The smoking craters in Savoya's torso were a death sentence to any other life form not using Swarm Tech. She absently touched one of the holes, marveling as the nanites worked to repair the damage. “That was heroic of you, Lieutenant. But you're out. And I'm going to be up in a minute to come after you and the box. If I were you...”
“For someone who has begged to be heard for her pain, you are quite the witch.” Leeuwen's foot thrust out, kicking the corporal right in the hip. The sound of bone turning to powder echoed in the chamber. “Tom. Thank you for my life. But that box needs to get to the open wall or a lot more will die.”
Tom holstered the weapon on the run. While it was more like a quick and labored limp, he thought that weak heroism was better than none at all.
Leeuwen rose. “What shall we talk about while our systems repair us?”
“How about, if you let me go, this ends and you never see me again?” Savoya quipped.
“Not going to happen. You have a lot to answer for.”
The corporal's body had stopped smoldering from the blaster bolts that pelted her body. Anyone else would have died after the first or second shot. Already, new skin and bone were being fabricated and knitted into place by the nanites. The smell of burnt flesh was already fading into the wet earthen smell of the adobe walls. It was only a matter of time before she got up again. “Agree to disagree.”
Twenty-Five
The CR-335 Vindicator walked into the wadi. A panel on its back slid open, exposing a box-like extension that folded out. Tracking data filed through its Haldraeon Corporation resolution matrix as it lined up its targets. Several pops fired from the box, blanketing the area outside the wadi in indirect fire.
The explosions sent swaths of grass and dirt in all directions while mowing down groups of lancers, still out of their armor. Broken bodies littered the field. Those with their arms still attached struggled for their weapons to fight back. The bot would wait for a moment, ducking and weaving at the fire striking the front of the cut, before loosing the dat-dat-dat of its heavy blaster.
It knelt in the sand, the box on its back folding into its carry configuration. It stared down the length of the cut, switching through vision modes. It thought it had detected an anomaly in the landscape. There was a momentary shift of the sand and dirt that it couldn't account for. While blaster bolts and armor-piercing rounds pounded the top of the wadi, it sensed no movement in the sand ahead that would be inconsistent with what occurred during a battle. Sensors shifted to the spectrum that would let it see if someone was using thermo-optical camouflage. It saw nothing out of the ordinary.
As it turned to address an increase in fire from outside the cut, the section of suspicious sand erupted. A projectile launched from the ground, rocketing toward the bot. A large plume of smoke billowed a tarp, sending sand in all directions.
The bot fell on what would be its rump, leaning into the wall of the cut on one side. Small vents opened on its back, near its spine. Projectiles were launched that ignited into phosphorescent miniature suns, trailing wisps of grey smoke.
The sun trails drew off the missile toward the fort rather than at the bot. It streaked down to the ground, veering sharply to follow the cut back to its point of origin. A rapid series of zigs and zags turned it again, aiming back at its original target. The projectile dipped low, running the path of the cut.
A fraction of a second before impact, the Vindicator loosed a burst from its heavy blaster rifle. The barrage ripped through the billowing tarp and sprayed red mud around the cut.
The projectile flew straight up, missing the Vindicator. “Mitchel's down!” cried out Williams as he got to his knees.
Lying flat beside him, Corporal LaGarron rolled on top of the young private who had just been shot by the bot's heavy blaster. Secretly, he was glad that he was wearing his helmet so the air scrubbers could filter out the smell of burnt flesh. He also felt a pang of guilt at thinking something so base after the loss of one of his lancers.
He grabbed on to the young man's shoulders. Holding tight, he rolled back the way he came, bringing the body on top of his own. He snaked a hand up, aiming the trooper’s lid at the bot.
The SAGA missile, set to guide from the dead man's helmet, fluttered for a second before switching direction one last time. It roared in straight at the bot, rocketing at its chest plate. A quick pop signaled the near depletion of the fuel from the missile's rear thruster before it spiraled in with no time for the bot to engage countermeasures.
The warhead exploded, tearing apart the wadi. Shards of metal, composite, and earth flew in all directions, causing a monstrous fireball to steal all the light from the dawn. Bits of debris fell in a sporadic rhythm as the mushroom cloud faded into smoke and mayhem. The projectile had blew out the natural walls of the cut, forming a crater ten meters wide and two deep.
In the center was the partially ruined CR-335 Vindicator. Its right arm, including most of that side of its chassis was decimated. Internal workings were showing while spewing precious fluids into the wet soil. Sparks popped and crucial systems struggled to reroute power to keep the machine in the fight.
It knelt forward on ruined legs, angling its torso forward for balance, resembling a person in prayer. It dipped its body, making small adjustments to its posture.
“Light it up!” LaGarron shouted into his helmet.
Private Williams was the first to shoot, the spark that lit the fuse for the two remaining privates in the ambush to join in. LaGarron added his rifle to the symphony of combat occurring in the crater. The pop-pang of blaster fire combined with the twang of striking the bot made for an eerie music to accompany it flailing in an attempt to cover itself..
“Shift down!” LaGarron roared into the com, letting the lancers know to drop their point of aim.
The blast packets rammed into what was left of the legs and torso while the mortar pod unfurled itself from the robot's back. Trajectory sensors flashed warnings into the helmets for the squad from combat computers trying to plot safe routes of egress away from the strike zone.
Lance Sergeant D'Marco had crawled through the back part of the wadi before the crater, coming up twenty meters behind the Vinny. The section of ground turned to a slight bend to provide plenty of cover from the suppression fire coming from his team. It also put him squarely in the target area for the danger close fire mission the bot seemed to be planning.
Reaching behind to his harness, he grabbed for a small attachment from its breakaway strap. Its interface came immediately into his HUD as he locked it to his rifle. A quick flip of a cover came away with a securing line he attached to a bandoleer of grenades. Aiming for the opening in the bot's armor, he grabbed the attachment and fired.
A vibro-magnetic grapple-block sailed over to the mech in a mad scramble to gain enough purchase to fire a final volley. Locking to an angled strut just ahead of its ruined right arm, the grapple indicated a hard contact in D'Marco's HUD. He set it to PULL and watched the grenades sail away to their target. “Oh-see-EYE out!” He dove for a large rock that had been exposed by the missile strike.
Gears whirred as the mech tried to scoop the grenades in its remaining hand to toss the death necklace from the wadi. A sharp crack preceded several pops heralding a pressure wave. The overcharged ion grenades exploded along their daisy chain.
Loud hisses and snaps sounded from the chassis as the bot froze in place, its ruined arm swinging limply at its side. The bot adopted a strange stance, caught between one motion and another. The creepy posture gave it the appearance of adopting a dance move popular in the Core Worlds.
As the lancer team began to release their collective breath in momentary victory, the mortar launcher bellowed the chunk-chunk-chunk-chunk of a launch report. Four shells were set to a low dispersal and close detonation. One was lobbed to fall near the team's position, two on either side of them, and one behind.
“Move!” LaGarron shouted. Cursing to himself that he wouldn't be able to move Private Mi
tchel, he shot into starting block position, his feet digging into the sand. Finding purchase, he catapulted himself forward, hoping his team would follow suit. The group immediately drove themselves behind the newly minted sergeant, understanding that the safest place in the kill box was right beside the downed mech.
Four explosions rocked the wadi, sending death and chaos in all direction. Debris and high decibels echoed their finale, until silence descended into the cut. The only sounds were the infrequent shifting of rock, sand, and ruined equipment.
“Get... your foot... off of my neck! So heavy. What do they feed you?” Williams said from the middle of the lancer tangle that had lunged behind the eviscerated Vindicator.
“Stow it. Devil 1, sound off!” LaGarron shouted.
A multitude of “Okay!” shouts came in succession from in and around the wadi from the members of the squad. A roster pinged each name in green as the okay signal was given.
LaGarron addressed the junior lancer. “Will, get with these two up on rear-security. Watch our back.”
“Roger that, Sergeant.”
LaGarron moved past the smoking ruin of the bot over to D'Marco. He was on his stomach behind the rock, not moving. He switched to the squad biometric display and saw that he had positive vital signs, but there was an elevated heart rate. Approaching the senior NCO, the scene contained small chunks of metal and a large plate from an APC nearby. He lowered his rifle and knelt down. “Didn't hear you call out, Lance Sergeant.”
D'Marco spoke without moving. “Mortar overshot. Blow-back knocked that plate into me.” D'Marco's breathing was labored. Each statement seemed to take a bit of wind out of him. “This would've gone better in armor. Can't move. Can't feel my legs.”
LaGarron nodded. “I got you. I'll put out an all-com and see if we can get a medic. With us all working through back-up radio rather than risk the Battle-net, I can't get a location on anyone.”
“Right. Sounds like Striker took out... other Vinny. What's left?” D'Marco asked.
One of the Lancer First Grades joined the duo. “I was talking with some of the Strikers before the world went to Hells. If the Vindicators are down, that leaves four more crab-walkers and two gun drones. But I haven't seen any of the gunners yet.”
“That's a plus,” D'Marco added.
LaGarron looked to the lancer. “What's your name again?”
“LFG Kahlid Alkadi, Sergeant. I just joined the squad back in Kalizhad.”
“Lancer Alkadi. You're with me.” LaGarron turned to the remaining lancers. “You three are going to sit in place with Lance Sergeant D'Marco and wait out the storm.”
“Absolutely not,” D'Marco insisted before a coughing fit quieted his opinion.
As LaGarron was about to make his case, a squelch broke into the net. “All-Com. Break-Break-Break. This is Devil 3-7.”
“3-7?” asked LaGarron.
D'Marco grunted through some of the pain. “Corporal Shane.”
“Be advised, enemy slicer has broken an OWL and has a drop box inbound. Eyes up, boys! 3-7 out!”
LaGarron huffed. “Great day to get promoted.”
LaGarron whistled, which came out distorted from the speakers in his hid. “Alright, kid. I need you to keep up!”
LFG Alkadi was running just ahead of Sergeant LaGarron. “But Sergeant, I'm running faster than you!”
“No back talk, Lancer!” LaGarron shot back.
They reached the end of the wadi, allowing them to take a sweeping arc around most of the mayhem and fighting. They were able to secure several passes through the company-wide fighting position that was currently being pummeled by the mechs. The team dropped into a part of the terrain where the cut swing back on itself, providing natural cover.
Several of the lancers dropped a litter carrying Lance Sergeant D'Marco. The whirring from the litter signaled that the gyro-stabilizers were working to keep the man steady and locked in place, preventing further injury to his back. They set him against the switch back, using the stocks of their rifles to dig him deeper into the terrain.
“Alright Alkadi,” LaGarron said. “I got the view and you got the tube. I'll get a preliminary lock and hopefully we can even the odds on this suck fest a bit.”
“Roger that, Sergeant.”
LaGarron looked through the omni-scope he carried on his belt. Drifting across the horizon, he clicked through several vision modes before he found what he was looking for. Two drop pods were burning through the upper atmosphere on their way to the surface. The tech monkeys in both the Devil Hunters and the Strikers confirmed that another set of Vindicators and Crab Walkers were on the way. “No way to tell which one is which. Got a preference, Lancer?”
Alkadi shook his head no.
“Lancer, with my eyes on the sky, how am I supposed to see you shaking your head?” LaGarron chuckled. He'd been a sergeant for less than a day and he'd already pulled out one of the oldest NCO jokes in the book.
The squad laughed despite the gravity of the situation. One of the other privates called over. “You better not make him laugh when he pulls the trigger, Sergeant.”
“How about you let me handle the jokes and the target acquisition and you just keep your focus on me and the big lance sergeant not getting snuck up on.” LaGarron said while keeping his focus through the scope.
The squad settled into their assigned tasks without another word. LaGarron kept sight of the two pods, waiting for the range finder inside the omni-scope to signal for a premium firing line. He began chanting to himself, careful not to go over the speakers in his helmet. “Almost there. Almost there.”
A ring with a dot in the center flashed orange twice before settling on a solid green. A ping sounded in the helmet's speakers, indicating he had a firm lock on one of the pods. “Man, someone back home is going to be upset we're wrecking all this gear! Back blast area clear! Alkadi. Let it fly!”
The SAGA missile had become a mission-critical piece of kit for the lancers during the Exodus Wars. They needed a high yield, medium range, man portable missile system that could fill a variety of roles. Cyre Rondeau came through with a custom, compact design that could easily be carried by any squad in a lancer unit. The Space-Air-Ground-Aquatic micro-missile system had been on almost every mission that the Regiments were called for.
Lancer First Grade Alkadi depressed the plunge trigger on the top of the weapon, fighting the urge to close his eyes. The missile roared from the launcher, taking flight after sending a whirlwind of flack and dust around the squad. Several of the privates used their bodies to cover Lance Sergeant D'Marco from the venting gasses and debris.
“Alright kids, this is where things get interesting,” LaGarron barked. “Everyone saw that angry javelin get tossed from here so there might be some zombie tech that has hurt feelings that we just blow'd up their reinforcements! Heads on a swivel. Alkadi! Collapse that launcher and help the rest of the kids greet any unwelcome guests!”
The troopers went to work. Forming a turtle shell of interlocking points of view, the lancers, from private to LFGs, were primed against anything coming their way. Each man fought the urge to look skyward, to be the first to cheer the Sergeant riding the missile lock all the way to target.
“Inbound at one-four-eight!” shouted Alkadi. The words had barely left his mouth when he opened fire, his CR-51 on pulse. Alkadi spotted the small swarm of Blaster Bugs heading straight for them after the missile launched. His first pulse scattered the incoming swarm. The second and third burst caught batches of the swarm returning to course.
Blaster Bugs were the lancer nickname for a micro drone that hovered on a single central fan. They were light, fast, and agile. Small enough to fit into a pocket or pouch, the miniature drones also carried a gram of concentrated explosive. A single Bug could track a target, report back to its user, and then fly straight into the enemy's head to explode. About as powerful as a standard blaster, an entire swarm was like flying a pulse pistol to point blank and letting it rip.
The three bursts left the barrel in an arc, barking to the rest of the squad to answer the call. Private Lassiter had managed to come across a CR-91 squad automatic blaster. Unlike the CR-750, the 91 threw an obscene amount of blaster bolts instead of slugs. While the ammunition couldn't be varied, the high cycle rate and kicked-up power from the energy drum was enough to punch a satisfactory hole in most targets and terrain. The burst fire from Alkadi was enough to entice Lassiter to give the 91 a test run.
A minuscule ping signaled the power accelerator cycling up. The high energy blast packets sailed from the barrel like a Cynarian heavy metal drummer trying to break his crash cymbal from the set. Lassiter ripped into the wave of drones, causing flaming wreckage to splash into the waving grasses. Several cycles of three to nine round bursts sent the drones ducking into the terrain or scattering away from the dug in lancers.
LaGarron shouted over the dine of high cycle hell. “Almost there! Keep it up, boys!”
A Blaster Bug broke away from the pack, skimming the terrain. It tangled into the high grass, tumbling into the sand. Small spider legs folded from the body, righting the machine, and then sending it scurrying toward the group. It jumped straight toward Private Lassiter, hitting his helmet. The bug exploded in a brilliant blast pack that sent the young trooper into the back of the wadi. With the machine blaster pointed at the sky, a contingent of four drones chased after the first attack. Explosions and sparks ripped across his helmet, finally rewarding their efforts with a spurt of blood through the crack in his visor plate.
“Airburst out, ten meters!” he said, priming the forearm of the weapon CR-55. A poot sound racked the rifle from the launch of a twenty-millimeter grenade flying to the swarm. It detonated in the middle of them, decimating most of the attack force.
The Mongrel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 1) Page 25