soldiers reporting the Mark-23 suits broke ranks and fled. Most were mowed down as the Bravo and Foxtrot teams as they fought their way toward Captain Renner’s position.
The remaining Mark-23s turned their full attention on Team Alpha. Two of the armored suits used the rockets attached their backs to leap over the team’s position; cutting off their retreat and forming a deadly crossfire.
“Section one lay cover!” Carter ordered. “Section two, assault to the rear; get back to Renner!”
Carter and Burgett each threw a hand grenade and opened fire. They fired controlled burst directly Mark-23’s faceplates; hoping to, at least, disrupt the powered suit’s targeting systems. Burgett’s hi-powered weapon managed to stagger his targets. Hoping to close to a range where his rifle could penetrate his enemy’s armor, Burgett ran toward two of the looming Mark-23; his enhanced speed and reflexes allowing him to evade a hail of twenty-millimeter cannon fire as he charged. He had closed to only fifty feet before his fire breached the faceplate of one Mark Twenty-three. Three micro-explosive rounds detonated after traveling two inches into the pilot’s skull. The armored suit simply stopped moving; becoming a macabre, technological statue.
Burgett somersaulted forward; narrowly avoiding a hydraulically assisted punch of the seconded armored suit. Rolling to his left, he avoided being stomped by the Mark 23’s massive metal clad foot. On his back, Burgett fired a rifle burst into the armored suits groin; the weapon’s muzzle nearly touching the armor’s surface. At such close range the bullets ripped through the suits torso; cutting the operator in half and immobilizing the suit. Getting to his feet, Burgett fired a round through the faceplate to finish off the pilot.
Carter remained behind the wrecked armored vehicle and fired on the third armored trooper. With his injured arm, Carter could fire only his ineffective sidearm. One of the armored suits closed on his position even as Carter’s sots careened off of its armor. Carter stood his ground; determined to cover his retreating teammates as long as possible. When he had exhausted his magazine, he set a grenade for proximity blast, and retreated to shelter in a shallow Crater that had been created by mortar shell; reloading his weapon as he ran.
As the third Mark Twenty-three moved around the wreckage Carter had been hiding behind, Carter’s grenade exploded. Using the explosion as a distraction, Carter fired carefully aimed shots at the cannon on the Mark Twenty-three’s shoulder. All eight rounds struck the weapon, jamming the small motors that allowed it to be traversed and aimed. With the cannon out of action, Carter charged out of the crater intending to use his hyper-alloy knife to disable the powered armor by piercing the thinly protected joints.
Carter’s knife plunged into the thinner Kevlar armor that covered torso and waist and opening the pilot’s abdomen. But, before Carter could end the encounter by stabbing his blade into the throat, an armor-plated fist slammed into his midsection. The mechanically augmented blow launched Carter twenty feet backward. He landed on his injured arm and rolled another ten feet. Wounded, but still mobile, the armored trooped lumbered toward Carter as he tried to get to his feet.
Carter’s legs failed him. Small droplets of blood sprayed from his mouth as he breathed in labored, rasping breaths. He could not find his sidearm or his knife. He forced himself to his feet; determined not to meet his death on his knees. He drew another, smaller knife from a sheath on his boot. The powered armored loomed over Carter: its mechanical hands reaching out to squeeze the life from him. Carter slashed at the machines wrist; slicing into the flexible armor between the metal-plated forearm and hand. His cut drew blood but his enemy’s other hand seized him by his left shoulder, crushed his clavicle, and sent five- thousand of volts of electricity through his body. The armored trooper held Carter off of the ground as his body convulsed.
On the verge of unconsciousness, Cater became vaguely aware of the sound of bullets ringing off of metal. The Mark-23 dropped Carter and turned toward the sound of gunfire. Carter pushed his face out of the dirt; managing, with great effort, to get to his knees and support himself on his right arm. His already wounded left arm was now even more shattered and useless.
With narrowing vision, Carter saw Burgett firing a succession of aimed, single shots at the armored troopers faceplate. He saw the rifle of a slain enemy soldier a few yards in front of him and crawled toward. If he could move, he thought, then he could fight. He could not hope to damage the Mark-23 with an ordinary rifle, but he could kill any unarmored troops which were sure to return once they had regrouped.
Finally, when the Mark-23 was within twenty feet of Burgett, one of his rifle shots shattered the armors faceplate. The operator screamed; his face lacerated and pierced in several places by shards of impact resistant polymers. One of his eyes had been destroyed. Burgett ended the man’s screams with a final shot that emulsified his head.
Then Burgett went down. A spray of blood erupted from his right shoulder and he was propelled backward several feet to land on his side and rolling uncontrollably to a stop. The three surviving Mark-23s had given up their pursuit of the other FIRE teams to aid their comrades. Having seen Burgett dispatch three of their own, they had turned their full attention to him.
As he tried to rise a second twenty millimeter round tore through his abdomen. He fell onto his face, but rose onto his elbows to fire at the remaining armored suits from a prone position; feeling a pool of his own growing steadily beneath him. He divided his fire among the powered suits, trying to damage, or at least, interfere with their targeting systems.
More cannon rounds churned up earth and fragment concrete walkways in front of and around him. He was grateful that they were firing solid, armor piercing rounds instead of those tipped with high explosives.
Burgett glanced toward where he had seen Carter fall. He saw the colonel on his belly firing a captured rifle with one hand at a squad of enemy infantry. He smiled as the Mark-23s closed in on him. The Boss is alive, he thought. He changed the magazine in his rifle and plucked a thermite grenade from his battle harness.
The auto-med system of his IBOS was doing its best to stem the torrent of blood coming from both of his wounds, but the wounds were massive. He would bleed to death before the auto-med stopped the bleeding. I’m done, he thought, feel
ing the pool of blood beneath him grow despite his auto-med system’s best efforts. The Boss might have a chance, though, he reasoned.
His rifle ammunition expended, he began firing with his sidearm. The Mark 23s pilots had been somewhat cautious in their attack, having seen what Burgett had done to their squad mates; preferring to remain outside his rifle effective range in hopes of hitting him with another cannon shot. But now that he had been reduced to defending himself with his handgun, they became bolder. They advance toward him, firing their cannon as they moved. With great effort, Burgett crawled the few yards into a shell crater. He took cover there, firing his pistol intermittently as the Mark-23s lumbered toward him.
Firing one handed, Burgett charged at the leading Mark-23; weaving to avoid volleys of cannon fire. His pistol’s magazine empty, he discarded the weapon as he ran and drew his combat knife. With his other hand, he armed an incendiary grenade from his harness. He leapt at the armored trooper and jammed the knife through the thinly protected neck articulation and into the base of the operator’s neck up to its hilt; using the handle as hand hold to prevent the powered suit from flinging him away.
Burgett could hear the wounded pilot screaming as he used hydraulically augmenting muscles to try to dislodge Burgett. Burgett not only held on; he but held the thermite grenade directly against the armored suits faceplate. It detonated just as another Mark-23 attempted to pull Burgett off of his frantic comrade.
The white-hot chemicals erupted in a localized inferno; covering Burgett and the Mark-23 he was clinging to in fire and splashing globs of the hellish flames onto the other armored suit as it reached for Burgett. The ammunition in the Mark-23’s cannon magazine exploded as the suit melted around the pilot, the other armor pilot abandoned his suit before the flames could penetrate it fully.
Burgett’s body was a pillar flame. It was totally engulfed in fire. Unable to draw breath enough to scream he dropped to the ground and flailed helplessly about. The protection offered by his IBOS and his more than human endurance serving only to prolong his agony as his flesh was scorched and his lungs were seared by inhaled thermite and super-heated air.
Carter shot the pilot of the abandoned Mark-23 seconds after he exited the suit, then he saw Burgett’s flame-covered body as its limbs flailed about in a hopeless, instinctive effort to escape the deadly heat. Carter crawled forward to the corpse of an enemy guard, braced his captured rifle across its torso, and shot Burgett in the head through the melted remains of his helmet and hood; ending his pain.
Attracted by Carter’s fire the last Mark-twenty three began firing at the FIRE team leader. Carter fired back; knowing that the ordinary rifle had no hope of penetrating his target’s armor. When he had expended the last of his ammunition, he tried again to get to his feet. To his surprise he was able to stand. The auto-med system has begun to treat his wounds and restore part of his strength. The system, he knew, could not mend broken bones, but it could stop bleeding and stimulate adrenaline production. He could feel the adrenaline in his veins coercing his muscles into action. With none of his team left to defend, he tried to retreat.
His feet were unsteady under him as he attempted to evade the pursuing Mark-23. He tossed his last grenade over his shoulder; hoping, probably in vain, that the debris and concussion of the explosion would momentarily confuse the armor’s targeting system.
“Hit the dirt, Boss!” a voice from his radio said.
Carter dropped and heard bullets whizzing over him. His team mates had had returned after seeing Team Foxtrot to Renner’s position. As McNamara and Nagura poured fire into the Mark-23’s front armor; Williams appeared at its rear. He leapt onto the armored suit’s back and attached a hockey puck-sized device magnetically to the suits head. Williams jumped off of the armor’s back, rolled beneath a flailing, backhanded attempt to strike him in retaliation, and then, sprinted away from the upcoming explosion. The detonating charge seemed to disintegrate the Mark-23; leaving a crater three feet deep and twice that in width.
“Burgett is dead,” Carter said as McNamara helped him to his feet.
“We need get out of here, Boss,” McNamara replied.”How bad are you hit?”
“I’m not shot,” Carter said. “My left arm is useless, I have some broken ribs, and I’m pretty sure a lung is punctured. The auto-med is keeping on my feet, though.”
“You’ll need these,” he added, handing Carter a pistol and three magazines. “There are more Two-threes coming and we’re out of missiles.”
Williams lingered a few meters behind the group; watching for attack from the rear as the group and they moved toward the perimeter gap that Renner’s unit was still holding.
“What did you use on that last Two-three?” Carter asked as Nagura put is uninjured arm over her shoulder; helping to remain standing.
“Team Foxtrot had a breaching charge left over,” Williams replied as the team moved as quickly as Carter’s injuries would allow.
They were one hundred fifty meters from Renner’s position when Williams went down, a spray of blood bursting from his left leg. Nagura dropped next; spinning violently as she fell. A shot had pierced the side of her helmet, creasing her forehead ripping the helmet from her head, and spinning her body around violently to land on her back. Carter fell on top of her; instinctively shielding her from more anymore gunfire. McNamara’s sub-machine gun spat back in fully automatic fire in response to the attack.
“Sniper!” McNamara shouted, changing magazines. “He probably has a gauss rifle. I didn’t see a muzzle flash,” he added knowing that a gauss rifle used hi-powered magnetic fields to propel hyper dense projectiles instead of gunpowder; meaning they produced neither a muzzle flash nor an audible report. “He has a thermal shroud too, because I can pick him up on thermal!”
“Dancer is unconscious but alive,” Carter said, as he examined Nagura. The gauss rifle round hand opened a large gash on her forehead as it ricocheted off of her skull. “Harvard, sound off! Report your status!”
“I am hit through my left leg,” Williams responded in a pain-strained voice. “The femur is shattered. I cannot walk!”
“Get to cover if you can,” Carter advised. Williams rolled painfully over and drug himself to the questionable protection of the concrete base of a nearby lighting poll.
“I can’t see the bastard,” McNamara said.
“He’s out of range anyway,” Cater observed.
“Why didn’t he go for the kill shot on Harvard?” McNamara wondered.
“He wanted one of wounded.” Carter said. “He’s hoping to draw the other teams out in the open. I think he meant to kill Dancer, but she ducked a little faster than he thought she would.”
Carter quickly oriented himself; assuring himself of his position in the compound. “Gambler might have a shot,” he said, keying his radio.
“Prowler for Gambler!” he said into his microphone.
“Go ahead Prowler.” Roth’s voice replied.
“We’ve got a sniper,” carter said. “He should be somewhere about fifteen hundred meters in front of Renner’s position. Do you have a shot?”
“Wait one,” Sains’ voice injected.
Sains reached out without his psychic abilities; searching for a particular enemy mind. He searched for a mind with the unique concentration and laser-like mental focus of a sniper. “Got him,” he said after a few seconds and switched his spotting scope to thermal imaging mode. He touched Roth on the shoulder where she lay in a prone firing position. “He’s on the fifteenth floor of the executive office building, twenty degrees to your right, third window from your left.”
He peered through his ballistic computer equipped spotter’s scope, as Roth found her target. “twenty-seven hundred, three meters,” he said, reading Roth data from the scope. “Wind is from the east at point two-five miles kilometers an hour. You’ll be shooting through six inches of reinforced concrete so you’ll need to go thermal.”
“Roger that,” Roth confirmed.
&nbs
p; Sains advised her of more environmental factors that would affect a shot fired from such great range. Roth compared his readings against those of the ballistic computer integrated in her own rifles scope.
“On target,” Roth advised.
Sains made a final check to insure that the condition had not changed. “Send it,” he said.
Roth’s bullet punched through the buildings concrete wall and struck the enemy sniper in his right temple; passing through his head in a diagonal line. The man’s head seemed to disappear from her scope in spray of orange and red color in the thermal imaging display. Her next shot found the enemy spotter’s chest as he knelt beside the dead sniper; leaving a basket-ball sized exit wound in his back. A third shot went through the gauss rifle’s back pack power source; rendering the weapon inoperable.
“Your, Clear prowler,” Sains radioed. Sniper is down.
“Harvard, we’re coming to you!” Carter shouted. “Grab Dancer,” he told McNamara.
The Canadian moved to hoist the fallen woman onto his shoulder, but her hands batted his away as he reached for her.
“I am alright,” Nagura said, grasping her machine-pistol, and trying to reorient herself. The left side of her face was covered in blood, bruised, and beginning to swell.
“The sniper’s dead, but Harvard is down and non-mobile.” Carter told her.
“Right,” Nagura said, her head beginning to clear.
“Grumble, go to Harvard, we’ll cover until you get there and then follow,” Carter ordered.
“On it!” McNamara confirmed as he sprinted toward Williams. A new storm of gunfire came from behind a line of parked vehicles that lined a road in front of were where Williams had fallen. McNamara returned fire as several conventional rifle bullets imbedded themselves ineffectually in his body armor.
He threw himself prone near Williams. Switching his weapon’s scope to thermal imaging, he could see through the bodies of the vehicles his enemies were using as cover. He used the ultra-dense rounds of his sub-machine gun to kill four enemy troops with single aimed shots that passed through the engine blocks of the vehicles that would have provided good protection from ordinary small arms. He and Williams maintained a coordinated covering fire to keep the enemy at bay. Nagura and Carter fired on the run; advancing behind a curtain of fully automatic gunfire and finding a kind of shelter in a shallow drainage culvert that paralleled the enemy line. They were ten feet to the left of Williams and McNamara.
The Fate Of Nations: F.I.R.E. Team Alpha: Book One Page 27
