Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
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CHAPTER ONE
As soon as Devon walked into the briefing carriage she knew that something was up. The normally positive and cheerful-looking Clark was stood before the assembled officers, face turned down into a frown. Beside him, the usually ramrod straight Menefee stood with shoulders slumped, his usually murderous face looking positively psychotic. Voices mumbled as the officers spoke in low tones, picking up on the mood projected by their commanding officer and the unit's senior NCO.
The door hissed open behind her and she stepped aside, glancing at the latecomer and seeing that it was Hotston, his battle armour covered in the dust of the Spanish mountains. Helmet hanging at his side, he was wearing his beret at a jaunty angle.
'What's up?' he whispered out of the corner of his mouth, eyes narrowing as he too saw their despondent commander.
'Dunno, just got here myself, but it doesn't look good.'
Hotston opened his mouth, but closed it rapidly as Clark stood and powered up the holoproj.
'Your attention please ladies and gentlemen. What I have to say won't take long, and I'd rather get things over and done with as quickly as possible so that you can get back to your people,' he paused as muttering broke out amongst the gathered officers, 'please, quieten down. The first news I have is that ChinKor forces have invaded the UK.'
There was utter uproar at that news, men and women springing to their feet, cries of horror and anger drowning out anything that Clark said.
'Quiet damn you!' Menefee's voice roared through the carriage, cutting through the noise of the officers, stopping every conversation there and then.
'Quite, thank you Menefee. As I was saying, whilst we were rampaging through France, the ChinKor Republic launched an invasion force from Scandinavia into Scotland, catching our people entirely by surprise.'
'Presumably because our people were too busy watching France?' asked Devon before she even thought about it.
'Precisely. The detonation of the nukes also appeared to lull our people into a false sense of security. They were so busy watching ChinKor forces deploying into France again that they completely missed the deployment into Scandinavia.'
'Sorry to interrupt again sir,' said Devon, although she wasn't sorry at all, 'but when do we get to go home and join the fight?'
'Well, that's where the second set of bad news comes in. We're not,' gasps of shock filled the room, some of those officers that were still standing sinking down onto their haunches, 'as you know, since the fall of Paris, Spain has been a neutral country. Two days ago, when the ChinKor invaded the UK, the North African Coalition invaded Southern Spain.'
'What the hell does that have to do with us?' exclaimed Hotston, 'Sir.' he added lamely.
'Technically, as we are part of an army to which the Spanish are not currently allied, we're here illegally. The Spanish have, however, offered us a couple of options. The first is to surrender our weapons and allow them to inter us for the duration of the war. Which means we're guaranteed to survive.'
'And the second sir?' asked a subdued Hotston
'The second is to accept induction into the Spanish Foreign Legion to fight against the NAC. No matter what, we won't be allowed to return to the UK as the Spanish believe that such an action would provoke the Ruling Council of the ChinKor, meaning that they would have to fight on two fronts.'
Menefee stood and approached the holoproj at the centre of the carriage. He keyed in a few instructions and the words 'For' and 'Against' appeared in the air before him.
'iColonel Clark and I have agreed that the best course of action is to allow the officers gathered here to vote on the path we take moving forward. For is in favour of fighting alongside the Spanish. Against is to allow them to imprison us.'
'What the hell is so wrong with that?' asked someone, Devon couldn't see whom.
'It appears that the ChinKor and NAC might be allied. That they were able to both launch invasions so close together means that they have been planning this for a long time. By not formally announcing their alliance, NAC can fight against Spain, and the ChinKor can finish off ECAF. It's really quite smart,' said Menefee as he returned to his seat.
'Bastards,' muttered Devon.
'There is, I'm afraid, further bad news. We have something of a reputation. On the one hand, the Spanish respect our ability to get things done. On the other, they obviously fear our ability to get things done, and understand how we might feel about being pressed into service. If we accept this, I have been informed that the Demons and a company of infantry support, will be separated from the main unit. Fortunately, the Spetsnaz will remain attached to the regiment.'
Stunned silence filled the room, and Devon jumped as Hotston grasped her hand. 'Not a chance you're going without me.' He whispered.
'Please vote. Do we fight and, in some way, help our people, or sit on our arses?' asked Menefee.
There was a pause, and then a 1 appeared under 'For'. Slowly at first, and then gradually gaining momentum until Devon was the last one to vote.
How the hell am I going to get tell my people about this? she thought as she made her vote.
'The Fors have it. We fight.' said Menefee.
There was silence as he and Clark signalled the end of the meeting by leaving the room.
'Bollocks.' sighed Hotston, reflecting exactly what Devon was thinking.
#
Lying on her bunk, Devon gently trailed her fingers across the various photos that she had stuck to the bottom of Kirton's bunk. The Spanish had lumped them together irrespective of rank or unit and it had been blind luck that saw her and her gunner bunking together.
Her fingers hovered over a picture of her husband John, Smiling, he waved and beckoned to her to join him. She smiled at the memory of that trip before the smile faded, the memory of the argument that had followed wiping it away as if it had never existed.
It had been the first time that she had seen him truly angry, even after ten years of marriage. He was the most caring, gentle and compassionate man she had ever met. Loved and respected by all that he met, he hadn't a got a malicious bone in his body. War would have destroyed him mentally before it killed him physically. He was totally unsuited to war. Sending him to war would have been tantamount to signing his death warrant, something she wasn't prepared to do. And so, she had found herself reporting to duty at the local recruitment office.
Things had moved quickly from there. A series of aptitude and fitness tests. Blood and DNA tests had followed. From there she'd found herself in a room with 100 or so other people, all of whom looked as confused and upset as she felt.
It was only when they arrived at the airport and saw the large ChinKor transport jets that were waiting for them, that reality truly set in. Seeing the hated enemy standing casually on ECAF soil had shocked her to the core. She'd known that the immersi
on tank which awaited her was in a ChinKor bunker thousands of miles away from her home, but that had been on an intellectual level. Now, as her blood turned to ice and her stomach cramped with fear, drawing back without even moving it.
'Step forward recruits! Step forward! Don't let the bastards see you're scared!' An old soldier appeared before them, walking on two cybernetic legs, 'Each second that you shit yourselves, is an hour's laughter for them when they get back home.' The cripple had then turned and marched forward as if he was on the parade ground, drawing Devon and the others along with him just by sheer presence.
Her last memory of that trip was that of the loading bay door slowly closing until they were left sitting in total darkness, a sharp prick in the back of her neck, and nothing else.
' ...boss?' Looking up she saw Kirton's face peering at her over the edge of his bunk.
'Sorry, I was wool gathering, what did you say?' there was a catch in her voice that she hoped he wouldn't pick up on. It was bad practice for an officer to bawl in front of their soldiers.
'When do you think that we'll be deployed boss?'
She smiled, glad to put the bitter sweet memories of John to the back of her mind, 'It will be soon. By all accounts we're going to be assigned to the 10th Corps, the Royal Andalusians. They're getting hammered and need all the support they can get.'
'Great, you mean we're meat into the grinder,' grumbled Kirton as his head retreated and the bunk above her creaked as he got into a comfortable position.
'No, Senior Gunner, I mean that we're the grinder, and the enemy is the meat.'
#
Devon cast her mind back to when they had first been assigned to the mechs. The biggest surprise for her had been the eclectic mix of the other pilots and their crews. Japanese, South Africans and Maoris.
All of them wore their uniforms with pride, and it was clear that they were just as surprised to have been assigned to the 49ers as she was. However, with the ChinKor forces looking to take Europe by the scruff of the neck, it had been deemed prudent by the Japanese and Maori governments to show support.
The cynical part of her also pointed out that it allowed them to experience ChinKor tactics first hand. She'd had absolutely no doubt in her mind that their mechs would be broadcasting information every single moment they were active.
Manaheri and her sisters had intimidated her from the start, not a good position for a commanding officer to find herself in. Ever since the formation of the United Republic of Australasia and Zealand, the indigenous populations of the two former nations had rapidly expanded their population and influence, through an aggressive breeding programme. Which was the reason for Manaheri being related to every single one of her platoon members. Covered in tribal tattoos, and all standing at a good six-feet or taller, they were every inch the warrior.
Suzuki and his people were a direct contrast. Quiet and unassuming, they projected an aura of calm that belied the fury they would unleash whilst in close combat with mechs that out-massed their own, often by a factor of three times or more. Still, when she shook his hand, she could feel the power within his grip, as well as the callouses of a swordsman in his palm.
The South Africans had been the polar opposites of both Manaheri and Suzuki's people. Loud, brash, back-slapping, they'd seemed both excited and eager to get into action. Off-colour jokes had filled the room as they'd introduced themselves to the other members of the company and she'd found herself smiling as they made even Manaheri and her sisters into instant, lifelong friends in a matter of minutes.
Yes, that was a good time she thought as she brought herself back to the present.
CHAPTER TWO
'Welcome to the 29th Mech Inf Regiment, señorita,' the Spanish iLieutenant grinned and stuck out his hand to shake hers. Slowly she held her hand out and then raised it to her head in a salute, leaving him with his hand hanging in the air.
'It's iMajor Devon, commander of Devon's Demons, 1st Mech Battalion, 49ers Regiment,' she held the salute, eyes narrowed.
'Ah,' the junior officer tugged at a collar that suddenly seemed to be a little tight for him before bracing to attention and snapping up a salute, 'of course iMajor, my apologies.'
Devon held her salute for longer than was necessary, well and truly making her point before lowering her hand down, 'Pleased to meet you iLieutenant,' she cocked her head, raising an eyebrow.
'Torres, Jesus Torres,' she couldn't tell if the sweat that had appeared on his brow was due to the sun that was beating down on them, or because he would be well aware that he had made a very bad first impression indeed.
'Well Torres, as ordered, myself and 1st company are here. 2nd and 3rd will be arriving shortly,' she frowned, not liking how they had been forced to travel separately, the NAC air force controlling the skies and strafing targets at will in their deployment area.
'And I'm iCaptain Hotston, 1st Company, 1st Battalion, 49ers Regiment,' said her friend as he stepped forward and shook Torres' hand. She hid a smile as Torres winced at Hotston's hard shake. It was such a relief to have Hotston and his ground pounders acting as ground security and advance security.
'Welcome sir,' Torres' tone was much more professional towards to Hotston than it was to hers and she found her eyes narrowing once more.
Torres asked them to follow him, leading them across the sun-baked ground towards a low-lying bunker. All about them was the organised chaos of a military unit getting ready for battle. As they walked he pointed out various points of interest. None of which interested her. Instead she took a careful look at the men and women that she and her Demons would be supporting. All in all, she wasn't too displeased which what she saw. Everyone moved with purpose and she couldn't spot any shilly-shallying or shirkers.
Reaching the bunker, Torres waved his hand over the lock, stepping through as soon as it hissed open. Following him, Devon sighed as the cool air of the interior washed over her. Torres lead them through a series of airlocks and corridors before they finally entered a command centre.
'iGeneral Garcia, iMajor Devon, and iCaptain Hotston reporting for duty,' said Torres, snapping up a parade-perfect salute.
Garcia turned away from the holoproj he was studying, swiping his hand to clear the mostly red map away. Heavyset with handlebar moustache, his lidded eyes regarded the two of them as they too snapped to attention and popped up salutes. Casually saluting them back, he turned the gesture into a silent motion for them to take a seat. Torres he just waved away.
'No doubt you saw the map,' his voice was deep, gravelly and heavily accented, 'we've been caught on the shitter by the backstabbing bastards, and we haven't even got paper to wipe with.'
'What do you need us to do sir?' Devon was proud as to how calm her voice sounded. Garcia's wry smile showed that he saw through her.
'As part of the 49ers, you and your people have showed that you are most suited to guerrilla warfare,' waving his hand against he called up the map he had previously been viewing, 'As you can see the 90th Moroccan, 2nd Tunisian and 22nd Libyan regiments are pressing our people hard. In particular, there is a mech unit that is causing out people particular trouble. So far they've destroyed a regiment's worth of mechs and bots.'
Despite herself, Devon winced. The Spanish were well and truly being hammered by the NAC forces in the region, and a regiment's worth of mechs was an awful statistic.
'I see that both yourself and your security element have drop experience and qualifications. We're going to drop you behind enemy lines, in the region of Jaen. From there, I want you to fuck them in the arse until they're begging me to take their surrender,' said Garcia, slashing his hand across various enemy units, 'Well? Are you up to the task?'
'Sir, we'll kick their arses so hard their mothers will be calling you to surrender,' she replied, putting as much confidence into her voice as she could, determined to make the most of a bad situation.
'Excellent. Once your other companies arrive, you will have two days to acclimatise and make any modifi
cations you might need. I'd suggest more heat vents. If you think it's hot here, Jaen is even hotter. Dismissed.'
#
Devon sat staring at the data scrolling down her visor, tears rolling silently from her cheeks. Numbly, she tried to accept the fact that both 2nd and 3rd companies were gone. Wiped from the fact of the earth by airstrikes that had utterly destroyed them. 49ers all, their lifeless bodies would have been removed from the drained immersion tanks by uncaring NAC technicians, their bodies ready to prepare for shipping to home and recycling.
'What the hell do we do now boss?' Kirton sniffed, scrubbing his hands over his face.
'We kill every single one of them. We make them bleed until we drain them dry,' whispered Devon, unable to raise her voice any higher, 'I have to write to the families. Please tell iGeneral Garcia that we will go ahead with the drop as planned.'
After Kirton had left, she pulled up the plan that had been devised for her battalion. Grabbing a stylus, she started to delete everything planned for 2nd and 3rd companies. Every attack that they made would have to do the maximum amount of damage, for the minimum effort. Plans made she set them aside, then called up the details of the commander of 2nd company and started to pen a letter of condolence to her family.
#
The Bitch rocked in her moorings as the drop-pod, nicknamed the coffin by anyone that had been in one, slid into its designated deployment tube. Nervously, Devon ran through the mech's readiness checklist one more time.
'I fucking hate this bit boss,' said Kirton, his voice clipped, 'especially the way my stomach always seems to lift into my .....oooooofffffff,' the drop-pod blasted down the launch tube and Devon swallowed the bile that rose into her mouth. She had to agree with Kirton, being in a coffin was the worst part of any drop.
'Bastards, what the fuck happened to the bloody count down?' moaned Kirton as the drop-pod hit the atmosphere and started to shake and heat up rapidly.
'Shut it you moaning ninny,' gasped Devon, 'ten seconds left until separation. Get ready for a kick in the nuts.'
Devon's Demons: A Permadeath LitRPG LitFPS Novel Page 1