Osdal (Harmony War Series Book 3) (41 page)

He was originally from the Central sector, and his dark skin still made people from the East Sectors look at him as if an oddity.

No matter, all of them were under his rank and he took his time making sure that they knew they were under his command.

His curly brown hair was a fine fuzz on his head and his beard had stylish streaks of white and grey running through the black. He looked like a 20-year-old in good health, only his beard showed something of his real 113 years of age.

Seeing the carrier Reclaimer turn into orbital debris had been a shock, but it had only been a single carrier. There were eight more in-system.

He was looking at the benefit loss ratios of his Troopers and their supplies, and they were burning through them like nothing else. He had already cut off some supply runs. He wanted to have the highest cost/benefit ratio. So what if the Troopers had less screamers? Each of those screamers cost a heft chunk of change.

If he had the lowest cost to benefit ratio, then it could only look good in the eyes of those that were watching. His Troopers would just have to deal with their losses.

He had got a message from some upstart agent that had come from the EMFC Reclaimer, and the little bastard was trying to get him to drop ordinance that was worth more than an entire force of Troopers. No way was General Jones about to do that.

He had made a note to look into who the person was and have them brought up on charges; it would not do to have people thinking that they could tell him what to do.

An incoming message from EMFC command on Earth blinked for his attention.

He felt a warmth move through him, it was undoubtedly a report from Earth commending him for keeping his cost to benefit so low.

His smile disappeared as he started reading the message; it was short and sweet. The warmth that had been spreading through him now turned to icy fear.

Just who the hell is that agent?”
he thought as he opened a channel to the Captain of the Carrier, Remblant.

“General?’ Remblant asked, opening the channel. He took a few minutes to do so; undoubtedly a power game. It always occurred between the carrier’s crew and the Trooper’s Commanders.

He was pale, something that his black hair only served to emphasize, with a wispy mustache on his upper lip and a look of gloating in his brown eyes.

“I have a priority call for these weapons, forward targeting information and clearance,” Jones said, his voice brisk as he sent the information to the Captain.

“General, this ordinance is highly expensive,” the Captain said, knowing that it would reflect on his reports that he had allowed something that costly to be fired.

“Unless you want to deal with the Ministry, then you better get those weapons loaded and deployed fast as,” Jones said, looking to the Captain.

“Understood,” The Captain said, his gloating turning into action.

He was already passing out orders as Jones cut the channel. He started going through the dossier of the agent who had asked for clearance. It was completely blank, there was just a number and the letter M. He looked at it, ingraining it into his mind. He would not make the same mistake again.

He didn’t know who the agent was but it was clear that he had talked with the authority of the Ministry. That made him the most powerful person in the entire fleet.

In the space of ten minutes his supplies were pouring out of his carrier. Every request the agent had made was fulfilled and a message was sent making up an excuse for the supply runs being slow. Hopefully that would put Jones in the agent’s good graces.

Chapter 60

Mining City Twenty-One

Osdal Actual Osdal System

9/3267

“Pull back!” Haas yelled. They were getting hit from every side, most of the powered armor was in hand to hand fights with the Chosen. There were just too many of the PACs.

There was nowhere to run, and the shutters now sealed the building from the outside.

Tyler looked around, it was chaos, but even then the Troopers were working together, talking and communicating to try to pull back towards their waypoint, the cryo-bunker.

“Covering!” He fired at the Chosen that were just meters away, his tracers hammering into their armor, dropping them. They were like a swarm, jumping over one another, coming through the walls, doing anything they could to get to the Troopers. Tyler could taste the Chosen’s hate for them. Propaganda and the people that they had looked up to for their entire lives had told them that the Troopers were despicable creatures, and they had listened. As the Chosen hated those that had been called Earthers, they hated the Troopers more.

They attacked with abandon. More than one Trooper had been dragged away, screaming as the PACs hammered their crude weapons into their armor, torturing them.

The Troopers could do little but mercy-kill their friends instead of letting the PACs get them.

“Move it Tyler!” Mark called. They were all now in the lobby, clearing out of the offices and hallways, unable to hold them and keep the PACs at bay.

Tyler turned and ran through the lobby and to the stairs that gained them access to the cryo-bunker.

Mines exploded where the Troopers had been. The PACs didn’t seem to care, rushing forward, firing here and there, most of them wielding melee weapons, and a few of them with Vibra-Blades in their hands.

Tyler ducked into the stairwell, there were Troopers firing past him and into the Chosen. Tyler didn’t slow, continuing on past more Troopers positioned to slow down the Chosen.

A lucky round hit his left leg, getting through his armor and cracking the servo-motor. He tumbled down the stairs and into the wall.

“Motherfucker,” he sighed, pushing himself up with his hands. He locked out the exo-skeleton, half-dragging, half hopping down the remaining stairs.

He got to the bottom, and a large room made of cermite stretched a hundred meters to a hatch. Broken lights and charging cradles lay around the room.

He ran into the hatch and almost stopped in awe. He had never been in a cryo-bunker and it was one hell of a sight. It looked like a missile silo with catwalks all around its various levels and more crossing over from one side to the other.

Pods lined the walls on runners, stacked one on top of one another.

“Holy shit.” Looking over the place, it was supposed to hold over a million souls for a few centuries. White lights illuminated the area and the forty floors of cryo-pods.

It was more impressive than the cities Tyler had found.

Troopers continued to pour into the bunker, and Tyler got his platoon organized, calling a rally point on himself. They had lost Edwards, Miller, Cheung, Ibrayev, Pablo, Anton, Arud, Ericson, Kouri, Tahkan and Iskakov. Ali’s left arm was out of action.

It took his platoon of 53 to 42, but it was better than two and three platoon. Three had lost 15 people, two had lost 28.

Tyler checked the tactical screens. Sook was running full out for the bunker with a wounded Haas over her shoulder. Mark and his fourth platoon were taking up the rear behind them, covering down the hallway.

Jerome’s one section was covering the hall, hollering for them to hurry up. One signal moved away from the pack and Tyler almost didn’t need to look at the name to know who it was. He turned and started running the other way. Tyler made to move for the entrance to the cryo-bunker, but Alexis stopped him.

“Tyler, wait,” she said, her voice pained saying the words.

Those two words held him as he watched Mark charge the enemy, buying his fourth section and the company Commanders the time that they needed to get into the bunker.

***

Mark pulled a blade off Hama’s pack and turned.

“Warra...,” Hama started, slowing. Mark pushed him on.

“Keep them safe, I’ll buy you some time,’ Mark said, knowing that this was one hell of a play, but also knowing that the armor on their backs was the weakest. There was a good chance that the PACs would just cut them down as they were running, and he needed Captain Sook and Haas to get to the cryo-bunker.

His people would die if he didn’t do what he needed to do.

“But Ma...,”

“Move it Sergeant!” Mark barked, his voice angry and desperate. “It’s a good day to die!” His body went wild, coming alive with the augments. If one wanted to they could remove the limiters on the little puppies, and make themselves invulnerable to pain, able to push past their body’s normal restraints. They could become adrenaline fueled machines, but the cost was that your body wouldn’t survive.

Mark had a plan, it was a rough one, but hopefully he could pull it off. If not, then his people would be safe. He saw that Hama was listening to his order and charging for the cryo-bunker.

He grabbed a grenade from his waist, his last one, and he tossed it into the stairwell. It went off, dust and debris came out of the stairwell, followed by screams.

Mark pulled a block of grey putty from his leg pouch. He slapped it onto his ammunition pack and un-hooked his Repulsor.

The first PAC came screaming out of the stairwell, their armor a mess with blood spurting out of the rent in their side.

Mark parried the block of metal that they were swinging like a bat at his head. The PAC missed their target and spun. Mark sliced across, cutting the Trooper’s upper chest open. His right hand grabbed the sword on his pack and he moved forward, moving two blades in his grasp. Checking the rest of his section, he saw they were nearly all in the cryo-bunker.

PACs rushed through the stairwell, running at him. Mark laughed, it was a deep, terrible thing. His blades moved his brain, which was working faster than it ever had, and his reactions and training were becoming instinctual.

He was hit and hammered with melee weapons, and the odd metal storm rifle was unloaded in his direction. He continued on even as it got hard to breathe because they’d dented his chest. His right arm stopped functioning properly; one of the fuckers had dented his armor into the joint.

Then his left elbow stopped working, so he had to lock it out. He broke his right hand, the armor shattering. He screamed, the pain focusing him as he hit harder; they were pushing him back into the open room, allowing them to get more people to fight him at one time.

Motherfuckers, you are making me work for it, aren’t you?

They didn’t make it an inch without a fight for their lives. Mark might have been called Diablo back on Earth, but he had changed since then, and he had been taught ways to kill people without thought.

This is what I am, a killing machine, a man of death.
He didn’t feel the cold chill of realization, he felt the exhilaration of understanding. He would take on this pain, on the killing. He would be Diablo. The demon of the EMF.

He fought with renewed energy. His body was broken and beaten, but his will was strong, and he overcame his pain with chemicals and augments.

One of the bastards got smart and drove a metal rod into his left leg.

He grunted in pain, knowing that it was the end. It was time to play his ace, so he turned and jumped away on his good leg. He tossed a blade at the bunker, and it buried itself in the wall next to Jerome’s head.

Mark released the pack’s locks, hanging off its fabric. Rounds rang off of Mark’s back, and he jumped again, cutting one of the fabric loops and pulling the release on the other. The pack dropped behind him, and he gave it a kick at the Chosen, hitting one of them with it and sending him sprawling. He’d forgotten about his leg and the piece of rebar sticking out of it.

He dug the blade into the floor, and threw himself forward. The Chosen were gaining on him. He called up a command prompt on his implants, and tossed himself forward on his hands and one good leg.

Jerome fired over him, covering him. Mark raced on. He wouldn’t let this be the end of him.

No, he had many more Harmony to kill, and a promise to keep. He thought of Caroline and threw himself onwards, even though he saw them getting within feet of him.

“Activate,” he said, unable to move his hands to do anything but throw himself forward.

The implants sent a signal to the incendiary charge he’d slapped onto the pack. It melted through the pack, reaching the rounds inside, and it went off like the universe’s grenade.

Mark was tossed forward, shrapnel peppering him. He landed a few meters from the cryo-bunker and felt arms grab him and haul him in. The hatch shut behind him and he heard the whine of auto-turrets opening up on the Chosen that had survived his pack’s explosion.

Mark felt someone opening his helmet; he was feeling funky from breaking his body and the augments effects were wearing off.

“God dammit, can you try to make the explosion bigger next time?” Jerome complained, opening the armor to get to Mark’s body underneath. He had a medical kit in his hands.

“I will if you and every goddamn medic stops stabbing me with fucking needles!” Mark whispered. He found it hard to focus, and pain started beating out the pain killers.

Jerome made an unhappy face but laughed as he went to work, stabbing those needles into Mark.