Osdal (Harmony War Series Book 3)

by Michael Chatfield

  Now everyone was looking to Ortiz to take up his place. Thankfully, the Majors were dispersing some of the problems, but he was now the Commander on the ground.

  There was little he could do as the shuttles raced down towards the planet. The fleet’s guns were firing on hardened positions outside of mining cities, and trying to cut down the converted shuttles that seemed to have sprouted from every processing station and mining city on Osdal.

  As the Combat Shuttles came into contact those that had no Troopers in their hold, but massive ammunition lockers put their weaponry to use.

  They broke away from the Combat Shuttles to fend off converted shuttles if needed, but most of them were staying with their loaded brethren as they started hitting Osdal Actual’s atmosphere.

  Ortiz shook with the turbulence, chewed his gum, thanked Mark for his augment recommendation and kept his hands moving as he managed the inserting force.

  Mining City Twenty-Two was just entering night, tracers could be seen on magnification. Ortiz switched to looking to the city instead of the camp. It was a hive of activity; powered armor was running out of there at full sprint, positions were being put into place and machine guns were pointed to the heavens and fired up at the Combat Shuttles. Meteors cut through their dusk sky.

  Other cities were also a hive of activity, but less so. Mining City Twenty-One was the headquarters of Harmony, the other cities were just population centers.

  Combat Shuttles diverted from their main path heading towards their targeted mining cities. Positions had been marked by the insertion teams, red dots covering cities. Ortiz felt the buffeting of entering atmosphere fall away, replaced with the noise and vibrations of weapons fire. Feels like growing city all over again.

  On Sacremon, Ortiz’s Alpha Company had marked up the enemy positions in Growing City, while the rest of their forces had drawn the attention of the rebels. Many had died for that deception. It had paid off as the Combat Shuttles descended from Reclaimer, firing on the rebel positions before they ever came in range of the rebel’s guns.

  Auto cannons and turrets fired on the pre-selected targets with cold, computed precision.

  Red dots started blinking out as tracers ripped into mining cities. The Chosen’s rounds couldn’t reach the Combat Shuttles, but the Combat Shuttles could sure as hell hit them.

  “I’m getting some funky readings from the ground,” Sholtz said, one of Ortiz’s captains and his second in command for now.

  “What you mean?” Ortiz asked.

  “All around mining city Twenty-One, it’s like there’s an earthquake going on, though Osdal never had earthquakes.”

  Ortiz felt the Combat Shuttle level out as they made their approach on Mining City Twenty-One. The Combat Shuttles fired onto the trail of Chosen that were approaching the beleaguered camp. It was a mess of fires, oil, powered armor and close quarters fighting. The Combat Shuttles threw the Chosen back, but their powered armor cleared the defenses.

  Ortiz looked at the readings Sholtz had sent him. “Have everyone stay on the cermite pads, the ground looks like hell.”

  “The ground is lava, got it,” Sholtz said.

  “Smart ass,” Ortiz shot back.

  “Thank yah Major sir!” Sholtz said. Ortiz could imagine the grin on the younger man’s face.

  The Combat Shuttles were moving in on the mining city fast, heavy machine gun rounds pinged off of the shuttle’s armored sides, auto-turrets and cannons cut down any that were getting too close for comfort.

  “Holy shit!” The pilot skewed the shuttle.

  Ortiz switched to sensor views. The ground seemed to be throwing up peaks of moving blades.

  Diggers! Ortiz thought, seeing the massive beasts crest the planet’s surface.

  They sped out of the planet’s surface, the metal cone combination of teeth and mouth rising out as their sack-like body trailed behind and their tentacles pushed them forward. They came crashing back down, their white tentacles moving as they pierced the ground again and went back under.

  Ortiz pulled back on the view, looking at a birds-eye of the mining city. All around it Diggers, hundreds of them, were rising out of the planet’s surface, anything in their way was tipped apart by their digging cones. Not even the heavy armor was able to stop them. They massed anywhere from two pounds to six hundred. They were massive beasts.

  The Chosen switched fire from the Combat Shuttles to the Diggers. They didn’t know the Troopers, but they knew Diggers and feared them even more.

  “Take us to the rooftop landing pads!” Ortiz said to the pilot.

  “Understood, passing the word,” The co-pilot said as the pilot banked onto a new heading. The weapons never stopped firing on Chosen positions, there were so many of them. They’d started making them fifteen years ago and never stopped, the city was a fortress.

  The information from the insertion teams was invaluable and scary. These people were prepared to fight and die for their cause.

  The shuttle cut its speed, seats retracted and everyone was hoisted into drop-positions. Ortiz cleared his views as much as possible and checked his E-12. The cargo master did a quick check before the hatches underneath the Troopers’ feet opened. Ortiz ‘assumed the position’, arms to his side, chin against his chest and his legs straight.

  “Ready!” The co-pilot said. “Drop!”

  Ortiz wanted to hold his hands out as he fell, many did on their first drop, and it led to a lot of broken bones and useless Troopers on the ground. Ortiz followed his training, dropping out of the craft, and as he was clear he readied himself for impact.

  He hit the ground, rolling, and his harness came away and headed back up into the Combat Shuttle. He came out of his roll, pulling his E-12 from its clips on his waist.

  He looked around, there weren’t any targets or incoming fire, yet.

  Other sections were moving to the edge of the landing platform, carrying mortars, screamers and AMRs. The section Ortiz was with headed for the nearest stairwell as soon as they were all down and accounted for. Ortiz followed, the first floor was clear.

  “Alexis, get a casualty collection point set up here,” Ortiz said, marking the area. His Division Sergeant Major was a drafted Platoon Warrant; Ortiz didn’t want to pull people from their units as they were hitting the ground. Eckal’s platoon was filled with veterans and her Lieutenant Che said that she’d be fine.

  Ortiz and Alexis were good friends, despite their difference in rank. Calling her Sergeant Major Victor would have felt weird, so he used her first name like with the Victor brothers.

  “You got it Ortiz,” she said. She might have been a Sergeant on Masoul, but she had dived into her new role with gusto. She started barking out orders and getting the area set up to transfer wounded, as well as a supply point for ammunition coming in.

  Ortiz left her to it as he looked at the big picture. Captain Sholtz’s forces were just coming in at the maintenance pad, getting right into the fight with powered armor.

  He let Sholtz run his own battle as he looked at the forces deployed all over Mining City Twenty-One. They were all in the center of the city, and controlling the high ground was essential. Sniper teams and Repulsor teams were already setting up positions and hitting Chosen moving in other towers.

  Shuttles trying to get into the fight with the Combat Shuttles were greeted with portable screamers and Combat Shuttle missile launchers.

  Platoons and companies were coming together and advancing down into the tower he was standing on. Intelligence types were getting connected into the city’s network to give them a better picture of the enemy threat. It didn’t look like they were going to get much from the different tower’s sensors, but most access had been locked down by the insertion teams, messing up the Chosen’s deployment and giving the Troopers an advantage.

  So far, no one except the camp workers had fought powered armor in close combat, and Ortiz was not looking forward to it. He absently touched his Vibra-Blade, making sure it would come free of i
ts scabbard easily.

  “I’m going to head to the front,” Ortiz said to Alexis.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, and take your detail with you. Need to keep people pushing in the right direction. You’re running this battle, make sure that they know it. They’re looking to you,” she said. She was making sure he wasn’t an idiot and acting like a regular Trooper and telling him that others relied on him.

  Shit, when did she get so good at managing people? Well she’s married to Tyler with Jerome and Mark as brother-in-law’s. Might explain it.

  He rounded up his aides and wisely followed his Sergeant Major’s warnings.

  ***

  When Mark came to his senses, the turret next to him was firing. His augments said he was still pretty messed up but he was a hell of a lot better than he had been.

  Dominguez was stepping away from his IV bag, dropping a needle.

  “Didn’t think you’d want to miss this Sarge,” she said. Mark saw smart clothes, armor and an AMR next to him.

  “Get to your position, thanks Dominguez,” Mark said, tossing off his rags and pulling the clothes back on. There was even two of his blades. He slid them into position under his arms and threw the armor on, getting the leg and chest pieces in place. He pulled it tight with the various straps and catches.

  Ammo was already loaded up, so he pulled a helmet on his head and it came alive, the HUD changing to his own settings. Everything was sealed and good to go. He grabbed the AMR, checking it was loaded, and then moved around the turret.

  He sighted Chosen wearing powered armor moving through the mining equipment and rubble, attacking any workers they could find. The workers were firing and running, their metal storms did little but dent the powered armor.

  Mark sighted Chosen armored moving through the camp, shooting up workers as they ran.

  “Take this you PAC fuck,”

  The first round made their left shoulder useless, the second hit the helmet. He’d been aiming for the joint, it was weaker than the entire helmet, but it was also hard as fuck to hit.

  The PAC stumbled, looking at their arm. Mark bet they were feeling the concussive forces in that tin can helmet. He fired again, hitting them in the knee.

  The freighter came in low and dangerous, turrets ripping up the pad and tearing into the powered armor that had made it onto the pad. Their reinforcements were all running back to Mining City Twenty-One, and Diggers were all over the place, ripping the bastards to pieces.

  Mark moved onto a new target, firing rapidly at their weak points, they fell and Mark continued on. It was hard to kill someone in powered armor, but easy to maim them. Mark just hoped that his rounds were hitting the fleshy bits inside. Blood loss was a shitty way to die, but the powered armor didn’t have a system to stop bleeding or administer first aid without coming out of the armor fully.

  “They’re starting to get organized, make sure your blades are good to go,” Haas said.

  Mark looked, seeing a Vibra-Blade beside him as he reloaded.

  Haas was right, the powered armor weren’t just jumping all over the place, back handing and shooting people down. They were pushing for the trucks, and the Troopers that lay on them.

  Mark kept firing at them, trying to find the ones giving orders, but it was hard to do when everyone was using internal communications instead of plain old shouting.

  Mark felt it before he saw it, they surged forward as one, shooting, running and jumping. One went high, Mark knew he was the intended target, and he fired up at them, hitting them twice. They covered their face, instinct taking over instead of training. Mark dropped the AMR and grabbed the Vibra-Blade, it vibrated in his grasp, letting him know it was ready.

  The powered armor landed, bringing up their rifle with one hand.

  Mark cut up from his side, taking the arm off, then coming down and across the Chosen’s chest then driving it up through. He pulled the blade free, the Chosen falling. Another powered armor wearer landed at Mark’s side. This one didn’t even have their weapon out. They hit Mark’s arm as he turned, their blow bruising him under his armor, but not breaking it. He drove the blade at the Chosen, his left hand behind the pommel acting like a machine press as it cut through the Chosen’s hand. They tried to bat the blade away, and ended up impaled. Mark dragged the blade down and sideways, and the Chosen fell. Mark heard the next powered armor coming at him firing, and Mark jumped, a round hitting his lower leg.

  He landed, the Chosen running out of rounds and throwing the gun at Mark. Mark batted it aside, breaking his left hand from the force it was thrown at.

  The powered armor jumped, throwing their fist forward to catch Mark unaware, distracted by the gun.

  Mark ducked right, bracing the blade with his right hand and left forearm. The blade caught the powered armor in the chest, cutting down to the leg. The Chosen fell, and Mark could hear them screaming inside the armor.

  Mark flicked the blood off of his blade and ran towards Niemi who was fighting from the turret, caught in the ring that the heavy machine gun moved on. Mark drove his blade up through the first Chosen’s lower back. Wearing armor, they were all a foot or two taller than Mark.

  The first yelled and jumped away, but with their kidney punctured they wouldn’t last long.

  Mark cut another’s leg off at the knee and stabbed through the back of their helmet; they dropped lifelessly. Others turned to face Mark, and Niemi took advantage. Using the lower gravity, her jump put her on top of a Chosen’s shoulders. She grabbed their helmet to steady herself and drove her sword into the helmet chest joint.

  She jumped off, cutting another’s arm off, turning and slicing down their back.

  Nerva had said how fighting with a sword was a dance, with your fists or shorter blades it was a frenzy. Fighting with a sword you needed to disengage, make sure the blade didn’t get caught. It had greater reach, but once it was committed, stopping your attack was almost impossible. With your fists and small blades, you hammered the person fast and quick, and did as much damage as you could, keeping in the person’s sphere.

  So Mark danced. His armor was stained red as he jumped sideways onto the ball of his foot, only to come back, point first into his attacker’s side, then continue past, his blade coming around to take a hand off, ducking low, a foot, back up gutting another Chosen.

  He and Niemi cleared their attackers, then they looked at one another, nodding before turning to their comrades.

  They ran, jumping a dozen feet before they came down behind the rear of the powered armor. Mark felt rounds hit his armor, and he jumped sideways, his HUD picking up the shooter. He ran and leaped, throwing his sword at the man.

  Ah shit, Mark thought the man was aiming at him and he didn’t have a blade able to penetrate his armor on him any more.

  The Chosen crossed their arms, and Mark’s blade went right through them and into the chest. Mark hit the ground, absorbing it with his legs and rolling, but he was panting from the fighting. The camp had worn him down; he wasn’t anywhere near the condition he should have been. None of the people in the camp were, but they were all fighting.

  Mark pulled the blade out of the fallen Chosen, and he saw another powered armor wearing chosen rushing from position to position. Mark ran after them.

  A shadow passed over the camp. Combat Shuttles were coming in, and hatches dropped Troopers.

  Mark’s target turned, bringing their rifle up. Mark threw himself at the Chosen, hooking his elbow around his neck and driving his blade into their back.

  They dropped sideways, and Mark pulled himself up. The Troopers moved through the mess, putting dozens of rounds into the powered armor, and under that, concentrated fire the powered armor broke, with rounds making it inside.

  Troopers on top of the trucks were engaged in fighting, with the triple twos at the center of it.

  Mark looked around. Diggers were still turning the area around Mining City Twenty-One into a shit show. The shacks were smoking away, lighting up the night s
ky, and tracers were flying all across Mining City Twenty-One, from tower to tower, to the Combat Shuttles that were strafing the city.

  Combat Shuttles looked like thousands of meteors descending from the heavens, with brilliant white flashes back lighting them or turning Combat Shuttle into burning debris.

  The maintenance pad was a mess of close combat between powered armor wearing Chosen, un-armored Chosen, Troopers and camp workers.

  He entered the fray, cutting someone’s leg off at the hip and putting his blade through their stomach. He was more tired than he’d ever been before, but anger and desperate energy filled him.

  ***

  Jerome dropped onto the powered armor wearer, sinking his blade into their back. They fell, their spinal cord severed, and Jerome jumped away. His blade was stuck in the armor, so he came up with his rifle, firing into a PAC’s helmet.

  They stumbled backwards from the impacts, and Jerome continued to move on them. After a dozen rounds the armor cracked and the Chosen started dancing as rounds ricocheted through the internals.

  “Clear in my area,” Jerome said. Green Markers were expanding across the maintenance pad, the Chosen’s reinforcements cut off by the excited Diggers.

  Combat Shuttles had returned to the carriers and were bringing down supplies, the sky filled with groups of them. Tracers spat from their guns as they raked the Chosen’s positions.

  Bandit Two came into a hover over the maintenance pad, its guns twitching to find targets, but no red markers greeted them.

  Jerome heard the screams and yells of the workers, all too many of them had been struck down.

  Troopers were securing the defenses and working on the workers, and the medics were already inundated with wounded.

  “This is going to act as our rest and recovery station. Armorers and techs are inbound to turn this into a defensible position, and see if we can’t use the powered armor laying around. No one steps outside the pad unless you want to become Digger food. All transit is to be done by Combat Shuttle,” Captain Sholtz said, taking command of the area. “Triple Twos meet with me at the main work shed in five.” Sholtz ended the channel.