The Midnight Sun (The Omega War Book 2)

by Tim C. Taylor

  But even here, only thirty feet from the road, the trees were too dense. A modest hop was likely to bounce him from branch to trunk to branch again like a swamp pinball. Too risky. Not yet.

  His HUD updated the possible contacts to probable. “Keep moving west,” he told the four CASPers of his half-squad “Lieutenant Garcia, we’re surrounded.”

  “Push south,” she said without hesitation. “No sudden moves unless they fire first. Golinski, move the rest of your squad west to link up with Pierre. I’ll join you with survivors of 9th Squad.”

  Garcia hesitated. “Golinski, acknowledge.”

  Merde! Golinski and the rest of the squad had dropped off Pierre’s comms about a minute ago. It could be the trees soaking up the signal. Or…

  “Pierre, do you have eyes on the Midnighters?”

  “No, Lieutenant.”

  “Change of plan. I want you to hose your probable contacts with everything you’ve got, then run for the road. It’s the only clear airspace. Get out of the trees and hop for the base. It’s your only chance. Good luck.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 62

  Sun had abandoned her pursuit of the Condottiere who’d killed Alessandro. The trooper might be wearing a half-ton of metal, but he’d proved as slippery as an eel.

  Now, safely embedded with Gold Squad, she watched from the trees as four enemy CASPers fled, lifting into the air through the gap in the jungle canopy above the road.

  She fired a burst with her machine gun, and thought she’d shot one in the legs, but her entire command was joining in this grim shooting party. Sparks and flames lit up the fleeing CASPers until their jump juice reservoirs exploded one after the other, sending debris fluttering to the ground.

  And it still wasn’t over. Her HUD briefly lit with another Condottiere out of sight to the west. The data was coming from Branco, his helmet telemetry flickering into the grid before disappearing.

  “Get ready to take out one more jumper,” she said.

  Bullets flew at her through the trees, shredding leaves and slapping damage alert icons over some of the CASPers nearby.

  “Going firm, ma’am,” announced Finn-Holt. “Enemy is counter-attacking from the town.”

  Damn! Sun put the fleeing Condottieri from her mind and organized the response to this new threat.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 63

  A huge explosion lit the sky behind Garcia, hardening the shadows on the ground. The Condottieri lieutenant prayed it would provide cover as she crashed through the brambles and ferns. Her status board was a sea of red and amber, but her jumpjets remained green. She jerked and fell to her knees as electricity arced through the inside of her suit when her Tri-V status board exploded.

  One panel still functioned, linked to two external cameras. The audio pickups were still working too. Other than that, she was sealed within a metal coffin. There were no windows in a CASPer.

  Remembering how she’d outfoxed her pursuer earlier by hiding in the bushes and doubling back, she took a sharp left to confuse anyone following her, cursing that idiot Fellini and old Colonel Kozlowski, who’d been so easily bought, hitching his Red Lancers to the Condottieri in return for a healthy retirement package. She’d been proud of the Lancers. They’d been professional.

  She could hear the sound of pursuit. She dodged behind a trunk, turned, and saw three Midnighters pursuing one of hers. She waited until they’d almost passed and dashed from cover, slicing one a glancing blow with her sword-blade as she barreled through them.

  She didn’t slow. The view from her rear camera showed her trooper already down and being cut open by Midnighter swords. The other two were taking aim. At her.

  She dove for the ground as rounds passed overhead, sliding along the slippery ground before hitting a tree root and coming to rest.

  The enemy were making sure they’d killed the downed trooper before doing the same with her.

  Garcia could see the weed-infested surface of the road just yards away. She wasn’t done yet.

  She angled her body forward and activated her jumpjets. She heard a gurgling in the water, but her metal-clad feet stayed firmly on the ground. Her diagnostics were dead, but she guessed it could simply be mud and water clogging her nozzles.

  It didn’t matter anymore. Every option remaining was a very low percentage. She sprinted for the road, ignoring bullets and cannon shells banging against her suit. When she reached the edge of the line of trees, she bent her suit’s knees, and put every last ounce of CASPer strength into springing high into the air while opening up the fuel throttle to her jets.

  They choked.

  Stuttered.

  And roared into life, sending her arcing high into the air, westbound for the town.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 64

  Branco dodged back behind the exposed tree roots, the route to his waiting suit blocked by a fleeing Condottieri CASPer. It was badly shot up, but even so, he didn’t fancy his chances against it in a fair fight.

  The CASPer’s jets had faltered, then hurled its driver into the air.

  For some reason, Branco’s HUD switched in the infrared overlay. The Condottiere’s jets now showed up as a searing white, but so too did a patch spreading over the base of the CASPer’s back. A patch of heat that shouldn’t be there.

  Impressive, he mused. The heat source came from the suit’s fuel cell. It shouldn’t be flaring in IR, but its shielding must have failed, and that meant the Daimler-Koch helmet software had found him a weak spot.

  He set his rifle’s load selector to incendiary rounds and tracked the target.

  The Condottiere had dropped, flying low and parallel to the ground, which meant the jet flames blinded Branco.

  But he knew his way around a Mk 8 CASPer without needing a piece of software to tell him what to shoot at.

  Switching off the IR overlay, he led the target, easing his body and mind into the shot. And fired.

  The target exploded in an aerial fireball that rained down charred debris.

  “That’s for Juliana,” said Branco and hurried away to his waiting suit.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 65

  “Am I to be forever plagued by incompetence?” snarled Fellini. “I’ve taken forty percent casualties thanks to that incompetent idiot Garcia.”

  Gozhita growled.

  The contempt in the man’s voice shocked Fellini. He was glad they were both inside their CASPers, because he didn’t want to see the look on the first sergeant’s face. He’d always suspected Gozhita preferred Garcia over him. Was he going to become a problem?

  “I want 4th and 5th squads defending the woods to the east of the town,” ordered Fellini. “They’ll hold the enemy advance there.”

  “Sir, 4th and 5th squads have already counter-attacked to slow the Midnighter advance and cover the withdrawal of any survivors of Garcia’s squads. They’re currently conducting a fighting retreat back to the town.”

  “Why was this not cleared with me first?”

  “Because the colonel employs professionals. And professional squad leaders demonstrate initiative. Sir, they’re buying us time, let’s make use of it. The enemy has prepared their attack over several days. We’re playing according to their script, which means the best thing we can do is jump off-script. I recommend we link up all squads and advance together into the swamp. Let our opponents have the base for now.”

  “I had my doubts about you, First Sergeant. Now I know you’re not to be trusted. Our orders are to hold this base, and that’s what I’ll do. I shall order 4th and 5th Squads to hold a line to the east of the town while you organize the remaining five squads to make this settlement more defensible. I want firing loops cut into buildings.” He knocked on a wall, which gave a solid dull thud. “This has been up for sixty years with barely a scratch. Small arms fire won’t penetrate. Barricades. Fields of fire. You’re good at that sort of thing. Make it happen.”

  “Make it happen.” The first
sergeant made a deep noise in the back of his throat. “Yes, sir.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 66

  “Keep moving!” screamed Sun. She hated the shrill note to her voice, but her officers and NCOs would understand the imperative to keep their attack’s momentum. With the Condottieri at the landing strip destroyed and the counter-attack from the west, they had to press on and take the town. If they didn’t, they were lost.

  As she jogged toward the town, she checked the status of her people. Five dead, and a similar number either wounded or their CASPers disabled. In the grisly calculus of a combat bonus clause – not that she’d seen any contract specifics – she had to judge that a success.

  But they hadn’t won yet.

  Not by a long way.

  And victory wouldn’t come from her attack from the east.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 67

  Crude howls of triumph reached Tatterjee’s ears from the north bank. It seemed the Zuul troopers had killed a defender.

  “Humans are the deafest and most slow-witted species in the Union,” he said to the Wingless Hornet’s empty flight cabin. “But even the Condottieri might have heard that noise.”

  Moments later, Hrrn radioed in. “Cover’s blown, Tatter. Give it all you’ve got.”

  “With pleasure, Sergeant,” Tatterjee replied, flicking his ears in amusement.

  He switched the channel to talk directly to his partner. “Bridge to engine room. Full steam ahead. Come on, you fat lazy monster. Put your legs into it.”

  “I am not an engine room,” replied Betty. “What I am is hungry, and you’d make a perfect snack, Tatterjee.” The Tortantula snapped her jaws, but put her body against the renamed remains of what had once been Javelin-7, and swam with all her strength.

  The Tortantula method of swimming was similar to the jellyfish of Earth and other species across many worlds. With her armor off and stowed inside the Hornet, she squeezed her flexible body, squirting a large volume of water through the tunnel she formed between her legs.

  Wingless Hornet responded, its nose rising high above the river.

  Betty regarded the craft with a couple of her eyes, fantasizing that it was the Flatar who was providing the muscle propulsion, and she was sitting in the flight cockpit of what had been a dropship before having its wings and nearly all its internals stripped away.

  “I promise I’ll let you fire the laser at some humans,” said Tatterjee, “but we need to get there first.”

  The prospect pushed the Tortantula into even more strenuous efforts.

  “Just think,” said Tatterjee with relish in his voice. “It’s just Vengeance Squad and the scouts. No ridiculous human officers to hold us back. No ‘rules of engagement.’ No ‘collateral damage,’ and no one to say, ‘oh, do make sure nobody gets hurt.’”

  “I like this,” said Betty.

  “Yeah, baby. Stick with me, and I’ll show you good times.”

  “Betty is your friend. Not your baby.”

  “That’s right. Best pals. Inseparable. Now keep pushing. It’s not far now.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 68

  The sky lit up with explosions blooming along the town’s eastern perimeter. The frenetic brrrp brrrp brrrp of autocannons was met by the whine of magnetically-accelerated MAC rounds and the whoosh of rockets. Beneath the sounds of weapons fire were the screams of men and women through the speakers of their CASPer armor.

  Out of his scout gear now and inside his CASPer, Branco shook like a blancmange while he waited behind the cover of habitation buildings to the northwest of the town. The fear was bad, but the frustration was far worse.

  No matter how much his mind told him the best way to help his comrades was to follow the orders concocted between Sergeant Pak and Hrrn, the Zuul sergeant who led Vengeance Squad, his gut screamed at him to run to the east and join in the battle for the settlement in which his friends were fighting, and no doubt dying.

  Sun would be leading the main attack. If she were ten light years away, and not at the other end of the town, would he still feel the same pressing need to run to the sound of guns?

  He brought up a Tri-V image of the town layout, as much a distraction from the fire to the east as preparing for what lay ahead.

  Huddled by a curve in the small river, which flowed through the west of the drained area, was a tall warehouse and hydroelectric station. Four other industrial buildings near the riverbank were linked by pipes, huge vertical cylinders, and storage silos. The main terraforming machinery on the planet was buried in the ground to the south of the industrial zone. As towns went, it wasn’t much. He’d seen bigger farmyard complexes on Earth, but the Zuul cult had clearly intended to expand their settlement, because it was set in a much wider swathe of hardened ground. For once, they’d be operating on dry and firm footing.

  Sergeant Pak had sneaked images with a telescopic camera showing the Condottieri to the east had cut loop holes into walls. The rusting hulks of vehicles had been overturned and deployed as makeshift barricades. Having fortified the eastern sector of the town, the enemy had invited the Midnighters to advance into their guns, and Sun had accepted that invitation.

  Branco was still new to the mercenary trade and had needed Pak to explain that the key to the enemy position was not the barricade to the east, but the high ground to the west – the riverside warehouse that overlooked the entire town.

  A hollow popping noise came from the overgrown riverbank a hundred yards to the south, followed by explosions as Hrrn’s Zuul troopers fired their rocket-propelled grenades through the riverside windows of the warehouse, following up with light railgun fire.

  “Don’t let those dogs get all the glory,” said Pak. “On my mark, get ready to jump.”

  Branco moved a little away from the north face of the house. He saw the sergeant standing over to his right.

  From the top of the warehouse came a drrrn drrrn drrrn. Crap, that was a heavy autocannon, but there were MAC cannons and machine guns firing at the Zuul too. He hoped to hell they were okay.

  “Go! Go! Go!”

  At Pak’s command, Branco activated his jets and soared high.

  Now that he was no longer waiting in silence while others fought, Branco’s life seemed much simpler. He had an eagle’s view of the battle zone, and anyone looking his way would have a perfect view of him.

  They knew the Condottieri weren’t stupid. That they’d set up a post on top of the high ground.

  The Zuul attack had been meant to distract them, and it had. Problem was, the Condottieri had been even smarter.

  On top of the warehouse, nestled against machinery in low walls, was not one but four crew-served autocannons. One faced east. Two were pouring fire down at the Zuul along the riverbank.

  And one was pointed at him.

  Branco panicked, boosting his jets to maximum. Fire blasted through the air he’d just vacated. But the autocannon team was tracking him, the firing cone reaching higher. And getting closer.

  He slewed sideways, then added a brief thrust differential that sent him into a spin, which he caught and then dove for the warehouse roof. The cannon fire ceased. Branco had been so caught up in his panicked flight that he’d failed to see the battle taking place on the warehouse roof. All the autocannons had fallen silent, and in the dust and smoke he saw CASPers locked in mortal combat with sword-blades, machine guns, and lasers.

  Warning! Jet fuel level critical.

  Branco’s heart slumped. He’d forgotten to track his fuel use. He’d forgotten to track the battle. What kind of a merc was he when he couldn’t think of ten things at once?

  He spun around so he was vertically oriented and used the last of his fuel to break his descent.

  He was landing behind a Condottiere, who twisted to meet this new threat, but left it too late. With all the momentum still in his descent, Branco sliced down with his sword-blade and severed the enemy CASPer’s arm at the shoulder.

  But the a
ction disrupted his landing. Instead of using the spring in his legs to absorb the impact, he fell back onto his ass, although he managed to kick the Condottiere’s legs from under him as he went down. He was showered with blood fountaining from his opponent’s severed arm.

  The heavy impact threw Branco against the harness inside his mecha. But when he glanced anxiously at his status board, it showed green except for the empty jump juice tank.

  He pushed down with his hands to get back on his feet, but he never made it. The ground shook beneath him, and the entire segment of roof gave way. Branco was thrown against his harness once again as he landed on the floor below, crashing through rotten wooden packing crates.

  Debris fell on him.

  The scout squad had given the roof such a hammering with rockets and cannon fire, it was amazing anything was still standing up there. Branco picked himself up and threw off the debris only to reveal that there, waiting for him, was a one-armed CASPer.

  Branco dodged to the left, but the Condottiere simply raised his good arm and blasted Branco with a machine gun.

  His suit display screamed with warnings as the machine gun fire rapidly chiseled away at the torso armor.

  Swinging his left arm back and right leg forward, Branco snapped a powerful twist through his CASPer’s hips that pushed the tip of the blade through the open shoulder of the Condottieri CASPer, all the way through and out into the opposite arm.