“Father Lion. A gift from Hera.”
“Thank you, Sister. You may rejoin your unit.”
The woman placed her fist over her heart, then raising her open palm to near the top of her visor. She disappeared into the ruined building formerly occupied by Corporal Harlan’s team.
“Power battery. Get that gun running. Marshal Brand, a little help, please.” Marco said, gesturing toward the street. Just beyond the crater with the ruined Scorpion, a crowd of mercs rounded the corner with K-21 shield drones to their front.
Brand extended his hand. The two marshals reached into the Crucible through the Way, taking hold of the ruined mech. It shuddered for a moment and rose from the ground. The mechanical corpse swayed toward the second ruined tank, swinging back the other way. The extreme weight of the vehicle crashed into the building, spilling tons of rock across the street. The dead Scorpion came to rest on its side, acting as a damn to funnel the tide of incoming enemy into a trickle of movement.
Latisha took the case, not bothering to wonder where the woman who'd brought it had gone. She flicked it open, frantically trying to connect the Frankenstein wiring job Croix had used earlier to get another shot. “I need whatever fingers you have left, Croix!”
“Of course, Sergeant!” he said with feigned enthusiasm.
“How are you going to get this thing connected with that ruined arm?”
“It's all good, Lioness.”
“Don't call me that.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Croix said, barely able to contain his laughter as he fumbled with the cable with his good arm.
Latisha pushed him toward the PPC. “You're enjoying this aren't you, Private No Class?”
“Sorry Teesh, but this is something straight out of the movies!”
The gun team ducked behind anything they could find as incoming rounds peppered their position. Latisha grabbed a handful of armor on one of the sergeants. “Here they come! Sergeant Voller! Can your squad get that duster into the fight?”
The non-commisioned from the other squad tapped the battle board in his HUD. “I'll crawl my team up into that building! We'll lay down some grenades from there. Maybe we can dead-line one of those K-Drones.”
“Take it!” Latisha yelled back. “Beth! Where'd the marshals go?”
Beth was helping LaCroix wire the gun to the battery to make up for his broken arm. “Hells if I know. Wasn't my turn to watch them. Gun's up in ten seconds but we have to walk it into the street or it'll blow this truck apart and take us with it.”
A sharp crack to their front shook the ground beneath them. Risking a peak around the truck, debris rained across what looked like an angular, metallic tear drop dropped from space. It whirred to life, extending one leg, then another. Much more massive than the K-21s, this apparent shield mech unfolded itself as steam hissed across its metal frame. “Seven-Alpha-One on station. Deploying shield.”
Another impact blasted the street. “Seven-Alpha-Two on station. Deploying shield” Their voices sounded like something crawling out of a digital underworld. They were threatening in their posture, each step quaking the ground with the weight of duradium plating.
“Is that ours?” Croix yelled.
“You worry about the PPC, I'll worry who they belong to.” Latisha quipped. Reaching over to her battle board, she switched the net. “Go for Corvin.”
“Lioness. My name is Hera, I work with Marshal Sorrin, the Lion in the golden armor. We are deploying warriors throughout the buildings along this route. Direct your forces not to shoot them. Update to your HUD, now. All our warrior personal data trackers should be on your display in blue. The two Mastodon mechs belong to you. Control codes are being broadcast to your battle-board. We are coordinating with your chain of command. They are aware of our presence and that you have been reassigned under Sorrin. You may call me at any time as I will be directing the battle. Hera out.”
Latisha's jaw fell open at the sea of blue dots that was surging into the surrounding buildings. She pushed the info to the squad. One by one, each member responded. Message received.
“Sergeant Corvin?”
It was Sergeant Cabrerra, Toda's third team leader. “Got a HI-CAB here and no dance partners. Mind if we cut in?”
She'd heard that he was a quiet man, severe. There were rumors he'd DQ'd out of LASSO, the lancer selection course, due to an injury. CENTCOM assigned him to the security company while waiting for a spot to open up so he could tackle it again.
“Thank you, Sergeant. Hey Sloan, stop playing with Croix's cable and get on that other Hi-CAB.”
The shocked private dropped the ruined section of PPC cable he was holding, shooting a ruined look over to the former corporal. He caught an energy drum from Cabrerra's assistant gunner, slapping it into the weapon. “Gun's up. Going hot.”
“D!” Latisha shouted over the din of two blaster machine guns talking back to each other. Talking guns were a staple of machine gunning dating back all the way to Old Sol. One gun team would lay down suppressing or harassing fire in a controlled burst of six to nine round shots. The gunner would then hold fire until the other gun team shot a burst of their own. This allowed for longer times in between barrel changes while giving the blaster fire a wide avenue of coverage from multiple shooting points. Regardless of the how or why, everyone on Latisha's squad was yelling to be heard.
“Moving, sergeant!” Corporal Harlan shouted, slapping her friend on the armor on her way by with her team.
“Those walkers are giving us some serious cover so spread out your lines. Croix!” Latisha ordered.
Croix slapped down the battery cover after inserting the new power cell. The ruined plate was bent, giving the infirmed trooper a hard time. After several angry slaps, the cover finally held. “Ready to pop, Sarge.”
The K-21s were walking at a steady pace through the gully caused by the repositioned tanks. Mercenary forces were acting as tactical guides, directing the attacking militia force through the opening as well as pushing them through buildings. There was a stoppage of momentum for the blue dots in Corvin's HUD. She wondered whether this new allied force, whoever they were, had locked horns with the militiamen moving through the buildings, fighting over who had the right of way.
“Three-three Actual this is Three-Three-Charlie,” called a new voice, acting as Charlie Team leader. “We have a thumper moving along Third Street. Will have a line on it in forty seconds, how copy, over?”
Good. Latisha was glad that Sergeant Toda's squad had been the one to come up. They were easygoing, roll with the punches types. Sergeants Voller and Cabrerra had taken the call signs left vacant by the fighting, leaving Daniella as Three Bravo. She didn't have to worry about a measuring contest with those two.
She was trying to get used to everyone calling her by the squad leader callsign. She'd gone from a team leader, to an acting squad leader, and if this marshal was who she thought he was, she'd been declared a lancer. The lancer ranks were different. Being a sergeant there was like being a staff sergeant everywhere else. A marshal declaring her a sergeant through battlefield order, even though she hadn't gone through the training, would hold serious weight. She would have to live up to it or die trying. That's just what Corvins did.
“Roger that,” Latisha acknowledged. “Sight in and prepare to fire. Wait for co-lock with friendlies forward, how copy?” Brand asked.
“Clear and Lock, Charlie out.”
They called him Sergeant Volley. He had an unhealthy addiction to an ancient sport from Old Sol played with a ball over a net. It also happened to be how he conducted his personal view on warfare. If someone shot a bolt at him, he'd take it and fire it back. He'd racked up an impressive amount of battlefield kills while somehow avoiding injury himself. War was a game that man loved to play.
Beth tapped Latisha on the shoulder. “Marshal Brand just messaged me. They see a Robot Fighting Vehicle but don't want us to worry about it just yet. They want us to keep up the harassing fire. Lure the forces and
those K-21s up as close as we can. When they try to push us back, we're to fold into the covered positions of the buildings and let them advance. I have a feeling their planning on squeezing them from the other side.”
“All teams, confirm last transmission from mini-marshal?” Latisha called out.
Beth scowled at the nick name. “Hey. I happen to be a Deputy Marshals Templar. I should have a better code name than that!”
“Really? That's what you’re worried about right now. We're in a city of hundreds of thousands of people with militia spread across three warlords trying to kill us and each other. And you're worried about being called...”
“I want to be Three-Delta, for third squad deputy marshal.”
The look on Latisha's face gave Beth a laughing fit.
“Three-Three Actual this is Three-Three-Charlie,” Sergeant Voller called. “Please advise Three-Three-Delta that we need her superior space magic to do something about the enemy directed fire. We're not covered by the shield mechs because of our elevated position, over.”
“You get that Three-Three-Delta?”
Beth huffed. “Work, work, work,” she said with a wink, running into the building to link up with Voller.
The enemy forces were spreading into the streets, protected by a wall of K-21s. They were using a rolling advance against the corner and doing a good job of it. If it weren't for the shield mechs, the squad would have been done for.
“Lioness, this is Sorrin. Shield mechs are going to deactivate to simulate battle damage. Pull your people under cover except for the PPC. Put a bum rush of bolts straight into those K-12s then park the gun. Twenty seconds.”
“Roger that,” she said, pushing the message out to the teams.
There were hundreds of merc-led militia flooding through the gap in the intersection. They were even pouring out from some of the buildings they used for cover, advancing to the corner. If it weren't for the tank battle earlier, they would have been able to use house to house movement to walk right up and smack them in the teeth.
The first Mastodon went down in a shower of sparks and smoke, taken out by a merc with an Atlatl light anti-tank rocket. The Atlatl, often referred to as A-LARS, was a collapsible rocket launcher that was easily man portable. Nowhere near as versatile as a thirteen-thirteen or a SAGA, the Atlatl was the explosive delivery system of choice for those backwaters on a budget.
“All teams, get under cover.” Latisha directed. “Harassing fire only. Three-Three-Charlie, lose the lock on target and keep the mini-marshal out of L-O-Fox. Over.”
“Three-Three-Alpha, Three-Three-Delta is negative for line of fire, roger out.” Sergeant Voller giggled through a slew of curses from Beth in the background.
The second Mastodon went down like the first, a victim to the A-LARS easily slipping past the energy grid and blowing through the heavily armored legs. The militia surged behind the K-21s under cover of smoke grenades, obscuring the defender's vision. Tracer rounds flew side by side with blaster bolts through the colored smoke, ventilating the two buildings guarding the most direct route into the Elysian Depot.
Scores of fighters poured from one of the far buildings, defying orders from livid mercenary commanders trying to get the undisciplined fighters back into a semblance of formation. Militiamen shot their own fighters in the back when they deviated from the vagabond led direction. This sparked more than one gunfight between the locals, turning what should have been a clear and decisive victory into a chaos churning meat grinder.
Latisha almost felt sorry for them. That is until she realized she was kneeling in mud saturated with Seikon's blood. Let them all burn.
Ten
“Twin Hells, these idiots are shooting themselves!” Vanemar said into the com. This was his second hop into the frontier and just like the first, he was already regretting it.
Fighting in the CORAL was civilized. The Hagen Accords made it seem like everyone in the game had to know the rules. At least the people there weren't savages pretending to be men fighting a proper war. Not like the dopes he was being paid to push into unseating Nakabwe as the people's champion. The upstart warlord had tried to unify all of Dagoshu and the outlying tribes into a single nation. Sorkabi and Korobu hated each other, but nothing like they hated Nakabwe. It was like getting two kids who hated each other to work together so they could stab dad in the chest.
At least their money was good.
“Pull back to Third Street. We have the thumper moving up to you now,” came Danissa's voice over the radio. He'd met her once on the ship. There were a few species out in the black that could get his motor running, but she was on another level. Danissa was a Nascillian, an amphibious race from the planet Sythia. The other sentient race, the Kuldomidae, were as brutish and predatory as the Nascillian were beautiful and peaceful. Every race had their exception and Danissa was one of those. While she had the trademark beauty common to her people, she was one of the most vicious mercs he knew. It was a good thing she was happy to direct a battle rather than be in one. Although the company commander had given all the male mercs the hands-off warning on Danissa, Vanemar couldn't help but wonder if the monetary hit for defying orders wouldn't be worth it.
One of his men had their head burst like a ripe melon dropped from a cart. He pitched to the side, another sign they were shooting each other again.
“Twin Hells, Martin! Get them back on line! There's no one shooting us from the flank. Those are our guys!” He cursed like a Paesian sailor, spouting off that he would never work in the Frontier again. He'd made this particular curse before, often about drinking, but this time, he would to stick to his guns concerning the 'no working the Frontier' rule. He took hold of Martin, his liaison to the Dagoshu militia, forcing his battle-board into the man's hand. He angrily pointed at the screen, directing him to direct others to follow the directions.
“Danissa, this is Van. Please get that thumper up here ASAP. My men are shooting each other because they can't see through the smoke. Plus, I haven't seen those space knights since they took out the Scorpions.”
“The thumper is seconds away, handsome. Just keep that pretty mug of yours intact a few seconds longer and all your problems disappear. Once you break the line, have the locals storm the distro center. That one's coming from the client who the CO wants kept happy.”
“Of course he does. So if I make it through this nightmare, what say we...”
Danissa cut him off on the quick. “You know why my people are so sought after as lovers? We have venom sacks in our mouth, almost like a snake. If we give you just a taste, it'll be the most euphoric night of your life. But if we decide we don't like you, one kiss is all it takes to stop the heart in your chest.”
“So worth it,” Van said playfully into the radio.
“Mind on your mission mag-rat,” She joked, responding in kind.
Van turned to watch the Raging Bull Medium Assault Mech stride through the smoke. Carrying a forty millimeter Hi-Ex rifle and sporting some of the most lethal tech this side of the Outer Boundary, the Bull was every bit its namesake. The thing looked like a heavy loader mech's dad. It was over ten meters tall and had a rounded pilot's compartment, although that wasn't the feature that really drew the eye. A shoulder mounted missile rack as well as anti-personnel lasers augmented the load out, giving the bull the ability to shake off any unwanted riders. Walking beside it were four Bushmaster Defense Robots. Shaped like broad skeletons with metal carved skulls to match, the Bushmasters were programmed to defend the Raging Bull from minor threats that might get close to damage the heavy mech.
“Hey Van, it's Collins.”
Vanemar was roused from his musings. “Go ahead.”
“Hey man, we have a backup in the building on your two o'clock. I'm trying to get to the front to see what the hold up is, but everyone is kind of just standing around.”
“What's your contact say?”
Collins could almost be heard shrugging his shoulders through the radio. “He doesn't kn
ow. Guy barely speaks Trade-2.”
“Great. I'm on the outside, want me to look?” The silence on the com highlighted the drumbeat of the mammoth robot vehicle about to turn the corner. When Van didn't get a response, he tried to check the man’s status on his board. “Collins. Collins! Huh. Nothing. Hey Martin, any of your people have radio with that building?”
Collins crashed through a boarded-up window on the third floor. He sailed from the escarpment, hitting the street head first. Van heard the man's neck snapping through the radio, his body flopping unnaturally over his .
“Oh Hells! Riot Control this is Van, light up that floor!”
The bull placed a ten round burst of high explosive rounds on target. The structure blew apart in a volcanic fury, spreading stone and girders all over the street. The debris rained across the intersection, killing several more of the militia. Van didn't care. They should have stayed in formation, anyway. If the marshals were up there, a quick burst from the heavy slug rifle would do the trick. Sure they had all that crazy space magic, but what good was that against explosive munitions traveling at over half a klick per second.
“Denissa, this is Van. Can you run a drone over the top of that building that isn't there anymore?”
“On it. Stand by.”
The merc commander called into the radio. “All units, this is Van. Hold advance until my go, all units confirm.”
He watched the smoke trail off the ruined roof, watching the last of the dust from the grenades play their way out from the intersection. One of their drones slipped into the operations area, flying over the smoking ruin. After lingering for a moment, it ran a tight arc back to Van's position.
The Sentinel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 3) Page 12
