Where are you?
On the right were three of the old L48 rifles, weapons that dated back to the Uprising and well before. He grabbed the nearest, checked it was loaded, and then twisted back to his position. The Ram made a quiet clicking sound and scampered off almost like a dog to a group of three marines, presumably to take them more ammunition. He lifted the weapon to his shoulder and zeroed in on the three machines. They were hard to hit as each had taken up a solid position in cover. Every few seconds, one would push a weapon out and fire, and with each blast came a casualty. He counted two marines and as many Helions killed or wounded before he was ready.
Just to the side.
Jack squeezed the trigger halfway, and the laser rangefinder instantly calculated the distance to the target. A single button tap then added on an extra meter. He finished the pull and fired a single large-caliber projectile from the rifle toward the machines. With any other weapon, this round would have been wasted, but the L48 was a different kind of beast. Where the L52 was the latest state of the art coil weapon, the L48 was a traditional firearm that utilized advanced variable ammunition. The heavy explosive round rushed past the machine and exploded a meter behind them, showering the two nearest with ultra-hot metal fragments. Jack fired three more times before the return fire forced him back into cover. As he waited there, he could see on his overlay that one was damaged, but all three were still in the fight.
“Hammerheads are leaving, good work, marines,” said the Captain on the Company wide channel.
Jack looked up and saw the shape of the three Hammerheads flying away from the precinct. A group of Lightning Fighters took up flanking positions around it as a flight of Animosh ducted fan scouts arrived. These vehicles were just big enough for a single rider and were powered by a ducted fan fitted front and back. They opened fire on the Hammerheads, but it was too late. The state-of-the-art craft tore them apart with their automated turrets while they lifted up and accelerated up into the sky.
Well, that’s done.Now all we have to do is hold this place.
He lifted his head from cover, noting the Animosh formation had broken up into smaller groups and had moved even closer to the barricades. More fire from the machines raked across the line, and he was forced to give his attention to them rather than the advancing Animosh.
“Corporal!” he called to Wictred.
“Here,” came back the quick reply.
Jack wondered where he was, looking quickly at the visor overlay to find his friend just inside the tower of the precinct. He was heading for the door, now that the Hammerheads were on their way.
“The machines are drawing our fire from the Animosh. It’s a diversion.”
“Yeah, I thought so.”
The door burst open, and Wictred appeared like an iron-plated titan.
“Concentrate your fire on the Animosh!” he called out, both on the audio channel and through the external speaker on his armored suit. He then turned his head and looked at the three machines out in the center of the street and in cover.
“I’ll deal with them!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Commander Gun was the first of the Jötnar to break free of the shackles of the Echidna cultists in the Great Uprising. Named for the great gun that was strapped to his arm, he turned to become one of the great heroic warriors of that war. By the end of the struggle, he had emerged as the leader of the Jötnar and a great friend of the Confederacy. His return to the military would see him promoted to the command of an entire battalion. As more Jötnar signed up for military service, they would become a common sight in the ranks of the Marine Corps where their strength and military prowess was greatly valued. Gun would forever be remembered as the first of his people though, a creature born to destroy humanity, and one that instead became one of its greatest heroes.
Heroes of the Great Uprising
The three Alliance Thunderbolts screamed across the dull skies of Helios, each leaving a vapor trial in their wake as they chased a group of heavy Helion fighter drones that were making for the scores of marine transports, landing craft, and landers. Unlike the squat ducted fan fighters, the Thunderbolts were small craft with a recognizable silhouette, due to the pair of sloping wings from which two mighty hybrid engines sucked in air to compress, ignite, and then blast out behind them. They were the fastest and most agile fighter in the Alliance inventory, but even they were slow, compared to the pair of Animosh low altitude drone interceptors. They moved around them with agility only possible with unmanned aircraft to try and protect their heavy fighter brethren. The Alliance pilots did their best to avoid their pursuers and focused their efforts on the heavy fighters, the craft most able to harm the marines’ land operation.
“Now!” cried the pilot of the lead fighter.
All three craft opened fire with the nose-mounted cannons. Round after round blasted about the Animosh craft, and two were quickly destroyed, leaving just a single one in the air. It pulled up, trying to escape, but a heat-seeking missile launched from one of the Thunderbolts chasing it exploded just a meter behind its engine unit. With a red flash, the fighter tore apart.
“Gotcha!” shouted the pilot of the second.
“Cut the chatter Yellow Two. We’ve got bogies, three marks right behind us.”
These interceptors were much smaller than the larger fighter drones, and although lighter armed, they were prefect for high-speed chases like this one. Every time the Thunderbolts tried to evade, the interceptors closed the distance.
“Break formation, keep them off the landers!” the Squadron Captain ordered.
The Helion interceptors were an advanced form of ornithopter, shaped like winged insects, and had been nicknamed Bugs by the Alliance fighter pilots. The wings vibrated so that they left a barely discernible blur along the flanks of the craft and darted about almost as if able to ignore the rules of physics.
“Yellow Two to Yellow Leader, they have me!” the pilot on the left called out in a desperate voice.
“Break low and run hot!” called out the leader.
Without hesitation, the fighter turned upside down and dropped down nose first toward the ground, its engine burning almost white hot. One of the interceptors chased it, but the young Captain in charge of the squadron rushed down after it. They lost almost a thousand meters of altitude before they reached the highest peaks of the city. Yellow Two ducked between the massive structures while the interceptor fired burst after burst. All the while, Yellow Leader moved to get the perfect shot. Then he had it, and with a short burst, the interceptor spun out of control and struck a tower beacon.
“Thanks, Yellow Leader, I owe you!”
Behind the swarm of dog fighting Thunderbolts and Helion drones, followed the Marine Corps landing craft. These massive landers could place an entire company of marines into the heart of battle. They were armored and equipped with the best defensive systems available. This was the latest iteration of the model, now known simply as the Mauler, due to the battery of twenty-four spigot mortars that were arranged in armored housings on each side of the craft’s front section. It was a heavy assault lander and perfect for attacking contested positions. One of the Helion Bug interceptors moved around it to attack, but two automated turrets tore it apart before it could fire its weapon.
“Yellow Squadron, return to formation!” called out the Squadron Leader.
Their formation had scattered, and it took almost a minute for the three fighters to pull back to join the rest of the fighter cover for the Maulers. No sooner had they formed up, more interceptors returned. The Maulers stayed close together and used mutually supporting gunfire, much like the massive blocks of heavy bombers used back on Earth in the wars of the twentieth century. More interceptors rushed in from the east, and Yellow Leader tagged them on his helmet display.
“Hostiles, intercept!”
They peeled off and were quickly surrounded by a formation of the Bugs. One Thunderbolt exploded as it collided with the group, and gunfire flashe
d around the two survivors.
“We’re under fire!” called out the pilot of the lead Thunderbolt as it banked to the right. The pursuing interceptor drones raked it with gunfire, shattering one engine and putting a dozen holes in its fuselage.
“Mayday, mayday, I’m going down!”
The remaining fighter dropped its countermeasures as it did its best to shake off the interceptors. At this altitude the drones had a massive advantage, and it was unable to strike back before they could shoot. Another Thunderbolt from a different squadron was hit before the turrets of the following Mauler were in range. Two more fighters plummeted downward, along with the wrecks of a dozen interceptor Bugs. Meanwhile the wave of landing craft rushed down to the waiting landing sites, each preselected by Alliance agents and their rebels allies. Though the fighters were taking heavy casualties, they’d done their job and kept the drones away from the landing craft.
“Bastards!” Yellow Leader swore, as he punched the eject button.
The entire crew section of the fighter blasted away from the burning wreckage, and retro thrusters cut the speed before three parachutes deployed to slow the descent. The Captain watched as the pilot from the first fighter dropped down with his parachute fluttering above him, and the first of the landing craft swooped down to an open street. A handful of Helions, presumably Animosh fighters, moved to intercept but were quickly engulfed in a massive barrage, as all twenty-four assault mortars devastated an area a hundred meters wide in front of the craft. The pilot smiled as he saw the cloud of smoke, knowing full well that from within that craft a hundred marines would surge out and overwhelm the scattered Animosh in seconds.
Now it’s our turn! he thought happily, then realizing the predicament he was in. His chute had caught a strong current, and he was moving away from the landing zones and into Helion controlled territory.
Oh...great, this is just what I need! he thought bitterly.
* * *
The gun line was thin, with just a small number of the Alliance’s marines intermixed with rebel fighters. Yet the combined fire of L52 carbines, and the occasional L48 rifle, was impressive and gave the impression of far more defenders. It was continuous and also extremely accurate. More of the Helion rebels had joined them, now that they could see the Alliance ground forces would stand and protect them. The coilguns blasted holes in the armor while the L48 rifles exploded charges inside the formation. It didn’t take long for the three blocks of Animosh to start to crumble. Jack fired again and then dropped the now empty L48 to return to his carbine. Movement to his left caught his eye, and he turned slightly to see Wictred leap over the barricade on his own.
“Wictred!” he shouted, fearful for his friend.
The Corporal ignored his shout, and sporadic fire from the buildings on the other side of the street forced Jack back to the safety of the improvised precinct defenses. He fired a short burst at one of the muzzle flashes and then saw Wictred out in the open. A dozens thermal projectiles struck his armor, yet one only managed to do much damage. He ignored them as if it was nothing but rain and jumped onto the debris sheltering the three machines. One of the combat drones opened fire directly into his chest. He stumbled and fell down into the cover. A shattered arm flew out and landed on the ground.
“No!”
Then Jack spotted the Wictred stumbling to the side. It wasn’t him. He found himself unable to fire as he watched his friend smash his great armored fists into the combat drones. They tried to return fire, each of them refusing to give ground. The fight reminded him of what his father, Spartan, had told him of the fighting on Hyperion against the Biomechs. The machines had no interest in protecting themselves. They were simply given their orders, and Wictred was taking full advantage of that fact. It was only then that Jack noticed the guns had fallen silent. The Animosh waited patiently with many of them watching the machines battle away. Even the marines and the rebels had halted their shooting.
“What’s going on down there?” demanded Sergeant Stone.
Jack was sure he could hear the Sergeant’s voice outside of his suit and turned his head. He saw him plus a four-man fireteam moving out of the main door of the tower and approach the barricade. Jack turned his upper body to see him more clearly.
“It’s Wictred, Sergeant. He’s fighting the machines.”
Sergeant Stone moved closer and stood up tall to look out over the improvised defenses. From his position, he had a clear view of the fight and also presented an easy target to the Animosh.
“That crazy son of a bitch!” he said, without any sense of amusement.
He turned his attention to the marines sitting at the barricades.
“Drones have picked up a dozen transport vehicles inbound, plus air support. Get your asses inside and prepare to defend that tower.”
He pointed behind him at the tall structure with its small door, massively thick walls, and dozens of small windows. Jack looked at them, noting how they were at least three meters from the ground and spaced widely apart. They could have been no larger than his head, perhaps even smaller.
It’s the perfect fort, or prison, he thought to himself.
“Move it, marines, go, go, go!”
In seconds, the whole of his squad was breaking from the cover and making their way inside. One man stood out in a light gray version of the PDS armor and was speaking with the Helion rebels at the barricades. He then returned to the tower, along with all but four of the rebels. Jack was the last of the marines to leave. He stayed in position, checking through his sight at Wictred’s battle. One machine was a piece of junk on the ground; the second fought on without its weapons and just one arm. The third had backed away and lifted its thermal cannon.
It’s going to shoot them both!
Jack was convinced of it, and if it fired at that range, there was a good chance Wictred would be struck in the back of the head. Jack activated the high-power mode on his L52 and took careful aim. Only the armed machine was stationary, and he had the perfect target. With a single pull, the three magnetized rounds slammed into the weapon itself, triggering an explosion that blew the weapon apart and tore chunks off the front of the combat drone. It took just seconds for Wictred to finish the remaining machines off. He looked back in the direction of the barricades. Nobody but Jack was waiting for him.
“Wictred, get back here, now!” cried out his friend.
Wictred needed no further encouragement and staggered back to the line, leaving the ruined machines behind. As he covered the open ground, Jack could see the damage to his armor. A burn mark on his chest marked the point where the first thermal round had struck, and there were dozens of smaller dents and signs of damage from his waist upward. One of the guns had been bent in half on his arm, yet he moved as if leaving a training field. When he reached the barricade, the Animosh called out, and as one, they broke from their cover and surged toward the now abandoned defenses.
“Come on!” Jack shouted.
He jumped up, loosed off a burst at the Animosh, and ran for the small door at the base of the tower. L52 shots rang out above him as marines on the upper levels of the tower rained down fire on the attackers. The door opened as he reached it, and Sergeant Stone himself manhandled him in. Wictred was close behind and crashed through the doorway, his armored body only just fitting inside, tearing a chunk of masonry from the wall as he did so.
“Watch out!” called out a voice from the dark interior. Jack did as he was told, just as the robotic Rams charged inside; first the supply unit and then the armored combat unit. They moved inside like a pair of metal animals, and Private Jenkell slammed the door shut behind them. Two more marines pushed a heavy storage unit made of metal against.
“I told you two to get back inside,” the Sergeant said sternly. “Now get on the line. We need to hold this place!”
Jack nodded and moved away, not before spotting a glimmer of a smile on the man’s face. It wasn’t much and vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Wictred joined Jack at
the base of the interior, and he could now see the inside of the building. It was barren, much as he had expected. There were no sculptures or great artworks there, just bare stone and a number of wall-mounted computer units that no longer functioned. He moved to the nearest window before realizing he could never actually reach it.
“Uh, Jack, maybe this might help?”
He looked at Wictred, struggling to hide a laugh as the giant dragged a metal desk over to the outer wall. The tower was empty, and there were arched access points to the walls on two sides, with the third pointing inside to the main building. There were no doors; only large, featureless arches that would be easy get through.
“This place makes our barracks look like a five star hotel,” he muttered, climbing atop the desk.
“Watch that mouth, Private!” barked Sergeant Stone.
Jack hadn’t even realized the man was still so near. He had the uncanny ability to be able to move around without making a sound. Unlike the rest of the marines, he had his helmet’s visor open to show his face in all its bitter glory.
“I want a squad at the windows. The rest of you prepare secondary defenses at these points.”
He indicated toward the three arches that led to the other parts of the precinct. The intelligence agent appeared at one of the arches, along with a group of five Zathee rebels and two synthetics. Several of the marines turned their attention away from the windows to look at them before Sergeant Stone shouted back.
“You heard me the first time, marines! Get your eyeballs on the target. These are local boys, nothing more.”
The Great Betrayal Page 12