Max Speer grinned happily and continued to record the action as the Heaven’s Devils chased after Ward up the ramp and into the meat grinder beyond.
Raynor hadn’t traveled more than a hundred feet before his boots began to slip on the blood-slicked surface. Then it became necessary to climb over piles of bodies, as the twin-barreled gauss cannon on the landing above continued to roar, and spikes blew holes through both the living and the dead. One of the badly shot-up suits belonged to the lieutenant who had been leading the platoon. He lay with an arm outstretched, as if pointing the way.
It might have ended then and there. But the Heaven’s Devils had a guardian angel looking out for them and his name was Ryk Kydd. So as Ward charged up the incline bellowing his rage, a piece of divine intervention was on the way. It was shaped like an armor-piercing round and smashed through the gunner’s visor. As he fell over backward, the weapon ceased firing and tilted upward.
Another KM tried to take over, but Ward had arrived by then, and fired his gauss cannon from six feet away. A hail of spikes blew divots out of the Kel-Morian armor until one of them found a way in and bounced around for a second before running out of kinetic energy. Ward, who was surprised to be alive, paused. That gave the others a chance to catch up and hem him in.
Having arrived on the landing, Tychus and Raynor took the opportunity to eyeball the path ahead. It was a zigzag affair that switch-backed up the hill. That enabled the defenders to fire at the attackers not only head-on, but from above as well, which made for a deadly combination. The realization was punctuated by the flat crack of a high-powered rifle. From above, a figure threw up his hands and toppled down the hill. Kydd was still on the job.
“These people are starting to piss me off,” Tychus said, as he let his rifle fall so he could free the gauss cannon from its tripod. That was when a fresh platoon of resocialized marines arrived from below. They were under the command of Master Sergeant Rockwell. As usual he was following rather than leading as he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Get up there, you jerks! Rip the bastards apart!”
Raynor threw up a hand and stepped out to block the way. “Hold on… . There’s bound to be a gauss cannon on the next landing. Sergeant Findlay is going to take it out. Then you can advance.”
“Ignore that command,” Rockwell ordered sternly, as he arrived on the platform. “The platoon will advance! And that’s an order.”
With that the marines surged around Tychus and ran up the slope. A hail of spikes cut them down. “Stop!” Raynor shouted. “Wait, goddamn it!”
But it was too late. Struggle though they might, the marines didn’t have a chance. But they were brave, or crazy, not that it made much difference. As the front ranks fell, those behind struggled forward, boots slipping as rivers of blood flowed downhill, desperately trying to achieve the goal that had been assigned to them.
Finally, after thirty seconds or so, the last marine fell. And that was when Rockwell spoke. Raynor realized that the noncom was still on the platform! “What a bunch of losers,” Rockwell said disgustedly. “It makes you wonder what the Confederacy is coming to.”
The haymaker started down around Raynor’s knees, gathered force as it curved upward, and made contact with the lower part of Rockwell’s helmet. It packed enough force to lift the noncom an inch off the pavement and throw him backward. He landed with a crash, skidded for three or four feet, and came to rest against the waist-high wall. “I’ll have your ass for that!” Rockwell shouted from his position on the ground. “You’re on report!”
“And you’re an asshole,” Raynor responded disgustedly, as he turned to follow Tychus upslope. “Not to mention a coward.”
Logically enough the repository’s overseer had sent all of his armored personnel down to the bottom of the hill in a vain attempt to stop the invaders at the main gate. So, as Tychus marched up the ramp firing the gauss cannon, the unarmored troops on the next landing were badly outmatched. Especially since each time someone tried to bring the weapon into action, Kydd killed them.
By that time the Devils were like a well-oiled machine, darting from position to position, always careful to cover one another before advancing further. So by the time the Devils arrived on the level area, there was little more than a pile of bodies waiting there to greet them. “One more stretch to go!” Raynor exclaimed, as another squad of resocialized marines brushed past.
“Poor bastards,” Tychus said, as he dumped the gauss cannon in favor of a KM assault rifle. The reason for his disgust quickly became apparent as a Kel-Morian goliath appeared at the top of the ramp. Now it was impossible for the Devils to fire without hitting the resocs, and the marines paid a heavy price as the goliath opened fire on them. The cannon shells literally blew them apart, spraying both sides of the ramp with gore.
“Fall back!” Tychus shouted. “Ward! Can you take him out?”
“No, Sarge, my tubes are empty,” the soldier replied as Zander dragged him back.
“Damn it,” Tychus said, as the monster lumbered downhill and the Devils were forced to retreat.
As the walker arrived on the platform and swiveled toward them, it looked as though nothing less than a wholesale slaughter was about to ensue, until one of the dead bodies stood up!
Raynor immediately recognized the red armor and the distinctive tanks as belonging to Harnack! The Devil was behind the goliath and no more than ten feet away when he said, “Surprise!” and triggered the igniter. There was a loud whump as the flames hit the big machine, found their way into its power supply, and followed a fuel line to its source. The machine’s pilot was just starting to react when the goliath came apart and the resulting boom echoed between the buildings of north Polk’s Pride.
Doc was already in motion, with Max Speer only steps behind her, as pieces of debris floated down out of the sky and the black smoke began to clear. That was when they saw Harnack. The front surface of his suit had been blackened and his chest plate was cracked, but he was still vertical. “Damn!” Harnack said, as he reached up to remove his helmet. “That was awesome!”
“You are one crazy bastard,” Tychus commented as he strode past. “Bail out of that suit… . It’s toast.”
Now that the goliath had been defeated, the trip up past the point where the resocs had been slaughtered was relatively easy. And once on top, where one of the comsat station’s sturdy legs provided cover, it was possible to spread out and go after the rear-echelon types who had been ordered to take part in a last-ditch defense effort. “Time for some sweet talkin’, boys,” Tychus announced. “We gotta seduce these ladies outta their hiding spots.”
A few chuckles, kissing noises, and here, kitty kittys crackled through the frequency as the Devils began to stalk their prey.
The KMs were crouched behind pieces of fanciful sculpture that harkened back to more peaceful times and were firing on anything that moved. Kydd thinned them out with a few shots while the rest of the Devils singled out their targets and took them down.
Just then a lieutenant arrived on the scene with some resocialized marines right behind him. He waved the troops forward. Two or three fell as grenades exploded among them, but most made it through and slaughtered the KM survivors with ruthless efficiency.
That cleared the way to the circular lobby directly below the comsat station’s mast. The lifts would take them down into the maze of tunnels below, so Tychus waved the Devils forward, but was forced to stop when the lieutenant stepped out to block the way. “Hold it right there, Sergeant,” the officer said evenly. “You will enter the elevators on my command.”