He winced as Windsor grabbed another militia and threw them through the remains of the room's window. Considering they were five floors up, the militia was sure to be dead.
'Hey! I just got a DEFENESTRATION award! Who the hell knew!' Windsor had changed since France. Her guilt over the battle for the hill had been assuaged by the knowledge that the militia were dead whether or not she fought them, and that the best way to save them was to achieve whatever objectives and mission success parameters they have been given.
The militia that went out of the window was the last to die, his body hitting the ground long after the rest of his comrades were cut down by weapons fire.
'Push on. Winnie, same again. I don't want anyone going through mouse holes unless absolutely necessary.' A mouse hole was, contrary to the name, large enough to permit the passage of a fully grown human. They allowed troops to move through rows of houses without having to expose themselves to enemy fire on the street. It also meant that defending forces could force attacking forces to crawl through the holes and be more easily killed.
'Six enemy combatants in the room beyond sir,' said one of his people as she removed her hand from the wall. The battle suits were keeping his people alive far longer than he expected and he couldn't wait to hear how they were performing against the ChinKor forces back home.
Windsor didn't wait for a nod, she just got herself in position and blasted through the wall. Holding back, Hotston watched as his people chased after her, shotguns roaring. It was over in seconds. Stepping through the hole that Windsor had made, he surveyed the damage. From the looks of it, at least one of the enemy had been positioned right by the spot she crashed through. Not a mark could be seen bar the blood flowing from their mouth.
'Sir, enemy armour moving towards us.'
'Well, we better be ready to give them a warm welcome. Winnie, pull all platoons into a defensive position, deploy smart mines and be prepared to repel an enemy counter attack. Dig in.'
#
When the building finally collapsed on him, Hotston thanked every god under the sun for his Battle Suit. Its body points - not hull points for some reason - were down to less than 25%, but he suffered no injury at all. Shoving a pile of wreckage off himself, he rolled onto his knees and slowly pushed himself to his feet.
Checking the casualty list he saw that he had lost only five members of his company in the last hour of battle. With constant respawns being made possible by the reinforcement points, his people were losing lives, gradually creeping up to truly being 49ers once more. The five he had lost had been replacements for other 49ers, and were 49ers themselves. There'd been no respawning. It was cold comfort that every attack that the enemy had sent their way had been smashed. Their sector of the city was filled with destroyed buildings, enemy dead, and burning vehicles.
'Think they'll try again Hottie?' Windsor's voice was subdued, even her enthusiasm dimmed by the constant combat. Casualty rates amongst the militia had been astronomical, the light weapons they'd been issued with barely able to put a dent into their armour. It was only when they started suicide attacks that they scored a couple of kills.
'I think so. I just wish why the sodden bastards were so damned keen to throw themselves at us. There isn't a chance in hell they can defeat us this way! It's senseless slaughter.' He kicked a piece of rubble in frustration, blasting it apart with ease.
'When are the Spanish getting here?'
That was another sore point. The 49ers and the Demons had achieved every objective set them to this point, but the main Spanish force - still hadn't managed to meet up with them, encountering a counter-attack behind the 49ers' line of advance. Granted, they had the airborne force that had assisted them at the start of the battle, and Hog 1 and his people were now doing their damnedest to flatten any structure still standing, but it wasn't enough to take and hold every objective. As soon as they moved on, militia would slip through and retake them. It meant that battles were being repeated all over. Without that support, they didn't have a hope in hell of continuing the advance.
'Fuck knows. Push what bots we have on to the next objective. Task them to hold no matter what. We'll support from a distance with the mortars for as long as we can.'
#
The sight of a main battle tank bearing down upon your position is something that you never get over. Hotston and his people had spent most of a day facing such attacks. Gone were the ancient tenements of the old city, replaced by ruins and piled of debris that his friend and foe alike as the infantry squabbled over what had once been people's homes and livelihoods.
'Well, NPCs at last, thought Hotston as he waited for the latest NAC counter-attack to enter the kill zone. This game is just too good, he thought as he looked at the small show and foot of what had once been a toddler. Did it matter that she was computer-generated? No, because he knew that if he reached out and touched then skin it would feel pallid to the touch. He could already smell her body starting to rot, as well as the stench of blood and voided bowels. These people don't even know they're not people, the idea was disgusting to him. Every death mattered, because this world was real to every citizen forced to live - and die - in it.
The enemy tanks were approaching through what had once been a park. Wide enough to allow them to advance in a well-defined vee formation, it also still channelled them towards Hotston's position. Columns of smoke from previous attacks along the streets marked the death of over fifteen of their comrades.
'Incoming!' Heavy Pulser bolts showered down from the sky as an enemy fighter-bomber strafed where the pilot thought he and his people were. It was at least fifty metres short as Hotston had decided to try and keep his people as mobile as possible.
'Fire.' The first of the advancing tanks had entered the kill zone. Smart mines fired shaped charges, the reactive armour of the tank preventing most from penetrating. But once reactive armour had served its purpose it was gone, leaving the true armour of the target exposed.
'Engines first!' The tanks were trackless, supported instead by anti-gravity propulsion units and jet engines. At a push they could reach sixty feet.
Missiles burned their way through the dust-filled air before striking the tank's propulsion units with bright flashes and a shower of sparks. Stricken, the tank ploughed nose first into the ground, its Tri-barrel 50mm cannon digging deep into a pile of debris.
'Shift fire.' He was too tired to say much more, using his master sight to mark the next target for his people hit. Other members of his platoon raced forward to silence the first tank, hurriedly placing charges on its hull whilst trying to avoid fire from the tanks anti-personnel weapons.
The other tanks had an idea of their true position now, Tri-barrels spinning and spitting out 50mm projectiles at a rate of 180 rounds per minute. That might not sound like a lot, but it was still three rounds the width of a man's thumb per second. Getting hit anywhere on the torso meant instant death, and a cyber replacement if hit on a limb.
Those morbid facts raced through Hotston's mind as he tucked his face down in an instinctive reaction as the shells tore into his position.
As soon as the fire shifted he popped up, shooting at the enemy infantry pouring out of the back of a number of personnel carriers that had followed on behind the tanks. He'd switched to solely using slugs as they greater accuracy over the distances they were now fighting. When they switched back to room-to-room, house to house he'd change to buckshot. Every shot was a hit. Every shot was a kill. The infantry they were facing had clearly been rushed into combat. Regular NAC troops, garrison troops from the poor quality of their kit, were mixed with militia. None of them had the body armour that the front line troops would have been issued with, and none could take a slug to the body and live.
Windsor opened up, having chosen to equip her Battle Suit with two shoulder-mounted belt-fed heavy machine guns. Hotston watched as an entire section of enemy troops was blown to pieces.
What passed for battlefield silence descended, broken only
by the screams of the wounded, the roaring of flames from the broken tanks and ammunition cooking off in the intense heat.
'Guns up first squad. With me.' Standing he advanced on the shattered remains of the enemy attack. Any wounded were given wounds that couldn't would incapacitate, but not kill them. In a position some three hundred metres behind their position, roughly one thousand wounded prisoner lay, tended by orderlies with orders to keep them alive as long as possible.
There's going to be hell to pay when this gets out, he thought as he kneecapped a garrison trooper, but it's the only way to stop them respawning.
#
'We're just two hundred metres away dammit!' It was the second day of the battle. Cordoba had been taken and they were now forcing their way into Seville, slowly but surely reducing the historical city to rubble as they did so.
'Chill boss,' Kirton paused as he raked a building with as much firepower as he could, 'We'll get there. Mtube's always able to drop shells, it's just that the squishies could really do with a little help.'
Devon pushed herself back into her harness with a snarl. A section of their infantry was trapped between militia and regular NAC forces and, due to the layout of the city and other enemy forces, they might as well have been on the moon.
She'd read about historical engagement where friendly forces had been just as close, but had to listen to their comrades being slaughtered whilst they themselves were pinned by enemy forces. Up until now she hadn't been able to understand how that could be. Nor how the would-be saviours felt.
I bloody do now!
'You know what? Bollocks to what the Spanish want. We're going through the damned buildings. Fuck the mission.' They'd been tasked with moving through a district of Seville whilst defeating the enemy forces within. A side mission HISTORICAL IMPORTANCE had set the parameter of leaving as many of the early 21st buildings, as well as the much older 20th century and before, still standing.
Turning sharply, she planted one of The Bitch's feet straight through a huge plate glass window on a cyber-enhancement shop. Using her hands, she tore the building apart as quickly as possible, not even noticing the bodies of militia as destroyed the building they were using as shelter.
'Repeat! Any 49ers! This is 1st section, 2 platoon, we're trapped by overwhelming enemy forces and have multiple wounded, we need urgent assistance!' The fear in the voice of the NCO commanding 1st section had crept up a few notches, lending an even greater sense of urgency to their actions.
With one last push, she smashed the rear wall of the buildings she had been ploughing through and onto the road that would take them directly to the trapped when Kirton's voice shattered all hope of a rescue.
'Drop pods incoming.' His voice was flat, devoid of emotion as he marked the new pods, The Bitch's weapons automatically tracking them as they burned through the sky.
'Demons, engage enemy pods as a priority, stop those reinforcements.' It was a hopeless task and she knew it. There were dozens of the pods raining down and it would be impossible to shoot them all. Still, her people and the Spanish forces around them were doing their damnedest.
Weapons fire of all sorts filled the sky, racing up from the ground to meet the drop pods. Explosions, smoke, fire, debris and free-falling bodies appeared all over as the ground fire took its toll, but still the drop pods came on, rockets firing at the last minute so as to slow their descent. Other pods came apart, freeing the mechs within them to fall to the ground and immediately enter combat.
Shit, I've lost count! There were too many mechs for her to count. Some landing before she'd even realised that they were there.
'This is iMajor Devon to all Spanish forces within District 2-9 of Seville, we have a company of enemy mechs with support. Repeat, a company of enemy mechs with support. Request reinforcement at these points.' As quickly as she could she drew up a defensive line, hoping to God that they would be able to hold it in time for reinforcements to arrive.
'This is iCaptain Montoya, 4th Royal Infantry, we are moving to your position now.' Blue icons appeared nearly a kilometre away marking the iCaptain's position. More and more units responded, their icons added to the tacmap as they did so.
'Why the fucking hell weren't these bastards trying to get to the trapped infantry?' snarled Kirton as he blasted an enemy squad into pieces.
'Because they're not their people, they're our people. Talking of which, let's go get them shall we?'
#
'Winnie, get some fire onto that dammed weapons platform!' the enemy drop pods had showered down from the sky all around him and his people, forcing them to halt their advance and find what shelter they could. This close to the centre of the city and the berg beneath it, they could see subway entrances a few hundred metres up the street. Perfect for them to truly take the fight to the enemy. First, they had to get there.
'I'm trying!' She snapped, as the platform raked their position. The weapons platform was just that. An automated weapons system dropped off the back of a truck, and left to engage anyone that didn't have the correct friend or foe marker. The bodies of NPCs, and even some militia littered the street where the twin miniguns and automatic grenade launchers had made their mark. Somewhere, the operator would be racking up DPs for literally sitting on their arse. 'It won't fucking stop shooting at me!'
'Probably marked you as a high value target. Johnson! Move to this position when I say!' He tagged Johnson's marker, then drew a straight line to where he wanted her to move. She was the smallest member of his section, and therefore the fastest as well over the moonscape of the ruined city. Hopefully that would mean she'd have time to get to cover before the weapons platform truly engaged her.
'Get ready Winnie. Move!' Johnson pushed up from her position and charged forward, weapon firing pulses in the general direction of the platform. Immediately its weapons tried to achieve a lock on her, its sophisticated aiming software doing its best to combat the stealth capabilities of her battle suit.
'Firing!' There was a huge blast as the shoulder-mounted 50mm cannon that Windsor had added to her battle suit at the last refit point they had captured fired. Dust rose all around them from the vicious muzzle blast, obscuring his view momentarily. Then, after moment's silence, the platform blew up.
'Right. Good job people. Head for the subway. We're going underground.'
#
The subway was packed with NPCs taking shelter from the fighting above. Children screamed, parents shushing and trying to comfort them as best as they could, whilst the moans of the injured provided a low bass undercurrent.
'Shit. I wasn't expecting this,' said Hotston as he stopped dead in his tracks, all eyes turning to look at him and his people, 'spread out, make sure there aren't any militia hiding amongst them. Only shoot if there's a clean shot.'
The thought of high-velocity rounds shredding their way through the crowd made his mouth dry.
'Sir, there's a refit station down here. Looks like it might be an objective.'
'Everyone, use the refit station. Get rid of the LMGs. Switch your shotguns to buckshot only, grenades to flash and stun. Equip all suits with close combat blades.' Stepping to within the refit station's activation zone, he quickly called up a menu and started to switch his weapons. NPCs were still going to die if hit by buckshot, but there would be far less casualties than if they were using their original suits' configurations.
'Windsor, pick four gorillas and move up to the front. This is going to get up close and personal I'm afraid.'
'Roger that sir,' she cracked her knuckles, impressive considering they were a battle suit's knuckles, and reeled off four names without a second thought, 'On me people.' As she and her co-gorillas strode towards the far tunnel of the subway, the crowd parted without a word.
'Break into half sections, it's too dangerous to bunch up, and we'll just end up blocking each other. Objective is marked on the tacmap.' Hotston signalled to his section to follow the gorillas who were now ten metres or so ahead of them. 'Smith, pop
some drones and get them sounding out the area. I don't like being blind.'
It was as if his words were prophetic, the overhead lights flickering once as there was a huge explosion, then going off altogether. Screams and cries of panic filled the now pitch-black tunnels. Switching to infra-red, he pushed his way through the clamouring mass of NPCs, praying that he could complete the mission before more innocent people died.
#
BLOODRAGE! Flashed across Windsor's HUD as she charged into the enemy soldiers hiding behind an improvised barrier. Smashing into the obstacle, she sent the defending soldiers flying as her speed and mass utterly destroyed their shelter. Grabbing one NAC soldier by the throat, the large hand of her suit completely wrapping around it, she squeezed. There was a squelch and then she was left holding the remains of his throat, whilst his head and body fell to the tunnel floor. Flinging the remains of her victim into the visor of one of his comrades, she took advantage of their natural flinch and kicked straight out into their pelvis. Bone jutted out of their fatigues as they shattered under the huge pressure generated by the kick, the soldier flying through the air to strike others rushing to reinforce the position bowling them all to the floor under her dead weight.
Her blades took another two enemy soldiers in quick succession, cutting huge gaps in their throats, the blood jetting out as their panicked hearts hasted their own demise. The last soldier she killed almost contemptuously, ripping his weapon from his hands before staving his head in with the butt in one heavy strike.
The reinforcements were still trying to shove their dead comrade-in-arms off them when she launched herself into the air, tucking up her legs before kicking them out and slamming down on top of the struggling mass. Bones cracked, blood spurted and trumpets sounded an Upvote, the spectators giving their hearty approval of her killing method of choice.
Devon's Demons: A Permadeath LitRPG LitFPS Novel Page 11