Squad Marsters had already cut the locks on the ground floor bay and plunged into the dark interior, Holland and Ben had been added to their number. By the time Squad Ulanti entered the complex a running battle was already in progress as Squad Marsters rooted out clusters of defenders.
“Reapers break by twos and sweep the factory,” said Boss Ulanti as the squad fanned out into what appeared to be a sprawling processing plant of some kind, though judging from the smell, Samuel guessed that the plant was indeed a food processor that turned the planet’s algae into something resembling a meal. “Hondo you’re with me.”
Two other marines, a man and a woman who had replaced Spencer and Joseph, paired off and broke left as Boss Ulanti and Hondo pressed forward. Samuel turned to Gretchen, who nodded and moved to follow the marine as he broke right. The twin cough of Ben and Harold’s heavy guns echoed through the factory floor, giving some indication as to just how huge the interior was.
To Samuel’s eye, it looked as if the vast majority of the complex was actually comprised of this multi-leveled processing unit and contained little else beyond the rudimentary creature comforts the staff might need. Samuel turned on his gun light and swept his barrel back and forth as he moved through a series of conveyor belts that looked as if they’d gone without use or maintenance for some time, a detail that did not escape Gretchen’s notice either.
“This place hasn’t been operational for a while, Boss,” observed the marine in a gravelly voice as she holstered her sidearm so that she could spark the pilot light on her flamer. “I worked in a packing plant for awhile before going Reaper, if you let belts like this sit idle they have to be entirely replaced.”
“You’re right, at Assemblage 23 back on Baen 6 my father told me they would keep the belts running during no-load phases just because it added more life to the parts,” agreed Samuel as he began to get a stronger sense of what had happened here. “Running a plant like this, in contested space no less, would take a regular supply drop.”
“Something went wrong here that’s for sure,” said Gretchen as she and Samuel moved among the rotting machinery. All the while sounds of sporadic shooting echoed throughout the complex.
Suddenly two men came running around a corner, both of them wearing workman’s overalls. While neither of them was armed, the marines weren’t taking any chances. Gretchen had hugged the edge of the corridor and remained unseen, though Samuel had been caught in the open.
Samuel raised his rifle to fire on them when an armored warrior came around the corner and opened fire on the two men. One was hurled forward by the fusillade of shots, his torso erupting with gory exit wounds. The second man flung himself to the ground after taking a round in the meat of his thigh. Samuel and the armored man exchanged brief glances, each taking the other in, before snapping off rounds at each other as the marine dove for cover.
The armored man was definitely a mercenary of some kind, thought the marine as his mind sifted through the details with the alacrity borne of years of combat experience. Samuel landed hard, and was positive that he’d taken at least a few indirect hits on his shoulder and thigh. He rolled over and began scrambling back to his feet he caught Gretchen’s eye and nodded.
Voss nodded and swung the muzzle of her flamer around the corner, hosing the narrow corridor with a gout of liquid flame. As the wounded workman screamed, the merc stumbled backwards while the flame cascaded across his armored body and engulfed the corridor in a storm of combustion. The combined sounds of the wall plates peeling, the body armor cracking, and the body fat of the two workmen sizzling were like a cross between grinding metal and a piece of meat cooking on a grill. Samuel was very glad his helmet had an environmental filtration system.
Voss used a standard marine issue flamer, just like George Tuck had before he was lost on Vorhold, though she was known to add a small vial of tacerine oil to her tank mix. The molecules in the tacerine bonded with the pressurized mixture of mordite gas and plant based bio-diesel to create a weapon that could vomit forth what amounted to a flaming gelatin. While her flamer only had half the range of the standard unit, the sticky flame was dramatically more effective in eliminating armored enemies because it burned longer, and hotter. It was a break with ordinance protocol, but in the year of war against both Helion and the machine race, the marines on the front line had learned more than one way to give themselves an advantage, and they would take what they could get.
The temperature in the factory floor was already rising from the sheer potency of the inferno raging in the corridor and thanks to the swampy environment the humidity was now stifling, forcing Samuel to key a defogger on his helmet.
“Tango Platoon be advised, we just witnessed an armored hostile, likely a contractor, gun down two of the presumed plant staffers,” Samuel reported into his com-bead as he and Gretchen waited for the corridor to reach a minimal smolder before securing whatever lay beyond. “Observing lack of equipment maintenance and general state of disrepair.”
“Roger, engaging hostiles now,” responded Boss Ulanti, the sound of gunfire filling both the factory floor and the com channel as the man spoke. “Came across several non-com KIAs, looked like they were executed.”
“Tango Leader, task force FRAGO issue, time now,” said Boss Marsters, his voice a flat and commanding tone on the task force channel, “Detain non-combatants when possible, lethal force reserved for threat level actual.”
“Copy,” came the response from dozens of marines on the channel, as Samuel and Gretchen pushed through the heated corridor and deeper into the complex.
When the two marines passed through a door that had been jammed open they could see several bodies of workmen who had presumably been executed. They proceeded up a flight of stairs and Samuel guessed that they would soon be able to exit onto the balcony level upon which the gun emplacements had been positioned.
The sound of gunfire on the balcony could still be heard, so Samuel very carefully eased the door open and peered into the area. The balcony was one long gangplank that was dotted with makeshift pillboxes; each one haphazardly welded together using sheet metal. The odd feature of the balcony was that the entire area, from the bottom of the safety railing to the top of the deck had been covered in mesh wire fencing and either zip-tied or spot welded into place. It certainly wasn’t the sort of defense that would keep out bullets, so Samuel guessed it might have had more to do with keeping the creatures away.
One of the gun emplacements was still active, and Samuel could see the bodies of dozens of the workmen sprawled out across the balcony deck. Most of them looked as if they’d been killed in the gunfight against the Reaper’s assault. It was obvious, though, that several had clearly been forced to kneel against the back wall and been shot in the head. Even as Samuel watched a workman with a bolt-action rifle dropped his weapon and attempted to flee, only to be shot in the back by another of the armored mercs.
“Looks like maybe these mercs were forcing the plant workers to fight us, maybe the creatures too,” said Samuel as he turned back to Gretchen, “I just watched them execute a staffer who tried to stop fighting.”
“It is what it is, Boss. What’s the order?” asked Gretchen as she hefted her flamer.
“You burn the nest, I’ll come in behind you and drop anybody who responds,” said Samuel as he tapped his com-bead over to the task force channel. “Reapers assaulting gun emplacements from behind the wire, one flamer and one rifle, be advised.”
Samuel received several good copies from platoons that he knew were still down in the cove and nodded to Gretchen. The flamer marine heaved herself up and through the door and Samuel rushed in behind her.