'Roger that, the boss and Kirton are out. She's ... she's badly fucked up. She won't let Kirton kill her.'
'Understood. Keep that bastard busy, I'm coming in now.' The Shinobi had hit over 50kph by the time he dropped onto the floor, turning into what most people would have called a soccer tackle. The heavy feet of his Shinobi smashing into the Justice for All's nearest foot. Braced against the force of firing its weapons, its centre of balance was in completely the wrong position.
With a huge crash, the heavy mech was thrown up into the air before gravity asserted itself and brought it back to the ground. Suzuki was already moving, rolling his Shinobi away from where the mech would land and gaining his feet even as the supposedly dazed enemy pilot was still waving the mech's limbs in the air.
Stepping forward he cut downward with his blade, cutting through the laser's barrel, spun, then cut the first railgun, then the second. All whilst the heavy mech was trying to roll onto its knees to regain its feet. A smile stretched his feet as he let it do so, exposing its back as it came to all fours. Before it could straighten, he launched his Shinobi into the air with an explosive jump, reversing his blade point down, ramming it through the mech's weaker armour as his Shinobi fell back to earth. It penetrated deeply, and he kept the pressure up, pressing the blade with all of his might into the heat of the mech. Molten metal splashed out of the gaping wound, and his weapon's integrity started declining at an alarming rate. Then, there was no resistance as the blade passed through the armour and into the crew's compartment beyond. With a groan, like that of a dying man, the mech sank to the ground.
Twisting his blade before ripping it back out, Suzuki remained on top of the larger mech, gathering himself, building up the strength to contact Kirton. Taking a deep breath, he chinned the coms channel.
'Suzuki to Kirton, how is she?'
'It's,' Kirton's voice broke, there was a sob, then silence. Just before Suzuki made to press him, he continued, 'bad. She's lost both legs and an arm. Won't let me triage her, says that we'll need all the lives we can get for when we go home.'
'Hog 1 to Demons. I heard everything. Sorry we were delayed, enemy AA. Heading in to pick up any wounded for emergency evac, pop smoke for us. Out.'
Hog 1 and his people screamed in, their weapons engaging the few targets left standing, clearing the landing zone so that Kirton and a couple of NPCs he'd coerced at the point of a gun to help could race out and get Devon onto the evac.
Dashing tears from his face, Suzuki set about assuming command of the Demons still left.
#
'Devon's down. It's bad. Both legs and an arm at least. She wouldn't let them triage her either.' Hotston gave a quick up-nod at the news. He hated the way soldiers used triage to describe the merciful killing of severely wounded soldiers. The rules of World Domination were that if a soldier survived injuries received during a mission, and was still injured at the end of that mission, then they would carry those injuries through to the next battle. That meant, in Devon's case, that she would have her limbs amputated and replaced with cybernetic prosthetics. As well as any organs that the game deemed as being irreparable.
He'd called a rest period. His company was down to 75% combat capacity, all killed permanently. He'd been told that a number of his people were also back to their 49th life. The strain was beginning to take its toll, and resistance was growing as they advanced deeper into the massive berg. Mistakes were being made, and there still people in his force that couldn't afford to make mistakes.
Even Windsor was looking worn out. She'd BLOODRAGED! at least three times to his knowledge and the cocktail of drugs used to boost her system were running her down. Taking a ration bar out of a pouch he walked over and handed it to her.
'Peanut Chicken, your favourite, I was saving it for mission end but thought you deserved a treat.' He held it out and she took it with a nod and a tired smile. 'How are you doing?'
'I'm fucking knackered. We all are. How much longer?' She seemed to lack even the strength to look up at him, 'I died too many times today. I'm back to 49.'
Hotston's legs felt so weak that he placed a hand on the wall, 'What the hell?'
'Didn't think it was fair to make our people kill so many militia. Took the lead. Walked into a couple of IEDs, and two suicide attacks. Still, just like when we first met eh?' Her voice trembled as she told him, and he swallowed hard, forcing the puke that had risen from his stomach back down. The news hit him hard, and he could see just how hard she was trying to keep things under control. Taking a moment to steady himself, he remembered the message he had been about to pass on.
'Well, the 1st King's Immemorial Infantry Regiment reckon we're about 300 metres from the enemy high command. They're going to throw another attack in that direction from both above and below it.' The 1st King's Regiment were the oldest existing regiment in military history, having been formed in 1248. As such they had a proud history that they were keen uphold. Out of all of the units they'd fought alongside in the battle for Seville, they were the only ones that had truly pushed to drive the NAC forces out of Seville, regardless as to the cost.
'Got to admire their tenacity I suppose,' mutter Windsor as she took a bite, 'they definitely like a scrap. Some of them are pretty hot as well.'
'What, hotter than hot Hotston?' he teased.
'Oh by far. You're a little on the,' she held up two barely-separated fingers, 'small side for me. I like my men to be able to sweep me off my feet. If we were together, I'd be the one doing the sweeping.' She laughed at that, as did he.
'They're due to go in within the next ten minutes. We need to be ready to support should they need us. Make sure everyone's ready to go, but don't bother standing to. If they call, we'll respond in as timely a manner as they have.' He realised that he'd said that far louder than he meant too when he heard chuckles from the other soldiers in the room. Bollocks to what people think, I meant every word.
Wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn't realise that the latest assault had begun until his comms channel started to fill with messages. All were updates, none were messages to him directly, so he read and deleted them as quickly as possible. The thing he knew, his rad alarms were screeching in his ears and the whole of the berg was shaking as if in the throes of an earthquake.
A priority message popped up onto his HUD, opening automatically. A Spanish command officer, impeccably dressed and obviously nowhere near the fighting, appeared on camera.
'iCaptain Hotston, we would like to commend you upon your force's performance today, and inform you that Seville has been taken.'
'Did you just use a nuke on one of your own bergs?' Hotston couldn't believe that they would do such a thing. Especially considering so many of their own citizens had been pressed into fighting for the militia. Many of whom would have been on their last lives.
'It was a regrettable decision, but the correct one,' said the officer dismissively, 'the NPCs are just that, simulacrums without souls. Those citizens of ours that were pressed into the militia are deemed as acceptable losses. We've given your air support permission to pull you out immediately so that you can return to your own area of operations once more.' And with that the connection was gone.
Turning to face his people, he gave a tired arms-out shrug, 'We've won. Who wants to get back to our burrow?'
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The mood at base was one of sombre reflection. They'd achieved the mission objective and had been rewarded for their participation. At the same time, a number of the newer reinforcements to the unit, men and women who hadn't had the opportunity to undertake a mission where they were rewarded with additional lives, had been lost. It didn't help that reinforcements had been waiting for them at the base, the shock of their situation written plainly on their faces.
Naturally the veterans of the unit had pumped them for information on the battle for their homes, and the news of the Firestorm of York and the battles of the pits had served only to dampen morale even further.
&nbs
p; 'We need to do something about morale, and I don't mean a piss up,' said Hoffmeister, grimacing as he adjusted his cybernetic leg, straightening it out with both hands, 'I swear if I ever get my hands on the fucker that decided these fit budget, I'll jam right up his fucking arse.'
Hotston gave what he hoped was a sympathetic smile, 'Morale booster, not a piss up. What do you have in mind?'
'Well, now that Torres' replacement - may the prick rest in pieces - is being so nice to us, it seems that the Spanish have been on the lookout for any whispers of Janissaries on the NAC comms net. Seems they've found one. Blade of Justice or something just as wanky, located in a base some 50 kilometres from here. It's been classed as a special mission, two additional lives. Ironic considering the number of people we could have saved with that.'
'Talking of Torres, I never did hear how he died,' prompted Hotston.
'Well, he died well. Apparently tried to save some members of three section, second platoon. Was mortally wounded, but still managed to kill the enemy pinning our people down. Turns out he was a 49er as well, just didn't want to tell us.'
'Shit me. So, who's the new liaison?'
'An iMajor Zoe Saldano. Seems to know her shit. Isn't a 49er, and doesn't have a poker up her arse. I don't think that this one is going to be pulling pistols on our command cadre any time soon.'
'Well, since you're so cosy with the Spanish, how about you tell me how they're feeling about our latest victory?'
'Numb. They were caught on the back foot when the NAC initially invaded. Looking to the north, they never thought to really consider the south. Any units that were down there were rolled over in the space of less than a day. Dammit!' Hoffmeister paused to scratch at his replacement leg, 'How the hell does this thing bloody well itch? What dick thought that would be one of the sensations I wanted to keep?'
Hotston said nothing, knowing that Hoffmeister - a man who had taken pride in his physique - was still trying to adapt to the loss of a limb. Some people bounced straight up as if nothing had happened, often happy to a replacement that was 'better' than the last. Others, like Hoffmeister, struggled. It didn't help when someone as well co-ordinated as Hoffmeister had been, had to learn how to walk all over again.
'Ah, fuck it. What they're most unhappy about is that not only did we - and they're including themselves in this - kill a lot of their civilians in the form of militia, but we also cost them a lot in terms of rebuild costs.'
It was a strange aspect of the agreement around World Domination, but nations weren't allowed to leave the damage caused to them virtually as it was. They had to repair it. And they weren't allowed to do it by mere coding. Engineers, architects, builders, all had to go into World Domination and fix things just as they would in the real world. Otherwise, war would just be too easy.
'How many militia were lost?' Hotston couldn't meet Hoffmeister's eyes as he asked. He himself could account for at least twenty militia killed. At least, he thought bitterly. It had been too much for him at the time, so he'd filtered the company's scoreboard to remove any mention of militia kills. Only NAC kills were allowed.
Hoffmeister cleared his throat before answering, 'Estimates are that over thirty thousand militia suffered permadeath. A lot died when the nuke went off and dropped ten floors of berg. But the majority died in Cordoba and then the fighting in Seville's suburbs. It was only because you and iMajor Devon made capturing reinforcement points such a priority, that losses were kept down so "low" as Saldano puts it.'
'Shit. NAC losses?'
'About five kay. Captured another thousand or so. They deliberately used the militia against the Spanish. Thought that they'd be so reluctant to kill their own people that the attack would fail.' Hoffmeister growled that last sentence.
'Well, lucky we were there to push the point then, wasn't it?' something caught in Hotston's throat, forcing him to swallow a couple of times, 'How many people levelled up?'
'We've now officially got more NCOs than we have privates. Most of the privates are reinforcements. We have everything ranging from Lance Corporal up to Sergeant.'
'Well, not as if we can give them the commands they deserve. Still they'll be happy with the extra pay.' World Domination ranking took a long time. Every rank earned, was a literal rank in the military. It therefore made no sense to have a million soldiers all ranking iMajor. The only bonus to literally ranking up was more pay and, when the soldiers got more senior, access to better equipment and support. True bonuses were earned through the use of skills and Upvotes.
'And they get access to the NCOs and Sergeant's messes as well.' They both laughed at that. All messes were supposedly better than those below them. In the case of the officer's mess, that was most certainly true.
'Anyway, back to business. Give those that have been with us the longest the positions that they deserve if they're capable. Everyone else will just have to wait for dead man's shoes.'
'Roger that. And the base?'
'Like I said, 50 kilometres from here. God knows why it's so far away, but the Spanish are worried that it means there will be a counter-offensive in that area. It's a fairly open base, not dug in like ours.'
'So why hell can't they order a kinetic?' Hotston felt a pain in his hand and realised that his fists were clenched tightly together. Taking a breath, he forced himself to relax his grip.
'Because the base is attached to a village and they've moved the equivalent of a regiment of militia into it. The knackers are forcing as many citizens in the captured area into the militia as they can. The only thing stopping them from forcing everyone to fight is apparently logistics. There just aren't enough weapons, or instructors to go around.' Hoffmeister gave a wry smile at that.
'Airstrike then.'
'Got an answer for that as well. Turns out that the base is also an airfield, and has been handed over to two squadrons of jets. One is an interceptor squadron. The other is air-superiority. As a result, there's also an air defence regiment situated there.'
'Well this just keeps getting better. And you're saying that this is a two-life bonus mission? Could they be any tighter?' Hotston held up his hand to show Hoffmeister that he didn't expect him to answer, 'Fine, we'll go with the hand we've been dealt. Suggestions?'
'We use Hamilton and his people to get us as close as possible. Recommend a platoon-sized attack. That way extraction will be nice and fast. Casualties will be minimised as well.'
'Tab in. Fight. Tab out.' Hotston had to agree that it was a nice and simple plan. The best ones usually were. But as the old maxim said, "plans never survived contact with the enemy", mostly because they had their own plans, none of which involved allowed the enemy to win.
'Yes, there's no way that the Hogs can pick you up from the base, it'll be too hot.'
'A regiment of militia is what, 2000 strong?' Hotston paused until Hoffmeister thought for a second or two, 'Then there's the air-defence regiment which is roughly 2000 strong as well. Then two squadrons of fighters, with about 450 personnel each. Say another 1000. 5000 thousand enemy personnel thus far. Most of them, thankfully, not actually front-line combat soldiers, but all able to pick up a weapon and fight if necessary. And on top of that we have a mech platoon and their infantry support as well. This just gets better and better.'
Hoffmeister smiled, 'Thought you'd like the odds. Still not all bad, we'll have the battle suits.'
'And no doubt you're going to tell me we can't have the mechs?'
'Yep. Spanish are saying they can't give us a drop either. Seems that things are not going well for them in orbit. And there's no way we can get the mechs to traipse 50 kilometres through enemy territory.'
Hotston bit his lip, frowning as he mulled things over. 'Fine, platoon sized it is. 1st squad will configure themselves for anti-mech. 2nd will be tasked with the infiltration and demolition. 3rd will be support. We'll enter the base when the target is in for downtime, plant charges, leave and blow it sky high.'
Hoffmeister nodded, 'Sounds good. Nice mix of
abilities and 1st will be in a good position to keep any mechs that start moving engaged whilst you bug out.'
'Hopefully none of the mechs will be bloody moving by the time we're through with them,' snapped Hotston, his tone sharper than he intended, 'Sorry, didn't mean it to sound like that. Let's go over the satellite image and plan ingress and egress.'
Within half-an-hour they had a plan that was a simple as they could make it. They would use Hamilton and his people to get within 5 kilometres or so of the enemy base. Any closer and they risked detection. They would then hike to the base and enter is as closely to the park-up mechs as possible. Using stealth tactics, 2nd squad would then place demolitions charges on the Janissary and exit the way they had come, whilst the other two squads waited in over watch positions. Once safely outside of the perimeter, the charges would be detonated, the mechs destroyed, and they would then hike back as quickly as possible to the extraction point.
'Who's leading on this then?' Hotston smiled as Hoffmeister asked the question. They both knew the answer.
'Me, I can't ask anyone else to throw a life away on a mission like this. I'm going to take Windsor as well, place her with the anti-mechs. She needs the extra lives after losing so many in Seville.' Placing her with the anti-mechs would mean that she wouldn't have to enter the base. Hopefully he could keep her out of combat entirely, yet still give her the opportunity to regain some lives.
Devon's Demons: A Permadeath LitRPG LitFPS Novel Page 13