Siege Protocol: The Separatist Wars: Book 3

by Thomas Webb

  Hale thought hard. He wasn’t opposed to bringing a gun to a knife fight. But Kris had already used up a round of precious Jarret ammo. Did he really want Zombie to spend a LAW round? He was afraid they might need the extra firepower before this was all over.

  “Negative,” Hale told her. “Much as I’d enjoy seeing some shit go boom, let’s keep them in reserve. For now,” he added. “Here,” Hale said, reaching inside his pack. “Take a few of these.”

  Zombie’s eyes lit up at the site of the antipersonnel mines. “Nice consolation prize,” she said.

  A single pulse round snapped into the shed wall, followed by an onslaught of others.

  “Coffee break’s over,” Hale said. “That’s our cue, people. Lash—do your thing.”

  Lash stuck close to the shed, cutting the corner and leaning out just far enough to expose as little of himself and the 267 as possible. When he was set, the Salayan gunner opened up. The sound of the heavy pulse weapon was as good a signal to go as they could ask for.

  This time Hale sent Kris first. She would get the Jarret in position, and hopefully take out some of the bad guys behind cover. The heavy caliber precision pulse weapon was designed to penetrate cover, and had already proven effective once.

  Hale turned to his 2IC. “Your turn, Razor Two.”

  Zombie shook her head. “Like hell it is. I aint’t going to be the first to cover while your ass hangs in the wind.”

  From behind his helmet Hale shot her an incredulous look “We really arguing about this? Now?”

  He could imagine the smirk on her face. “Age before beauty,” she said.

  He didn’t have time to argue. “Fair enough,” he said. He could use the time to work on the code to the hangar door anyway. He trusted Zombie enough to call an audible.

  Hale sprinted from cover, dodging incoming fire. The space to the hanger’s rear entrance couldn’t have been more than a hundred meters, but it felt like a thousand.

  A small outcropping covered the door leading inside. Kris was already there and proned out, behind the Jarret’s sub-thermal scope and choosing her barricaded targets wisely. Hale hit the outcropping fast, getting to the door. He hastily disengaged his armor’s gauntlet, twisted it off, and then slammed his naked hand onto the door’s biometric sensor.

  “Recognizing Trace Hale,” the computerized voice recited. “Good afternoon, Trace.”

  Hale wished the lock would spare them the damn pleasantries and just open the hell up already. Pulse rounds slammed into the flimsy outcropping, turning the weak spots red and scoring as they went. The steady thump of the Jarret overshadowed the smaller arms. A chest-sized hole appeared in an android merc that had raised itself up too high from cover. The music ended when Kris switched magazines. After what seemed an eternity, the hangar side door opened with an audible clack.

  “Finally,” Hale said, exasperated. He got to a knee and sighted in his rifle, sliding just out of cover. “Covering!” he shouted, firing as he did so. “Move your asses!”

  “Moving!” Lash shouted back.

  Zombie and Lash ran the final hundred meters. The big Salayan moved at the fastest limp Hale had ever seen. Zombie slowed her pace, never leaving his side, and soon they were across the open space. The Salayan stumbled past Hale and ducked into the hanger, followed by the prior-service green beret.

  Hale kept his rifle up with one hand. The stock never left his shoulder. His eyes never left the sights. He shifted next to Kris and placed a hand on her armored shoulder.

  “Get inside,” he ordered.

  Kris nodded, and was up and headed inside in a split second. Hale sighted in on one of the more aggressive attackers and opened up. As they dove for cover, he felt a smack on his shoulder plate.

  “Last man,” Kris said, reminding him that everyone was inside except him. Hale backed his way into the door, keeping his sights toward the enemy while his firing hand shouldered the rifle. With his other hand, he began pulling the door shut. Only centimeters separated the blast door from closing when Hale felt the round impact his chest.

  “Gah!” he gasped, managing to keep up his pull on the door. It closed with a loud thunk.

  “FAST Armor capacitor at two-zero percent,” his armor’s automated warning system informed him. “Do you wish to engage power saving mode?”

  Hale grit his teeth and clasped his chest. He might have received a bruised rib from that final parting shot. “Negative,” he growled. “Voice override. authorization razor zero-one alpha niner.”

  “Power saving mode overridden,” his armor replied.

  All four of them, Hale and his team, dropped back against the wall. They sucked in great, gasping lungfuls of air. Even Kris’nac, normally nonplussed in the direst of situations, was breathing hard.

  “Fuck me!” Zombie shouted. They took a rare second to catch their collective breath. “What the hell just happened?”

  “We just got goat-screwed,” Hale growled.

  “Are you—are you hit?” Zombie asked, panting.

  “No shit,” Hale replied, checking the scorch mark on his armor’s chest plate.

  “No need to get bitchy about it,” Zombie said. “You act like you died or something.”

  Hale ignored Zombie, looking up at the offices above. No blast marks, no pulse fire. It all looked intact—hopefully that meant the TOC hadn’t actually fallen. He studied the hanger and the smaller entry doors. The reinforced blast doors were strong, but they wouldn’t hold forever. With the main force poised to come flooding through the front gates at any second, they didn’t have much time. Hale cast a worried eye on Lash, who was looking about as bad as Hale had ever seen him. Unfortunately, they wouldn’t be able to get him all the medical help he needed just yet.

  “Ok, people,” Hale said. “Let’s get up to the TOC. Looks like it’s still secure. At least for now. We’ll regroup there and work up a plan.”

  Lash took a step and faltered. Hale and Kris got an arm each under his bulk, helping him across the hanger deck and to the stairs.

  “How ‘bout if we get out of this alive, you lay off the rats?” Zombie told him. “You’re heavy as hell, man.”

  “Just worry about getting me to safety, human,” Lash said. He chuckled, then winced.

  The sound of mortars and rockets impacting the surrounding forest could be heard outside.

  Zombie looked at Hale. “They’re mounting a coordinated assault.”

  “Sounds like it,” he agreed.

  For once, he regretted their home base being on the outskirts of Sao Paulo. They were far enough from the city that even the racket of a full-scale attack wouldn’t be heard. Some police or military help would be welcome right about now, but with comms blocked, and with the local festivals in full swing, it wasn’t likely they’d be getting any.

  A hard trek up the hangar deck stairs later, they hit the landing outside the suite of offices and rooms that comprised ASI’s HQ. As they approached the doors to the TOC, the lock buzzed them clear. They burst inside, setting Lash down with a groan on the sofa.

  An angry looking Silvio Lima stood next to X37’s drone body. Lima wore modular body armor, and a pulse pistol attached to the belt on his hip. A STAR rifle lay within easy reach. Four of X37’s six shiny drone arms held long guns.

  “Give me a sitrep,” Lima said, not taking his eyes off the holo monitors.

  “We’re glad to see you too, old man,” Zombie said.

  “They killed comms,” Lima said. Hale had never seen him this angry. “We had you on the holo screens, but were not able to communicate.”

  “Help would have been nice,” Zombie quipped.

  “Had you needed it, I would have come. But we could not leave the TOC unattended. Now how about that sitrep I asked for?”

  “You saw what we saw,” Hale said, “but I’ll give you my take anyway. It’s not looking good. We’ve got an unknown number of enemy combatants hitting the HQ from at least three positions. We’re taking small arms, rocket, and mor
tar fire from God knows where, and—” Something on the security feeds caught Hale’s eye. He peered at the holographic images. “Christ in the stars—are those mechs?”

  Lima nodded. “At least five of them. Armed with heavy pulse cannons.” The mechs onscreen moved into position. “They have not yet been able to breach, but—” A loud series of booms cut Lima off as the mechs unleashed on the gate. “But it looks like now they have,” he finished.

  “We need a QRF,” Zombie said. “ASAFP.”

  “Any way we can get comms back up?” Hale asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

  “I am afraid not, Staff Sergeant,” X37 said. “But I am working on it.”

  “Ok,” Zombie said. “What’s our exit strategy?”

  “Shane took the only transport we had to North America,” Lima said. “And the gunship is down for repairs.”

  “It won’t take them long to cut through those hangar access doors,” Hale said.

  Liam nodded. “Agreed. Our first concern should be the main force attacking from the front. Better to face them on our own terms than to wait and face them on theirs.” Lima looked to Lash and Kris. Lash had laid back on the sofa, breathing heavily and looking worse for wear. Kris stood watch by the door, cradling the Jarret.

  “Do either of you have any input here” Lima asked. “Lash? Kris’nac?”

  Lash waved the question away. “I’ll do whatever the team does.”

  Kris nodded, not taking her eyes off the door. “Same.”

  “Only one choice as I can see,” Zombie said.

  Hale nodded. “Same here.”

  Once, early in his career, Hale’s team had been out on patrol, and they’d been hit. An ambush. Hale, a green corporal, had walked them right into it. Lucky for him, he’d also walked them back out again. In his experience, there was only one way to defeat an ambush.

  “So we assault through,” he told the room.

  “We assault through,” Lima echoed.

  “We assaulting through?” Zombie asked. “Cool. I haven’t made a final stand against overwhelming odds in at least three months.”

  “If we get out of this alive,” Lima said, almost to himself, “my very next purchase will be an armored vehicle.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Hale added.

  The sounds of fire grew louder. The mechs were on the move. Time for them to do the same.

  “Kris-get up to the roof with that Jarret,” Hale said. “Take overwatch on the southern outcropping. Primary objective is to cover down on any activity at the gate. Secondary objective is to cover us as best you can. Save those Jarret rounds for the mechs. Lash—we’ll get you another stim booster. We need you to hold with the 267 at the rear hangar access door for as long as you can. Zombie—you’ll be with me.”

  “I will have X37 support Lash,” Lima said. “When they can no longer defend, they will make a tactical retreat back here. Then together we will hold the TOC for as long as we can.”

  Hale nodded. “Sounds like we have a plan.”

  * * *

  A barrage of pulse fire snapped into the packing units they covered behind. The perimeter guns had popped up and were doing a decent job of making the enemy keep their heads down, but they couldn’t last forever. Already, enemy troops were focusing on taking them down.

  “Looks like we got about two mikes of perimeter cover left,” Zombie said. She was looking toward where the enemy was assaulting. The distance was too far out for them to engage, yet not enough of an immediate threat for Kris to waste a Jarret round. “They’re setting the charges now.”

  Hale leaned out and engaged a couple of the enemy who’d gotten too close. He sent them a reminder that he and his team weren’t dead yet.

  “I’m more worried about those mechs,” Hale said. They hadn’t advanced since he’d seen them on the security images demolishing the gate. He guessed they were waiting for the perimeter guns to go down before moving in for the kill.

  Zombie grinned and gave her LAW rounds a pat. “Good thing I had the bright idea to bring these babies.”

  Hale agreed. There were several muffled explosions. The perimeter guns fell silent.

  “Looks like it’s party time,” Hale said. “Hey. . . in case I don’t get chance to say it later? It’s, uh, been good rolling with you, Zombie. You’re a hell of a soldier.”

  “Thanks, Hale.” She punched his arm. “But save the heroic speech for another time. We ain’t worm food just yet.”

  “I know,” Hale said. “Just in case.”

  Pulse fire on their positions resumed, more accurate this time and growing closer by the minute. The stomp of approaching mechs resounded across the tarmac. Hale took in their approaching doom and smiled. He turned to Zombie, unsurprised to see the same look mirrored on her face.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Bet your ass I am,” she said. “Time to rain down some hate. Let’s hit ‘em.”

  Zombie jumped out from the left of the box, Hale to the right. Zombie locked on and launched a LAW straight at the first mech in range. The rocket slammed into the thing’s knee servo, severing its leg and dropping it. Damaged, it toppled over, still firing.

  “Only five more to go!” she shouted.

  That was a lucky shot. It was unlikely they’d score another one. And Zombie only had two rockets left.

  Hale spotted a tango with an SFC moving up. The armored attacker stood, aiming the Shoulder Fired Cannon in on their position. Hale sighted and fired at the troop’s helmet. The shot dropped him, but not before the SFC fired off. The shoulder cannon’s pulse charge flew wide and to the left, slamming into a group of enemy troops on the flank and exploding on impact. A second mech ambled forward, a squad of armored attackers at its back. A thump sounded from above. The shot snapped through the mech’s chest with an earsplitting crack. The Jarret round pierced mech, operator, and power source, bringing the thing to a grinding halt.

  “Damn, she’s a good shot!” Zombie shouted. “She sucker-punched that motherfucker!”

  Hale smiled, thinking the exact same thing. It was a helluva shot. But a Jarret magazine held only five rounds. Kris had fired three getting them off the rear flight deck, so she had, by Hale’s count, one round and maybe one more full magazine left. She’d made a great shot, but with their surprise now blown, she probably wouldn’t get another one like it. As if they’d read Hale’s thoughts, a withering hail of fire shifted toward the hangar roof.

  “They got her pegged,” Zombie said.

  “She can shoot and move,” Hale countered. He got the STAR up and working. “We hold what we got here. Conserve your ammo. Pick your shots.”

  “Dammit!” Zombie shouted, turning. “Contact rear!”

  Hale turned, seeing what Zombie saw. A pair of enemy fighters had flanked them. He turned to engage. Now he and Zombie were fighting on two fronts. Sounds of explosives—the anti-personnel mines—sounded from the back of the hangar. The bad news was that the access door was breached. The good news was that someone had found the surprise Hale left them.

  “Rear access door’s blown,” Zombie said.

  “I heard,” Hale replied. Things were getting hairy now. “I’m going to engage the flank,” he said. “Time to fall back.”

  She gave him the nod. “I’m set. Got your cover.”

  Now or never.

  “Moving,” Hale said.

  “Move,” Zombie answered.

  Hale flipped the STAR’s safety on and darted out under Zombie’s covering fire. He moved to where the flankers had covered near the hangar. Hale disengaged the rifle’s safety and snapped the corner. The first fighter stepped right into his line of sight. Hale unloaded into the enemy fighter’s face shield, dropping him in an instant. He wasn’t so lucky with the second. Quicker on her feet than her partner, she grabbed the barrel of Hale’s rifle.

  Hale grunted inside his helmet, sweat pouring despite the armor’s climate controls. This one knew what she was doing, pulling him in close so he couldn�
��t utilize the rifle or get to his sidearm. The two of them struggled for control of the gun. From this position, neither Zombie nor Kris could help him. Not that they had the time to spare even if they could.

  The Separatist twisted Hale’s rifle, her armored knee shooting up and meeting his torso with a force that rattled his teeth.

  “Ungh!” Hale grunted, feeling that bruised rib. Pain, red and bright, flared behind his eyes. He pushed it down as he squeezed the rifle’s trigger.

  The pulse round flew wild. The enemy fighter took advantage of the recoil and used the barrel as a lever, slamming Hale into the hangar wall. Another blast of pain zapped into him. His ribcage screamed in protest. Hale ate the force of the blow, using it as an opportunity to drop his pulse mag to the deck. He gave up on the rifle, gambling that he could get to his sidearm. He pulled it, but she stuffed the draw before he could fully aim in. He got one shot off into her armored midsection.

  “Ughh!” she grunted.

  Payback’s a bitch, he thought.

  With her armor taking the brunt of it, she was still in the fight. She wasted no time chopping down hard on Hale’s forearm, sending his pistol flying.

  Damn, these Separatists are getting better.

  Somewhere behind him, Hale heard the swoosh of a LAW rocket. He’d hoped for some backup from Zombie, but it sounded like she had her hands full.

  Desperate to finish this and get back to the real fight, Hale sidestepped and got behind the woman, grabbing her own rifle and using it to ‘choke’ her armor at the throat. The rifle cooked one off, adding another stray shot to an already chaotic battle. Hale ripped the rifle from her grasp, then delivered a powered kick to her back that sent her flying. Hale shouldered the commandeered rifle, sighted in, and pulled the trigger.

  A disappointing whine was the result.

  Hale cursed. An empty pulse mag. Probably the reason she hadn’t engaged him when he’d first rounded the corner and taken out her friend. He saw her face through the helmet’s shield. She snarled as she went for her own sidearm. Hale leapt at her, flipping the empty pulse rifle so that he held it by the barrel. He teed off mid-jump, delivering what he hoped would be the mother of all vertical butt strokes.