A constant earthquake rattled the city as the allies unloaded ordnance at an unsustainable rate. Thick smoke obscured the battlefield, concealing the destruction beneath. Hell rained down upon the wicked.
The orchestra of battle played in the distance while Trent watched with sick pleasure. Sweetie uttered a prearranged warning. “Grenade reserves at twenty percent.”
He zoomed in on the tac-map, shifting the view between the flanks. They were holding.
“Sergeant Roth?”
“Sir?”
“See that the 10th is properly deployed per my orders to assist our flanks.”
“Yes, sir.” She jogged off to the landing zone.
“Colonel Jones,” he said, returning his gaze to the city. “Is the 1st Cohort ready?”
“As much we’ll ever be, sir. Get us in the bloody fight and we’ll win it for you.”
He sucked in a breath, savoring the moment. The moment in a battle when everything changes with a single order. “You got it. Fast attack group, go!”
***
“You heard the General!” Jones bellowed. “Let’s move!”
Over four hundred battle-ready soldiers of the 1st of the 1st zigged and zagged out of their hiding places in the rubble of ruined towers on the extreme right flank. They didn’t charge the main line. Instead, they advanced in two columns up a pair of avenues toward the heart of the city. Fire from the defensive line adjusted to avoid their comrades disappearing into the swirling haze.
Jones bit her lip. Obeying Trent’s direct order to not lead the charge ate at her, but orders are orders. As per her orders, she followed several meters behind and coordinated both wings. Only sporadic enemy fire from dying enemy units resisted them in the first hundred meters after breaching the enemy’s rear.
Emerging from the smoke, both groups encountered a reserve force of dozens of the new frontline units. Taking cover behind the dead remains of fallen Kitright machines, the tip of the spear hurled every grenade at their disposal. The sudden attack caught the clustered enemy force off-guard. Unanswered, the volley tore into the pack, obliterating the final obstacle in their path.
“General Maxwell,” Jones announced with pride. “The doors are open. I repeat, both doors are open.”
“Outstanding, Colonel. You’re ahead of schedule. Keep ‘em open.” He smiled. “Armor attack group, go!”
***
Hundreds of hover tanks and Super Heavies, held further back in the jagged remains of the outer city, now surged forward. The metallic herd funneled into the enemy line on paths plowed for them by the defensive bombardment.
Corporal Jeb Braun waited his turn to join the break out. He didn’t do so patiently. His Super Heavy fidgeted like a toddler begging his parents for something.
Braun’s body stood motionless inside the torso of the machine, locked in place. The wires plugged into the dataport implanted directly into his brain made him become the machine. All his mental capacity, except for vital automatic body functions, were channeled into the modern warrior.
High tech sensors replaced his eyes and ears. Even the sensation of touch was recreated. Moving as though he were moving his own body, he took ‘small’ steps forward. The closer he came to the outbreak point, the faster he moved.
Training to become a Super Heavy pilot took a year above and beyond the standard Legion regimen. Only volunteers who passed a battery of strict mental and physical tests were admitted into this elite group of unique warriors.
Super Heavy pilots tended to keep to themselves, rarely intermixing with comrades in other units. This self-imposed segregation seemed to be preferred by all. More traditional legionnaires viewed the ‘land pilots’ as weird and intolerably cocky.
Truth be told, Braun’s peers had always thought him a bit odd and plenty cocky, leading him to believe the social differences between the groups might well be a product of the selection process rather than the implant and training. After all, doesn’t there have to be something a little wrong with you if you choose to have a socket installed in your head and transfer your consciousness into a machine? Stuffing people of a like personality into large groups could only serve to concentrate and emphasize their natural personality traits.
Despite their personal feelings, light and heavy infantry troopers viewed the Super Heavies as their best friends during a fight. The durability and firepower they wielded had saved the lives of countless legionnaires.
Picking up speed, Braun really started to enjoy himself on the open highway. The scattered remnants of the Kitright army failed to even register. If the unit’s head had had any facial mobility, it would’ve smiled.
Reaching the end of the block, he saw units peel off left and right to encircle the attacking enemy. Soon they would hit the Kitright forces in the rear. Not Braun. His sergeant reminded him of their objective. “Keep heading north. We’re to capture a center structure.”
Giddy in a full sprint, he hardly heard the sergeant.
***
Tyfar didn’t understand why the human and Bearcat armies had landed on his planet and now assaulted his city. He assumed it was a side effect of their aggressive nature.
The last he’d heard, the Commune was at peace with both races, just as it had been at peace with itself for millennia. With a shrug, he dismissed his thoughts. What did he know anyway? The Keepers didn’t share much information with the Commune, and what they did wouldn’t have trickled down to a government official of such low grade anyway.
The Keepers always bothered him a little. Like all good citizens of the Commune, though, he suppressed these troublesome feelings. Such thoughts could lead to resentment, which could lead to anger, and ultimately violence. That was an unthinkable conclusion. As far as he was concerned, until the recent invasion there hadn’t been an act of violence within the Commune since the Keepers arrived.
When the invaders appeared outside the city, the Keepers notified the population they should report to the civic bunkers. Everyone went, as no citizen would dare disobey an order from the Keepers. Everyone, that is, but Tyfar. Something, he didn’t know what, told him not to go. He hid instead.
For refuge, he settled himself in the lower level of his centrally-located housing tower. There, Tyfar waited. Exactly what for, he didn’t know.
***
“General!” Amanda shouted, almost skipping as she approached excitedly. “Elements of the 1st’s 10th Cohort have reported reaching one of the objectives. They report the opening appears to lead underground but cannot tell how far. They request permission to investigate inside.”
“Tell them to go ahead but with extreme caution.”
“Yes, sir.”
Trent looked around his command post to take in the moment. He loved these rare and fleeting seconds after a battle plan was perfectly executed and total victory seductively closed in.
Worrying about what the enemy might throw at them next spoiled the moment.
Every step of the invasion had seen the Kitright take, not a step, but a leap forward in weaponry and tactics. They learned from each defeat. Fought more effectively in the next engagement. Their ability to produce upgraded weapon systems so quickly and in such numbers hung over him like a dark cloud.
His eyes locked with Amanda’s. She smiled brightly and winked. In no mood for playfulness, he returned his serious stare to the city.
“What’s the latest from the armored attack?” Trent asked the question, even though he already knew the answer. He’d been closely monitoring the action with the aid of the neural nanos. He wanted to hear her say it aloud to help him think.
Clearing her throat, she straightened her pose. “The encirclement is complete. Our units have hit the enemy hard in the rear and taken them by surprise. Reports are that the enemy is acting oddly, as though they don’t know what to do. They move to counterattack in one direction, then stop and change course. “
“Casualties?” That was a question he didn’t already know the answer to; unless a unit suf
fered critical losses, he never took casualty reports during a battle. He wouldn’t let his emotions dictate strategy. Overall, the surest way to save lives on the battlefield was to win as quickly as possible. Many times, that meant unavoidable spikes in casualties at certain points.
She looked down at the ground. “Twenty percent in the attacking force and twenty-two in the defending.”
Could’ve been a lot worse. He tightened his lips and nodded to himself. Yep, could’ve been a lot worse.
“So Tre…General,” Amanda caught herself. “Are you going to tell me what Operation Cobra is?”
“Oh that. After the initial Normandy invasion during World War II, the Allies found themselves bogged down in tough terrain. They needed to break out. Concepts like close air support and mobile armored forces were new on the battlefield. They hadn’t mastered them yet.
“General Bradley of the U.S. came up with a plan to carpetbomb a stretch of the enemy defensive line. He positioned his own forces dangerously close to the target area so they could immediately take advantage of the chaos caused by the bombing. It was a relatively new concept.”
“Interesting.”
“That’s not all.” He enjoyed recounting great battles. He wondered if some general, somewhere, someday, would use his own examples to win a conflict in the future. “Up until then, most commanders used armor to punch a hole for the infantry to exploit. But Operation Cobra used the infantry to punch a hole for the armored units. This allowed them to hit the enemy rear in full strength. The result was dramatic.”
“Umm. That situation doesn’t seem a lot like ours.”
“Oh, not precisely. But it was the basis for my inspiration to come up with the plan we executed.”
Amanda looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was looking at them. No one was. With a quick flip of her wrist, she patted him on the butt. “Nice win, sir,” she said in a formal tone before whispering. “You’ve earned yourself a special night. When we have a chance, that is.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” He winked. “Let’s prepare to move our post forward, into the city.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Keepers
Braun took the gentlest steps he could. The term ‘gentle’ is somewhat relative when referring to any action by a multi-ton machine, however. The concussion of his metal feet touching down reverberated along the smooth walls of the tunnel. His squad slowly penetrated deeper and deeper into the unknown.
Assigned as point, he ran his sensors at full power, trying to get a picture at what lay ahead.
“You have anything yet, Corporal?” his sergeant asked. He spoke in a whisper despite the fact a yell wouldn’t escape to the outside. The voice didn’t pop into his mind like a traditional neural com-link transmission. With his mind a part of the machine, he heard the sergeant as if with his own ears.
“Just that this tunnel continues to run downward for several more klicks,” Braun answered. “Other than that, I’ve got nothing. I’m not getting great signal penetration, though.”
“Okay,” the sergeant said. Then, on a squad-wide link, “We’re going to pick up the pace. We were sent in to scout and that’s what we’re going to do. Move out!”
Thunder erupted in the tunnel. The metallic beasts jogged down the corridor. Each step was like beating on a pan with a spoon.
Braun grew increasingly concerned. Each stride deeper into the tunnel meant one more in the other direction if they hit trouble.
When does this thing end? he asked himself, just as his scanner displayed an opening ahead. Dropping to a knee, he instinctively raised his massive fist. “Halt.”
“What do you have?” asked the sergeant.
“Half a klick ahead, this tunnel ends in some kind of cavern. It’s huge. Several hundred meters in all directions.”
“Christ, Corporal. Why did you only pick it up own?”
“Don’t know, Sarge. Maybe some kind of interference.”
“Great. Fire Team One, hug the right wall. Two on the left. I want weapons trained and ready.”
Braun approached the opening. A faint hum became audible and grew more intense. The opening became visible. Light cut into the dark hall from the cavern. Cautiously, the squad moved into the light and peered inside.
In the center, a large machine sat with an idle conveyer-belt running on the floor out of an opening. It was otherwise featureless. There was a loud, but not deafening humming sound. To the side stood several rows of inactive Kitright soldiers.
“Team Two, take cover behind the factory,” the sergeant ordered. “Or whatever that thing is.”
Braun sprinted for the assigned cover, but there was no need to hurry. The enemy made no effort to confront the invaders.
“I don’t think they’re turned on, Sarge,” he said.
“I hope you’re right. I want to make damn sure you are, though. Everyone be ready. I’m going to take a shot at one of them to see what happens.”
In slow motion, the sergeant raised his arm and fired a single KKC round. It ripped into a unit on the end of a row, shattering it into a dozen pieces. It was empty. The squad held their breath. The lifeless warriors didn’t move.
“Stay alert!” the sergeant barked. “No one move.”
The sergeant exited his cover and walked toward the waiting ranks, both arms ready to unload a fury of death. Once he came within arm’s length of one of them, he extended a hand and pushed it over. It landed with a loud thud that, for a brief second, drowned out the humming.
Still not ready to let his guard down, the sergeant fired another KKC round. Then another and another. Each destroyed one of the helpless monsters. Chunks of their golden armor littered the floor, but not a drop of the pink gel. After a dozen shallow kills, he stopped.
“Spread out in teams of two to search this place. I’ll report to HQ. Corporal Braun, run detailed scans of this thing.” He pointed at the machine.
“Yes, sir.”
Braun walked along the side of the machine, running a palm across it to allow in-depth analysis.
The sergeant came up from behind. “What are you getting?”
“It’s odd. I’m picking up a lot of that pink shit those things are filled with. Lots of it. I think this thing is filled with millions of liters of the stuff.”
“That’s not odd if this is indeed their manufacturing facility.”
“But that’s just it - all I’m picking up is the gel. No robotics or nanos or anything else I’d expect to find in a modern factory, even an alien one. Just gel. Lots and lots of gel.”
“Is it on?”
Braun shrugged. The fluidity of the Super Heavy’s movement successfully translated the non-verbal language. “I don’t know for sure. All I can tell you is that I’m not picking up any power readings.”
“Then what the hell is that noise?”
“I don’t know. It’s not coming from this thing, that I can promise you.”
“Okay.” the sergeant looked around. “Forget about this thing for now. Let the tech team deal with it. Find out where that sound is coming from.”
“On it, Sarge.”
The sergeant was busy studying one of the deactivated enemy units when Braun came to report his findings. “Sergeant, I know where the noise is coming from. Well...kinda of.”
“What do you have for me?”
“It’s coming from under us.”
“Under us?”
“Yes.” He pointed down. “It’s emanating from some kind of power source.”
“Any idea on what type of power source? Could it be the generator for this place?” The sergeant waved an arm around.
“Maybe. But I don’t think so.”
“Why’s that?”
“Cause it seems to be powering up.”
Braun liked his sergeant. Not because he was a nice guy; in fact, he was a hard-ass. Braun liked him because he had good instincts which kept his men alive. Those instincts flared upon hearing something was powering up. “Everyone evac!
Now! Make for the surface as fast as you can! Get the hell out of here right now!”
The squad froze for a hot second before jumping into flight. Braun was the last to react and the last to enter the tunnel. The floor began to vibrate as he did.
***
At first Tyfar assumed the rumbling beneath his feet was the result of some enemy weapon. As it became more pronounced, he started to doubt that idea.
Could it be them? After so much time, could it really be?
The shaking grew so severe the safety protocols shut down the building’s generator. He contemplated his next course of action amid emergency lighting. He came to the conclusion that no course of action guaranteed security, but he decided that doing something was better than nothing. Carefully, he made his way to the surface. He was a bureaucrat, not a soldier. The clumsy feline found himself face to face with the business end of an MRG.
“Do not move!” announced an artificial voice from the nearly transparent Sergeant Gabriel.
Tyfar found the request unnecessary because fear had already paralyzed him. The force emanating from below grew strong enough to noticeably rattle the building. Glass broke and objects shook of shelves and tables.
The survival instincts that had allowed Tyfar to live this long once again took control. “I recommend we leave this place.”
***
Gabriel’s CAL translated the suggestion and he agreed wholeheartedly. “Walk out ahead of me with your hands up. On second thought, make that run.” The Kitright couldn’t possibly move faster than his enhanced legs, but speed seemed like a really good idea right then.
The two exited to find a stream of human and Bearcat soldiers headed south in an unorganized fashion. The whining of distressed material cut through the air. Jerking their heads back to the source, Tyfar and Gabriel watched the arch over the nearest tunnel entrance crumble and collapse. The debris cloud nipped at the heels of a squad of Super Heavies trotting out.
The Last Revenge (The Last Hero Trilogy Book 2) Page 29