"I'm with you!" Spartan yelled.
In a single fluid movement, his hand flipped out the powerful L52S Mark II Assault Pistol. The first rounds struck his M-3B armour, but Spartan ignored them. Alerts warned him of breaches, but there was a good chance he wouldn't survive this. He sidestepped, throwing off their aim, and then fired, making sure his first shots hit the leader of the traitors.
"Bastards!"
The first five rounds punctured the Byotai's face, ripping him apart before he could even open his mouth to speak. Spartan slipped on fresh blood and nearly fell, but with the benefit of avoiding a heavy volley of rifle fire. That one slip might have given him enough to allow Khan to truly go to work. Several tried to get out of his way, instantly creating an opportunity for Spartan.
I'm taking you with me!
The L52S spat out round after round, emptying the sixty-round magazine. Like the L52 it was based on, the coilgun could defeat almost armour at this close-range. Its calibre might be modest, but modern 6mm bullets were works of genius. Though standard armour-piercing heads, they also expanded upon impact, creating larger wounds that could create bigger holes in armour, or even more horrific injuries.
Go to your blade.
Spartan dropped the machine pistol, and it fell away until hanging at his side, the elasticated lanyard keeping the weapon next to the holster mount on his flank. Out came the old M11 tactical bayonet, a piece of equipment Spartan always carried at his side. The tool was simple, little changed from the weapons used in the twentieth century; high carbon steel with a heat-hardened tip and serrations along the blade's edge near the handle. The grip was rubberised and helped him maintain a firm grip as he extended it out in a pick grip, with the point aimed at the ground.
"Let's go!"
More than a dozen lay dead, and as Spartan reached the group they began to panic. Khan decapitated another, and as the blood sprayed over Spartan, he joined in, making him look even more terrifying than he already was. Two of the militia ran at him, one with a pistol that refused to fire, no matter how many times the trigger was pulled, and the other with a metal club covered in small spikes. Spartan moved past the first, easily ducking under the club and then slashed up into the armpit and stabbing back down into the collar. The Byotai crumpled, leaving the pistol-wielding fighter to wave it in a futile attempt to strike Spartan.
"Wrong time, pal. I'm not in the mood."
With his left arm, he locked the militiaman's left arm behind his body and stabbed him up into the ribcage, before twisting the knife blade. The groan of pain and terror was still not enough to affect Spartan, and as he released him, the unfortunate Byotai fell to the floor, joining the dead and wounded. Spartan fought his way to his friend until the two were back-to-back in the middle of the large open space. They struck out, punched, kicked, and stabbed at anyone that strayed close. It turned from a fight into a massacre, until at last the two stopped amidst the pile of shattered bodies. A shape entered the room and stopped.
"Spartan...what happened?"
The battle-hardened marine twisted from the waist and looked to Commander Knaro. At his flank were a pair of his trusted soldiers, but all three shared the exact same expression of utter disbelief and horror. He started to speak and then stopped. Spartan walked into the centre of the room and kept on going until reaching the pile of gore marking the last known position of the suicide bomber. He bent down, scraped away the blood, and then lifted something metallic and dripping with blood. As he lifted it higher, Khan groaned.
"A short-band beacon."
The device was quite small, and at first glance might easily have been a hand grenade. Spartan tossed it to Khan who then dropped it to the floor and stamped down, shattering its outer skin. Spartan looked back to Knaro.
"It a distress beacon, designed to work underground."
As if to emphasis the point, the emergency klaxon activated, filling every part of the underground fortress with the warning sounds. Spartan felt his bitter frustration mount. Knaro looked confused.
"They betrayed us to Tenskwatawa, for what?"
Khan shook his head.
"They thought killing Spartan would give them currency to negotiate."
Knaro considered that for a second.
"The fool. None of us are safe until Tenskwatawa is driven away."
The alarms continued to sound, and a Helion rushed in, barely able to speak. He was one of the few of his mercenary outfit that spoke broken, but passable English.
"What is it?" Spartan asked.
The Helion coughed, cleared his throat, and then pointed back into the passage behind him.
"They here."
"Who?" Khan asked.
The Helion coughed again.
"All of them. They are in the fortress."
Spartan lifted his head and took in a long breath before nodding to himself.
"Very well. Send the signal. It's time to fight."
Khan pulled back the bolt on his Thumper, and as usual, ignored the multiple bullet wounds to his oversized limbs. He then moved to a pile of bodies on the ground, kicked two out of the way, and lifted the unconscious, blood-covered shape of Sergeant Tyler before looking to Spartan.
"He'll live...Now, let's end this...today."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kha'Dri World Ship, Taxxu Prime, Centauri Alliance
Gun remained open-mouthed and speechless as the massive warship slid closer into view. Rifle fire clattered uselessly off her thick armour plating, doing little more than add a few marks to the already battle-scarred hull. He spotted several massive rips in her plates, and one section in particular was so badly damaged it was possible to make out the burnt out cabins inside. He knew she'd been in action over the last weeks near Karnak, but not once had he expected to see quite so much exterior damage to what was one of the toughest warship classes ever constructed.
A missile whistled towards the ship as it hurtled away from a heavy combat suit. Gun held his breath, as many more would have done the same as it reached up to strike the gigantic ship. Just before it struck the plating, a short burst from point-defence guns opened up. These were fully automated systems and designed just for this purpose. Without any intervention, the systems tracked the target and activated in a fraction of a second. The gunfire tore the missile apart, sending sparks and broken metal scattering in all directions.
Beautiful! Just beautiful!
Cheers rang out inside the World Ship as the beleaguered defenders watched the ship do its work. Gun had seen the Confederate Class ships many times before, especially as he'd been involved in their designs. But never before had he seen the ship poised for war, and just a hundred metres away. The sight was colossal to behold, and on any other day, he would have been happy simply standing there and watching the battle.
"A Titan indeed!"
His wonder changed to pleasure and then laughter as the multiple gun turrets swung around to face the treacherous CTC operatives. These gun systems were designed for starship combat and not for the close confines of the World Ship. The first turret opened fire and tore a dozen holes into the deck, as well as cutting apart an entire squad of CTC mercenaries. Their fancy armour and equipment meant nothing as more and more turrets opened fire, filling the interior with death and destruction.
"Yes!" Gun roared.
More and more turrets lifted up from their recessed positions, pivoting as they scanned for new threats. A handful of the armoured combat suits tried to stand their ground, but they were cut apart on the spot. One dodged fire and took aim at Gun, only for three turrets to concentrate their fire on one spot.
"Yes! Keep hitting the bastards!"
More shots struck throughout their formations, and now they were running. Some rushed back inside the massive transport, the majority scattering inside the hull of the World Ship. Gun took a quick look at the schematic of the World Ship, and his eyes opened up wide as the high four hundred metre-wide outer emergency doors slid into position, sealing lock sy
stems, and fixing the breach.
"Brace yourselves, the doors are closing!" yelled a Maverick suit.
The effect was instantaneous, and pieces of equipment the size of a fighter crashed down into the middle of the battlefield as the breach into outer space shrank second by second. One moment the interior of the ship was filled with flying objects and debris, now objects that had been flying away were crashing down like hail. Gun checked his flanks and nodded to himself at seeing the armoured figures poised for battle.
This is more like it.
His gut said to move ahead now, but Gun had seen the firepower coming from the CTC mercenaries and knew the precise capabilities of his own armour. He was not afraid to die, but he certainly wasn't going to let himself be cut apart in the name of a pointless charge.
"Grunts, give us some cover."
The larger, manned Maverick suits stayed back, with a small skirmish screen of Grunts to provide cover. Several more of the transport ship's loading bays opened up, and Gun nearly choked as he looked towards the lines of fresh mercenaries inside, though they remained there to avoid being picked off by ANS Titan's guns. A handful of their commanders waved their arms and led teams into the World Ship, carefully keeping the transport between them and the Alliance warship. Gun's eyes narrowed, and he started to allocate new targets when he spotted a formation of the fighting suits deployed near the bow of the ship, and well out of sight from ANS Titan.
I see you!
Scores of mercenaries were now out, and engineering suits followed them, deploying mobile barricades as they went. Gun knew at that moment he needed to end the battle, and fast. Each minute gave CTC time to entrench, and Gun's forces were limited.
"On my command...you will break cover and hit them one last time."
He lifted up one arm and then groaned as an entire line of Grunts were torn apart by a barrage of missiles and gunfire. It was the fresh troops deploying from the transport. Now they knew ANS Titan was a threat, they were keeping well away from her guns.
"Now!"
Right on cue, a horde of CD3-Grunts dashed in and out of the scattered refuge, seizing the opportunity to finish the battle. With no need to worry about mortal injury, they rushed ahead without care or concern. Their upper bodies, shoulders, and arms rocked, like the stabilised mounts on walkers and tanks. Even as several were ripped to pieces, they kept on firing. Gun was instantly reminded of the bloody fights against the Biomechs' Thegn foot soldiers, and for the first time actually felt as though he was closer to that style of combat than his years of fighting with regular units. More were cut down, but many more simply stepped in from behind to take their places.
Okay, let's do this.
As Gun rose to wade in, many others did the same.
"With me, take back our home!"
To his right a wide formation of Grunts streamed forward in a scattered line. Several were cut apart, but nothing could hold them back from the attack. Gun laughed to himself as they jumped at the CTC operatives and attacked at point-blank range. Both sides exchanged heavy fire, causing similar casualties to both factions, but Gun sensed they were breaking.
"One last push, keep moving!"
Coloured shapes on his visor showed the arrival of dozens more Grunts, replacements for the many that had already fallen. The great beauty of the virtual presence system was that the operator remained safe at the rear and could simply take control of another Grunt if one was destroyed. Many of those currently working in networked autonomous mode changed as their new pilots took control, as if wearing the robotic soldier as a suit.
Gun clambered over a large set of storage lockers and in front of the last five fighting suits. Behind them was a large squad of armoured CTC operatives and three men in suits trying to get back behind the protection of the large fighting suits. They must have assumed they were there to take over control of the operation, but now they were pinned down by the assault, and Gun had every intention of taking them prisoners, or killing them. He didn't mind which one it was. Others rushed out from the ship to protect their commanders. Step by step they gave up ground, desperate to reach the relative safety of the transport ship.
"I don't think so, Mr Walker."
Gun landed first, and the Maverick suits jumped into action alongside him. The CTC operatives didn't give up, many forming up in loose lines to put down a heavy fire onto their attackers. That should have been enough to guarantee victory, but not against this lifeless horde of machines. Hacking and stabbing as they pushed on, the next wave at the operatives as they landed around Gun. At the same time, a great horde of robotic Grunts streamed in like wolves overwhelming a wounded animal.
The battle had descended into a bloodbath. As Gun struck an operative in the head, he yelled with unbridled excitement. Blood splattered across his JAS armour, and at that moment, he reached that critical stage where nothing could hold him back. He turned from a military commander into a titanic monster, a veritable battlefield god.
"Sir, watch out!"
Gun leaned to the left, and a blast rushed past him, hitting another of the CTC fighting suits. The burning wreck dropped to its knees. A group of Grunts clambered over the wreckage, still firing at it as they moved on by.
Close...too close!
He lurched to the left, ducked under the arms of a machine, and unleashed the full power of the devastating XHEC-1 high-energy cannon. The burning hot fireball incinerated five operatives, as well as a fighting suit.
"Through the breach!" yelled a Maverick operator.
Gun tried to call him back, but the impetuous trainee inside jumped up too high in the air. The Maverick armour was a vast improvement over the old CES and Vanguard armours, allowing its wearer to perform feats of strength and agility never before seen. That speed and power had a price, and that was of over confidence. It was still just a piece of armour, and a single good hit from a heavy weapon system could still kill the occupant. As the suit reached its apogee, it took three powerful blasts to the torso. The first blew a hole the size of a man's head in the plating, but the next two ripped it apart. The wreckage dropped to the ground, now little more than a smoking carcass, and the charred remains of the man left inside.
Gun took aim just as a high-power blast struck the top of his armour and ripped off the powerful plasma-based weaponry. The useless chunk of metal flew away, leaving a trail of sparks and white-hot matter behind. Gun leaned to the right as another blast came right at him.
"Out of the way!" said a machine.
Three Grunts jumped to his front, and one took the heavy blast to its torso, luckily shielding Gun from the impact. More shots slammed in around them, but the Grunts acted as Human shields, buying Gun time to jump over the next piece of wreckage and came face-to-face with the combat suit.
"Now...we fight!"
The suit was as big as he was and covered in articulated armour sections that substantially increased its bulk. Gun activated his shoulder weapons, and the machine activated a rear-mounted plate that swivelled out in front like an excavating tool. Gun blasted the suit with more than two hundreds rounds of ammunition, but most simply glanced off the extra armour plate or punched into the surface layer, covering it in indentations and marks.
"Let do this...old school!"
It was something he'd heard Spartan say, and without hesitating, he stepped in and smashed his arm against the powerful cannon assembly. Half of the unit ripped off, leaving the suit lacking in firepower, but still well armoured and protected behind the thick, shielded unit.
"Stop him!" shouted a man in a suit.
Another column of armoured suits deployed from the ship and halted so they could position their mantlet like shielding. The reserve line bristled with metal and guns, and second by second they were joined by scores more operatives sheltering behind their metal shields. Gun could see them, but he had his own problems. A Maverick stepped to his right, blasted a CTC operative, and then turned to Gun.
"Commander, they're bringing up reserve
s. We're running out of soldiers."
Gun looked back and nodded. The additional troops were preparing their reserve line. A line he was dubious they could now reach. He could breach the front line, but that would leave him with little for the final fight.
"Commander, head's up!"
The voice was familiar, though for a second he had trouble recalling it.
"Delatorre?"
As his eyes rose up and to the right, he grinned. Hundreds of flashes along the port side hull of ANS Titan announced the next phase of the battle. For a moment Gun thought she was unleashing a broadside, like some ship of old. Back then ships used guns mounted in long lines on multiple decks. He'd seen the videostreams of the recreations, and though of minor interest, he'd never really given it much more thought until now. A second later, he knew these were not the flashes of guns, but marked the launch of projectiles from the boarding tubes. The projectiles fired from ANS Titan looked like metallic spheres, and they arrowed towards the battle, crashing around those engaged in the fight. As soon as they made contact with the ground, they unfurled like flowers in sunlight, revealing their armoured limbs and torsos.
"Grunts. Death from above!"
More of the robotic warriors landed close, but Gun had little time to watch. He swung his arms and carried on fighting, shouting with excitement as the ship disgorged more Grunts straight into battle. In a matter of seconds, his forces had multiplied by a factor of three.
"Fight, my brothers. Fight!"
Gun took aim once more and let rip with his guns. The Gatling gun raked back and forth, cutting mercenaries apart and showering the heavy suits with armour-piercing bullets. He swung his arms left and right, lifting up CTC mercenaries and shooting others at the same time. A few tried to block his path, but he mowed them down as if they were nothing.
War Zone (Star Crusades: Mercenaries Book 5) Page 17