Fernix (Harmony War Book 4)

by Chatfield,Michael

  He fired burst after burst into the nearest clusters of Chosen.

  The ground was constantly shaking with explosions from both sides but still they were fighting with everything they had.

  Combat Shuttles dropped in, and the Fox Regiment piled in.

  “Jerome. I want your Company out next,” Mark said.

  Jerome greened up, not pausing his fire. He continued to fire, seeing his Platoon leaders running around and making sure their people knew what was going on.

  “Jam!” Jerome said on the local chat, ducking into the crater he found himself in, and pulling on his charging handle to clear the busted round. He heaved on it and it pulled back, the round dropping into the spent cases at his feet. He looked up, and saw Sasaki suddenly jerked back and fell. Jerome didn’t need to see his HUD to know what had happened; some bolt action fuck had picked her off.

  He pushed the memories of her from his mind, anger, sadness, and frustration filling him as he rose, yelling incoherently as he fired on the Chosen, cutting them down as he gritted his teeth. Trying to push the emotions away to deal with the situation instead of grieve over Sasaki

  Chapter 43

  Combat Shuttle Seven-Six-Nine

  Blue Moon Fernix System

  10/3294

  “Shit,” Young said as the shuttle cleared the factories to show the battle that was raging off to one side with the Devil Dogs and Fox Regiment fighting off the Chosen that were surging forward.

  Tracers ripped out of the Troopers’ position at the surrounding buildings. Chosen fired back wildly, and heavy machine guns nearby were targeting Combat Shuttles. Multiple guns had been cut down, but there were so many Chosen and their damned guns that they were replacing their guns and gunners faster than the EMF could take them out.

  Mortars, artillery, rail guns, all of them left holes in both sides, as soldiers tried to claw victory.

  “Yeah,” Yu said, his mouth dry as he picked out targets and unleashed his new racks. Missiles flew free from the under-wing launchers, pasting more explosions across the Chosen advance.

  Fearless and a third of her Combat Shuttle compliment were fighting the two hundred fighters that were trying to bring the Carrier down. More than one had tried to ram the Carrier.

  They knew that they would only get one chance, as they had limited missiles and rounds. Their take-off positions had been hammered by other Carriers stationed around Blue Moon.

  Yu dove low, his cannon sowing lines through the Chosen, leaving wrecked PACs and tearing people apart. Auto-turrets added their own fire as he climbed and banked away, and he flipped the craft, the limited atmosphere letting him treat it like a shuttle instead of a plane.

  “Have that ramp ready to drop,” Yu called out.

  “Ready on my side,” Bobbie said.

  “Incoming left side,” Young said, rounds hitting their armored sides as they came in low. Yu banked side to side to throw the shooters off and cut his speed.

  He flared his flaps out, but the thin atmosphere did little as he fired thrusters and brought the craft down. They bounced before coming to land, more rounds hitting them as powered-armor-wearing Troopers ran aboard.

  “Go!” Bobbie said, the ramp closing up.

  Yu gunned the engines, coming out over the Chosen that were now reaching the Troopers’ positions. Their backwash melted PACs and regular Chosen armor into their wearers.

  Young and Bobbie controlled the turrets as he dodged tracer lines and turned for Ortiz’s camp and came in, passing four other Combat Shuttles. The Troopers ran out as fast as they’d run on.

  “Go!” Bobbie said as they took off again to rush right towards the Regiment that was still trying to hold out.

  He could see the destruction from the power plant to his left, the secondary from the nuke missile on his right, all lit up with the lights of battle.

  Nukes warred in the skies, and Yu caught the back blast from one, the Combat Shuttle rattling as he drove it as hard and fast as he could.

  He pushed it past its regulated limits as he turned, flaring engines, dropping the forward inertia as Bobbie opened the rear hatch, and they dropped to the ground. Troopers took seconds to run over and pile into the cargo hold before Bobbie’s words sent them hurtling back towards the drop-off point.

  Chapter 44

  Factory Complex Three

  Blue Moon, Fernix System

  10/3294

  Mark used his Repulsor like a bat, hitting a regular Chosen and sending them thirty feet, impaling them on a girder that was jutting out.

  He slashed a PAC, firing his Repulsor one handed, and the rounds sank into the armor.

  Mark had trained and understood the armor for nearly a year, and he had learned it out of a need to survive. It was why he was one of the few people that could use the sensors that looked in a full circle instead of just ahead of him.

  He threw himself to the side, skirting across the ground, grunting at the pain from his previous injuries as he shot the PAC that buried a sword where he’d been.

  The PAC dropped, but the Repulsor ran empty. Its ammo belt was broken.

  “On and moving!” Jerome said, as the last person from his Company loaded on the Combat Shuttle.

  The Combat Shuttle took off as two more came in, and there was just Tyler and Mark’s companies left, barely larger than a Platoon a piece.

  Niemi had had one of the blades hammered through her helmet by a PAC, and Mark had taken control of her Platoon.

  “Tyler!” Mark barked as he threw the Repulsor at a Chosen, caving their chest in as he rushed three PACs. They pulled out their blades, which were suited to stabbing instead of slashing. Mark grabbed a vibra-blade from a fallen Trooper.

  The first choreographed their attack, going right for his chest, Mark blocked with the left blade, slicing the PACs side, opening armor and the Chosen inside. They dropped, holding their side as red mist colored the air.

  The two others didn’t pause as they moved in. Mark moved sideways, his left blade coming across to block the blades, raking one of his attacker’s legs, and they stumbled, more red mist pushing out into the Blue Moon’s atmosphere.

  Mark saw that Tyler’s Company and some of his own were onboard the shuttles and heading away, and other Combat Shuttles were waiting to land. They moved around the areas, their weapons putting tracers into the Chosen, who were firing back with their heavy machine guns or whatever they had at hand.

  Time was running out.

  “Yu, the next shuttle run will be the last,” Mark said, knowing what had to be done as he moved in towards the PACs. Their friends moved to join them, and a kick sent a Chosen flying with bone crushing force. Mark danced in his powered armor, cutting the uninjured PAC’s leg, making them tilt in pain as he raked his blade across their neck. He jumped forward into the PAC with the bleeding leg. They tried to stab Mark, but he shoved it away with his armored shoulder, driving his left blade through their skull.

  A green light showed Yu had got his message.

  Mark turned, ripping the blade free, and new PACs lunched at him, stabbing at his head.

  Mark pushed away from the blade, reversing direction, and coming in close, slicing up on the PAC’s stomach. They dropped, hands going to their guts. A vicious elbow laid them out of the way, Mark fighting above them as he used the quick movements he’d learned on Earth and modified on the battlefields of Sacremon, Masoul, and Fernix.

  He jumped over a swing, magnetic cord pulling him to a PAC, and his knee crashed into their helmet, ringing their head as they tumbled. Mark released the cord, slicing their neck as another PAC jumped at him to attack. He defended and sent out his magnetic cord again, pulling himself to the ground, crushing a Chosen.

  Five quick attacks and four more Chosen lay dead around him.

  “Mark, we need to go!” Tyler shouted. The rest of the Devil Dogs were moving back to the Combat Shuttles hovering above the battlefield, their cannon and turrets cutting down Chosen that were trying to take them and t
he Devil Dogs down.

  Mark turned and jumped for Tyler; the rest of his Company had evacuated as he fought. Tyler fought with the same flowing blades and movements that Mark did.

  Their attacks were vicious and fast, designed to take their opponent down quickly as possible.

  Mark saw a space clear between PACs and Chosen as tracers ripped from a heavy machine gun towards Mark and Tyler. Mark dropped his blades, feeling his armor crack from a PAC’s hit.

  He grabbed Tyler, eyeing the Combat Shuttle above, and his augments filled him with chemicals hormones and drugs. He might die, but Tyler had a future, he had a reason to live, and Mark would do anything to make sure he survived.

  Mark threw a shocked Tyler at the Combat Shuttle’s open ramp, and he made to jump but a blade pierced through his leg and rounds hit his chest, the impacts making his head hurt from the concussive forces.

  “Yu, get them out of here! Look after my Troopers!” Mark called, his head reeling even as he removed the limiters on his augments.

  He felt the blood leaking out of his leg but he didn’t care any more, he was going to take as many of the bastards down as possible.

  He moved; his head might hurt but his body knew how to fight. He had been molded by fighting, by losing, and fighting again until he came out on top. He hadn’t had an easy life, but he had learned one thing: he’d learned how to kill.

  PACs, Chosen, regulars, they closed in as if sensing Mark’s end. He crushed three regulars and moved for the PACs that had thought him defeated.

  They stabbed and moved in to drive their points home. Mark slapped and moved, taking the blades, using their movements and driving their own blades back against them as he battled into the fray. He reacted to everything within three hundred and sixty degrees.

  There was no thought, there was just purpose, reaction, and action. He got a vibra-blade, dancing in the low gravity as he jumped tens of feet, and used walls and machinery to crash into regulars, and move through PAC attacks with blinding hand movements that confused the mind. It all allowed Mark to sink his own blade in for the kill.

  He felt the blood loss making him woozy, but the augments made up for it as he laughed, it was a grim thing, almost silent in the thin atmosphere.

  He had protected Tyler; he’d protected those of his Troopers that had survived. Too many of his friends and people had died over the years, and now he was finally at the end. He knew this was it.

  He felt the armor crack as a round hit him, and he stumbled, coughing. He saw the blade fall from his hands as he looked at the Chosen before him.

  “I’ll fucking kill you all,” Mark said, coughing as his eyes felt heavy. A second round hit him and he fell slowly in the low gravity. Tears ran down his face as he looked up at the sky. This was his end.

  Maybe the pain will stop now, the memories, the people I lost. He coughed as he thought about just going to sleep. He would be free of the pain, the inner turmoil. He wouldn’t have to take sleep aids to make sure he didn’t have nightmares. He’d gotten stuck into the bottle before to try and escape the memories, only to have them come back stronger, worse than they had been, when he’d been sober.

  He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. He saw the Chosen moving away quickly, and there was light and rumbling moments later. He was lifted up with the impact, and he saw others around him, both Troopers and Chosen. Among the dead were Zukic, Sasaki, Ali, Iliev, Niemi, Waz, Che, and too many people that Mark had worked with, talked to in the halls of the Carrier, had a beer with, and made plans with.

  He coughed again and shut his eyes, a smile on his face.

  At least I’ll have good Company where I’m going, he thought sluggishly. He turned off his implants that were telling him to seek out medical aid as his augments overtaxed themselves. There was no aid coming, and his augments were nearly spent. Only the ones that were meant to keep him combat alert had anything left.

  Darkness took over as Mark Victor died.

  Chapter 45

  Combat Shuttle Seven-Six-Nine

  Blue Moon, Fernix System

  10/3294

  “No!” Tyler cried as he crashed into the shuttle’s cargo hold. He tumbled into powered armor Troopers as the shuttle fired off. Tyler watched, waiting to see Mark appear on the ramp.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded, getting up as the ramp started closing, the shuttle pushing away from the area.

  Troopers held him back as he tried to claw his way to the ramp. It sealed as he connected to the shuttle’s sensors. He searched through them, hoping that Mark had got onto another shuttle, that he was safe. He looked to the ground, and there was a powered armor Trooper crashing through Chosen. He moved with quick precise strikes, getting in Chosen’s guards, planting his blade in them. He’d been hit in the leg and was using his other to make up for it.

  Tyler didn’t need to see the blood stained and scarred Diablo written across his chest to know who it was.

  He watched, his body shaking as tears fell down his face, watching as Mark fought like a man possessed. Mark’s blades floated, an extension of himself as he elbowed, struck, and turned his enemy to open them up for his thirty blade.

  He looked at a circle of Chosen, then something hit his armor and he stumbled as if drunk. Still none of the Chosen tried to get within his reach. The vibra-blade hit the cermite pad as another round hit Mark.

  Tyler yelled out, tears flowing even faster than before as Mark dropped to the ground. Rail cannon opened up on the area.

  The Chosen forgot Mark to save their own skins as Fearless, now done with the fighters, piled rounds into the open area where the Chosen were milling around.

  Tyler didn’t stop crying; he didn’t even move as the Combat Shuttle landed. Few of the Troopers made to leave; they’d lost friends that were closer than anyone they knew on Earth.

  They hadn’t just lost one or two, they only had one or two remaining.

  Tyler let the pain come over him, he knew that Mark was dead.

  Chapter 46

  Factory Complex Three

  Blue Moon, Fernix System

  10/3294

  Ortiz slumped down into a seat as the casualty numbers started rolling in. He looked at the black indicators. All too many of his friends, people that he had shared a cigar with after Osdal, would not be leaving Fernix.

  Many more were wounded, but only a few that were risky cases were being sent up to the Carriers.

  Ortiz felt hollow. The Troopers had followed his orders; they had done more than he had hoped to achieve. Yet the cost…

  The fucking cost never seems worth the results in the end, he thought, rubbing his grime-covered face with calloused hands. He had to live with the pain of his decisions now, even as his decisions had led to his friends being killed.

  “How are the defenses looking?” he asked, sighing.

  “They’re secured, the spray-ite is taking hold, Repulsor positions are set up. The techs are working on the secondary positions,” one of the aides said.

  Ortiz looked at the floor, nodding numbly, going through the motions of command. “Good, how much ammunition do we have?”

  “Not many of the new rounds, but we have the old ones for the emplacements. With their higher rate of fire, they should punch through the PACs faster. Intelligence thinks that Harmony don’t have too many PAC units to send our way. They expect that Harmony will start sending regular Chosen.”

  “Have those that went beyond the defenses rotated to the Carriers for rest, get them as much time as we can,” Ortiz said.

  The aide nodded, understanding. “I’ll see to it personally.”

  “Good,” Ortiz said, his voice hollow as he felt all of his forty-eight years, thirty of them spent with the EMF.

  ***

  Jerome pushed his feelings down as he got the Devil Dogs organized to be transported up to Fearless. Alexis was in surgery, Dooks was injured, Tal and Sasaki were gone. Of the original Triple-Twos there was only Tyler, Dominguez, Ko, Dash
tund, Dooks, and Jerome left.

  Sergeants were filling the spots of warrants, but they were a mess, having lost over half of their people.

  He made sure everyone was on the shuttles and settled into the flight. He bent against his harness, pain moving through him, not only from the shrapnel he’d caught in the side.

  Those were his Troopers that had died down there, that had given up their lives following his orders. His mind was filled with doubts, and possibilities.

  He somehow hoped it was a joke, but he knew it wasn’t; he knew that his friends and Troopers that had followed him were gone. They’d died saving their fellows, yet Jerome couldn’t help but wish that they hadn’t needed to die for that.

  The Combat Shuttle settled down on the Carrier and Jerome stepped off numbly. The Troopers followed. There was little joking or talking as they walked to the armories, stripping out of their perforated, scarred, and charred armor.

  Jerome took a sharp breath as he stepped out, blood running down his side, shrapnel poking out.

  A medic came over, getting to work as Jerome felt his pants. He pulled a familiar object out of his pocket. That tin of dip brought more pain to him than anything the medic could do as he laughed, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

  He thought of Haas sneaking a chew, of how Mark constantly shared his dip. How Niemi had spit it right out when she’d put it in. They’d given Tal some once when they were good and drunk after Masoul, and he’d thrown up everywhere.

  The medic guided him to medical and he put the tin away. He remembered his friends, people he had come to think of as family. Now all of them were gone, all of them were dead.

  He didn’t feel human, he felt as if something had ripped out his organs from inside. Physical pain could be dealt with, emotional pain, the loss of brothers and sisters… that needed time.

  Time we’re not likely to get in the middle of a war, so you better pull it together and officer on. Haas, Nerva, Mark, and Zukic didn’t groom you to be an officer for you to lose it when they’re gone. The Troopers need you, and you’re going to have to be there for them, now more than ever, Jerome thought, blinking away his tears as the medic led him into the medical bay’s ward. The usually quiet, sanitary area was filled with yelling, crying, shrieks, and all number of sounds of pain and suffering. There was blood over the floors and the medics. There were wounded everywhere with sealant on their wounds, others were having their limbs reprinted. More were getting bones set. Battered and broken bodies of all types took up the medical bay.