Chaos Quarter: Imperial Ambitions Page 38

  The line went dead. Had he just heard that? Had Lucius just challenged them all to take him alive? Could this possibly be real, his brother on this cursed planet, helping the brute, serf animals to fight?

  But logically it made sense. The resistance of the serfs had been especially fierce. He doubted if six hundred warriors remained alive. The rabble had known how to fight the Forlorn Hope Brigades, known to make them fight the fight they wanted them to. They’d broken up their sprints, taken up in strongholds, and forced light infantry to attack fortified positions. It was not the work of feral animals. It was the work of a man familiar with war, trained in it. Lucius was a former noble. He was trained in war. He had to be behind all of this.

  With a cold shiver he realized that it also explained the foe in the powered armor. It was whispered that Lucius had fled to the Terrans after his escape. It only made sense that they would put him to work, use his knowledge against the empire. They had to have given him the ship and the armor. How else would serfs in the Chaos Quarter get their hands on that sort of tech?

  Running feet broke his thoughts. Warriors were sprinting from their positions, falling back and heading for the spaceport. It took a moment for Aetius to put it together. They were going for Lucius. He could understand why. The glory and reward for bringing him in was greater than anything killing these feral serfs could bring. But the feral serfs still held this building, in force. He may never have been in a battle before, but he knew enough of tactics to know you had to deal with the threats in front of you.

  “Hold your positions! All warriors, remain engaged with your foes!” he ordered over the common frequency.

  It did nothing to stop the flood. Half the rifles that had been covering the building were already gone, sprinting toward the spaceport.

  “Damn fools,” he muttered. “Subcommanders, return your men to position and resume the assault—”

  He stopped dead, seeing one such subcommander sprint by, dozens of warriors in tow. Aetius crouched down in the doorway where he’d taken cover, quickly examining the situation. It wasn’t good. Maybe fifty or sixty warriors remained in position, facing the holed-up serfs, which meant an even fight in terms of numbers, with their enemy holding a fortified location. Beasts or not, even serfs could win in such a position. And annoyed as he was with the warriors, it was common sense to take advantage of momentum when it existed. He couldn’t stop them from going for Lucius, so he might as well use their enthusiasm.

  He turned, waving on the warriors nearest him. They sprinted back a block and then turned left onto a cross street. Two blocks later they pulled up behind a mass of warriors.

  “All men, take up position along the walls. Stay low until the order is—”

  They didn’t listen. Their blood was up, and they sprinted out into the open meadow. Aetius’s eyes went wide with horror, knowing full well what was about to happen. He’d seen it once already, not a half hour before. Except this time it wasn’t a bunch of serfs hiding behind chairs and tables with handheld rifles; it was an armored spaceship with heavy guns and an absolutely clear field of fire. The Forlorn Hope valued speed above all else, but they couldn’t be foolish enough to think they could outpace a damned rail-gun!

  But they kept on running.

  Idiots!

  He skidded to a stop and dove toward the nearest building. He hit the ground, feeling a pair of steps on his back as eager warriors trampled him to get to their prize.

  He staggered up, stumbling into the home. He had barely straightened up when a screeching roar drowned out all other sound.

  ***

  Longshot

  “Autofire side turrets; focus on the clumps,” Lucius said calmly.

  “Understood,” the computer replied.

  “Call out any patterns or large groups,” he said to Helen. She nodded, locking in intently on the holograms above her station.

  Lucius took control of the rear turret. With a wave of his hands, he expanded the holographic rear-camera image, so it surrounded him like a “U,” giving him a 180-degree view. The targeting reticule floated over the center, moving as he moved the yoke.

  He focused on the nearest street, where a flood of warriors was pushing through—the warriors trampling over the bodies of their fallen comrades. He squeezed, lacing the mob with a hail of fire. The bodies dissolved in a maelstrom of blood. He quickly shifted left, to the next street down, where another force ran for the spaceport. He targeted the end of the street, where it opened to the meadow. Unable to get a direct line due to its position, he settled for cutting into the flanks of the men. The guns leaped to life. The warriors fell in droves, bodies collapsing in heaps.

  “Right!” Helen shouted. A large group, fifty warriors of so, had reached the meadow and was spreading out. Lucius slewed the back turret across their front, aiming for their feet so that as they ran forward they would sprint into his line of fire. The spray of slugs tore through the line, putting half its number down in a handful of seconds. The gun kept sweeping right, until it nearly overlapped the side turret’s field of fire. Both of those guns were hotly engaged, gunning down warriors trying to flank them.

  “Another mass moving down the center,” warned Helen.

  Lucius jerked the gun left, sweeping another arc of thirty-millimeter shots across the survivors of his last assault. More fell, but he didn’t keep his focus on them. Thirty-odd warriors were leaping through the corpses of the first charge, the lead elements already in the meadow. Lucius took aim and riddled a small mass, destroying it and then swiveling the rear turret in small arcs, spraying the remaining men as they worked through. One by one they fell, until only five or six remained.

  “On left!” cried Helen.

  He complied, riddling a new squad of warriors.

  “Center!”

  “Left!”

  “Right, closing!”

  “Center!”

  With each cry the gun swirled and barked, decimating its target. Bodies piled up, clumps of them scattered in a crescent around the rear of the ship. He didn’t bother trying to keep track; there were too many. One hundred, one hundred twenty, one hundred fifty…chewed up in minutes and left in pieces scattered across the meadow.

  “Large group approaching left!” Helen yelled. “They’re almost at the tarmac!”

  Lucius changed turrets, the image shifting around him. His eyes widened at the sight. At least one hundred warriors were sprinting at him, spreading out to increase their odds. He jerked the gun barrel down to get a closer shot and opened up on them.

  “Ken, focus your fire right! All of your men!” Lucius ordered, tracing fire across the attack. The warriors fought gamely, firing blindly at the ship with rifles and grenades. The ship shrugged off the assault with little worry. The real danger was these people getting to the rear of the ship and charging the barricade.

  One by one the warriors fell, their bodies exploding under the impact of the thirty-millimeter slugs. They dropped quickly, but they closed quickly as well. Soon they would be close enough to get under the ship, where the turret couldn’t reach them, where they could work their way around the ship unencumbered.

  “Another force coming center!”

  “Ken, the guys on right are all you now!” Lucius shouted.

  “Understood,” Ken replied over the comm, the sound of rifle fire thick in the background.

  “Rear turret!” Lucius declared.

  The image shifted back to the rear-turret view, where Lucius saw what he had feared—another force, of one hundred or so, already on the tarmac and closing. They’d used the starboard charge he’d just decimated to get close. The rear turret had been on autofire, but as Rex would say, “computers can’t read their opponent for shit.” Now they were up close, leaving him a handful of seconds to thin out their numbers for the people on the barricade.

  The rear turret opened up again, cutting out the center of the charge. Bodies flopped and fell, in pieces, splitting the attack into two mobs. But the mobs
kept going, undoubtedly salivating at the chance of capturing him and bringing him back to the empire in chains.

  He focused on the left mass, not wanting them to link up with the survivors of the charge he’d just shot up. The spray of fire cut across the front of the mob and then worked backward, dissolving it into a battered little clump.

  “Here they come!” Cindy’s voice came over the comm.

  “Bloody hell…”

  ***

  The screams came before the gunshots did—children crying out in terror, mothers and grandparents shouting and trying to cover them. Then came the loud pops of Europan rifles, and the pounding of feet.

  Second found new figures beside her. They were older men, with graying hair and weathered faces. Moments ago they had been behind her, on the floor of the cargo bay. Now they were here. They were armed only with pistols and wore no body armor, but they’d joined the fight all the same.

  One such man, a pudgy fellow who breathed heavily, rose and opened fire with his pistol. Second did the same, bringing her rifle up and over the barricade.

  Forty angry men greeted her. They sprinted toward the base of the ramp, guns up and firing. Their shots were wild, but there were a lot of them. The crates forming the barricade groaned and splintered as the bullets him home. Other rounds went high, streaking into the cargo bay and embedding themselves in the walls.

  She felt her gun recoil against her shoulder, not entirely aware she was shooting. It just came instinctively now. She could not explain why, but really felt no need to. As awareness of what she was doing seeped in; the only thing she felt the need to do was kill the men in front of her, before they reached her.

  She put two rounds into a warrior’s chest and then another pair into a second. A spherical object flew her way.

  “Grenade!” shrieked Cindy.

  The defenders ducked reflexively, the grenade exploding loudly. The crates absorbed the blow, but it had done its job. It had bought the warriors precious moments to advance. They were on the ramp now, their footfalls reverberating on the metal as the pounded toward her.

  She leaped back up, shocked at how much closer the warriors were, at how quick they moved. She squeezed, putting two rounds in the head of the lead warrior. Now the militia had their moment. A barrage of fire cut into the desperate Europans, killing a dozen of them in what seemed like the blink of an eye. The warriors broke, running to the side of the ramp. For a moment Second thought they would fall back but then she spotted a figure at the base of the ramp, with something on his shoulder—a weapon.

  “Rail-gun!” cried one of the militia, diving for cover.

  The weapon flashed, a streak of light slamming into the barricade ten feet to her left. The pudgy man, and two other militia, vanished in a ball of fire and smoke. Second hurtled backward, slamming hard against the metal floor of the cargo bay. Her vision swam, and she shook her head automatically, frantically trying to clear her scrambled mind. A hand grabbed her, pulled her back. Who? She gazed about, disjointed, seeing the fuzzy image of Cindy above her.

  Something registered in her brain: the hard feeling of metal. Her gun was still in her hands. She lifted it awkwardly, trying to get it up to her shoulder. As she did a figure appeared in her line of sight. He was big, in gray fatigues and body armor: a warrior.

  She squeezed the trigger, knocking the man backward. His armor ate the round, but he still struggled to bring his gun up. Another figure darted in front of him—another warrior. Her mind clearing, Second lurched forward, pressing the trigger again and again. The new figure jerked back, falling to the floor. The first was up again, only to be shot from behind by the reforming militia.

  She struggled to a crouch, chaos breaking out in front of her. Five warriors rushed through the breach, only to be leaped upon by the militia. Fists and rifle butts flew as they clashed. She fought to find a target, but they were moving too quickly. Unsure of what to do, she glanced about. Cindy was still on the line, shooting up the few remaining warriors on the ramp.

  Second looked back, and saw a warrior bull forward, flattening a young man under his feet, charging straight for her. Second fired instinctively, putting two rounds into his chest. The warrior jolted but kept going, his momentum carrying him forward. Angry, he raised his weapon, moving to smash the butt down on her head.

  Second jerked her weapon around, thrusting its stock up under the man’s neck, arresting his blow. But the warrior’s weight fell on her, driving her to the ground. Suddenly he was on top of her, his forearm pressing down on her throat. She grabbed at if frantically and then flung a hand free, reaching for her hip. She found a knife, pulled it, and stabbed at the man’s ribs. The knife pressed hard against the armor; the suit held. Second stabbed again and again to no effect. Her vision blurred, the angry glare of the warrior becoming fuzzy as he pressed down harder.

  A rifle swung out of the corner of her vision, smashing into the warrior’s head. He rolled sideways, trying to steady himself. Before he could the barrel of the gun jammed into his face and flashed fire.

  Second blinked, seeing Cindy standing over the dead warrior, gun ready. Second gasped for breath, taking two deep breaths before moving to find her gun. She grabbed it, stumbling to her feet. Looking toward the breach in the barricade, she expected to see a fight. Instead she saw bodies. Four warriors lay motionless, alongside an equal number of militia. An older man, one of the refugees, stood over them. His face was bloody, but he moved quickly from one warrior to the next, putting a bullet into their heads.

  “You all right?” asked Cindy.

  Second tried to speak, her voice catching. She took a few more deep breaths and then nodded.

  “Good,” Cindy said. She wiped at her brow, surveying the situation around her. “That was closer than I’d like.”

  Second nodded again, and then turned to the ramp. What she saw shocked her. For the first time, she could get a clear look out onto the tarmac, and what she saw was bodies. Dozens upon dozens, scattered about in heaps, in pieces or battered beyond recognition. Painful groans filled the air, but it took her a moment to realize that they were coming from behind her, from the militia hurt in the fight. No groans came from outside. They were all dead.

  “He did this?” Cindy said, also surveying the scene. “Baliol did this?”

  “Lucius is a capable gunner,” Second said perfunctorily.

  “By God…did I read him wrong,” Cindy said, shaking her head. She turned back, to the refugees lying flat on the cargo bay floor.

  “Anybody who can, help us move a new crate into position. We need to get this line back up before another wave comes,” Cindy barked. “Now! Before they come again. Let’s go!”

  ***

  Valley Town

  The warriors’ shift had been sudden, immediate. Rex had listened to Lucius’s words and then watched as the one hundred men surrounding the jail shrank to a mere dozen. And that dozen shouted among themselves, unsure of what to do.

  Rex knew what to do. Turning from his position beneath a window, he found Kate, close-by. She was back a few feet from a similar window, her gun up and ready.

  “It worked,” he said simply.

  She nodded. “So they’re not shooting at us. But they’re still between us and the ship.”

  “So we go around,” Rex said. “They’ll be expecting us to go out the back door, try to break through their lines, and go straight for the ship. If we strike west, loop around…”

  “…we approach your ship from the side and put some distance between us and the warriors,” she surmised.

  “Space is good,” Rex said.

  “They’ll still see us,” Kate said. “Your ship’s casting light in every direction, and they got those damn illumination drones. Even with a few hundred yards between us and them, we’ll still be in range of their rifles.”

  “In range, yes, but not in effective range,” Rex said. “Not many unaided eyes can line up a shot two hundred yards away, especially when Lucius is blasting
them to bits with the big guns.”

  Kate ducked her head, in thought. She nodded slowly.

  “We’ll have to put ourselves in front of them,” Kate said gravely. Rex didn’t have to ask to realize she meant putting herself, him, and the six remaining militia between the civilians and the warriors. They would be making themselves clear targets, to hopefully draw fire away from the civilians and buy them enough time to reach Longshot. But in the thick of a fight, bullets didn’t always go to their targets, and it was inevitable that some of the refugees would be cut down.

  Rex mumbled. “Maybe...”

  Kate’s head cocked quizzically.

  “What do you mean?” Kate asked.

  Rex extended the bayonets on his arms and then retracted them.

  “I think I know a way to draw their attention away from you,” Rex said.

  Kate’s eyes widened in recognition.

  “Are you mad? You can’t—”

  “I can,” Rex said, getting to his feet. “And I will. So either get your people moving, or miss your chance.”

  Kate moved to argue, but Rex was already gone. Kate sighed and then moved down the hallway, to the cells where the refugees waited.

  “Okay, everybody, on your feet! We’re going west and taking the long way ’round. So move quickly and stay together…”

  ***

  The Valley

  Jake kept his pace down so as not to outrun the half-dozen militia behind him. They jogged steadily, managing to keep their guns up and in a ready position. Jake scanned the ground ahead of him, switching between the visual and infrared spectrums, watching. They hadn’t seen any warriors since the stampede. He figured most had headed for the village. He didn’t want to think of the other possibility, that they had captured their prey and were having their “fun” with them, but it kept popping up in his mind. Before today he’d never been particularly fond of Europans; nobody was. But it had been a passive hate, not something he’d spent much time thinking about. Seeing the bastards run down and murder innocent people, all while trying to do the same to him…it kind of made him understand why Rex’s people despised the Europans so deeply. When it came to being bastards, they were in a class of their own.