The interior was lit by skylights, and there, under the cold gray light, hundreds of workers could be seen standing in front of long tables upon which all manner of produce was being sized and sorted. They had gaunt faces, and were dressed in little more than rags, as they turned to look at the invaders.
“You’ve been liberated!” Tychus announced via his external speakers, knowing that once the workers flooded into the streets it would make it that much harder for the Kel-Morians to reassert control of the town.
But the workers had been slaves for a long time, and rather than head for the exits, they remained right where they were. So Tychus fired a short burst through one of the skylights, saw them flinch as broken glass showered down on them, and felt a sense of satisfaction as the mad scramble to escape began.
Having cleared the processing plants, Tychus led his platoon south along the western security fence with plans to turn east to rendezvous with Vanderspool at the lev station. It was necessary to pause every once in a while to deal with pockets of resistance, but the Kel-Morian troops weren’t equipped to handle combat-armored soldiers, and were quickly dealt with. Tychus didn’t even break a sweat. “Maintain your intervals,” he said. “Don’t bunch up.”
He took a hard left and began to follow one of the main streets east toward the railroad tracks. That was when three soldiers ran out into the street. Two opened up with assault weapons as the third fired a rocket launcher. The heat-seeking missile seemed to wobble slightly as it left the tube. Then it locked onto a target, drew a straight line to Sergeant Pinkham, and exploded on impact. The resulting boom echoed between the surrounding buildings as it sent pieces of armor and chunks of bloody flesh flying in every direction. Thanks to the space between them, none of the other soldiers suffered more than minor damage to their suits.
“Shoot them, goddamn it!” Tychus roared. “What are you waiting for?”
The man with the rocket launcher had less than three seconds to celebrate his kill before Kydd brought him down. Then Zander fired and a second KM fell. But the third turned, ran up a short flight of stairs, and pushed his way through a door.
Zander checked his ammo indicator, saw that he still had 357 spikes left, and followed the soldier up the stairs, through the door, and into a lobby. Two young women were huddled off to one side, sobbing, as Zander appeared. Even though Zander was small compared to his friends, he looked enormous in his armor, and they were clearly terrified when the blue giant paused to look down at them. A servo whirred as Zander’s visor slid out of the way. He smiled reassuringly. “Don’t cry… . I won’t hurt you. What is this place?”
“I-i-i-t’s a daycare,” the taller of the two women sobbed.
“Take a walk,” Zander said kindly. “I’m going to kill the man who went inside.”
They took off down the stairs.
Ward was there, right behind Zander, ready to back him up. “The bastard will be waiting for you.”
“Yeah,” Zander said, “I know.” And with that he turned to push the door open. A small-caliber bullet hit Zander right in the middle of the chest as he entered the office. The soldier was standing in front of a desk holding a wailing toddler with one hand, and a pistol with the other. His rifle was slung across his back. The handgun came up so that it was pointed at the child. “Get out!” he snarled. “Get out or the kid dies.”
Without a second’s hesitation, Zander pulled the trigger and the gauss rifle jumped. It was pointed down, but not all the way down, and the guard screamed as the lower part of his left leg disappeared. The Kel-Morian fired reflexively, but the bullet missed the toddler’s head by a fraction of an inch, and Zander was there to catch the child as the soldier fell. By then, he was rolling around on the floor trying to stop the bleeding with both hands.
Concerned as to what the toddler might see next, Zander held him so they could see each other through the open faceplate, and was rewarded with a big grin.
The screaming stopped when Ward kicked the soldier in the head. “Come on, Max… . We have to go.”
“Yeah,” Zander said, as he jiggled the toddler up and down. “You go ahead… . These people need to haul ass while they can. I grew up in a place like this so I know how to get a lot of children from one place to the next. I’ll get them started in the right direction and catch up with you in a few minutes.”
Ward started to object, started to say that Tychus would be pissed, but the words died in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own children—and the raid that killed them. “Okay, but you hurry … hear me?”
As Ward turned to leave, the toddler bopped Zander on the head with a tiny fist, and giggled.
Some of the Kel-Morians were still on the loose. Raynor knew that. But at least a couple dozen of the bastards had been dealt with—and he figured that was good enough for government work. So, cognizant of the time, he and Tychus led what remained of the shrinking command east toward the train station.
Half were on one side of the street, half on the other, their eyes roaming the storefronts opposite them, looking for any signs of resistance. There were open windows, and the occasional flash of a face, but no signs of opposition as they put the business district behind them and entered the industrial area beyond. The town was strangely quiet, as if holding its breath to see what would happen next. And that was a good question. What would happen next? Would the train arrive on time? Would they be able to get the drop on Vanderspool and his “brain-panned” marines? If not, a whole bunch of people were going to die.
A couple of the resocs were out on the platform in front of the train station, acting as lookouts. Their visors were open, and Raynor saw one of them murmur something into his comm unit before producing a generic resoc smile, which he directed at Tychus. “Good morning, Sergeant.”
As Tychus led the others forward, Raynor wondered how the marine could say something over the comm without it coming in over the company freq. Unless the resocs were communicating with Vanderspool on a private push! And why would they want to do that unless …
Raynor wanted to say something, wanted to warn Tychus of possible trouble, but it was too late by then. The noncom had already pushed the door open and was inside the train station. The ceiling was low, rows of bench-style seats took up most of the waiting room, and the loading platform was visible beyond. “Well done,” Vanderspool said expansively, as he came forward to meet them. “The train is due in ten minutes, and we’re ready to receive it.”
“Lieutenant Fitz,” Vanderspool continued. “Please position Sergeant Findlay and his troops where you think they’ll do the most good.”
Raynor couldn’t help but notice the way in which Fitz placed each member of Heaven’s Devils up front, where they would not only be the first to make contact with the Kel-Morians, but would be caught in a crossfire if the resocs chose to fire on them from behind.
But, as the train appeared to the north and began to slow, there wasn’t anything he could do but check his rifle and sweat into his hardskin. Stealing was a lot harder than he thought it would be.
Overseer Aaron Pax eyed his HUD as the high-speed lev train rounded a gentle curve and began to decelerate. Thanks to the counter located in the lower left-hand corner of his HUD, he knew that the maglev would arrive in one minute and thirty seconds.
Assuming that everything had gone well, Vanderspool and his troops would be in complete control of the town by that point and awaiting his arrival. Once the doors opened, they expected to board the train virtually unopposed, overcome a force of twenty unarmored troops, and steal forty chests of ardeon crystals worth one billion credits. Crystals that would be worth more, much more, when the war ended, as it would soon.