Chapter [CLASSIFIED] - Council's End OCOC

Chapter [CLASSIFIED] - Council's End OCOC

"I had never seen a human before my cheap disposable comlink woke me up in the middle of the night with the simple words: Report to place of work immediately." From All By Myself But Never Alone, Telkan Free Press, 28 PH (Post Humanity)

"471, get drones up, they aren't doing orbital insertions, just a single landing according to our guests. They're coming from somewhere," Vuxten said, thinking fast. "If they're coming in from the town those two are from, I'll bet a Turkey Surprise MRE against a deep fried turkey they're using the hospital bioprinters and the nanoforges."

--on it-- 471 said. The 66mm rocket launcher fired to the side, the booster kicking in and getting the stealth missile out as fast as possible. It reached five kilometers, kicked in the grav system, popped the casing and unrolled its wings, turning and sweeping toward the village on full stealth.

"Joan, they're bringing in vehicles and infantry," Vuxten said. "There's not enough of us to hold a defensive line, so you know what that means."

"Doki," the Joan said, nodding her head even as she put her helmet on. The pink and white tassels rustled on her pompoms. The banners on her back showed cute cartoon Neko-Marines running back and forth firing ack-acks into the air.

Vuxten tensed. "Ready, buddy?"

--ride or die-- 471 sent back.

If you don't have enough men to build a defensive line and the enemy has an objective to kill or take you have only a single choice to attain any semblance of victory, Vuxten heard the lecturer say in his mind.

He kicked off, sprinting forward, knowing he was leaving the Neko-Marine Joan behind him as he raced through the woods, rapidly approaching the front line of the oncoming enemy forces.

The drone was showing what the enemy had and while it was a lot, his armor couldn't auto-ID the vehicles or armor types.

Each vehicle had six troops in armor around it, four up front and two on each side, so each side by side vehicle had four troops in between each other. Vehicles were hover, levitating on six heavy pods that crackled with energy, round turret to the back, one gun on the turret, two small guns on the front. Armor was pale brown, sleek looking, light, almost flimsy looking to Vuxten's eyes. The troops moved in lockstep, weapons held at port arms across their chests.

No heavy weapons. No artillery. No close air support.

At least, nothing the drones could spot.

Everything was suspended crystal, one ever flowing moment of time, as he rushed forward, intending on meeting the enemy before they got much further.

--village eyes-- 471 said, putting it up. --three dropships unbuttoned--

The ships were smooth, sleek, dark green rather than the black of warsteel. Unfamiliar symbols on it, some scorching from a bad reentry angle. Troop doors were still dropped down, the ships were lit up, but no battlescreens or point defense systems that could detect the drone.

"We got rocket templates?" Vuxten asked. He was looking over the map at the same time.

There.

An outcropping of rock, high enough metal content to fuzz it slightly.

"Get the dazzlers and other smokes ready," Vuxten said.

--roger roger-- 471 said. --rocket ready--

"Fire as we go," Vuxten ordered.

The rocket launcher chuffed three times then whined as it moved into standby mode to cool off.

Vuxten reached the rock outcropping and knelt down.

He could feel the ground vibrating. The stealthed drones were showing that the nearest line of tanks and infantry had entered the forest and were slightly slowed down by the heavy trees. Not much, just enough that the hovertanks had to maneuver around the trees rather than push them over.

"How come they haven't spotted the drones?" Vuxten asked.

471 sent back an image of a drone squeaking between two wavy walls to signify the wavelengths.

"Got it. They aren't scanning that frequency," Vuxten said. He lifted his SMG and closed his eyes for a second.

Give me the strength and courage to endure, he thought to himself.

The first rank of infantry and tanks went around his position, missing where he was crouched down in an indent in the outcropping. It was a serrated line. Every odd tank slightly forward of the others, so it was a wall of metal interspersed with armored troops.

Twenty tanks to a column. That meant eighty troops. Twenty tanks per row.

And Vuxten was in the middle, at the eighth row.

Another rank.

Another.Ne/w novel chapters are published at novelhall.com

He was in the middle of them now. The Joan was holding her fire, waiting for them to reach the small clearing she had stopped in. Her torches flared brightly and her banners snapped in the breeze.

Another.

You only get one shot, because if you fail, there will never be another shot at survival, Vuxten thought to himself as he tagged the targets for the grenade launcher and the rocket launcher. Stay low, move fast, strike with surety, he repeated Lady Keena's words to himself. Let the rage fuel you rather than wipe away thought.

Vuxten watched another go by.

The turrets weren't moving. The whole tank was moving and the shots kept going over the Joan's head, missing her and half of the time hitting another tank in the turret or just whipping across the front deck of the tank.

The rocket launcher ripple fired all four rockets, all four hitting different tanks, the tank killer blowing clear through the tank, the energy liberating in a fan of destruction on the other side. The grenades hit, blowing massive holes in the tanks, often dropping them to the ground.

"Joan, there's something off about these tanks," Vuxten radioed.

"Doki," was all she said.

Vuxten raked one across the hoverpods, the tank listing to the side, dragging that side into the dirty. Vuxten dropped the SMG, letting the grav tether pull it tight to his hip, and grabbed the cutting bar, revving the engine up as he stepped forward and slammed the bar against the armor.

He expected it to resist, just leave the chain clattering impotently against the armor. Maybe sparks at the most.

What he didn't expect was chunks to come off as the cutting bar ripped into the side of the tank, the 'armor' shredding like he was cutting wood. He sawed at the tank, then slapped the cutting bar at his waist, pushing his hands into the crack and pulling.

Part of the armor ripped away, revealing electronics and mechanical parts he couldn't ID. The armor was only a foot thick, maybe slightly thicker, and he ripped out parts as he stepped into the tear, ripping his way into the tank with his armored hands.

In seconds he was inside.

The crew all turned to stare at him. All dressed in light green jumpsuits, all with cloth pseudo-helmets on their heads.

All with upside down eyes and mouths.

Revulsion made Vuxten kicked back, away, shouldering his way out of the hole as he leveled the grenade launcher. The four 'crew' turned back to their jobs, obviously trying to get the tank moving forward again.

--iron pants men-- 471 swore. --kill em kill em kill em--

Vuxten fired a grenade into the tank, turning to check around his immediate vicinity.

All of the troopers were down, the tanks were burning, and the smoke was thick on the battlefield.

"This isn't right. This isn't right at all," he said.

--second wave coming-- 471 warned.

"Of course it is," Vuxten sighed.

-----

The shadow slipped from deeper shadow to deeper shadow. Never pausing long but never moving like it did not belong in the shadows of the forest. The shadow steadily moved toward the village, which was still burning.

The dropships were burning, rockets fired earlier in the fight having found their target and blown through the armor to destroy the ships.

Four more were settling down, the hulls smoking from bad reentry angles.

More tanks, more troops, were exiting the dropships.

The shadow moved slowly around the village.

Just beyond was a vehicle. Different than the others. It was all black, stealth systems hiding it even from the naked eye.

But the eyes that stared from the shadows, narrowing slightly when they spotted the ship, saw the ship anyway.

The main hatch was open, a golden rectangle negating the stealth field.

Voices could be heard over the soft hum of the ship's power plant.

Angry voices.

Arguing voices.

The shadow moved toward the ship.

Moved from the shadow of a burnt out barn to the shadow of the ship.

It glided around the ship, ducking under the engines, moving to the illuminated entrance.

A gloved hand slowly drew a heavy brush cutting blade, the steel whispering against the leather.

The shadow moved into the doorway, backlit now. A bulky figure that stood for a long moment in the doorway, completely unmoving.

The figure moved into the ship.

The voices stopped arguing.

And started screaming.