“It’s still up, Corporal. Bring down the wall!”
She needed no further encouragement and took up position along the wall just a few metres away. It was a procedure they had tested already in case of such an eventuality. There was always a chance the entry points would be reinforced, and there might even be deliberate diversions from the main ways inside. Corporal Sovana placed a new series of shaped charges and double-checked them before again stepping back. She looked to Spartan who gave her the nod.
“Fire in the hole!”
There was a mighty flash that the suit’s visor instantly deadened, much like the way a welding mask might react to the arc of a welding torch. His thermal imaging picked out the signatures of two figures, both on the floor but already standing. One was carrying a weapon of some kind, which was all he needed to know. He stepped inside the breach and fired two short bursts at each figure. The triple-barrels fired one after the other, allowing a high rate of fire yet giving the weapon time to load the chambers, a round to the head and a round to the chest, just as he had practiced so many times before. It was classic double tapping, and then he was past them and inside the lower level of the old police compound. The first eight fighters of First Troop moved in behind him while the second team set up a perimeter in case anybody tried to escape. They frequently practiced working with the troop of sixteen so that they could operate as one unit or break down to smaller groups of either eight or four. It gave them the flexibility to operate in all kinds of situations.
“Stay frosty people, we have reports of up to a dozen tangos in here. Watch for wires and traps. I don’t want to lose any one today.”
“Sir!” called Sgt Seven Troky from outside the building, “We’re picking up movement at the militia barracks. Looks like somebody spotted the explosions.”
Spartan checked the overhead view from their circling reconnaissance drone. The barracks was far enough away that he reckoned they had at least ten, maybe fifteen minutes before they might be found. The wrecked Cobra was no longer burning and not obvious from the ground. He spotted the shapes of the other three Cobras as they took off and moved away. While they were on the ground, they were vulnerable to gunfire. They had another way out, and there was also the assumption they would need a larger vehicle to extract prisoners and potentially wounded.
“Update me on their progress,” he ordered and continued his approach to the main staircase on the left wing of the building. At the bottom he waited for the rest of his unit to catch up and did another quick check on the aerial view, still no change. He scanned every possible hiding place while keeping his rifle up to his shoulder. His HUD overlaid the information from his firearm, as well as integrating infrared and thermal imaging to create a visual feed, that gave him a major edge over the enemy. The infrared gave him a monochromatic view of the interior while the thermal imaging showed him heat sources.
“Ground floor clear, moving up!” called out Sergeant Yobun.
Sergeant Morato tapped Spartan’s shoulder. It was a simple signal, but that was all he needed to take the corner. He moved to the far left, his rifle pointing directly up the stairs and in the expected direction of the enemy. Teresa moved to his right and the others behind them in two short columns, as they had rehearsed so many times before.
“Stun grenade!” called Teresa.
On cue, a hexagonal stun grenade sailed passed them all and to the next level. It was smaller than the equipment used by conventional ground forces and designed to operate on impact. It took skill and timing to use it correctly and could be as much a danger to the team as it was to the enemy if not used properly. It disappeared from view and was followed by a dull crump. It was the signal they were waiting for.
“Move it!” barked Spartan.
Both columns rushed the stairs, each of them scanning for signs of the enemy. A man staggered into view, either confused by the attack or temporarily blinded by the grenade. Either way it didn’t matter, he was struck by two short bursts fired by the unit. None stopped as they continued their steam roll through the building. Spartan moved along the corridor and approached the next flight of stairs, taking him to the main level above.
“Sergeant, secure this level,” he said as dispassionately as he could.
But it wasn’t easy having the mother of his child as his number two. Not that he would have it any other way. They had worked together since joining the Marine Corps, and there was no one else he trusted more to watch his back. Sergeant Morato nodded and gave hand signals to the other three in the split unit. They moved off onto the level to look for signs of the enemy. Spartan looked back to the staircase and checked his own half of the unit was ready.
“Intel has this as the primary level in the compound. Watch for friendlies. Second Troop is entering from the south side.”
With that, he moved up with the rest of the group close beside him. The staircase widened to an open foyer type arrangement with a circular reception desk facing them. Spartan spotted movement and threw himself to the right side of the corridor, knocking down the two closest of his men. A loud burst of rifle fire clattered towards their now vacated position. The weapon was large calibre, possibly even a light machine gun, and tore finger-sized holes in the walls around them. It was archaic compared to the triple barrelled XL52 Mk II assault rifle he was carrying.
“Taking fire on the northern stairwell. We need flanking fire, now!” he said calmly over the suit’s communication system.
“Roger,” came back the calm response from the Sergeant Tsuki Yobun, the confident commander of the Second Troop. Unlike Spartan, this Sergeant was an old school NCO back from well before the uprising. He was much older and had the scars and experience to prove it.
Spartan looked back to the top of the staircase and realised the precarious situation they were in. He twisted the muzzle to deactivate the more stealth sub-sonic mode. In this situation, he needed firepower and penetration over quietness. Not that any noise he made mattered now, the terrorists own firearms roared in the stillness of the night air. He glanced over to the other three who were all looking up to the position of the enemy.
“Give me covering fire, now!”
There was no hesitation, and each lifted their weapons and blind fired towards the position of the enemy. A sporadic burst of defensive fire hit back, but it was wild, and the shooter must have been ducking to avoid fire. Spartan lifted his head briefly and aimed at the position he had last seen the man firing from. The reception desk was flat-fronted and cool on his display, much cooler than expected. He could pick up the sparks and flashes from their rifle rounds failing to penetrate the target. He fired a short burst and dropped back.
“Sir, he’s dug in. If you ask me, that desk area has been armoured for a day like this. I’d say inch thick plate or some kind of composite,” suggested Corporal Lina Sovana.
The others had dropped back down but were still firing short bursts to keep the man pinned down. He looked down to his rifle and selected the high-power mode. It reduced his rate of fire to no more than one shot every five seconds but would expend the capacitor’s charge to propel all three projectiles at the same tame to incredible speeds. According to the instructors demonstrating the weapon, a single slug at that speed could penetrate through an engine block. Three rounds in close proximity would be devastating. He waited the few seconds for the indicator to show on his HUD that the weapon was charged and ready.
“Again!” he called out and the others lifted their weapons to add more fire. A short burst ripped back towards him from the defender and then stopped for a second. It was his chance. He stood up to the right so that he was pushed up to the wall and took aim at the point where the muzzle flashes had occurred. He dropped his aim down by a metre and squeezed the trigger. With a loud pulse of blue light and an almost bellowing scream, the rifle released its cargo of three magnetic projectiles at super-high velocities. It smashed through the desk as if it wasn’t even there, through the man and continued on through half
the building. The man himself was hurled backwards by the impact almost two metres before crashing into the wall, and dead well before he even touched the ground.
“Forward!” cried Spartan and the group of four were up off the stairs and surging onto the main level. According to their plans, the area was divided up into ten rooms with two staircases at each end and a long corridor running between the rooms. A number of individuals stumbled about but were instantly cut down by his team.
“Rooms one through four are clear!” called out the second team who had already cleared over a third of the floor.
Spartan started to worry about their intel. They had been promised the head of their target in this compound. Drone recon indicated he had been present less than an hour ago.
Where is he? Spartan wondered.
He moved to the corridor and to a short distance ahead. At the far end of the hall, he spotted the second team as they did the same. Both sides lifted their fists to acknowledge the position of the other. It would be a tragedy if two elite teams caught each other in a deadly but mistaken crossfire. It was easily done, hence the weeks of training and rehearsals. There were doors just ahead and on each side. Spartan waved with his left hand for two of his unit to take up positions on the one side while one stayed behind him. He counted silently with his fingers.
Three...two...one!
Then he spun around and kicked the door hard. It opened more easily than expected, and he was inside. A man carrying an L48 carbine, the same weapon he had used on many occasions, was looking out of the window and turned to shout. Spartan fired at his chest; completely forgetting his weapon was still on high-power. The powerful blast threw the man headlong out of the window as the three magnetic slugs hit him with enough power to tear through a toughened concrete wall. The body disappeared in the courtyard below. One of the marines with him started to laugh at the bizarre scene.
“Stop it,” snapped Spartan. He wasn’t in the mood for games.
At almost the same time, two men emerged from behind a set of metal cabinets and slammed a heavy wheeled trolley at the group. Spartan took the brunt of the impact and flew back to the wall. He landed hard and slid down to the floor. Alerts flashed up inside his armoured suit, and a burst of adrenalin was pumped directly into his bloodstream to keep him going.
“Lieutenant!” cried the nearest marine, but the second man struck him across the face with a metal bar that almost broke his neck. If it hadn’t been for the reinforced neck armour, it would have killed him outright.
Corporal Lina Sovana rolled to the side and avoided being stuck. In seconds, half of the team were down, and the remaining two were caught up in a violent hand-to-hand struggle. From the ground, Spartan spotted the young Corporal punch one of the men before being jammed against the wall while the second hit her repeatedly with the bar. He used every ounce of effort left in his body and forced himself to his feet.
“Get off her!” he growled.
One man kept her pinned, pulled a handgun from a hidden holster, and placed it at point blank range in front of Lina’s face. The other, a slightly taller man, turned to face Spartan with nothing but the bar in his hand.
“First we have Confed criminals, and now we have Alliance dogs. Don’t you get bored serving the same master?” he said with contempt dripping from his voice.
Through the doorway appeared Teresa and one of her corporals. Both had their rifles aimed squarely at the man’s chest. Spartan turned to her and spoke quitely, so only those on the commuications netork would hear him.
“On my signal, hit the guy next to Corporal Sovana. I’ll take care of him.”
Sergeant Morato said nothing, but Spartan could tell from her body language that she understood exactly what he wanted. The lights flickered on, presumably from the internal backup genertators. Spartan thought that was odd. Surely they could have put them on at any point, unless it was their plan all along. He opened his visor and looked into the eyes of his enemy.
“You know we aren’t leaving without you, Chraige Attez!” he announced.
The man showed no surprise, and that unsettled Spartan more than the situation itself. Even worse, as the lights came on, so did a low pitched hum through his communciations system.
“What’s the problem, Alliance filth? Having problems with your communications?” he laughed.
From inside the room, a bright yellow light filled the window as the external lights reactivated and bathed the courtyards with dull light. The sound of powerful engines announced the surprising arrival of a ground transport of some kind. The side doors of the room burst open to reveal another four armed men, each carrying Confederate military issue L48 carbines, presumably looted from murdered officers or soldiers.
They knew we were coming. This is a set up, he thought bitterly.
It was at that moment that Spartan knew they were in serious trouble. Chraige Attez was known for the murders of so many people, and in a matter of seconds, he and the rest of his team would share the same fate. He looked down, seaching for his weapon and spotted his rifle several metres away near the man holding the pistol to the Corporal’s head. His training told him exactly what to do, but there was a moment’s hesitation. If he surrendered, he would give up the entire team. They would certainly be ceremonially executed and their bodies dumped in the courtyard. Corporal Sovana was already dead, all he could do was try and save as many as he could.
Do it, do it now!
With one quick action, he slid his right hand down and grabbed at the close fitting thigh holster. His hand touched the hilt before Chraige Attez even spotted the movement. Even so, it wasn’t fast enough. A loud report from the man pointing the gun at the young Corporal announced her death. Spartan spotted the single bullet penetrating her visor and into her skull but did his best to ignore the carnage and aimed at the man. With great precision, he emptied five rounds into his torso and head before spinning around to point the weapon at Chraige Attez’s face. Sergeant Morato and two of her comrades unleashed a hail of fire at the four other men and cleared the room in seconds. It was violent and bloody work, but they were safe for now.
“Clear!” she said simply and moved to the window to check down in the courtyard. An eight-wheeler was approaching, and she could make out the shapes of a number of men on the back.
“Spartan, we’ve got company!”
He nodded and stepped forward towards his prisoner, smashing the grip into his face. The impact almost certainly broke his nose and sent blood streaming over his chin. Sergeant Morato lifted her visor to reveal her face, a look of anguish showing clearly as she glanced over to their own fallen soldier. Spartan nodded in her direction.
“Grab her, we need to get out and fast!”
Two of the team grabbed the Corporal and Sergeant Morato lifted Chraige Attez to his knees, the blood still dripping from his face. Then they were out of the door and heading back to the staircase. Sergeant Tsuki Yobun saw them from the other end of the corridor and signalled with his left arm for them to follow him. They’d practiced dozens of scenarios, and luckily one without communications gear was one of them. It didn’t take long for the fifteen to work their way down to the ground floor, even with two of them carrying their wounded comrade. As they approached the secondary entrance, one of them spotted movement and lifted his fist. All fifteen ducked down low and waited. Spartan moved forward and leaned around the doorframe to look outside. He could make out the shapes of the other two groups of Alliance warriors, each in cover and watching the streets leading to the compound.
Sgt Kawa Naori spotted him and indicated for Spartan and the others to stay where they were. She pulled a device from her suit and pointed it up high. Spartan watched as an object puffed out and flew up almost two hundred metres before giving a short but bright purple pulse.
Good thinking, Sergeant. It was the emergency contact flare. A special electro-visual device that sent a digital pulse and small coloured flash to indicate they needed immediate support. A Marine Co
rps landing craft was already inbound for the extraction, and the signal would task the crew to come in fast to assist. That was when Spartan saw movement off to the right. It was at least a dozen armed men, and they were positioning themselves near the outer wall of the compound. Spartan stepped out from the shelter of the building.
“Contact!” he cried and fired a long burst into the shapes near the wall. Two were killed instantly; the rest went to ground and proceeded to fire sporadically at those in the main building. Spartan looked back and gave the signal for his unit to fan out into the compound and to leave the safety of the building. It offered good protection, but they needed to evacuate and fast. Another five minutes, and the local cell members of Chraige Attez’s forces would be on them. This area was known to house a number of sympathisers, and they might manage to kill their prize before they could escape to interrogate him.
One of the windows smashed on the upper floor, and a man blasted down indiscriminately at them. Spartan ran to the first wall where the others were taking shelter and spun round to check for enemies. On the visor HUD he picked out at least six men, all armed and firing. They must have been in hiding, waiting for their chance to strike. Several rounds struck nearby, and Spartan was acutely aware they were using the L48 carbines, a weapon easily capable of punching through even their toughed PDS body armour. He took aim, taking out two as a burst of fire forced him to shelter amongst the rubble of the partially collapsed wall.
“Lieutenant, vehicle is here!” shouted one of the corporals, but he couldn’t quite make out who it was at this range. Spartan pulled himself from cover and hoped the return fire from his own team would be enough to occupy those in the building while he checked the new arrival. He looked through part of the damaged section from the explosives they had used and could see the eight-wheel vehicle as it disgorged at least a dozen men. They looked similar to the Zealot warriors he had fought on so many other planets and warzones.
Slaves of Hyperion (Star Crusades Uprising, Book 6) Page 2