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In comparison with the sheer power of the PPC’s, or the coruscating fire of the medium lasers, the artillery barrage of Julius’ forces was pitiful. Held within one missile was more concentrated destruction than that of their total firepower. That said, it was not a mere flyswat, nor were the artillerymen shoddy in their duty.

Long tongues of flame licked from each barrel, the tamped explosive propelling the metal balls with scarce contained fury. Each shot struck and bounced, skipping off the hardened earth with intent and purpose. Some actually struck the light tanks, vaulting high in the air as they were repelled by the thick armour. Others continued on their merry way, avoiding all of their intended targets, but one did what it was supposed to do. It struck, with most of its energy expended, the second squad, bowling two soldiers over. They were dead from the massive shock almost immediately as their bodies were pulverised. The second wave was canister.

Screaming metal spheres arced high into the air, expelling their kinetic energy high above Arn’s advancing troops, but with deadly effect. They split with a thunderous roar and showered the men with a rain of razor-sharp metallic fragments, scything what was left of the second squad from their feet. There was no possibility of a third strike.

Hauser swung his turret towards the now revealed position and released all of his available missiles. For them, there were no vagaries of targeting, their on-board computers guiding them. Metal, trees, earth and the remains of human bodies spattered their colleagues. They were the lucky ones.

Laser and PPC fire extinguished any possible threat. Intense heat burned and fused metal to skin, or simply flashed them into superheated steam. A forest fire was started, the following wind blowing it quickly towards Julius’ main encampment. Neither Arn, nor Hauser were the least concerned with collateral damage. They wanted blood.

Almost lethargically the light tanks and APC’s rolled up the slight incline, guns firing. Arn almost believed he could see their barrels glowing in anger, as they spat destruction towards the ambushers. He himself wanted the ground razed and Julius’ head on a stick. There was no doubt in his mind who had ordered the attack.

On they rolled, through the furnace, passing into the trees and now Arn took the lead, Conn by his side. Any who moved were mown down pitilessly. As they topped a slight rise, Arn saw the group of tents huddled in the centre of a small clearing. Conn took a missile launcher from one of his men and with a savage grin, locked onto the target and fired. Cloth disintegrated in explosion and as the smoke cleared, they saw a small troop of riders spurring their horses away, the distinctive garb of an Emperor at their head.

“Not this frakking time!” snarled Arn, pushing Conn aside and snatching another of the weapons.

He aimed ahead of the fleeing troop, tearing a huge tree up by its roots. It crashed down, flailing branches adding to the roar of the explosions. Men and horses were in turmoil. Mounts screaming in pain where they had been pierced by wooden shrapnel adding to the fear of those animals still hale. At a flat run, Arn charged forward, autorifle at the hip.

A hail of rounds stitched into the rear of the group as he came within range. More well-spaced fire began to pick off Julius’ men, but Arn ignored them. He flung his rifle aside and withdrew his combat knife, leaping onto the back of the first horse he came to. One vicious swipe and he was past, Julius in his sights.

The Emperor drew his sword, turning his mount with a display of dexterity and brute strength. Kicking his heels into the animal’s side, he drove it down upon Arn who, knife in hand, awaited him.

There was a bright flash of light, which seemed to burn the very air by Arn’s side and when he could see again, Julius was no more.

“Frakker!” was the only word which rang in his ear, as Hauser swivelled his tank’s turret and backed away.

Hmm...a dormant M5.

 

Dude, I just want to see the Automated SDS wreck some stuff. 

Captain Stefan Darling was not known for being the most vociferous of officers, although even he was moved to curse in appreciation. Their identification codes were no longer a problem after Elias had interfaced with the SDS and nothing had tried to impede either their approach or landing.

Von Jankmonn had flown all around the two ships and insisted on entering the Vengeance Class Carrier first. Strangely Darling had not stood on ceremony, only ordering his shuttle to dock directly with the frigate. Self-contained suits had been worn until the Techs had managed to awaken the craft’s own power supply. The Star League vessel had not been abandoned, but appeared to have been carefully shut down, left for its next authorized visitors in a state of pristine preservation.

Control boards lit up, as power was routed through them, whilst Captain Darling sat on the bridge, his fingers idly caressing the arms of his new command chair. Green light after green light showed that the Congress class frigate was fully stocked for action. The only thing of little use was that of crew stores and that could be easily rectified.

“Frak!” murmured the Captain as his weapons array came on line and the fusion reactors powered up.

If he had been a culinary wizard looking at a gourmet meal, he could not have dribbled any more in anticipation. Sixteen Naval Autocannons; eight NAC-10’s on the forward section and eight NAC-30’s to the rear. Real Capital missile systems and eight large lasers. He was in heaven.

The inventory showed six aerospace fighters, although none of the expected shuttles. Darling supposed that they had been used to leave the frigate.

“You are not going to believe this,” Von Jankmonn’s voice echoed tinnily in his ear, his enthusiasm palpable.

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Captain Darling, laconically.

“This Fighter Carrier has forty Star League aerofighters sat here, just waiting for pilots. They are not as good as my Visigoth, but we have just struck gold.”

There was a pause, then Von Jankmonn asked whether Darling had heard him. His only reply was a very uncharacteristic laugh.

*

Arn held Hauser up against a tree by his throat, with Conn trying desperately to calm him down.

“Did I ask you to fire?” he asked as he shook Hauser roughly.

“Ga-a-h!” said Hauser.

“What? I can’t hear you.” And he shook him again.

“Arn!” Conn had grabbed his leader’s arm and was using brute strength to haul him away, “If he’s dead, he’ll never answer you.”

With a sideways throw, Arn dropped Hauser to the ground, where his tank commander gasped for breath.

“Not only,” he said furiously, “did you toast Julius, but you almost burned the rest of the squad. If you ever…”

There was the scream of missiles. They smashed through the nearby trees, sending men scrambling for cover. The heavy clank of footfalls signaled the arrival of something large, heavy and extremely angry, judging by the damage it was doing.

“This,” said Arn pointing a finger at Hauser in admonition, “is not over.”

Hauser mouthed, “Love you too” at Arn’s back and then screamed at his men to mount up. There were Mech’s out there to kill. Once Arn had shot a few people and destroyed something, he would easily forget about their little arguement.

A heavy hand grasped his collar and he fell backwards. Looking up, he saw Conn’s face leaning over him.

“I saw what you did,” he said grinning, “and if you survive, then I personally will make it my mission in life to teach you some respect.”

He dragged Hauser up, planting a hefty kick in the seat of his pants and propelling him towards his waiting crew.

“And Hauser?”

“Yes, Conn?” the chastened tanker replied.

“I love you too, and you can’t imagine how much fun I’m going to have showing you just how much…”

Blood drained from Hauser’s face as Conn moved to follow Arn. You’ve done it this time, the tanker thought morosely, you stupid frakker. His self-flagellation did not last long, as his tank’s engine roared to life. With a roar of enthusiasm he launched himself up to the turret, threats of dire punishment forgotten in the joy of battle.

Captain De La Cruz was well aware of the battle below and of how his forces had been split in two. The third dropship would have to fend for itself.

“Get us down there!”

His finger pointed at what appeared to be the least dangerous spot; a wide area, littered to one side with the smoking corpses of men and tanks. The fighting had moved on, yet it was still close enough to where the Hanseatic dropships hovered.

“I want a secure line!”

His orders were fired without any real target, in arrogance he merely expected to be obeyed. With a soft bump, the shuttle settled and De La Cruz was half-way out before the ramp touched earth. His marines hurried to keep up with him as he barked instructions to his Ground Commander.

An APC roared up, disgorging troops which surrounded the vulnerable shuttle. The Captain stomped into the vehicle, tearing the headset from the communications officer inside and keeping up a constant tirade.

Mechs and mobile infantry units began to withdraw, concentrating on forming up as he dictated. It was a rash move and subject to punishment, as drones poured laser fire into the backward marching monsters. Jax’s tanks now had much easier targets and they took advantage.

A hovercar raced to a stop and Esteban jumped out. He stood on little ceremony.

“What the frak do you think you are doing...Sir!”

The recognition of De La Cruz’s rank was grudging; incompetent actions were killing his men and he had little time for it.

“Open your mouth in that fashion again,” snapped the Captain, “and it will be the last thing you do!”

Esteban glared at his commanding officer, his pistol hand twitching close to his holstered weapon, but the sight of the ready autorifles in the Marines’ hands swayed him.

“Sir!” he snapped, punctuating his comment with a sharp parade-ground salute, “Your orders, Sir?”

“It is time for us to fight back,” De La Cruz said stiffly, “enough cowering. We will concentrate all of our forces on this one point,” his finger stabbed at the outline of the terrain displayed on his tactical screen, “where they least expect us.”

His subordinate said nothing. In his own mind he was saying goodbye.

“Carry on...” said De La Cruz smugly.

“Sir!” agreed Esteban, wondering what chance he had in shooting the frakker and claiming battle fatigue.

The decision was taken away from him as something slammed into the side of the APC, rocking the heavy vehicle as though it was an insignificant feather in a wild breeze.

“What the...”

De La Cruz screamed as the cabin in front of him crumpled and then sheared. A huge mechanical foot raised up slightly and then repositioned itself. He could hear the ominous sound of autocannon rounds lancing out and then the distinctive whack of a Gauss Rifle. Esteban did not wait for permission, he threw himself out of the still open door, curling into a ball as he rolled away. With a crunch of metal the huge Mech stomped down again and all of Captain De La Cruz’s plans disappeared completely.

I'm feeling generous...here's Chapter Fifteen in its entirety



Arn and his team moved out of the woodland, aiming for the Dropship which hovered drunkenly near the city. Comm chatter painted a picture of the hell inside the craft; curses, screams and background noise indicated fierce fighting and death. He deliberately reined in Hauser who was all for shooting the craft out of the sky, his naturally bellicose nature reinforced by the detruction of the Mech.

As they approached, the lower left side of the ship shuddered, writhing and twisting as though sheltering an oversize child, more than ready for birth. Again and again the hull shivered, before exploding outwards. The figure of an Elemental could be seen amidst the roiling flame and smoke, thrown forcefully away from the skin of the ship. Lifeless, it eventually crashed to the earth.

“What are they doing in there?” asked Conn, as a bright beam shot forth, the metal to the side of the rent glowing white-hot.

“Dying?” broke in the voice of Hauser, more subdued than normal, “Can we help, Sir?”

“No, we wait,” replied Arn, “Elana is still in there.”

*

The Mech Bay was an inferno of sound and fire; the necessity for speed had been impressed on all the Elementals and they had obeyed to the letter. Missiles had quickly been expended, shattering armour and articulated joints. Machine gun and laser fire had downed semi-protected troops and added to the noise, but the biggest offenders had been the trapped League Mechs.

Initially, the fury of the attack had rocked the Hanseatic forces; there were no respected rules of engagement and they had been punished for their tardiness. They were, however, quick learners.

Medium lasers and PPC’s sliced through decking, storage crates and an occasional Elemental alike. Autocannon rounds hammered any available target, and even those perceived as being a threat. Burning equipment and packaging threw a pall of oily smoke in between the two forces and helped to reduce the overwhelming advantage of firepower.

The Elementals darkened armour blended in with their surroundings, but enhanced imaging still found them, until the flames themselves blurred their outlines. Teams of two and three attacked each of the semi-operational Mechs, whose pilots had determined that their best chance was to stand and fight together. LRM’s were useless and SRM’s a last, point-blank resort. It was one such desperate solution which had torn the ship’s fabric, allowing some of the smoke to dissipate.

The remaining Elementals huddled in two small groups for a last charge, their ammunition almost spent. None of the Mechs would be capable of leaving the Bay, but this had devolved to a purely animalistic level. It was kill or be killed.

*
They had taken the bridge; prisoners sat close to each other, their hands clasped behind their heads, but it did not feel like a victory. The ship shuddered under the concussive explosions from below and protested at the handling of the captured flight deck crew. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep the Dropship in the air and Elana’s thoughts were with her people below.

“Get us on the ground!”

The Hanseatic prisoners rushed to obey.

“Once we are down, two of you will get these surats off,” the men detailed, nodded in agreement, “the rest of you with me.”

Her headset crackled, “This is Arn, we are holding outside, waiting to hear how we can help.”

“How many do you have with you,” asked Elana curtly.

“Two men are injured, apart from them we are at full strength. Our tanks will be of little use unless the Mechs punch their way out, which they seem to be intent on doing.”

“Ignore the Mechs,” said Elana, “get your team on board as soon as we settle on the ground. The tanks will be a safety net, just in case one of the Mechs breaks free.”

“Understood,” agreed Arn, waving his men forward and hoping that at least this once, Hauser would do as he was told. For a moment, he had a vision of the mad tanker driving up the ramp, his PPC frying everything and everyone in his way.

*

The two remaining Hanseatic League destroyers had finally joined up with their jumpships. It was no fleet now, the SDS, Caspars and Voidseekers had seen to that. No-one considered the possibility of renewing their attack, especially since the appearance of a new opponent, which sat spider-like in its geosynchronous orbit.

On the deck of their new craft, Captain Darling drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair in barely controlled agitation. Von Jankmonn was becoming more demanding by the minute. At first he had been satisfied with his new squadron, now he wanted action and he was pressing for the Captain to make a decision.

“There are only two destroyers and a few fighters,” he insisted, “between us we can easily see them off.”

“Jax was adamant that we remain here...” began the Captain, but was rudely interrupted.

“Who is this Jax?” he demanded, “a lieutenant? Mu understanding is that he holds a junior rank only, not even equivalent t your own. What gives him the right to command, circumstance only.”

The ex-Jade Falcon’s arrogance bubbled close to the surface. He hated inactivity and above all cowardice. It was important that he show his new Khan what he was capable of doing, and the man in command below was not his Khan. It was impossible to challenge him personally, but he could take action; they could meet in a Trial of Position later.

Darling’s hand now caressed the chair’s arm and his irritation had disappeared. A FedCom Captain initially, he also was missing a true Dark Falcon loyalty. And, after all, he had a ship to prove.

*

Captain Darling ignored the increasingly agitated communications from Jax; he had made his mind up now.

“Full speed ahead. We want to get to those destroyers before they change their mind!”

Von Jankmonn stood behind him, one hand resting lightly on the back of the Captain’s chair; his time would come, for now he was enjoying the adrenalin rush of disobedience.

“I want all weapons systems on line,” snapped Darling, “there will be no negotiation. We will show our comrades planet side exacty what we are capable of.”

His Exec Officer looked worried and after receiving another message from his communications suite, finally found the courage to interrupt.

“Sir!” he stood rigidly to attention in front of his Captain, eyes focussing on the bulkhead behind, “Lieutenant Jax has given us a final ultimatum. We are to return to our previously assigned position, or he will activate both the SDS and the Caspar drone and take whatever action he sees fit.”

“Let him!” snarled the Captain, “He will not attack us. This ship and Von Jankmonn’s fighters are too big a prize for the Dark Falcons.”

“Sir,” insisted the Exec Officer, “we already have confirmation that the Caspar is powering up and fighter drones have been launched from the Defence System. Lieutenant Jax is not known for his inability to take a hard decision.”

Captain Darling stared at the man, “I find your loyalty just a little questionable,” he hissed.

“Have no doubt, Sir,” replied his Exec, “I know where my loyalty lies...”

With one swift movement he drew and fired his pistol, the accelerated charge taking Von Jankmonn high in the shoulder and spinning him around. Before he could fire again, Captain Darling dove to the right, clawing at his own holster. One of the nearby Marines fired his autorifle at the Exec, its rounds stitching a bloody pattern across his chest. As he struck the floor, his dying fingers squeezed off more rounds which ricocheted around the Bridge. Sides chosen, weapons drawn; the crew of the newest Dark Falcon vessel began to kill each other.


*

Jax watched his tactical screen and saw Darling’s course change slightly, although he still seemed intent on reaching the League destroyers. The Caspar was now under way and it would soon be too late to reverse his orders.

He saw the blips on his screen which represented the Hanseatic League ships, waver and then disappear. They had seen enough. It had been his intention to deal with them once he had suppressed their ground forces, but now Darling’s precipitate actions had forced them to run. Jax was sure that they would be back, and with help.


*

Arn waited as the dropship slammed to earth, its ramp already extended. Men and women poured from the ship, but he let them go; their fear precluded them from taking any aggressive action. Hauser rolled his tank forward, the barrel depressing to cover the soldiers’ flight.

“Hauser!” Arn snapped.

“Sir?”

“You will not fire until I give the order!”

There was a sheepish acknowledgement and as the last of the stragglers scrambled to the earth, Arn led his men up the ramp as instructed. Smoke billowed from the interior as the sound of heavy weapon fire continued. Feet pounded behind him in a comforting tattoo as he entered the darkened interior, his enhanced imaging within his helmet automatically swapping to infra red.

“Follow me,” he said, his sensors sweeping the interior, “and stay close. No heroics.”

The bulkhead in front of him disappeared suddenly in a boiling conflagration, sending one of his men to the floor. Through the smoke, his sensors picked out the stubby shape of a missile pod and the outline of a huge metallic arm.

“Fire!” he commanded and felt the ship tremble as it was struck.

“Oh Frak!” he thought, “Hauser!”

*

Blood pooled on the decking, running in sticky rivulets from the crumpled forms. Here and there slight movement indicated the vague stirrings of life, yet no-one controlled the huge vessel as it bored onwards. Von Jankmonn regained consciousness, struggling against pain and the blackness which threatened to crash over him. The slug had torn its way through his chest muscles, entering at an oblique angle and so saving his life.


He rolled onto his left side and saw Darling’s heels drumming spasmodically on the decking. It seemed as though the Exec had succeeded in his destructive plan. Alarms shrilled; a repetitive monotone which clamoured for attention.

“Stand down, I repeat, stand down. If we do not receive confirmation of our order, we will be forced to take decisive action. You have been warned...”

The pilot’s body had been genetically created to withstand the effects of mind numbing pressure and so he shrugged away the pain. Little by little, he dragged himself to the communications array. One hand rose, a finger inching its way to the transmit button. With an almost superhuman effort, he closed the key.

“Do not shoot....Darling dead...no crew left...”

Gasping he crumpled to the floor, the oblivion he had been searching for, welcoming him in its embrace.


*

Jax had heard the transmission and could only guess at the state of the ship’s crew. He had a choice; belive them and let them go, or give the order to fire. He waited.

“Sir?”

“We wait,” he said, “there is no-one for them to fight with, and right now we have other concerns to deal with. Get me Elana!”

*

Hauser did not wait for further commands, pointing his tank up the dropship’s ramp.

“You will all wait for me here.”

It was a statement, rather than an order. The tanker was known for his rash decisions and his temper. Today was not the day to challenge him.

He gunned his engine, his battle cannon pointing the way, as the ramp shook beneath his vehicle’s snarling climb. Arn could skin him later. Hauser knew that the relatively lightly armoured troopers would stand little chance against a Mech. With this baby though, he could at least even the odds, a little.

*

“What the frak is that?”

Conn’s voice was almost apologetic; they knew who it was. They were pinned down behind a temporary barricade of tumbled packing cases. Two of Arn’s men were already down; their sprawled figures testifying to the brute efficiency of an autocannon round at close range.

“For once,” muttered Arn, “I can truthfully say that I’m happy to see him.”

The snout of the tank’s cannon pushed through the shattered entrance, its arc of fire limited. With a belch of pure rage, the gun spoke.

Bat Shit Crazy, but I like it.