Koban 4: Shattered Worlds (20 page)

Sarge recalled the last fight he was engaged in, here on Poldark, when he lost his left arm while wearing standard armor. “I wonder what it’s like for our troops, facing this new Krall armor.”

****

The infantry captain was watching the Krall advance, via the various spy bots and riverside cameras they had planted. He spoke into his suit com link to the artillery commander. “Captain Franklin, start an anti-personnel barrage on the far side of the river, and walk it towards the river, staying behind those armored transports in the lead. We want to catch those warriors on foot coming out of the revetments behind the trucks. The depleted uranium pellets don’t hurt their new heavy armor much, but they ruin the hell out of a plasma rifle, and the other personal weapons they attach to their suits. Their closest rifle and power pack replacements are the ones carried in the backs of the transports they’re following. At least that’s what the spy bots showed us.”

“Captain,” responded the voice at the other end, “I have the some of the new armor penetrator rounds. A few of those could get past the laser defenses to take out some of the armored transports. They’ll kill a mini tank.” Implying they could also drive their molten metal jets into the interior of the double segmented heavy trucks.

“I was told those are in limited supply, arriving only after we learned about this continent wide assault.”

“True,” Franklin acknowledged, “but I have a couple of thousand rounds, Captain.”

“Thanks, but we should save those for actual tanks and our withdrawal. Most of the heavy transports in the lead aren’t going to make it across the river anyway, at least not at Novi Sad. Our bridges were mined for this day over a month ago. That’s why we left them standing, and asked you not to drop rounds on them. Until they bring up their own portable bridge segments or use clanships, the bulk of the leading warriors will have to walk underwater through the mud, or use shuttles to cross over after we take the bridges down. Their replacement rifles and closest ammunition supply will be at the bottom of the river in those transports.”

“Sounds like a plan. When you pick up movement under water, if you designate where on the grid, I can drop some HE rounds to ruin their day.”

“Great. I’ll have my corporal call you with any underwater detector reports. We have sensors already deployed. It’ll be good to return the favor, since they made rivers and shorelines death traps for our divers.”

****

Photok didn’t like driving an armored transport. The two batteries of rooftop plasma cannons were operated from the two rear compartments by other warriors, so as just the driver, he had no means actually to attack the enemy. He could only earn status points from kills and as a driver that would only happen if he managed to run over and crush one of the humans. Not a very pleasurable or personal kill, and not very probable.

He wasn’t even allowed to race ahead of the leading wave of the assault, to meet the enemy sooner. The front four ranks of transports were to reach each of the seven bridges over the river simultaneously, to prevent human plasma fire from concentrating on isolated trucks rushing ahead. Depending on bridge width, they were to drive four to six transports abreast, in ranks four deep, as they drove onto the bridges, then suddenly increase their speed to maximum when they reached the bridges. They would sweep any resistance aside with this fast assault, and then fan out and hold their positions on the far side, to prevent humans from trying to retake the bridges or to destroy them. The hated artillery couldn’t seriously hurt the transports, or bring the sturdy bridges down before the majority of the advance forces were well established on the far bank.

Photok looked to his right, at the other two armored warriors of his clan riding with him in the cab. The new heavier suits were so bulky that only the three of them fit where four would have sat previously. The three present in the cab seemed wrong somehow to Photok, who always thought in terms of full hands of warriors.

The other two held their rifles between their legs, butts on the floor, while he needed two hands to operate the steering and throttle. He glanced down at his own rifle in the pocket slot on the left door. When he stopped on the far side of the bridge, he intended to leap out with that rifle and seek some humans to kill. His minor clan had seldom been in the front of an assault force, and they had never been the first to engage the enemy. He vowed he would be among the first of his clan to meet the humans this time.

The warning relayed from the console system told them that projectiles were inbound. The transports were all linked to reports from the laser defense systems, and the ballistic tracks of thousands of rounds of inbound artillery were displayed on the console screen. The precise tracking for ballistic projectiles was less effective for the laser defense system, for some reason, and the humans had learned to avoid guided munitions in mass bombardments. The defense system only killed a bit over half of these projectiles this time. However, it would have destroyed eight out of ten if they had been fired in a higher arc. A flatter trajectory kept them below the defense system longer.

His transport’s forward armor was in place, and should easily absorb the impacts without serious damage. He and his clan mates were surprised when the rounds passed over their vehicles and airburst at head height well behind them. Instead of attacking the lead transports, the enemy was after the more exposed warriors on foot behind them.

Photok, being a typical Krall, felt anger that they had refused to consider him enough of a threat to try to kill him first. He felt no concern for those caught in the hail of depleted uranium pellets, and the occasional smart munition that sought the more vulnerable limb joints. The exposed warriors also wore the heavier armor, which had been pulled from ages old stockpiles and refurbished by their slave workers. This bulky armor had only been used in unregulated interclan battles from thousands of years ago and preserved in airless protection in old orbital battle stations. They had been produced at a time when preserving skilled warrior numbers had seemed advisable, when their Botolian opponents were fighting them with weapons that fired collapsed matter pellets. Its revival now was a testament to this new enemy, not for their individual fighting ability, but of their smart weapons.

There would be relatively few losses from these antipersonnel artillery shells, unless one happened to detonate directly next to a warrior. Even then, the armor might not be breached, but the shock transmitted through the armor itself could kill or disable. Many warriors would shed their heavy armor once they were within the populated human nest areas, aware that human fighters seldom risked killing their own people with artillery. A weakness that the Krall did not have.

From the sounds of rounds passing over, and the vibrations and thuds of the concussions from well behind reaching them, it was apparent that their exposed clan mates were being hit hard.

“We will make the cowardly animals pay for those denied a chance to fight honorably.” He said this over the unit com frequency for the two octets in his transport. There would normally have been twice that number aboard, but the second compartment of the two-segmented vehicle was over half filled with charged power packs for plasma rifles, and many spare rifles. He suddenly realized that the warriors behind him would need those rifles and power packs, because the storm of pellets would surely damage many of the weapons they carried now.

Pressing a button in his helmet with his long versatile purple tongue, he sent his own helmet’s view of the approaching bridge to each of the suit monitors of his two octets. They would pour out of two openings in the articulated joint between the two sections when they were parked on the far side of the bridge. They could start identifying targets and points to attack even as they crossed the bridge.

Zooming one part of his visor screen on the high human nest buildings across the river, with lights lit at the top levels, Photok saw moving figures outlined at curtained windows. Stupidly outlined by light from behind them, they had revealed their shadowed presence through the sight blocking fabric. This assault had obviously caught them by surprise, since the humans that did not know how to fight had not even had time to flee in panic, as they usually did in the face of Krall advances. A kill was a kill and satisfying, although the death of a human warrior ranked higher than what the enemy said was a civilian. An armored soldier was a multiple status point kill, but a room full of non-fighters could be killed quickly, and earn you more points in less time.

Arriving first, he intended to reach the top floors of the closest one of those buildings to score fast and easy points. He chose the one just to the right of the end of this bridge, of the seven identical large nests arrayed along the opposite riverfront. Perhaps he could even enter a second building if the artillery slowed his clan mates on foot for long enough. He would be across the bridge well ahead of them. He was on the roadway now, and had started to accelerate as he neared the point where the pavement sloped higher over the water. The tall nest buildings had revised his opinion of being a driver. He and his two octets would have first access to many kills as early arrivals, because once they delivered their resupply loads to the other side, they were free to hunt.

The humans had placed flimsy wood barricades where the six-lane bridge, the one he was assigned to cross, first extended over the dark swirling waters of the river below. It was less than fifty transport truck lengths to reach the other side of the river, and he was slightly ahead of the five tucks with him, four to his left and one on his right. The lack of heavy opposing fire added evidence that the humans were either unprepared for the massive scale of the assault, or had pulled back early.

That second possibility nagged at Photok. An early pullback would suggest there was less surprise than expected. Having no respect for human fighters as individuals, he had nevertheless learned to expect their cunning and planning. When they had captured the part of the human nest area on the Krall side of the river three months ago, there were other elevated land bridges to cross. Those bridges had become killing zones of the warriors that used them, targets for human plasma batteries and lasers. The warriors exposed on the high bridges paid for the easier and faster passage. That was why the armored transports were being used to lead the way across the river this time.

The octets in these trucks would attack plasma batteries and laser emplacements near the river from the flanks, after they crossed over. They would clear the way for warriors on foot to cross in greater numbers and speed. It would seem logical the enemy would try to stop the transports while they were still on the bridge. However, there was only light projectile fire, and plasma rifle bolts striking their front armor. It was like driving through a rainstorm to these heavy vehicles.

This was not very like the clever cowards. There had to be something more forceful waiting for them on the far side. He relished the chance to test whatever fight they offered. He was disappointed.

Roughly three transport lengths from the end of the bridge, his seat bucked him upwards as the roadway lifted beneath the truck, and then he saw the entire width of the roadway slab in front of him start to drop below the edge of a wide support at the end. His speeding transport hurtled down the increasing slope towards that flat wall. He knew the river was below them and they would end up there, but only after the first six speeding trucks smashed into that wall, and then eighteen others piled into them in three quick waves.

Located at the front of the impending pileup, he would either be crushed or trapped in the wreckage. He needed to get out before that happened.

As the truck dropped with the bridge section, he opened the door to his left and snatched at his plasma rifle. He could see that the warrior by the right door was already jumping clear. It was obvious the transport would smash into the wall before the roadway reached the water. The warrior on the right side had tried to drop to the ground, but she was still moving forward with the truck and falling. Her body would be mixed in with the crushing about to happen, when the vehicles behind piled on top.

Photok instantly saw the best chance was to go up over the top of the cab and to the right, to try to leap clear of the bridge and the other transports. He quickly pushed off the weapons pocket of the door with his left foot, retaining a grip with his right hand on the doorframe, in order to maintain contact with the top surface of the truck. He swung onto the roof, tucked booth feet under him, his short legs helping do that, and shoved powerfully to the right and slightly backwards. He was passing over the cab of the slightly trailing truck to his right as he heard the impact of his cab.

The right side passenger of that adjacent transport was belatedly electing to get out, and was trying to climb to his cab’s roof to leap clear. He was looking towards the river, away from Photok.

Reaching out with his right hand, Photok kept a firm grip on his plasma rifle with his left, and grasped the other Krall’s helmet top. He pulled back and shoved down as hard as possible using the powered assist of his armor. Using that Krall as leverage, he threw himself farther, and cleared the second transport when it was still a body length from striking the wall. The clan mate, who so conveniently helped him along, was flung back into the disaster and wouldn’t be around to offer a death challenge later.