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The Syracuse Deception

Page 20

by T. S. Williams


  Four shapes leapt out of the hole in the central column where the blister had been. Little specks of light appeared on them, thrusters straining to keep their fall slow and controlled. Greg flicked a switch and his forward Lidar display burst into life.

  The little figures grew in his vision, their Lidar returns settled into a predictable path.

  His eyes flicked over the velocity indicator, as Greg hit his target speed, he pitched five-zero’s nose up hard, lining up his rescue scoop for a catch. With thrusters on minimum, he watched his velocity run down, then turn negative. Five-zero started falling tail first towards the floor of the dock. Four armoured figures slid straight through the mouth of the rescue scoop, their thrusters flaring. One by one they hit the waiting mag catcher inside the scoop and were brought to rest in the shuttle with no more stress than a step off the kerb.

  Greg hit the yaw thrusters, heeling the shuttle over like a dolphin jumping from a wave, before climbing back up and closing on the central column. “Dreadnought, five-zero, continue sunburn mission”. The terse reply came back “Acknowledged five-zero”.

  A second maser strike from Dreadnought lashed the central column, this time much higher up. Atmosphere starting billowing out. The hole was big enough that it would take a few seconds to seal. Just enough for Greg to make the worst landing of his career. He fired the shuttle’s forward thrusters hard, there was no gentle mag catcher this time. He slightly misjudged the shuttle’s approach and he couldn’t correct in time. The starboard leading edge of five-zero clipped the rough outer edge of the temporary door Dreadnought had fashioned. The shuttle struck the deck. Really hard. Greg didn’t really follow exactly what happened next. He put it down to being bounced around during the crash. His four passengers recovered much faster. They burst out of the rescue scoop, maser carbines blazing, smart missiles slamming into targets still paralysed with shock.

  One moment the Blighted Imperial Hoplites had occupied a defensible space with limited ingress, which they had been busily improving with makeshift fortifications. The Blight constructs growing within them had managed to overcome the Laurentian jamming. The next, a wall had exploded inward and delivered angels of death into their midst.

  A third of the Hoplites died before they even realised what happened. The gestalt was staggered and then broken as the electronic warfare capability of the Laurentian combat suits added to the pandemonium.

  Greg sealed up his helmet, then slammed an armoured fist into the cockpit release pad. He crawled out of the shuttle, scuttling as fast as he could for cover. He managed to hang onto his maser carbine. The harsh staccato of Lakedaemon weapons started up, joining the rapid detonations of smart missiles and the scream of maser fire.

  He watched Magnus go forward. His psy-blade had formed an oblong shield and his maser carbine glowed red with waste heat from rapid fire. Armstrong had taken advantage of his Commander’s berserker charge and flanked left into cover. Thresher and Lincoln had taken up over-watch positions, suppressing many times their number. Their Masers walked back and forward across the large room sniping at targets of opportunity. Where they didn’t have line of sight, smart missiles lanced up and over before crashing down on their prey.

  Surprise was wearing thin now though. Many Lakedaemians died in the surprise assault. The survivors recovered they discipline and a thirst for vengeance filled them.

  Chapter 28

  Sergeant Augustine found himself once again grateful for a gift given him by Major Sharp, years before. The handheld smart missile launcher was bulky, hungry for ammo and inelegant. The standard over the shoulder launcher fired one smart missile at a time. His handheld version could fire six at once. But when you absolutely positively have to kill every mother fucker in the room, it was unbeatable.

  He’d separated from the main clash between his fellow Paras and the Blighted Imperials. He was now a third of the way up ship lock two, just high enough to look down on the Apollonius. Augustine could see the badly abraded armour, worn down by the flight down from orbit. A number of air locks were open along her length and troops continued pouring out of her.

  A throng of Imperial battle suits gathered in the bottom of the ship lock. It looked like a proper attack readying this time rather than the repeated feints that had been going on earlier. Augustine directed his mind’s eye to open a channel back to Major Sharp’s forward command post, but a powerful jamming field blanketed the area. He couldn’t connect to any other Para forces. In frustration, Augustine smacked his fist against the ship lock’s wall hard enough to leave a dent. The hole soon filled itself back in though, which annoyed him more.

  Augustine detached his smart missile pack from his back and began manually unloading it. Without the starting velocity imparted by the pack’s launch tube, they wouldn’t fly far, but in this case all they needed to do was drop down on their targets. If he fired them one by one, the Lakedaemians would have the chance to get into cover and fire back. Better they all arrived together as one big surprise. Eventually his full load of smart missiles lay on the deck, lined up so they could fly off the edge and down towards the battle suits below. He left six for his handheld launcher and popped his now empty pack back on. He might get to reload later. He hoped anyway.

  His mind’s eye struggled to link to each missile through the jamming, but in the end, he managed to program them all to his satisfaction. By the time Augustine was done, his heart seemed to be thumping so loud in his chest. It would surely give him away. Then the moment came, Augustine triggered them all at once. Sixty of the little missiles leapt off the edge, then cut their engines and dropping like silent death. Below the forces forming up to attack were devastated. Battle suits leaving the air locks on their ship, thus above the carnage, started shooting towards the launch point. They were too late. Sergeant Augustine had sprinted clear straight after setting off the missiles. The warrior in him wanted to see the carnage he had wrought. The professional soldier in him knew not to hang around. As Augustine ran, his heart filled with a visceral joy at the blow he’d struck.

  The Paratroopers stationed closest to the invaders watched as explosions broke out amongst the Hoplites ranks. The Imperial battle suited figures were ravaged by the surprise attack. A swift thinking Para Lieutenant sent Terminator drones raced forward adding to the carnage. The intruders took heavy casualties, but this left the gallant defenders short of ammunition.

  In ship lock two, the Blighted Lakedaemians weathered a terrible storm. One stood tall amongst the carnage and was not cut down. The bulk of the Apollonius loomed over him. In his past life, he had been Ypodekaneas Alectryon, part of the Ptolemic Hippeus. He had once lived to bring honour to his family by service to the Clone Prince. But now, he no longer remembered his own name, let alone his family. All he knew now, was rage. He wanted to kill. Shoot, smash, tear limb from limb. He had to slake the killing thirst.

  Then the second wave arrived, the cursed Terminator drones scampered forward with their disgusting mimicry of life. He charged forward, in his right hand, a coil gun fired rapidly. Slugs slammed into their targets, hurling them backwards.

  In his left hand, a wickedly sharp xiphos. The sparking blade arced above his head and pierced another drone. The anticipation of a kill was once again frustrated.

  The Blighted Alectryon barely felt the damage accumulating across his body, through his deteriorating battle suit. Any single wound would should have killed him stone dead, but for the battle madness and the Blight urging him on.

  Drone after drone fell to his rage fuelled charge. All Hoplites around him drew courage from his actions, following him forward. The remnants of Alectryon fell in battle before it reached the defenders. But the attack he begun pushed forward. The 95th’s first wave had to retreat back up the transport tube on foot. The defenders kept their discipline, moving backward, soldier covering soldier, each taking a knee in turn and covering the retreat of their brothers.

  A transport capsule was sent down to evacuate the defending troops
, but in the fierce fighting, it arrived too late, the unleashed Lakedaemon horde had wiped out the Laurentian vanguard to a man. There was no cover to hide behind. Nothing to stop bullets, beams, smart missiles or grenades. Warriors of both sides fell in droves.

  Major Sharp watched the fall of his Paras via mind’s eye from his forward command post. Bitter lamentations gripped his heart. Tears flowed unacknowledged down his checks. When the last Para fell, he increased the speed of the resupply capsule, far beyond safe limits. As the capsule’s operating system cried out in repeated warning, his mind’s eye overrode each one.

  The transport capsule slammed into the invaders like a sledgehammer into a nut. The capsule continued to the end of its track. It slammed into the emergency mag catcher and came shuddering to a halt. Nothing but wreckage remained. The grisly remains of Lakedaemon and Laurentian alike lay in its wake. He felt no satisfaction at avenging his lost Paras.

  Major Sharp strode straight out of his makeshift command post, rallied the nearest Paras and ordered them to advance on the Blighted invaders. A deep need for bloody murder engulfed his mind.

  The Paratroopers covering Ship Lock two’s other transport tube, suddenly found themselves reinforced. Half the forces remaining under Major Sharp’s command had been sent to their aid.

  Major Harrison Sharp was looking to wipe out every Lakedaemian who came to Cloud base aboard the Apollonius, he advanced with the other half of his troops. Every available dog drone now pushed forward to scout. Every Terminator drone moved to attack.

  Admiral Camperdown watched the redeployment of the 95th with growing unease. He didn’t dare jog Sharp’s elbow whilst the station’s defence hung in the balance. The invaders had to be quashed before Blight infection could take hold in Cloud base’s digital architecture, but he feared the Para Officer was letting fury and guilt drive his tactics. He could only watch as Sharp led a flying column down the transport tube. Sharp was a revered leader with in the 95th. As the senior Para survivor of the Eagle Incident, he’d set the tone of the unit for decades. The troopers with him bathed in his thirst for battle and returned it hundredfold.

  The Lakedaemians labouring under limited Blight infection suddenly found their fates had taken a turn for the worse. In each, the rate of infection abruptly soared. Each attacker quickly lost what little humanity was left to them physically and mentally. The Blight mass rose until Laurentian jamming could no longer prevent a gestalt forming.

  The gestalt drove its first rank of infected straight on to the advancing the Laurentian drones and Paras. Maser fire and smart missile attacks cleaved through the Blighted ranks. They died quickly and brutally, but bled their opponents a little bit in return.

  Major Sharp’s attack had been furious, but the gestalt’s counter was slowing it down. Paratroopers used Cloud base’s structure to grow cover and loosed of swathes of fire, using ammunition so fast the Tool mules acting as a supply chain could barely keep up with demand. Drones died and then the human casualties started racking up.

  Unbeknownst to Sharp and the 95th, Blight infections had subverted portions of Cloud base’s computer network. The corruption warped Cloud base. Some corridors along the Laurentian line of advance sealed, others warped into death traps as the molecular extrusion technology was commanded by the gestalt.

  Major Sharp had pushed through to his troopers’ forward position, rounds landed at his feet, grenades bouncing off walls. A handful of Paras held a vital junction allowing an advance to the wrecked battleship Apollonius. Ahead, at the next junction, Sharp could see enemy activity. The invaders had mastered the defenders’ own trick of growing cover from the walls.

  Sharp knew, without any doubt, the corridor was bait. Just as he faced the unpalatable decision to retreat or lead his troopers into a trap, Sergeant Augustine returned to friendly lines.

  Sharp’s mind’s eye showed him the sit rep sent down from Cloud base Operations. The Blight gestalt clearly sought to repeat the ancient Spartans exploits at the Battle of Thermopylae thousands of years before.

  Augustine, never a man interested in the events of antiquity, was now placed to unwittingly play the role of Ephialtes. Leading the Persians past the geography that enabled the Spartans legendary defence, spelling their doom.

  Sharp’s warring emotions threatened to overwhelm him. His friend and ally on countless battlefields had returned unscathed. They clasped forearms and Augustine found the energy to grin.

  Augustine had navigated through Cloud base’s defences and the unthinking aggression of the Lakedaemon Hoplites maddened by infection. Now he would lead the Paras past the invaders defences.

  Augustine led Sharp and a few chosen men back along his escape path, an old air circulation duct as big as a main corridor. None of the Blighted had managed to locate and secure it. The Paras had little trouble, apart from a short vertical run. The Paras traversed it by growing a ladder from the bulkhead.

  A few minutes later, Sharp, Augustine and their accompanying Paratroopers found themselves overlooking the Apollonius, resting on her belly in the ship lock. From this promising position, Sharp shared his plan of attack.

  Chapter 29

  Jones watched his friends with a growing dread. The Blighted Hoplites had counterattacked with unabashed fervour. Jones could see Magnus trying to maintain his push forward against a mounting hail of fire. Four Hoplites had him boxed in and they were relentlessly pounding him with grenades and coil gun slugs.

  Jones fired off a quarter of his smart missiles in a blink of his mind’s eye, trying to buy time for Magnus to fight clear. The volley crashed down around the Blighted Imperials, forcing them into cover. Magnus leapt up, his psy-blade morphed into a long shield. Thrusters on his back fired, propelling Magnus up in an arc. He didn’t choose to retreat as Jones expected. Instead Magnus dropped down on one of his tormentors and rode the Lakedaemon battle suit to the deck. He then executed the occupant with a point-blank head shot from his maser carbine, all the while blocking the shots of his other attackers with his shield.

  The nearest Hoplite leapt for Magnus, only for Armstrong to catch him by an armoured boot in mid-flight and swing him by his ankle into the deck. Armstrong jumped knee first on the struggling figure, pinning him to the deck. He dropped his maser carbine and drew an atom edged combat knife. The blade plunged in to the hilt, piercing the neck joint. The suit went slack.

  The remaining pair opened fire as they watched their fellows die. Coil gun rounds peppered the bulkhead behind Magnus. Armstrong rolled, grabbed his maser and came up in cover. As his carbine’s beam emitter poked over the top of a bench, he opened fire. The attackers fire dropped off, Magnus followed up with an angry telekinetic shove. Both Hoplites were thrown off their feet.

  Armstrong’s thrusters fired. He bounced out of cover and flew forward in a low flat trajectory, landing with both feet on the chest of his intended victim. The Hoplite looked up at Armstrong, resigned to his fate. The maser carbine fired again, burning through the less well protected vision slit and boiled the brain. The corpse twitched once.

  Magnus had followed Armstrong’s leap, his psi-blade morphed into an executioner’s axe. The blade buried itself deep in its target. Magnus and Armstrong retreated back towards Jones and the other Paras. Despite all the help from his implants and combat suit, Magnus could feel tiredness building in his muscles. Each step was just a little harder. The constant danger over the last hour was eating at him and the feeling they wouldn’t hold Cloud base sat in his gut like a ball of lead. Armstrong, normally happiest in a foot soldier’s battle, also looked slower.

  Jones, Lincoln and Thresher had taken position in an office overlooking the utility craft bay. They took turns firing off speculative smart missiles, looking for targets of opportunity. Every so often they were rewarded with a casualty. Despite this, the Lakedaemians kept up the pressure, landing shots all around Jones and the Paras as they sniped away with maser carbines.

  As he ran, Magnus was driven by some deeper instinct to
look up, just in time to see a portable generator fly over his head. It collided with a tall stack of equipment in front of him. Time seemed to slow, the wreckage pile tilted, ever so slowly at first, then faster and faster. Magnus leapt back, trying to escape, but his legs were tired. He tripped and landed on his back. His mind push upward by instinct and with the force of desperation. He caught the falling weight with telekinesis and dropped it all to the deck with a crash.

  Armstrong sprinted up to join Magnus. Ahead, three smart missiles detonated in quick succession. A cloud of smoke and debris blocked everyone’s vision for an instant, then a tall figure appeared leading a group forward. Their kit was better, particularly the weapons. They reminded Magnus of Hecate’s Hippeis.

  The leader flicked his wrist, just as Armstrong launched another smart missile straight at him. The smart missile detonated a metre into its flight. Most of the force from its shaped charge warhead should have gone forward but instead the blast turned back on Armstrong. Clearly there was something different about this Lakedaemian.

  Armstrong took the force of the blast and was hurled backwards. He flew ten metres, but managed to control the landing with his suit thrusters. He was badly shaken. Armstrong ducked into the first solid cover he could find, but lost contact with the leader. The melee was moving so fast it was hard to keep up situation awareness, even for an experienced Para.

  In the meantime, Magnus hauled himself back to his feet. Thresher moved faster. The young Para managed to zero in on a nearby Hoplite. His maser beam struck the target’s battle suit, which turned red and smoked as he rolled into cover. Another Hoplite moved in, peppering Thresher’s position with slugs from a coil gun, forcing him back.

  Magnus came to Thresher’s aid. He used telekinesis to snap off a two-metre-long bar from nearby. Magnus shot it towards Thresher’s attacker and buried it deep in his torso, breaching the battle suit between armour plates under the left arm pit.

 

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