Calico raised her weapon and pulled the trigger. Her last three rounds hammered into the Vorch at near point-blank range; one in the stomach, one in the arm, and one in the chest. The trooper staggered back with a throaty gurgle, dropping the Xazzler in the process. At first, with three rounds in its body, the Vorch looked like it was dazed and going down. Then, green blood trickling from between his clenched canines, the trooper lurched forward and pulled out a long, curved knife, his mangled arm dangling uselessly.
Calico backpedaled, dropping her depleted Casper and bracing herself for an attack, mind racing. The Vorch trooper bore down on her, knife arm outstretched in taunt.
“Vaize for-dho,” he slurred, sneering. The knife trembled toward her throat. “Char bjir tar xxar yi thux.”
Calico stood her ground at the insult and bared her arms at her sides.
“Come on,” she muttered, trying to mask her fear. “Phy storda molok!”
The trooper screamed and lunged at her, slashing viciously. Calico gasped and ducked under it, then did the only thing she could think of. She lifted her leg and kicked him in the stomach, right where she'd shot him. The Vorch spattered her with a cough of blood as it grabbed her leg and threw her off. Calico stumbled, and the Vorch lifted his leg and kicked her over, knocking her light frame to the ground.
Calico struck the platform and rolled onto her back, kicking fast as the Vorch stepped in to stab her throat. The girl screamed in panic and reached for the ground. Her fingers brushed her Denchura IV at her side, and it clicked in her head to draw her gun. She grabbed the pistol and yanked, but forgot to unclasp the holster, and the gun snagged. The Vorch was about to slash his knife down when suddenly his head jerked, his eyes rolled back, and the trooper toppled over. It collapsed across Calico’s boots, a sleek throwing knife jutting out of the back of its head. Jonathan stood several feet away, arm still cocked in a throwing position.
“You owe me,” he said, with a groan. Calico freed her feet and was at Jonathan's side in a second as the stealthist doubled over, swearing.
“Fiend! Where are you hit?”
Jonathan reached down and worked his knife out of the back of the trooper's head, blade tainted with green blood.
“Somewhere I can bleed from.”
“Doc!” Calico cried, searching through the smoke. “Medic!”
“I'm fine,” Jonathan insisted, pushing her back and kicking her Casper over to her. “Armor caught... most of it.” Jonathan looked around on the ground. “Where's the detonator?”
Suddenly the ground thumped and both Alphas looked up. The Golo—scorched, bleeding, and very angry—huffed out a hot breath as it wrung its thick fingers in strangling motions.
“Aw spit,” Jonathan said.
The Golo roared and charged, grabbing at Jonathan like an angry, gray-uniformed troll. Jonathan had no weapon in hand but his knife, and Calico was still trying to reload. Which is why both commandos were surprised when the air boomed with a loud CHA-POW and the Golo caught a face full of lead. The larger Yew bellowed and buried its face in its meaty hands as black blood beaded from multiple punctures.
CHA-POW!
Both Jonathan and Calico turned in time to see the shotgun blast this time as Kyler calmly strode toward the equally massive alien, snapping his wrist and cocking the handle on his Pitbull shotgun. The Golo grunted as the shot hit it in the shoulder.
CHA-POW!
The shot to the stomach sent the brute reeling as its soft belly shredded under the attack. Kyler cocked the Pitbull, carrying his machine gun under one arm, and pointed the shotgun one more time at the length of his arm.
“Smile with thet purdy mouth, mate.”
The Golo looked up and roared in defiance as Kyler pulled the trigger on the Pitbull one last time. The Golo slammed into the ground, a bloody mess, and Kyler cocked out the spent shell and dunked the gator-skinned custom Pitbull into his leg holster. The hunter hefted the Blitz into his hands again and saluted smartly to his two comrades.
“Bettah get thet charge set befoh anotha big, scary monsta comes by.”
Jonathan waved the blue giant off. “Bite me.”
Suddenly Trent's voice sounded in everyone's ear.
“Head's up everyone, we've got a gunship in the air!”
Instantly everyone turned their eyes upward through the storm of smoke, embers and ashes at the gunship that was slowly rising towards the sky. The camouflaged tent that had hidden it slid off its hull like a curtain, showing the bristling side guns jutting out like antlers. Nathen touched his temple.
“Sharps, put a mortar through his roof!”
“I can't!” the sniper came back. “Smoke's blocking my designator!”
Nathen hissed through his teeth and threw his Coyote down as the gunship rose just above ten feet, still warming up. Nathen swung the rocket launcher onto his shoulder and was about to fire when a shrapnel grenade landed at his feet. Nathen kicked it away just as it shattered, showering the area with glassy needles. The Pennington fired as Nathen's finger slipped and the rocket sailed off into the sky like a freed bird. As broken shrapnel plinked out of Nathen's regenerating armor, Trent's voice came through again.
“Head's up, Alphas! Second reinforcement platoon, on deck!”
Nathen saw the fifty-plus reinforcement Yew charging from under the crater, firing at everything they saw that they didn't recognize. Phillip turned toward the oncoming enemy...
And caught an exploding blaster bolt flush in the throat.
Phillip fell to the ash-strewn platform, choking and clutching his blistering neck as hot blaster slag dribbled between his fingers.
“Daytana!”
Nathen took action to save his technician and dove out into the open, skidding down on one leg and haphazardly firing the Pennington from the shoulder the second it automatically loaded its fourth round. The rocket roared through the air as the forward troops dove for the ground. The rocket finally found its way to the shield of an armored Golo. Not armored enough. The explosion tore apart the reinforcements and knocked them all down like twigs in a stiff wind. The casualties were fairly low, though, since the rocket was a directional charge, not fragmentation, which sent most of the force all into the head of the rocket. Three Golos went down for the count, as well as four Flogs and a Stelkan. The rest got unsteadily to their feet and charged.
That's when Phillip lost it.
The technician slammed a hand down, slagged nanoskin seeping through his glove, and reared onto his feet, rounding on the reinforcements. He took a threatening step toward the aliens, throwing his sub-machinegun away in furious disgust.
“That's it?” he gagged, tearing off his smoldering oxy-collar and throwing after his Casper. “That's it! That's the best you got? HUH!?!”
Phillip tore the long, wrapped package off his back and ripped open the mouth, reaching one hand inside.
“You better pray you brought a bigger stick than mine, you spongy squealers!”
The bag came off, and in Phillip's hands was a deadly BOAR assault shotgun. The technician wrapped his hand around the charge lever and gave it a good pump, jutting out the double “tusk” blade bayonets and powering the automatic gun on.
“Kill, puppy, kill!” the technician screamed.
He pulled the trigger like an executioner dropping a victim from the gallows.
Even in broad daylight the BOAR lit up the scene. Each shell fired a sabot round carrying a trio of linked kinetic rocket darts, each one capable of tearing through armor as easily as flesh. And the Yew reinforcements found that out fairly quickly. Like a swarm of lethal blue shooting stars, the kinetic darts perforated everything it came in contact with. The chaos that followed was fast and brutal as the Blowback Operated Automatic Rifle did its job. Somewhere in the hailstorm of bright blue kinetic darts and returning lead and bolts, a mortar exploded in their ranks and covered the area with more shattered debris. The next thing Phillip and Nathen knew the reinforcements were on them, battling tooth and
nail. Phillip kept firing his BOAR, oblivious to the threats even as he disappeared yelling under a wave of alien foes.
Nathen, as though trapped in the eye of a storm, found himself facing down a Vorch war prince.
The veteran Vorch warrior had a combo; a forearm-mounted wrist rifle on one hand, and a legendary J'fin war sword in the other. The warrior was covered in scraps of ribbons and sashes from previous triumphs. The powerful enemy charged, screaming with the voice of a thousand years of warrior heritage. But Nathen didn't hesitate.
Nathen shifted into the Vorch's path, twisting his hips and rotating his shoulders while swinging the heavy rear end of the Pennington down on the Vorch's head. The warrior ducked, stumbled, slashed at Nathen, missed, and came again with a vengeance, swinging with both hands. Nathen twisted again, flipping the rocket launcher back up and catching the warrior under the chin, hard enough to break the bone caps that sat on the alien’s chin. Nathen used his bought second to toss the Pennington down and dance back out of range. He kicked his Coyote up into his arms by the strap; just in time to use it to block the oncoming J'fin. The curved, folded steel smashed against the manufactured Human rifle, but the Coyote stayed intact. Nathen danced back, turning his rifle sideways to block the ensuing side strike, which cut a notch in the bottom of his magazine.
Then Nathen saw his opportunity. In a flash, he saw the Vorch's stance was weak coming in, and he hooked the alien's foot out from under it with his boot. The war prince stumbled, right into Nathen's uppercut, which clocked the warrior right under the chin. The Vorch stumbled, taking a knee as Nathen stepped in and smashed the war prince in the side of head with his rifle’s bar stock. The proud, fierce-faced warrior helmet went flying, bouncing off the ground with a cracked visor. The war prince, oblivious to its own shattered face and bleeding eye, issued a heated battle cry and turned to fire its wrist rifle. Too slow.
Nathen dropped his assault rifle and stopped the Vorch's wrist rifle before it could zero in on him. Then his knee shot up and splintered through the warrior's locked elbow, breaking his arm. Finally there was a scream of pain as something broke through the alien's rage-fueled rush. Nathen, gripping the shattered arm of his enemy, slammed in close, jerked his hips, and threw the war prince over his shoulder, head first onto the duracrete platform.
Look out.
The whisper of a sixth sense sent Nathen into overdrive. The commander dive-rolled over his discarded rocket launcher and when he completed his roll, it was on his shoulder. He spun, aimed one handed, and fired his last rocket point blank into the chest of the Golo which was coming up behind him. The monster grimaced and issued a surprised statement in Jagon as the rocket slammed into its broad chest and tumbled into its juggling arms. Then it exploded.
The shockwave, less than a yard away, punched Nathen in the gut. At that range, it should have ruptured him. Nathen simply went down on one knee. The explosion brushed off his Genesis armor like he'd just walked into a stiff breeze that would sooner turn an umbrella inside out than harm him. Nathen turned as the war prince, gun arm hanging dead at his side, rose, picking his J'fin war sword off the ground. He'd been just far enough out of range of the blast to withstand it. Rather than put down the Pennington, Nathen twisted his left arm, drew his Denchura II, and shot the alien between the eyes. The war prince dropped in a heap right there, sword falling with a resounding clang.
“Knight! That gunship's making a break for it!”
Nathen cracked open the Pennington's loading chamber. It was empty. “Spit! Bayonet, rockets!”
Phillip ran up with friction smoke pouring from his BOARs barrel, staring up at the gunship as it rose above the top of the crater.
“How come it’s not firing at us?” the technician asked.
“It’s not going for us,” Nathen said. “It’s going for help. Bayonet!”
Suddenly an un-fired rocket came spinning out of the smoke toward Nathen. He reached up and caught it before juggling it over his shoulder to Phillip.
“Load!”
The tech flipped the rocket over and shoved it in the back pipe as Nathen held the launcher level. The launcher pulled the rocket in and chirped that it was locked.
“Gun ready!” Phillip announced, stepping back.
Nathen tilted the Pennington up and squinted down the sights, centering on the gunship as it rotated in the air, pointing North. The Pennington kept searching for a lock through the smoke. The gunship's engines lit up with a roar. Still no lock. Nathen grimaced, switched the targetter to manual, aimed the Pennington a few degrees lower, and fired.
The gunship's main engine ignited and the craft blasted forward. Right into the path of the rocket. The rocket plunged right into the gunship's engine and detonated. The following explosion cracked the ship in half and rained down fire and debris on the already ravaged battlefield.
“Gunship down,” Nathen said, dropping the empty rocket launcher to the platform and snatching up his Coyote.
Up on the ridge, Trent was tracking for any remaining Golos. Four spent stripper clips sat neatly stacked in the dirt on his right hand side. The Greylance pounded, muzzle flashing with a magnetic burst.
23.
Trent reached up without leaving the scope and retracted the bolt, ejecting the shell coil and recharging the rifle, slapping the bolt forward again. A few seconds of chaos swirled in the dish below. The sniper breathed out… breathed in. A shadow flashed across the span of the scope, flash-frozen for a second in the crosshairs. The Greylance pounded again, kicking with pure muzzle power as it launched the 30.06 across the short distance, punching a pinpoint tunnel through the mass of flesh and bone.
24.
Trent reached up, prying back the warm bolt action and spitting the shell coil into the dirt. He started to cycle the last round in the stripper clip. Suddenly the indicator on his target finder turned red. Trent glanced down the barrel of his Greylance at the red indicator light. That light was only supposed to come on for two things. One, the Meteor was out of ammo—which it wasn't, by Trent's count—or…
Something had destroyed it.
That thought stuck with the sniper. The Meteor outside the crater, well beyond the reach of retaliation: Destroyed. Suddenly Trent was on his feet and running across the West ridge.
“I'm displacing!” he shouted into his comm, running speedily across the top of the crater. “Repeat, overwatch on the move!”
“Confirmed!” Nathen shouted back.
Down in the crater, Helen emerged from the smoke with her own Coyote when a trio of Flogs dashed by, tails lashing behind them as they headed for a set of undamaged tanks.
“No you don't,” she muttered, taking off after them.
Nathen saw her and dashed to catch up, several energy bolts flashing past his head. Helen hurdled over the wreckage of the antennae, just in time to see the first Flog dive inside one of the parked microtanks and slam the hatch. The other two were opening the rear hatch of a larger tank to get in. Helen started to pull up her Coyote, but behind her there was a distinctive ping of a pin being disengaged.
“Heads up!” Nathen snapped. Helen spun and snatched the live grenade out of the air, then wheeled about and chucked it underhand. The round frag tumbled inside just as the Flogs got inside and slammed the hatch shut. The grenade went off a second later, turning the tank into a hearse.
Behind her, the single-Flog microtank powered on, bobbing off the ground like a duck on a pond. Nathen approached the war machine without fear, pulling out a block of C8. The microtank's dual blaster cannons popped up from the sides and quickly powered on as the agile craft rotated toward Nathen. The ESC vaulted over the top of the microtank, leaving behind an explosive block where his hand had touched. As soon as Nathen was behind, the microtank boosted forward, breaking for the North slope, and freedom. A second later the fuse ignited on the C8 and the microtank turned into a rolling ball of hot wreckage, smashing and rolling off the edge of the platform. Helen turned and slapped Nathen a high five as
the commander jogged past her toward the tank with the dead Flogs in it.
“Oy! Head's up!” Kyler shouted from nearby. “Got us a couple a runners makin' foh the South slope!”
Nathen turned in the indicated direction as the armor filtered out the smoke. Four Flogs were scrambling up the slope, fleeing from the devastation of their base as their garrison dwindled drastically. Nathen started to lift his rifle, but changed midway and touched his comm instead.
“Let them go,” he said, noting they didn't have weapons or gear. “Our objectives are the tanks. They're no threat to us.”
Up on the ridge, Trent was running almost parallel to the fleeing Flogs. The sniper had his finger off the trigger, though he could have easily popped them all in the back at any second. The first Flog paused at the top to look back, then scrambled over the edge and exited the crater. Trent, now only thirty feet away, paused and dropped to one knee, waiting until the ridge had cleared out. The second Flog sprang over the edge without hesitation, and the third followed just as fast, trying to keep up with its fellow survivors. Trent just watched closely, unnoticed. The fourth Flog reached the top of the crater and paused to catch its breath, looking down the outside slope.
Trent saw it freeze.
The Flog turned and kicked through the dirt to get back inside the crater in a mad scramble. It made it one step before something grabbed it and yanked it back outside. Through the noise of battle down in the crater, Trent heard a shrill howl. A howl that was suddenly cut off with a loud, wet snap.
Trent swallowed the thick lump in his throat and slipped down against the gray dirt, firmly touching his comm.
“Knight,” he said, slowly. “We need to leave.”
Down bellow, Nathen paused in mid-reload, cocking his head to the side.
“Say again, Sharps,” he said loudly as Helen fired right over his head, shooting down the Vorch that was drawing a bead on him. “I didn't copy that.”
Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1) Page 26