Osdal (Harmony War Series Book 3) (32 page)

He landed, the Chosen running out of rounds and throwing the gun at Mark. Mark batted it aside, breaking his left hand from the force it was thrown at.

The powered armor jumped, throwing their fist forward to catch Mark unaware, distracted by the gun.

Mark ducked right, bracing the blade with his right hand and left forearm. The blade caught the powered armor in the chest, cutting down to the leg. The Chosen fell, and Mark could hear them screaming inside the armor.

Mark flicked the blood off of his blade and ran towards Niemi who was fighting from the turret, caught in the ring that the heavy machine gun moved on. Mark drove his blade up through the first Chosen’s lower back. Wearing armor, they were all a foot or two taller than Mark.

The first yelled and jumped away, but with their kidney punctured they wouldn’t last long.

Mark cut another’s leg off at the knee and stabbed through the back of their helmet; they dropped lifelessly. Others turned to face Mark, and Niemi took advantage. Using the lower gravity, her jump put her on top of a Chosen’s shoulders. She grabbed their helmet to steady herself and drove her sword into the helmet chest joint.

She jumped off, cutting another’s arm off, turning and slicing down their back.

Nerva had said how fighting with a sword was a dance, with your fists or shorter blades it was a frenzy. Fighting with a sword you needed to disengage, make sure the blade didn’t get caught. It had greater reach, but once it was committed, stopping your attack was almost impossible. With your fists and small blades, you hammered the person fast and quick, and did as much damage as you could, keeping in the person’s sphere.

So Mark danced. His armor was stained red as he jumped sideways onto the ball of his foot, only to come back, point first into his attacker’s side, then continue past, his blade coming around to take a hand off, ducking low, a foot, back up gutting another Chosen.

He and Niemi cleared their attackers, then they looked at one another, nodding before turning to their comrades.

They ran, jumping a dozen feet before they came down behind the rear of the powered armor. Mark felt rounds hit his armor, and he jumped sideways, his HUD picking up the shooter. He ran and leaped, throwing his sword at the man.

Ah shit,
Mark thought the man was aiming at him and he didn’t have a blade able to penetrate his armor on him any more.

The Chosen crossed their arms, and Mark’s blade went right through them and into the chest. Mark hit the ground, absorbing it with his legs and rolling, but he was panting from the fighting. The camp had worn him down; he wasn’t anywhere near the condition he should have been. None of the people in the camp were, but they were all fighting.

Mark pulled the blade out of the fallen Chosen, and he saw another powered armor wearing chosen rushing from position to position. Mark ran after them.

A shadow passed over the camp. Combat Shuttles were coming in, and hatches dropped Troopers.

Mark’s target turned, bringing their rifle up. Mark threw himself at the Chosen, hooking his elbow around his neck and driving his blade into their back.

They dropped sideways, and Mark pulled himself up. The Troopers moved through the mess, putting dozens of rounds into the powered armor, and under that, concentrated fire the powered armor broke, with rounds making it inside.

Troopers on top of the trucks were engaged in fighting, with the triple twos at the center of it.

Mark looked around. Diggers were still turning the area around Mining City Twenty-One into a shit show. The shacks were smoking away, lighting up the night sky, and tracers were flying all across Mining City Twenty-One, from tower to tower, to the Combat Shuttles that were strafing the city.

Combat Shuttles looked like thousands of meteors descending from the heavens, with brilliant white flashes back lighting them or turning Combat Shuttle into burning debris.

The maintenance pad was a mess of close combat between powered armor wearing Chosen, un-armored Chosen, Troopers and camp workers.

He entered the fray, cutting someone’s leg off at the hip and putting his blade through their stomach. He was more tired than he’d ever been before, but anger and desperate energy filled him.

***

Jerome dropped onto the powered armor wearer, sinking his blade into their back. They fell, their spinal cord severed, and Jerome jumped away. His blade was stuck in the armor, so he came up with his rifle, firing into a PAC’s helmet.

They stumbled backwards from the impacts, and Jerome continued to move on them. After a dozen rounds the armor cracked and the Chosen started dancing as rounds ricocheted through the internals.

“Clear in my area,” Jerome said. Green Markers were expanding across the maintenance pad, the Chosen’s reinforcements cut off by the excited Diggers.

Combat Shuttles had returned to the carriers and were bringing down supplies, the sky filled with groups of them. Tracers spat from their guns as they raked the Chosen’s positions.

Bandit Two came into a hover over the maintenance pad, its guns twitching to find targets, but no red markers greeted them.

Jerome heard the screams and yells of the workers, all too many of them had been struck down.

Troopers were securing the defenses and working on the workers, and the medics were already inundated with wounded.

“This is going to act as our rest and recovery station. Armorers and techs are inbound to turn this into a defensible position, and see if we can’t use the powered armor laying around. No one steps outside the pad unless you want to become Digger food. All transit is to be done by Combat Shuttle,” Captain Sholtz said, taking command of the area. “Triple Twos meet with me at the main work shed in five.” Sholtz ended the channel.

Jerome, Sasaki and Dooks jogged towards the largest work shed that served the massive mining machines for the shaft mines.

The rest of the section came in, and Mark took a seat on a barrel, pulling off his helmet.

“The hell do you think you’re doing, Sergeant?!” Regiment Sergeant Major Halls barked at Mark’s relaxed position.

Cold anger ran through Jerome as he moved to intercept the man.

“You’re not even wearing your full armor, and you look like you’re barely combat ready. You’re a fucking disgrace to the uniform! Should have you shipped back up to Reclaimer to get back into cryo!” The Regiment Sergeant Major said.

Jerome picked up his pace as Mark stood, and there was something different about him. He didn’t yell at the Sergeant Major; his anger was cold instead of hot.

“Halls,” Sholtz started.

“Take your fucking uniform,” Mark said, ripping off his helmet and armor and tossing it at the man.

“Arrest this man and take him to Reclaimer!” Halls yelled, looking to the Troopers acting as his and Sholtz’s aides.

Some made to move, but stopped as his shirt came off. Seeing the damage to Mark on a video was one thing, seeing it in the flesh was something else. There were scars running all across his back and head, his chest was less scarred but from the way Mark was breathing it was clear he still had broken bones. Even the Sergeant Major looked at Mark in shock.

“Don’t you ever think about trying to stop me from killing Harmony, or I’ll fucking come for you,” Mark said, and it wasn’t a threat, it was a promise. He grabbed his E-12 and walked away.

“Mark,” Captain Sholtz called.

“Go fuck yourself, I’m going to Mining City Twenty-One.”

“Mark!” Haas called. Mark turned towards the man. There wasn’t any emotion on his face, and the sight rocked Jerome to his core.

“Get yourself fixed up. Tyler, go with him,” Haas said.

“Yes sir,” Mark said, nodding to Haas.

“Why that little…” Halls started, his voice growing in volume.

“Shut the fuck up, Halls,” Sholtz said, his voice sharp and low, cutting the Sergeant Major off.

Halls looked to Sholtz in alarm.

“While we were up in our carrier, he was down here in the camps. That video of the man getting towed behind an air car, that was him. So just stow it,”

Jerome and the rest of the platoon grouped together, away from Halls. Jerome knew most of them wanted to take the Regimental Sergeant Major round back and feed him a few punches.

Jerome’s implants told him that the Sergeant Major had been in one combat drop that had consisted three months of conflict and five years of making sure the population got the idea that the Corporations and Troopers were not to be messed with.

Fucking pencil pusher.

***

Tyler caught up with Mark, and hesitated for a second before patting Mark’s back.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Tyler said.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice dry and low.

The old Mark would have made some quip to show he was okay, even if he wasn’t. Tyler knew something was different. People changed and what Mark had been through; Tyler couldn’t even imagine it.

They walked in silence, happy that the other was okay but also wrapped in their own thoughts.

The medics got hold of Mark, dosing him up, sticking his hands in printers and putting him off to the side.

Tyler went off and grabbed some gear, and returned to find Mark had passed out. The first techs and armorers had landed and they were working to turn the pad as a midway point between the front lines and the carriers. Tyler sat with Mark, he’d looked over him for so many nights while he’d been in the camp that he didn’t want to let him out of his sight now.

Tyler could tell that Mark was different, but he was his brother and he was alive. The rest could wait.

Chapter 48

System Freighter Kelas

Osdal Actual, Osdal System

8/3267

Luke walked into his quarters aboard the Kelas. They were well-appointed, with most items that people wouldn’t have in their normal housing units.

He accessed his implants and the view screens in his office came to life, showing the EMF fleet around Osdal Actual and Osdal Three. All of the communications networks were still working, so all of the information was being sent to Fernix and Housapel, too.

He opened up another window that showed a launch sequence and targeting parameters. He changed the parameters to target one ship, he would get one shot and he didn’t want to waste it. He activated the firing sequence, changing the missile platforms from silent running to firing mode.

The target would see all of the missile platforms, but there would be little that they could do. Luke made sure to check the communications channels against it; he didn’t want this information to go missing. If they were to win the war, Harmony needed to know the strengths and weaknesses of the EMF. To do that they needed to run tests, like shooting a carrier up, or fighting against Troopers with powered armor. Only when they had done that could they learn how to defeat them.

“The freighters are all headed out of the system, we don’t anticipate that any will be stopped on their exit,” Luke’s head bodyguard said. He was staying with Luke until they were clear of the system and well on their way to Housapel.

“Very well. Have lunch prepared, I’m feeling a little hungry, and get the freighters to report their inventories to me,” Luke said.

“Yes sir.” The bodyguard turned away, using his implants to carry out Luke’s orders.

Luke let a smile spread across his features, he was clear of Osdal and he would be going to Housapel. He would have the information they needed to defeat the EMF.

Victory was assured, all they needed to do was wait for the EMF to come to them and crush it.

Chapter 49

EMFC Reclaimer

Osdal Actual, Osdal System

8/3267

“We’ve got missile platforms coming online!” Denaski said frantically, her hands running across the various control surfaces and using her implants as weapons changed targets.

Conti switched his view to hers, his eyes wide with shock. “How?”

“Must have been lying dead, waiting for a command. Hard to see as anything other than the dead sensor grid, or the hundreds of satellites out here,” Denaski said.

“The fleet is working to cut them down.”

“We’ve got launch!” Denaski said, looking at her screens. The tactical computer had its orders and the weapons were firing, there wasn’t much she could do but watch now.

Conti watched with her, holding his beard to hide his quivering chin.

There were nearly three hundred launchers, each had five missiles. The guns were cutting them down, but many had gotten at least one missile or more off. Most had gotten off their entire magazine.

Every single missile was targeted at EMFC Reclaimer.

Conti slapped a control that made him carrier-wide. “Abandon ship!” Just a few of those missiles could do a lot of damage, and there were hundreds coming at him. “Do everything we can to buy them time,” he said, looking to his bridge crew.

They knew what he was saying and they bent to their tasks. There wasn’t enough time for them to escape and they knew how fragile the bridge was, based up on the exterior of the carrier.