War Zone (Star Crusades: Mercenaries Book 5)

by Thomas, Michael G.

  "Attack!"

  The Grunts accelerated ahead of the larger suits at a speed a Human would struggle to match. The bipedal machines shifted as they moved forward, making it more and more difficult to hit them. Gun smiled as he chased after them, enjoying seeing the latest programming updates now being put to good use. Shells and bullets struck against those at the front, and two exploded in spectacular fashion, spreading metal and electronics all around them.

  "Cover!"

  The virtual presence Grunts broke to the flank, deploying fast as they ducked behind machinery, gantries, platforms, and other pieces of equipment. The internal navigation and collision avoidance routines allowed them to pass over objects that would normally require careful effort.

  "Commander, they are forming up around the ship's port side loading bay," said Corporal Preston.

  The young marine took two hits to the right arm, lifting up the limb to shield his body. More bullets thudded into the metal section, ripping out pieces but sparing his torso from the impact. He then took aim with his own heavy guns and returned fire. Each time the dual L48 rifles fired, the left arm jerked a short distance backwards from the recoil. These were heavy 12.7mm guns, and he fired then on full automatic. More shells glanced off him, but not one managed to penetrate anywhere deep enough to cause significant damage to the man inside the safety of his massive Maverick armour.

  "I think they're getting ready to move somewhere else. Maybe the secondary power units," said the Corporal.

  Gun strode ahead, checking that location just as more fire dropped in around them. A pair of Grunts took direct hits, but even with arms ripped off or damaged legs, they kept moving forward. Nothing could stop them other than their total destruction in battle.

  "Got it," said Gun, "It won't be power systems."

  He pointed up into the World Ship.

  "They know our weak points, and they've already knocked out most of our systems. They want hostages and to end this fight."

  "The Rebels?"

  Gun nodded.

  "Yeah, the rebels. The idiots think they can take them hostage. On'Sarax will detonate this entire World Ship before she allows herself to be taken."

  Corporal Preston's eyes opened wide as he listened to Gun. He'd never seen the alien machine before, but like all of his contemporaries, he knew them by reputation. Those at the World Ship considered them as something bordering on demi-gods. There were even rumours several years earlier of work teams actually praying to them, though Gun, Spartan, and the others had stamped out that little cult.

  "First of all...we need to hit these traitors, and I mean to end them."

  The imagery from his visor showed a long, thin line of dark soldiers armoured and hunkered down behind the equipment half unloaded along the side of the ship. Gun recoiled a little at seeing so many of the Grunts taking fire. It was hard to see even though they were nothing but combat suits. He'd been in action with them many times before, yet nothing could settle him to the idea of ignoring casualties.

  "Hit them hard."

  Gun didn't stop, and as he aimed at his chosen targets, the gyrostabilised gun mounts on his shoulders rocked up and down. The units were so advanced that in tests, they could lock on and hit the same target even if the firer jumped, ducked, or twisted up to thirty degrees in any direction. Gun took aim at those off to the right and then fired with his left shoulder weapon. The L56 Mark III swung into action with its Gatling mount spinning away. The five barrels hurled magnetised solid slugs at a blistering rate of fire.

  "Yeah...have some more!" yelled a corporal.

  Gun lifted his right eye and glanced to the side. Two of the Maverick suits were there, and they ran into the hail of fire as though it was little more than hailstones. Streaks marked the impact of bullets, and bright yellow flames showed their own weapons firing back. Gun kept running, but something sent a shiver through his body. He took another two steps and then spotted three bipedal combat machines stepping out from cover. They looked similar to his heavy equipment; yet there was an ominous feel to them as they moved out in front of the mercenaries.

  Can't stop now. We fight and win, or it's all over.

  Gun locked onto the first and opened up with the L56 Mark III. Hundreds of rounds clattered around the armoured machine, but as the dust cleared, it remained upright, albeit covered in dents and small bullet holes. Gun was now two hundred metres away, and seven of the Grunts were out of action. There was no cover from this part of the World Ship, and the massive landing bay currently occupied by the CTC personnel. They had the numbers and the defensive position.

  A Maverick suit exploded in a bright white flash, and as the light faded, all that remained were the legs and hips. Gun looked back to the defender as another powerful flash marked the firing of a weapon. Gun instinctively jumped to the left as the shell rushed at him. It missed and hit a loose group of Grunts, tearing two apart with ease. More of the powerful shells ripped into the rushing Grunts, cutting down more until nearly half were out of action.

  "Take cover!"

  Gun slowed down and moved in behind the broken Maverick armour. Some of the others scattered to the flanks, but with so little cover were easily struck by the overwhelming fire. Gun saw many ripped apart and groaned with fury as yet another Maverick was cut down.

  "Screw this, run at them. Either we take them down, or we die."

  He made it three metres when the entire flank of the interior airlock doors of the World Ship ripped apart in a cataclysmic blast. They were truly massive and designed to block access to the long triple-door lock system that led out into space. Air rushed out from the gigantic breach, pulling men, machines, and combat suits out as though it were some colossal tear in space-time. Even Gun began to lift, but the internal magboots automatically activated, anchoring his armour to the ground. Pieces of debris, machinery, and bodies swirled around in a great vortex, and for a short moment, the entire battle halted as both sides tried desperately to hold on.

  What the hell?

  Gun smiled as a pair of the CTC mercenaries flashed past him, both flailing as they spun out of control. He started laughing as another slammed into the side of the transport, splitting apart his armour, and then casting the broken body off into the innards of the ship. It gave Gun a moment to take stock, even as everything around him appeared to be falling apart. As he moved his head, his eyes locked onto the suited figure of Walker and his entourage. The man clung onto a ladder, while a trio of the heavy mechanoid suits blocked line of sight to him. Gun snorted upon spotting him, but at the same time, the three guards lifted their weapons to fire back.

  This is gonna get rough.

  As the first guns fired, a massive groan rumbled through the World Ship. It was the same sound he'd heard before, usually the deep cries of a wounded ship or a station torn apart by some terrifying astronomical anomaly. Only those that had spent as much time in the military, or had the unfortunate timing to be on board the last moments of a starship, might ever know this noise. The sound increased, and then it stopped as soon as it had started. It was replaced by a massive dark shape as the remainder of the inner dock walls tore open like wet tissue paper, revealing something massive, dark in colour, and shrouded in shattered metal.

  "What the hell!"

  Gun bent down to avoid incoming fire and sent a wide band signal to his people. A massive system of scaffolding ripped away from the flanks of the incomplete vessels in the shipyard and lifted up into the air, as though made of nothing but smoke. They swirled about before racing up to the dark shape as it filled the hangar space.

  "Keep down and hold on. Something is coming through."

  Gun shifted his eyes to the system controls on his suit and almost choked. The outer doors of the mighty space dock were still open, but the third and final barrier was gone, leaving the ship completely open to space.

  Must shut it down.

  Gun was no technical expert on the management of the World Ship, but he did have something few of
the others had, and that was full access to the highest-level logs. He ran through the warning barrier and then found the section for the space dock. Dozens of emergency messages flashed by, but what stunned him was the override by the CTC management board.

  So, they really are trying to take over this place. Probably doing the same at their other locations.

  Gun nearly laughed as he activated her own high-level security code, something only he and four others had, a gift from On'Sarax for times such as these. For all the agreements and procedures put in place, few had any idea that Gun and his immediate friends had such privileged access. At the end of the war, few Humans had much in the way of sympathy towards the last of the Biomech rebels. Their struggles and final battle at the infamous Black Rift were little more than myth to many, and a total fiction to the majority. None of this productivity at Taxxu could ever have existed without the mutual trust and respect between On'Sarax and her kin with Spartan, Gun, and the others.

  "Outer docking gates, close...close now!"

  The system flashed red twice more, and then one by one the gate locks deactivated, and the gigantic emergency outer doors began their long, slow task of sealing the World Ship. Even after a few seconds, the change was noticeable. Gun moved his gaze back to the chaos around the breached inner doors, and smiled as he realised what he was looking at. It wasn't a weapon, or a boarding craft of some kind, but in actuality an entire warship. Flashes of fire from its manoeuvring thrusters sent shearing bursts of heat into the structure as it decelerated, while continuing to rip massive sections out of the dock area.

  Titan...I can't believe it.

  The shape of the Confederate class warship increased in size as it ripped through metal plating as though it wasn't there, leaving Gun standing with a look of utter disbelief on his face. If any enemy mercenaries had been close enough, and with their wits about them, they could have ended the fight there and then. There was a tiny window of opportunity to attack. Gun sighed and checked his weapons.

  You crazy fool, Delatorre, you brought her home!

  At that very moment, he noticed the first of the gun turrets rising from its hidden mounting deep inside the hull of the ship. As the barrels swivelled around to track targets, Gun found a great smile spreading across his face.

  Things are turning around.

  He lifted one arm high and called out to his comrades over the internal communication system and via the external speakers built into his heavy armour.

  "Get ready!"

  CHAPTER TEN

  Fortress Alpha, Southern Depression

  Spartan smiled as he looked at Syala's face. It wasn't easy to see her on the videostream, but if he concentrated, the darker patches lightened enough to make out her eyes. Her head was uncovered, and the shoulder sections of her armour visible. Behind her, three of her mercenaries waited patiently, covered from head to toe in their bulky and durable assault armour. They were among the best trained and equipped unit Spartan now had access to, and they were being wasted in their entrenched positions. Unlike him, Syala was on the surface, but hidden inside the ruins of the old communication relay tower in Hyndla.

  "Khan sends his regards."

  Syala laughed, knowing full well the old warrior wouldn't have ever said such a thing. Spartan lifted the dull glass of water next to him and took a long, slow drink. It was tepid, like just about everything else about this planet. Even so, it was nice to be able to relax for a few minutes. Syala had been talking almost nonstop for the last ten minutes, and he just sat there listening.

  "They sent in another patrol last night. Arana was waiting for them. It was...well, not pretty."

  Spartan coughed as he fought back a laugh, something that was becoming less and less common for him. With Syala he felt a kindred spirit, an independence tempered with deep down passion that could transform into anything in a brief moment.

  "We ran into a group of Byotai that were heading to the front-line. They were unarmed and leaving the fight. I sent them back, but it looks like trouble. Are the rumours true?"

  Spartan nodded.

  "Yeah. Morale is low. Not many of them have seen a proper fight before, and almost none have seen a war. If they want to keep Karnak, they'll have to pay the blood price for it."

  Syala looked almost saddened by that.

  "I don't think they have the heart for a protracted war. Another few weeks of this, and it will be over. They'll beat us without ever having to fight a battle."

  Spartan didn't like hearing her talk this way.

  "Our mutual friend is already mobilising supporters for the last offensive. This has to be it. We will create the opening, and she will break through."

  Syala thought about that for a moment.

  "I don't like it. What if she joins them?"

  Spartan nodded along as she talked.

  "Then we’ll lose even faster. I'm running out of options."

  "What about you?

  "I'm okay, I guess."

  Syala paused, as though nervous at what to say next.

  "Tanis and the Blood Pack have been doing his part. Tanis is pretty helpful with running things down here. And I tell you now, Spartan, we need all the help we can get."

  There was a different look to her. She was worried. Based on what had happened since their failure at Tanau, that didn't surprise him.

  "The last assessment shows they're putting in two or three fresh units every day."

  Spartan nodded. She continued describing the fighting and some of the strange events they'd seen over the last days. After several minutes, she stopped and looked at him without speaking. This went on for a number of seconds.

  "What is it?"

  Spartan's lip lifted a little at the corner. "I missed you. It's been a while since..."

  "I know. This whole place is starting to get pretty depressing."

  Spartan tried to laugh at that, but little more came out than a guffaw.

  "We were supposed to have left months ago. My unit is getting restless. I tell you now, Spartan. Either we use what we've got, or we will lose everything. We need an end to this, and get back to our day jobs. What good is there for them to get paid just to die down here for somebody else's fight?"

  That made Spartan chuckle. Syala and her sister had raised the Black Widows years ago, and their single source of income was mercenary contracts. All of them had been well paid by both the Byotai rebels, as well as the turncoat Tenskwatawa. This was not particularly important to Spartan. After all, his wages were paid directly from the Alliance military now that he was back with the IAB. There was no doubt the odd mixture of different mercenary units were losing heart. Each knew that injury or death was possible in this line of work, but this wasn't their war, and they weren't here to just add another body to the death toll.

  "I understand, really, I do," he said, trying to sound positive.

  "Okay. What's changed? Last I checked, we were kind of getting our asses kicked. Sometimes that's fun..."

  She turned her head coyly.

  "But maybe not by the thousands of these new soldiers. We've been watching them arrive, and there are a lot."

  Spartan had expected as much.

  "What's your assessment of them?"

  Syala shrugged.

  "Well motivated, trained, and equipped, but green. We've encountered several squads so far. They fight well, but it's clear none have ever seen combat."

  "That's what I thought. They've been getting ready for this for some time, haven't they?"

  Syala nodded.

  "Yeah, you can say that again. They've been drilled by professionals in firearms drill and CQB. Call me mad, but if I had to guess, I'd say ex-Marine Corps instructors based on their tactical deployments."

  Spartan lowered his eyes as he gave that some thought.

  "And their gear?"

  This time Syala's eyes opened wider with interest. She loved kit, especially anything designed to cause death or destruction.

  "They have a lot of
advanced tech, Spartan. The last attack nearly caught us by surprise. I took a few wounded before we got behind them. The range and penetration on their weapons was impressive."

  Spartan knew her mind was wandering, and he watched with amusement as her words faded away. It took a moment before her eyes returned to him with renewed vigour.

  "Actually. Now that I think of it, some of the equipment is very similar to the gear our marines use. Their guns especially, a simpler version of the coilgun, and it seems good. Not what I'd expect from a nomadic people our politicians have described as space-faring Red Indians!"

  She held up one of them and moved it closer to the camera.

  "Have you looked inside them?"

  Spartan rubbed his forehead, unclear at the point she was trying to make. He'd thought much the same, though until now he hadn't drawn the link to their own technological developments. Syala pulled the side plate off with ease and then disassembled the weapon as though she'd done it a thousand times before. Spartan leaned in close as he looked at the charging chamber, electromagnetic housing, and ammunition feed.

  "That looks a lot like the CTC proprietary internal for the L52. Looks like they've reverse engineered the tech."

  Syala didn't seem to be quite as convinced.

  "Next generation assault carbines and body armour that most of our people would kill for. This isn't right. Spartan. A decade ago the Anicinàbe were wandering nomads, right?"

  Spartan nodded along.

  "A people with minimal tech and no interest in anybody else. Next thing we know, this Tahkeome guy has built up a powerbase, an army, and is on the march. He's received a lot of materiel and technological help."

  "Who would do that, and why?" asked Syala.

  Spartan thought about it and fought back his frustration.

  "Like the CTC executives always say. Follow the money trail and find out who benefits."

  Syala didn't look terribly impressed by that.

  "So, who gains by Tahkeome succeeding?"

  Spartan's brow tightened, and he tried to take his mind off the question as he looked into Syala's eyes. There was so much that reminded him of Teresa there, but where his wife had tempered her passion, Syala was the opposite. When her blood was up, there was nothing he could do to pacify her, and that was probably the key characteristic that attracted him to her from the start. The two sisters had much that he admired, but of the two, Syala was most definitely his favourite, something of a kindred spirit. As he watched, her face faded and was replaced by images of the enemy. He tried to shake it, but Syala had planted a seed in his mind, and now all that appeared were legions of these new, heavily armed soldiers.