Another look at the wrist-screen told the Staff Sergeant the enemy had spread even further along the ridge in an effort to counter her people, making their task all the harder. Sierra prayed the Goddess remember the sacrifices of her sisters and keep them from harm. She unslung her carbine and took point, trading speed for discretion on the ascent. Farther down the mountain Foxy’s rifle spoke, silencing the enemy machine-gun emplacement. Sierra swept her aim from side to side as she advanced, confident Tango would catch anyone she might miss in her advance.
They found the first hostile precisely where Horus indicated he would be — kneeling behind a boulder and fumbling a reload. Sierra sent him sprawling with a trio of 5.56 rounds, painting the rocks with his blood. She and Tango sniffed out the next soldier on their own as Horus met with some unknown interference, the target blinking in and out at random. They spied the hostile peeking out of a shallow recess in the mountainside, firing and ducking back under cover to avoid the quadrotor’s scanners. Sierra and Tango lit him up the next time he materialized. He slithered back into his hole, his life draining away.
The commandos resumed their advance along the trail, heads on a swivel and sniffing the air to find the six remaining enemies. Nictitating membranes shielded their large, sensitive eyes allowing them to absorb more light than human standard, providing an unparalleled view of the environs. Their mobile ears swiveled and rotated, tracking for any signs of danger that might have eluded the quadrotor.
‘Hostile MG active, hostile MG active, hostile—’
A peal of thunder erupted forty meters up the ridge, interrupting the urgent missive from Horus. Sierra and Tango dropped and narrowly avoided the high caliber penetrators directed at them. The machine-gun scythed into their earthen cover, spitting a rain of stony splinters over the prone commandos.
“Suppress that damned gun,” Sierra demanded over the comms.
The staccato of gunfire intensified as the pride renewed their suppressive fire. The belt-fed redirected its attention back down the slope to silence the barrage and Sierra took advantage of the opportunity and raised her head for a look.
“Specialist, what’s your condition?” she asked.
“Pissed myself a little, Staff Sergeant, but am otherwise intact.”
Sierra chuckled despite herself. Modified they may be but the pride were still fundamentally human.
Tango shook her head. “Might not want to laugh too hard, Staff Sergeant. It looks like you took some shrapnel. You’re bleeding through your pants leg.”
Sierra grunted and reached for her calf, feeling the lacerations she hadn’t noticed. They stung at her touch but she diagnosed them as superficial. She grinned. Better a little blood than wet panties.
‘Four hostiles headed your direction’, Horus said through the implants in their ears, which kept them in contact even if the rest of their comms broke down.
Sierra glanced at the wrist-screen, viewing four thermal signatures through the drone’s sensor suite. She snapped her carbine up in time to catch the first combatant in her optics. Cross dot merged with silhouette and jacketed lead punched through yielding flesh. Momentum carried the combatant backward a short distance, rifle clattering from his hands. The three other hostiles took notice and ducked back, stopping short of entering the Staff Sergeant’s line of sight.
“I’ll keep their heads down. You go pay a visit and share the good word of our Lady of Slaughter.”
“My pleasure, Staff Sergeant,” Tango replied with a purr, rising to sling her carbine.
Sierra released a burst of rounds to discourage curiosity as Tango set to scaling the rocky incline. The staff sergeant watched as Tango crawled up and over, disappearing behind the jagged rise. The belt-fed proceeded to spit certain death downrange. When Horus confirmed Tango was perched above the three hostiles exchanging shots with the Staff Sergeant, Tango unsheathed the Kukri from her thigh and drew the .45 from her hip holster.
“On three,” she subvocalized to Sierra through the comms.
One.
Two.
At three Sierra ceased fire and watched with amusement as Tango dropped into the midst of the hostiles. Death from above. The specialist struck with knife and pistol in a savage, whirling sequence worthy of the Goddess’s praise. Blindsided, the combatants died without struggle, major arteries severed and critical organs punctured in the blink of an eye, the walls of their makeshift cover painted in wet and dripping crimson. Tango ran her tongue along the flat of her knife, no doubt savoring the copper sacrament.
Sierra rushed by at a near sprint. “Vicky is hit,” she said between breaths.
Tango sheathed her knife and followed the Staff Sergeant, swapping pistol mags on the fly. They closed in on the last two enemies in the battle zone, snapping off shots as they navigated the uneven footing. Hollow points from Tango’s .45 connected with the nearer of the two, expanding upon penetration and disrupting soft tissue. The machine gunner pivoted, hefting the belt-fed to fire along the path they tread, finger jammed against the trigger in desperation.
From there on, the trail offered no further concealment for Sierra and Tango. They unloaded on the gunner the instant they broke cover. Several bullets found their mark, hammering into the hostile’s torso, but he remained upright. Staggering, he braced to continue his stream of fire. Sierra let go of her carbine and drew her sidearm, expecting the 7.62 to shred her before she could get another shot off.
To their mutual astonishment the gunner’s head cratered in a puff of red mist and gray pulp and he crumpled in a heap of ruined flesh.
‘All threats neutralized. Battle zone clear. Initiating patrol sweep’, Horus broadcast.
“Sorry, Staff Sergeant, you were taking too long,” Foxy said over the comms, “Thanks for setting up the shot though.”
“That was your handiwork?” asked Sierra.
“Affirmative.”
Sierra thanked her and got back to the business at hand. “How’s Vicky?”
“Alive,” Specialist Victor answered over the link. “MG winged me but the weave deflected the worst of it. Hurts like a mother but I’ve suffered worse.”
Sierra breathed a sigh of relief. The pride was intact. “In that case haul ass up here and bring our packs,” she ordered.
“Yes, Staff Sergeant, on our way.”
Sierra kicked the belt-fed away from the dead gunner and knelt to examine him. He was considerably larger than the others and he must have been ugly even before Foxy evacuated his brain pan. His torso bore seven entry wounds but barely a dribble of blood at each. Sierra probed his chest, validating her suspicion. The gunner had a sub-dermal ballistic weave of his own. He was a mod like she was, though a poor imitation of the meticulous care and state-of-the-art technology that had gone into crafting her own body.
“What do you make of these combatants, Specialist?” she asked.
“Collateral damage,” replied Tango over by the gunner’s associate.
“Elaborate.”
Tango dropped to her knees, opened the corpse’s mouth and set to prying a tooth out.
“They’re armed with cheap AK variants, wearing rags, and I’ll bet my favorite knife that big fella you’re poking has black market mods all through him. This guy here does too.”