Twin suns of Carrola (Starshatter Book 2)

by Dark Knight

  Vasilisa nodded and ran directly toward the fire, engaging her engines right before stepping into it. Mid flight Vasilisa changed trajectory, and using the controls of her suit, masterfully landed close to that hill. The woman then ran a scan from her Winchester, locking three small grav vehicles carrying the plasma mortars and their crews. They had one section of troopers deployed for protection, and from beside the ridge of that hill another vehicle silhouette emerged. It was, of course, the AFV support of that taz’aran infantry section, particle gun quickly leveling down and aiming at her position. You had to be careful when using scanners, their rays could be used to pinpoint your position, as easy as you could use them to detect others.

  Coming from behind the AFV, a taz’aran machine gun team quickly deployed their weapon and showered the spacer with fizzing particle-beam bolts. Glassing almost everything around her, they spattered Vasilisa a couple of times melting off some of her spacesuit’s armorplating. She staggered back and rolled on the ground, dropping her Winchester in the process. The distance was great, too great for both her weapons and Vasilisa shouted in her comms:

  “Brynjar, I am pinned! Tazzie MG team on top of that ridge!”

  The AFV chose this moment to plunk a shot at her direction almost obliterating her cover. Fortunately the data-stream from her rifle’s scanner was already swapped into her spacesuit and she rapidly linked everything to their long range shooter. Hopefully he was close enough to provide her with the much needed support.

  “Perkele!” – came back Brynjar’s answer and a single railgun round second after, the two woman MG team was splattered to pieces all over their AFV’s hull.

  Not waiting to see if they had another heavy weapon’s team, Vasilisa rolled to the side grabbed her Winchester and linked her visuals to Cat’s missile, giving her commander the sign to fire. That was their last cluster missile and it “sprinkled” its deadly load all over the taz’aran position. Even if they wanted to run, it was impossible. All micro mines were visually locked, with the missile’s warhead carefully selecting how many of them had to strike each target, and from which side.

  The entire hill exploded in a split of a second, turning ground, surface vegetation, and the taz’arans still in their vehicles into mush. After the dust and debris settled down, everything was part of yet another crater. Running back she heard Cat screaming into her comms:

  “We need to retreat toward the gorge, Dozan might be overwhelmed!”

  “Bullshit! That’s a fucking Kil’ra – it is they who overwhelm others!” – Vasilisa shouted back, and yet ran toward their side of the gorge. There was no chance in hell she’d stay idle while some tazzies were hurting and perhaps even killing her crewmates. Kil’ra were the only proper allies of the Terran Minarchy and, while growing up kids were told over and over – you never, ever leave a Kil’ra without help.

  Walk through fire and hell to pull them out of it and, if need be, die in their stead. One Kil’ra could save many more in your stead, and counting lives was the game that humans, and their clients, had to play. On the galactic scale, numbers were what won you everything in the end. With their longs life spans, superior abilities and skills, which could exponentially grow over longer periods of time, Kil’ra were the ultimate civilization saver, and theirs was for all intents and purposes dancing on the edge.

  She saw Cat sliding down the side of the gorge, using her cyber arm to slow her descent while the Krupp laser unleashed burst after burst of pulse laser fire. Vasilisa’s comms crackled again:

  “Two sections have surrounded one burning AFV, and are fighting with Dozan! Leap behind the closest one before they have time to completely commit. I will engage them in melee.” – there was another stream of laser fire, this time from the ground level. As her commander’s comms hummed to life again, Vasilisa could hear her mag-locking weapons, while breathing in and out heavily before speaking – “Time to see those gunslinger skills, that you Spacers are so famed for!”

  Vasilisa heard more sporadic weapons fire and, stepping off the rocks, she leaped down. Rotating in the air, the spacer activated her spacesuit’s engines, and flying through the thick smoke, landed gracefully behind two surprised taz’aran troopers. To their credit the soldiers did try turning before Vasilisa drew and shot them in their backs. From point-blank range her plasma pistol, a Smith&Wesson ’Plasmatron’, basically incinerated their lightly armored bodies. Her suit’s faceplate showed her commander’s two-handed battleaxe decapitating another soldier in the distance, streams of particle beams bouncing off her armor. She bolted to the left, running with her best speed and picked off another soldier who had his back towards her. As Vasilisa’s father always said – “Draw fast, shoot accurately and best of all, shoot them in their backs!”

  She managed to kill two more before meeting one of their melee troopers. Armed with a spear, and with a particle-beam snub gun integrated in his suit’s left forearm, that soldier was their section leader. Vasilisa quickly got a couple of stabbing wounds and the bastard almost broke her neck with his spear. Once again, the spacesuit she had built with her own two hands had saved her life. Rolling back, Vasilisa pulled one of her father’s old tricks on him. Shooting the last plasma round, she bluffed, reaching for her winchester rifle, and as the taz’aran lunged forward, hands stretched to extend his weapon’s reach and stab her in the gut, Vasilisa dropped and rolled into his feet, tripping him.

  Using her engines, she completely surprised the trooper and even managed to reload her revolver, peppering the bastard’s back. His backpack burst instantly into flames and exploded, shrapnel hitting the chest plate of Vasilisa’s spacesuit, and knocking her down on the ground. Her vision became red, and the only thing she managed to do before fainting was to gargle, trying to call for help over the comms. Body damaged by the shell-shock of the explosion and lying face up, Vasilisa was choking on her own blood.

  ________________________________________________________________________________

  Brynjar was running sideways, rifle aimed at the nearest taz’aran power armor. Another shot hit his leg and he almost fell face first into the ground. The taz’aran commander did what anyone facing an Asgardian on the battlefield would – he sent his best and most heavily-armed troops to take him out. In fact he had expected something like that to happen some time soon, yet the one in command of the taz’aran forces had overreacted dramatically. That, or they were quaking in their boots, like most of these types did after meeting with his race in battle. The trio of PA’s almost had him surrounded, and Brynjar got hit in the back before he could shoot the slimy taz’aran sniper who attacked his friend. He was unsure what was worse. The fact that he could die fighting three fully armed power armors, or his failure to fulfill the promise he had given Lilly.

  The terrain they were fighting on was a sloped hill, that he had intended to use as a vantage point to snipe whomever had the unfortunate idea of stalking Lilly. Brynjar got jumped by those PA pilots and almost died on the spot. Had they had heavier weapons, he was sure that the back armor of his suit wouldn’t have held at all. That even made him swear! Something that he rarely did, being collected, relaxed and concentrated at all times. This time, instead of closing in and boxing those mecha to smithereens, he decided to test his new Mosin. With its bayonet already attached, Brynjar suddenly changed the direction in which he was running, dashing even faster at the nearest PA. Instead of charging it directly, he plunged down and rolled to the side. The taz’aran pilot was armed with a snub gun and a mace, and, of course, switched his weapon to full auto fire and tried to follow Brynjar’s rolling body. He hit him once before realizing that the Asgardian was aiming his large rifle center mass.

  Master weaponsmith Alric had years of experience in the field and that weapon was perfection in the form of a rail-rifle. The gun utilized already overpowered mag-coils, taken from an anti-tank railgun ordinarily issued to light infantry Colonial militia units. It was designed to battle light vehicles and PA’s, exclusively. Th
e pilot had even closed the already short range helping Brynjar’s projectile to better pierce his mech. Made from solid megasteel, the slug bored through front chest armor, controls, pilot, and then exited its back. A geyser of blood, fuel, and engine cooling liquid quickly sprang from the shot mech, before its pilot-less hull slumped down, hitting the ground like a falling tree stump.

  Brynjar quickly jumped up from the ground just in time to see the grenade that was tumbling through the air towards him. He made a desperate leap, keeping his frontal armor facing the explosion. Shaken, he crawled, rifle in hand, as the two remaining PA’s took cover, with one flanking him and the other taking a couple of pot shots in an attempt to suppress Brynjar. Being pinned down by power armors wasn’t in any way part of how he imagined this battle would unfold, and the Asgardian, risking another hit, darted away from the assault rifle wielding PA. His other enemy piloted an older model taz’aran mech that sported a shoulder-mounted grenade launcher, a shield and vibro sword combo. Being a mecha pilot himself, Brynjar knew what they were trying to do. If he’d allow himself to be pinned, this other guy would grenade him to death, or kill him up close after he was shell-shocked to hell, on the ground, dizzy and vomiting, with his ears bleeding.

  He fired his Mosin again, this time aiming at his enemy’s shield directly. Of course, the taz’aran had it up, raised high and covering his vital chest area. Brynjar took one particle-beam shot to the shoulder while he was emptying what was left in the Mosin’s second power pack. He had already spent three while firing the gun almost continuously, and its heatsink had yet to overheat! Brynjar didn’t stop shooting at that shield until his forth power pack was expended. His last two shots shattered both it and the mecha’s hand to pieces. Panicking, his enemy fired the grenade launcher at him, yet it was too close and he missed – the grenade exploding behind Brynjar, dealing him no damage.

  Now, the taz’aran mecha jock was facing one screaming, charging Asgardian, whose bayonet was pointed at his torso. At this range, and in such a situation, the other mech would be unable to provide ranged support, unless it was piloted by a trained sniper, and that it certainly was not. Engaging in close combat, Brynjar had stripped his enemies of their chief advantage – their numbers. Only one of them could fight him now!

  The secrets of bayonet combat was apparently something those taz’aran mecha jocks had never witnessed, nor trained to defend against. To his credit the pilot managed to land a blow, albeit a glancing one, that shaved Brynjar’s left shoulder armorplating before he stabbed the machine’s torso twice, twisting his Mosin as he did. The pilot inside was impaled like a pig on a spit, blood coming out from the holes and leaking down, covering its lower hull, legs, and finally the ground below.

  His last opponent chose to launch himself in the air, using his powerful engines he flew erratically, simultaneously shooting with his assault rifle on full auto fire. He wasn’t half bad. Brynjar got hit again, this time his armor protected him from the damage, but the faceplate was damaged, inoperative and he had to open his helmet. Raising the Mosin up, he targeted the erratically flying PA, with blood stinging his eyes. Despite that, he managed to hit the mech twice, legging the bastard. The PA pilot tried really hard to land carefully, yet both of his legs were shot to pieces, and with main motors damaged beyond repair, the man ejected.

  Not wishing to spend any more time chasing the now unimportant opponent, Brynjar reloaded the Mosin, injected himself with two medsprays and quickly began moving in Lilly’s direction. He had to check to see if everything was alright with her, yet after but a few steps, he suddenly heard an explosion behind him. Turning back he saw that ejected mecha pilot’s mangled body, pieces of it still flying in all directions. Brynjar’s comms cracked to life:

  “Bee, you gots to be more careful! That tazzie had a one shot RPG aimed at ya,” – Lilly’s voice sounded tired, and almost like she’d found her favorite patch of veggies eaten by some pest or the like – “so I sniped em!”

  “What happened?” – Brynjar was more concerned about his friend than himself. After all he was a fifteen feet tall giant who could successfully box battle tanks into the salvage yard.

  “We have a big problem, Bee. The DMS module wasn’t there! I think remnants of the old tazzie troops had somehow found it and pilfered the entire assembly. And it happened some time ago, a month perhaps.” – added the bunny while scanning for more clues.

  “The bastards have also deployed a team of commandos.” – Lilly’s voice trembled again while she inspected the already half-decrypted info from their data-crystals.

  Brynjar took a deep breath, ignoring the splitting headache, minor blood-loss and annoying pain in his left leg, while leaning on the Mosin. Quickly pacing toward Lilly’s position he snapped a bundle of old grass to wipe off his rifle’s bloodied bayonet, and reloaded the weapon for the fifth time today. Both his and Lilly’s attentions were instantly attracted by one not-so-distant explosion, and as they exchanged worried looks their comms flickered to life:

  “This is Cat, Vasilisa is down and Dozan is surrounded, I repeat, we are being overwhelmed, and I need both of you back here on the double!”

  Brynjar frowned, grabbed Lilly and, with his giant’s stride, ran as fast as he could towards the battle.

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  Nedal’s unibrow was twitching. Why was this happening to him again? His troopers, the ones whom he sent to explore the derelict had returned, yet they were not alone. On their heels followed a single taz’aran officer, holding his elaborately encrusted sniper rifle. His uniform in tatters, face dirty and flesh covered with boils, the man stank to high heavens and yet, he was smiling. The platinum epaulet on his right shoulder signified high nobility. That meant that no matter the rank, he was to be offered every courtesy, and he himself being demoted to a simple Commander meant that Nedal was probably about to be stripped of his command. The man now stood right in front of his mech, leaning on the shoulder of his trooper. With a weakened, almost devoid of life voice, he whispered:

  “Are you the one they call Nedal? You are in command, yes?”

  Nedal had to answer instantly, but thankfully his rank gave him the dubious advantage of keeping whatever equipment or vehicle he was using now. He was still safe from the climate of this horrid place. Those two devastatingly bright suns were blasting everyone with heatwave after heatwave, as they rode across the heavens, almost as if chasing each other, in a sick game of solar tag. Slowly, the other two PA’s were dragging one of the Terran reactor assembly parts. He, at least could complete his Lord Captain’s main objective. Everything else was secondary – even the very survival of this star trooper company.

  “Yes Excellency, it is I, commander Nedal! Where, might I ask, are your troopers? Weren’t you assigned the late Lord Commander’s personal guard retinue?”

  To Nedal and his men, the officer’s reaction was completely unexpected, he and the closest troopers were completely startled when the officer snapped at them, answering in a morbid voice:

  “They are all long dead, and you will all be dead soon enough, if your troopers, and you yourself do not obey my orders to the letter! Or not! Why do I care? We are leaving here, the very moment your heavies drag that reactor assembly into my new ship’s cargo hold.”

  “But excellency, I still have troops in the fie...,” – Nedal protested, only to be suddenly interrupted by another explosion coming from the battlefield.

  “Correction, I have troops in the field, Commander! Give me a holo-link to the vehicles over there, and Nedal – get working on those parts.”

  The raggedy noble turned around and pointed to the two PA’s, who were just coming out of the derelict lugging another piece of the looted reactor:

  “You two, dash to the battlefield this instant!”

  Both pilots simply dropped the part and unsheathing weapons, flew engines booming in the direction of the closing echoes of battle. The noble officer,
still leaning on his soldier’s shoulder, (who by the way was showing remarkable resistance to the horrible stench, and was standing at attention, eyes beginning to tear up) gently stroked the whole length of his beautiful particle-beam sniper rifle with his dirty hand, murmuring some undecipherable words. The man was, in his eyes, as mad as someone left to survive on such a hellhole of a planet, could be expected to be.

  Nedal’s cursed his stroke of bad luck, but directed all of his attention toward the holo projection on his control screen, while dragging the second reactor part into their transport. Thanks to his cockpit’s advanced systems, and with the cybernetic augmentations that all taz’aran mech pilots had, he could both see, hear, and move around with little effort. While not engaged in combat, carrying those parts was not a problem for his machine, at all. The battlefield instantly extended, as now he had access not only to the link from his remaining three AFV’s, but both PA’s. He could change perspectives, look from any direction that his units’ sensors allowed, though Nedal remained skeptical. Any such combat network could be hacked, your vision and sensor range used by the enemy, expanding their fog of war.

  What had happened to the rest of his command PA squad? Nedal was desperately trying to get a link from them, yet even with the augmented comms system of their transport, all that he got was deafening silence. Were they able to end that Asgardian’s life? He hoped that they had done so, because if that large bastard joined the fray now, they would have to retreat. Nedal had no desire to face one of the Elder races on the battlefield today. Nor any other day for that matter. Sometimes in his waking hours he’d ponder if power armors, and mech tech in its entirety for that matter, wasn’t developed because of Asgardian presence on the battlefields.