The Sentinel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 3)

by Walt Robillard

  Lasher nudged her with his shoulder. “It will be once I have my hands around Vidar’s neck.”

  He turned to face down the hill. Hundreds of Tyth warriors on a mix of grav bikes and Tyth Dross horses were arranged in squads for their rush to the city. Madame Tarot was at the fore near the base of the incline, coordinating something while surrounded by the Card Arkana, the robots that made up her crew.

  Lasher set his face mask in place, his HUD taking over for the cyber lenses. “Hey there. We can see you. Is everything good to go?”

  Marco chastised him through the comm. “You’ve spent too long with those pirates. Your radio discipline is terrible.”

  “You mean, he’s spent too long with us, privateers, and you forgot to say, over… over,” Fluff corrected.

  Nearly over the horizon, the golden clad warrior and his horse both snapped their attention to where Fluff had launched his comment. Lasher burst into laughter, brushing against Mara, struggled to contain herself from the infectious mirth pouring out of the Doom Cat.

  “If you’re done, time for you to do your thing.”

  “Of course, Marshal Sorrin. I’ll get right on that.” Lasher signaled to the assembled forces below him, warning them to make ready for the next phase in their plan. He placed his palm on the ground, digging his fingers into the grass-tangled soil. Several heartbeats fluttered by with no motion or action coming from the mongrel. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. Somewhere in the Crucible, a snap of thunder rang out. Those with a sense of the Second Sight, marshal or otherwise, took note, searching for the source of the sound. It rumbled again, almost on top of the thrumming of his heart. Several more echoed in the expanse of the Unseen, becoming the pulse, forcing his blood to fuel the fire and vengeance he’d craved for so long.

  There was a sensation that pushed the grass along the wind. It sailed across the plain, waving the stalks toward the front of the city. Tyth tribesman fighting at the gates, ran like ants under a sun soaked magnifying glass to escape something that appeared to be tormenting them. After several chaotic moments of the TRACO forces trying to assess the mayhem, the Tyth among them scattered for all points on the compass. Confused mercenaries ceased the fighting, giving the fleeing natives plenty of room as they pulled back toward the city center.

  “They used nanites infused with bio engineering based on local animals. I used my connection to Tythian to slag their control over the swarm enhanced Tyth, at least for now,” Lasher said.

  “Good work, Orin,” Marco responded. “Now for more great news, we just made contact with the TRACO commander. He’s saying that his higher HQ along with his clients are ordering him to pull back and remain in place to protect the city.”

  “So I guess they’re refusing to move?” Lasher asked.

  Fluff poked Orin with his tail. “Tell the super marshal that he forgot to say, over.”

  Orin nodded to his friend. “I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way. Oh, and Fluff says your radio procedure needs work.”

  “Tell him he forgot to say, over.”

  “By the great galactic marshmallow, the super marshal’s funny, too? I’m in love. Can we join his team?” Fluff said, rolling onto his belly.

  “We’re on his team, Fluff,” Lasher declared.

  “Yes!”

  Lasher slid down the back side of the hill to the rest of the crew. “Okay folks, we’re go for Operation Wonder Thumper.”

  Kat slapped her forehead. “Did you let Fluff name the operation?”

  “I did.”

  Kel was leaning against his grav bike, shaking his head. “Why would you do that?”

  Lasher shrugged his shoulders. “I wanted to see if I could get Marshal Sorrin, or better, Commander Hylaeus, to say Operation Wonder Thumper.”

  “Don’t you dare, laugh.” Kat said to her favorite criminal.

  “I can’t help it! You don’t think that’s funny?” Kel was laughing so hard he was having a hard time putting on his helmet.

  Kat put on her own, taking a moment for a cleansing breath. “I work with children.”

  “Do they call you mama cat?” Mara asked.

  “Not if they want to live.”

  Lasher broadcast over their internal com. “Fluff and I are on the move. Give us three hundred meters between us and the lead element. When we open up that shield, pour through as fast as you can and the lancers will keep the outlanders off of us.”

  Kat spun Lasher around to hug him. “For Seladriel.”

  Kel and Fluff joined the embrace, the four of them taking a precious moment to savor the family they'd built over the graves of loved ones lost. They repeated the name of Orin Lashra’s adopted mother, a Marshals Templar who gave everything so her son could live.

  Lasher stomped to the top of the hill with the Doom Cat by his side. He watched the mercenaries reorganizing their forces to maximize their use of terrain and resources. Although Marco had knocked their support ships from orbit, armored vehicles and mechs reinforced the ground forces. By utilizing supplies from the city, they could withstand local forces until more help arrived.

  “You ready for this?”

  Fluff half purred, half growled his contentment over the situation. “Looks like a target rich environment to me, brother.”

  Lasher highlighted Marco’s icon in the HUD. “On your go.”

  From across the steppe, the Lion Guard nodded. His dipped spear signaled Ajax into a frenzied gallop across the plain. Distance faded away as the powerful destrier slammed through the landscape.

  Orin took off in a sprint, engulfed in the Crucible's power. The mysterious force that contacted him in the Surrando mesa poured thunder into his ears, churning him into a storm of war and will. Each step propelled him faster, with his speed ever increasing. Running far ahead of the horse and rider, Lasher intercepted the marshal’s path before his forces had even crested the hill. Lasher and his retinue raced toward the city, surrounded by the pounding of powerful engines and hooves.

  “How is he moving that fast?” Tarot called over the coms.

  “We’ve never been sure what he contacted when he went into that Surrando healing pit, but whatever it is, must be seriously upset!” Kel responded.

  The puffy grey overcast roiled into dark clouds, threatening the area with a furious tempest. The winds changed direction, going from a light breeze to a gale that pushed the grasses almost flat. A peel of dark green lightning tore across the sky, dousing the steppe in a brilliant, momentary emerald flash. Another stroke ripped through the clouds, highlighting dark shapes moving through the mists.

  Marco’s lance flashed into electrified fire as Ajax ran along a path of ash trailing molten slag, setting the grasslands alight. Shadows coalesced from the clouds, the warships of the Elysian Navy dropping into view following the marshal’s trail. A-LAT assault shuttles swarmed from the bigger vessels like hornets from a disturbed hive. They followed along the flaming track set by the fiery warhorse, weapons and side hatches tearing open to display the terrible fury of a lancer regiment primed for direct action.

  Flying low, just above the grasses, Baby Doll and the Promise of Dawn were keeping speed just behind Marco, their weapons exposed. The bellies of both ships packed with troops ready to execute judgment on behalf of a family who’d had their most precious hopes stolen from them. That hope had been named Seladriel Ferrand. The grey maned marshal who led legions of troops and the orphaned warrior who founded a family, had both earned the respect of their people so they would follow either to the gates of the Twin Hells. Today that gate had a name, Kabran city, and the devil lording over it would pay for his crimes as multiple armies stormed the shield to ram their justice down his throat.

  A quake shook the ground, causing some of the Dross to lose their riders. Off in the distance, the TRACO commanders called for patience before they opened fire, wanting the terrain to be more favorable lest the sight picture for their approaching enemy get lost behind foothills or waving tracks of grass. Tythian’s an
gry rumble became a terrifying tremor strong enough to shake the towers of the far off city center.

  “Fluff! Jump!” Lasher roared into the com.

  Both leapt into the air, Crucible powered muscles and mechanized cyberstrands launching them tens of meters up from the top of one of the rolling hills. The ground beneath them exploded. A creature easily as wide as an Elysian Battle Cruiser shot from the ground. It’s roar split the sky, echoing in the minds of every living being within sight. Tentacles the size of buildings tasted the air as a bifurcated lower jaw exposed rows of teeth larger than a robot fighting vehicle. Fluff used his vibro-enhanced claws to latch onto the beast with Lasher pressed under him, in order to act as a harness for his friend.

  “Best day ever!” Fluff roared over the eruption of the creature.

  It climbed into the sky at an impossible height, like an unending geyser from some unnamed dimension where destruction was the order of the day. It reached the apex of its arc, curving back to the ground in direct line with the closest lines of TRACO troops. An acidic torrent of green fire spat from its mouth. Troops and vehicles exploded on impact, the ground shattering in a mushroom cloud of burning violence that sent debris for hundreds of meters in all directions.

  The monster slammed into the molten rock, burrowing through the ground amid the sound of grinding stone against twisting, burning metal. A flash of tentacles, arms, and tail passed by anyone left alive to see it.

  “Cry ‘Havoc!,’ and let slip the Fluff of war!” the Doom Cat yelled as the remains of the creature disappeared into the dark hole it created.

  Kel and Kat, leading a contingent of Tyth tribesman, charged the tunnel. The gaping chasm swallowed the thundering horde, amplifying their sound of hooves and engines in a crescendo that could rival a Rhusk festival drummer. Marco was next to the hole, he and Ajax never slowing as they charged the breach.

  The Baby Doll swooped the TRACO line, taking out mortar assets and automated air defense systems to open the door for the A-LATs to soar in. The Promise of Dawn swept across the tunnel opening, pouring the devil hunters and their Hoplite enhanced squad into the hole. Brand was first to land, sending a Crucible formed shock wave into advancing TRACO troops. He sent the soldiers flying from the entrance, landing tens of meters away in a cluttered mess.

  Brand’s cyber lenses displayed a floating battle roster just outside his line of sight. “Corvin number two! Get fourth squad into the tunnel and on Sorrin’s six! Beth, lead them in!”

  “Me?”

  “You up to this or not, Marshal Bethayel?”

  Brand had called her marshal. Not deputy, not kid. He called her the rank of an equal, a sister in arms. She jumped from the ship’s ramp to vanish into the darkness with her crew.

  “Lance Sergeant D’Marco! Get the rest of my lancers on the ground and in formation to hold the opening against those mercs.”

  “Aye, Marshal Brand! LaGarron, get first on sweep and clear! Corvin number one, get second on the other flank! See if you can cause trouble for those fighting vehicles! Bolaji, you’re with me at the cave mouth. We hold the back door until we’re relieved by the Regiment!”

  “Rah!” they shouted in unison.

  “Devil Hunters! Faith forward!”

  “Ever onward!”

  The lancers deployed to different parts of the terrain that had been broken up by the creature’s devastating blast. Jagged outcroppings of rock and newly cooled twisted metal formed nearly perfect fighting positions for the lancers to stage from. The ramp of the Promise closed, snapping shut with a heavy metal smack. The vehicle whirled, unleashing a tornado of blaster bolts from twin vortex cannons, decimating waves of approaching TRACO soldiers in the ensuing gale.

  “Thanks for the assist, Ares! Now hightail it out of here before they get a missile lock on you!” Brand shouted.

  The ship catapulted into the air on a high bounce from the repulsors. It swerved to one side, dipping its nose as it engaged its drive engines. Pushing off against the main thrust, it unleashed a hellish barrage of bolts, rockets, and missiles on its frantic climb away from the tunnel. Scores of troops trying to reorganize were shredded, being cast further into disarray from the departing ship.

  “Marshal! Corporal Brasson has drones in the air. He says we have a TRACO QRF swinging wide to take us head on,” D'Marco called into the comm.

  Brand looked through the interface at the oncoming A-LATs. It would be at least two minutes before Captain Gerrard’s Striker Company would hit the grass. Studying the trajectory of the QRF swinging a wide cut to avoid taking fire from the Devil Hunters, they had time before the enemy rammed an entire bowl of suck down their throats. Perfect. “Roger that. Get them behind as much cover as we can. I’ll be the shield. Should be about ninety seconds before Striker Company falls in behind them. We’ll catch these mag-rats in the middle and squeeze.”

  A platoon of troops broken into four squads were riding an equal number of combat repulsor skiffs. They weren’t as well armed or armored as the ones the lancers used, but would definitely get the job done for lesser forces. Waves of blaster fire lashed out from the advancing sleds, easily deflected by Brand using his command of the Way. One of the skiffs ceased fire to race ahead as the three others broke off to different directions.

  “That can’t be good!” Lancer Williams shouted into the com.

  “Don’t need the running commentary on the open line, Lancer!” Sergeant LaGarron shouted to his trooper.

  A soldier on the skiff racing down the center, aimed a hefty crew served weapon from the back of the vehicle. Brand, along with several troopers from LaGarron’s squad, fell to the ground writhing in agony. The marshal took several hits to the armor from the flanking skiffs, knocking him into a slide down the tunnel. D’Marco caught the Templar by the cloak, keeping him from tumbling completely out of sight.

  Lancer Vassineau, a member of Sergeant Bolaji’s squad, ran forward while pulling on both ends of a tube. He locked the extended weapon, placing it on his shoulder. Whatever had caused the others to fall hit him as soon as he got to the top of the tunnel mouth. Waves of searing agony flooded his muscles, threatening to send him into a blessed darkness. He gritted his teeth, keeping his weapon aimed at the punishing tech.

  “Tango locked! Back blast area clear!” He yelled over the comms.

  D’Marco answered. “Send it, Lancer!”

  The SAGA missile flashed from the tube, consuming the distance between the platoon and the skiff. Multiple firing points around the vehicle spat out blaster bolts in successive waves, trying to shoot down the impending projectile. The SAGA dodged, its counter fire algorithms giving it an unobstructed path to target. The hovering sled exploded into a ball of flame. Its nose dipped from the impact, catching the ground to flip it end over end, spilling the contents of the deck across the ground in a dazzling jumble of ash encrusted bodies.

  The two flanking skiffs went to broadsides, giving their shooters maximum cover from the side rail armored plates. The trick also provided a wider firing line to get more guns into the fight. Blaster bolts kicked up rock at the mouth of the tunnel, pelting the downed lancers in molten flak.

  Brand was the first to recover, planting his sword into the ground. Blaster bolts wove around him in a shimmering wave, like glowing rain falling sideways. The lancers on the line took advantage of their marshal’s invisible shield wall to get into better positions, guarded against the incoming fire. Lancers with grenade launchers peppered the hovering craft, rocking them on their floating repulsor fields without ever damaging the heavy armored plating.

  Brand took the distraction to focus on the two ships. He sent an energy surge through the Way, nearly overturning them. The combatants sailed from the deck, hitting the soft grasses. “D’Marco, take them!”

  The Lance Sergeant sent targeting info to his troopers on the line. Grenade fire bracketed the two squads, huddling them closer together for the riflemen to pick off one at a time.

  Lancer Tran dropped the b
ipod on his CR-750. “Hey, how come every time we come to Tythian, I have to shoot at a skiff?”

  Rob Corvin was quick to get his lancer back on task. “Because you’re good at it. Light ’em up!”

  The seven-fifty was one of the few sluggers left in the lancer arsenal. They refused to part with it due to the wide variety of threats faced by the regiment. Using the weapon against TRACO troops wearing armor designed to typically ward off threats from blasters seemed almost unfair. Almost.

  Tran blanketed the area with the snap crack of chemical based projectiles tearing back toward their adversaries. The heavy explosive tipped munitions slammed into the opposing force, shredding their armor under an onslaught of high velocity havoc. Between the outgoing blaster fire ripping into their targets with surgical precision and the hammer that was the light machine gun, they dismantled the enemy line in short order, leaving two armored skiffs floating over the ruined remains of the third flaming vehicle.

  “Wasn’t there four?” Frazier called into the Battle-Net.

  Lancer Williams, Frazier’s wingman since the two had been selected out of the lancer course to join the Devil Hunters, tackled him into the tunnel as sweeping cannon-fire blasted their front line. Brand sloughed off the rest of the bolts from the orbiting skiff, with one of them finding space through the Crucible to strike his shield. It wasn’t energized when the bolt hit it, bending it into a blackened lump of prosteel alloy before depositing him back on the ground.

  The skiff orbited around the tunnel entrance, giving the fighters on the sides time to toss grenades over the side. The mercs had cooked them off, leaving them to explode above the ground. Siggs, Corvin, and Tai were caught in the blast, the second squad troopers taking the brunt of the damage for the rest of the platoon.

  “Marshal! Give me a boost!” Tai, the Vosi lancer yelled.

  The Crucible took hold of the sizable trooper, lobbing him in a high arc to land in the middle of the skiff. Ejecting a wrist mounted vibro knife on his off-hand, his dominant hand put bolts from his service pistol into the closest mercs. He was about to use the knife to finish the enemy in front of him when a Zheegan brute, the size of a power loader, tackled him from the side.