Exodus: Empires at War: Book 8: Soldiers (Exodus: Empires at War.) (25 page)

The human force
returned fire into an enemy position using much the same deception technology
as they were.  But they had the positions tagged on their systems, and
could look by the decoys to the real targets.  Rifle and heavy beam fire
was mostly ineffective, unless it hit a firing port, which was mostly a matter
of luck.  The area between the forces was filled with the buzzing beams of
protons, and the shining lasers made visible by the heavy dust in the
air.  It looked like hell on earth, with the combatants both trying their
best to kill each other and to avoid their own deaths.  Here and there an
eye hurting flare showed where the crystal matrix battery pack of a suit had
popped under a hit to that portion of the battle armor.  Those were sure
death, since the suits used level three batteries, those with the second to
most powerful charge of that type of power unit, and also almost as unstable as
four.

A tank fired,
its high velocity gun sending a penetrator into a bunker.  The supermetal
penetrator burst through the wall of the bunker, killing those directly in its
path and destroying the heavy beam weapon that had occupied that compartment.
The other tanks opened fire as well, blasting holes in bunkers with about half
the hits.  The heavy guns of the fort returned fire, putting one round
through the driver’s compartment of one tank, blasting into the turret of
another that blew the hatches open with its fury, killing the crew in both of
the upper compartments.

By the time the
assault had gotten to within five hundred meters of the fortress perimeter the
force had lost three hundred suits and nine tanks.  Historically, that
would have been the breaking point for many assaults, but these men and women
were professionals who realized that to retreat now would be to waste the lives
they had already lost.  They continued forward, the tanks continuing to
fire at point blank range into the bunkers, engineers now bringing their own
weapons into play, plasma projectors that would send superhot gases through
firing port, hypervelocity rockets, heavy grenade launchers.

Baggett watched
the assault, wincing at every casualty, wanting to cheer as each bunker was
neutralized.  The infantry and engineers swarmed over the bunkers, over
half of them continuing into the fort to assault the artillery and air defense
domes, to battle it out with Caca infantry who fought from positions, or for
those who had been chased from the bunkers, out into the open where they were
quickly eliminated.  The engineers used explosives to break into the still
resisting bunkers, and plasma weapons and particle beams eliminated the Cacas
still manning them.

Baggett tapped
into the feed from one of the engineers.  There was a crack on the side of
the bunker made from weapons fire, and one engineer slapped an explosive device
over that crevice.  The device bonded immediately to the surface of the
bunker, and everyone backed off to about thirty meters.  “Fire in the
hole,” yelled the engineer and the device detonated in a brilliant flash. 
It was a shape charge, its temporary magnetic field forcing the jet of plasma
into the target area, blasting a meter wide hole in the armored bunker.

The second
engineer of the team ran up to that hole, taking advantage of the shock value
of the explosion, aiming the nozzle of his portable plasma cannon into the
openning and firing a two second blast into the interior of the bunker. 
The plasma, burning at a hundred thousand degrees, flew through the hole and
expanded into that chamber of the bunker.  The short screams of the Cacas
within came through the com channel.  It was a painful death, but
mercifully short.  An infantryman followed with a concussion grenade,
which exploded as soon as it hit the heat of the plasma.

The other
bunkers were dealt with in much the same manner, those that still had Cacas
within them.  The engineers were moving to take care of the other lines of
bunkers from the rear when the Cacas, realizing that they were about to be
trapped and only possessing a few firing ports to the back of each position,
came charging out of their coffins.  The Imperial infantry reacted almost
immediately, laying down fire on those exits, multiple beams striking each Caca
and burning through their suits.  Partial bodies in suits fell in those
doorways and blocked them.  The Cacas still inside had to push them out of
the way, giving the infantry even more time to push beams of fast moving
protons into those enemy soldiers.  They were joined by the fire of plasma
cannon in the hands of the engineers, and most of the Cacas died before they
could get out of their bunkers.

Some did get
out, while others came up from underground bunkers where they had sheltered as
a reaction force.  The battle devolved into close combat, suited soldiers
on both sides blasting at each other at point blank range.  A human shot a
Caca from five meters, the particle beam blasting through the armor,
superheated steam rushing out of the breach.  A Caca put a particle beam
pistol against the stomach of a human, blowing a hole through the soldier’s
abdomen.

Watching the
take from individual troopers, Baggett found him quivering in his own suit, his
mind flying back to the close in fights he had engaged in as a junior
officer.  Against the Lasharans, the Cacas, even as a general officer
against the Fenri.  This time he was an observer, something that made him
feel a duplicity of emotions.  Guilt that he was not sharing the battle
with the troops, but was an observer in relative safety.  And relief for
the same reason.

In places the
fight turned into true hand to hand, the larger Cacas attempting to use their
larger size and greater organic strength against the humans.  The human
suits were stronger, though, and the humans faster.  A few Cacas won their
individual battles, at least the first one, before they were swarmed under by
the humans.

“We’re in,”
yelled out one of the platoon leaders who had made it into the central control
bunker of the fort.  “We’re in.”  The voice of the officer was weak
with fatigue, and Baggett knew this unit would have to be stood down for a
rest.

Shit
, he
thought as he looked over the final casualty figures.  The infantry and
engineers had lost over half their numbers killed.  Most of the rest had
sustained some physical injuries and suit damage.  The armored companies
had lost eight tanks destroyed, with another seven damaged, well over half
their force, with almost a quarter of their crew dead.  The Cacas had lost
over three hundred soldiers, almost everyone that had manned the fort. 
Only a handful had been captured.  The General looked up to the sky,
wondering what the result would have been if they would have had air support.

The conclusion
he came to was that fortifications like this would be death traps for the
attacking force.  The only way to take them out was from space, and those
assets weren’t available at this time.  And any that happened to be close
to the refugee or prisoner camps would have to be paid for the old fashioned
way.  In blood.

*    
*     *

“Why are you
here?” asked the armored Caca guard to the leader of the six beings who stood
in the hallway.  The creatures, Maurids, were on all fours with the
exception of their leader.  All wore nothing but the utility harnesses
they normally used to carry the tools they might need.  Maurids had bodies
covered with a tough fur that was almost wirelike in its consistency, and would
only wear specialized clothing when needed.

“The General
called us here,” said the spokesman of the Maurids, standing on his hind legs
to his full two meter height.  His rear hand/feet were in the closed
configuration of his kind when used for fast locomotion, just as all of the
hand/feet of his compatriots were.  His forward hand/feet were opened for
use as manipulation units, and he gestured with them as he spoke.

“The General is
not here,” said the guard, looking off in the distance for a moment in the
manner of a male going into com link.  “He is not even on this base.”

“Then we will
wait for him,” said the leader, an orange striped male who was the largest of
the group.  “He wanted to discuss a mission with us.”

“And what is
this mission?” asked the guard.  “And how did you get in here in the first
place?  We are in a lock down situation.”

The Leader
looked back at his compatriots, three males and two females, all experienced
scouts who had worked all their lives for the Cacas. 
But we were told
to wait on the humans to come, and to aid them however we might.  Even at
the cost of our lives.
  “All I know is that I received orders over my
com link to come here, and that the General would meet us when he could. 
As far as the mission, that is secret, Soldier, and not one we can disclose to
such as you.”

The guard showed
his teeth in anger at that last and glared at the Maurid.  All Cacas
thought they were all superior to every other member of every other intelligent
species.  So even this slow witted male thought he was better, smarter
than any other creature they might interact with.  Which was a serious
weakness that most of the Cacas disregarded. 
Casas
, thought the
Leader with a tooth showing smile.  He understood the term as it was
translated into one of the human languages, and he thought in the use of that
one little term the humans showed their genius.

“We have no
orders for you.  I cannot let you through.”

“We are willing
to wait,” he told the male, standing as if daring the male to ask him to leave.

“I am not able
to contact the General or his staff to ask him what to do,” said the male, a
look of confusion on his face.

And that is
what we are counting on
, thought the Leader.  They had checked the com
channels before they came up with this spur of the moment plan.  And had
hoped that the guards of this com center would not have priority contact with
the leadership.

“You can wait
over there, away from this entrance,” said the guard, pointing toward a small
chamber down the hall.

And not where
we want to wait,
thought the Leader.  He nodded at his other people,
his own muscles tensing., starting to turn, his eyes still locked on the
Caca.  The Caca was wearing some armor, but not the powered variety, and
only providing minimal coverage to his torso and upper arms.

The Leader flew
into his turn, moving with the fluid speed of his kind.  His off hand
opened to full extension, his razor claws rotating out from their
sheaths.  Before the guard could react the Maurid had completed the almost
three hundred and sixty degree spin, his four finger claws slicing through the
fur and skin and muscle into the large artery in the side of the Ca’cadasan’s
neck, continuing on into the windpipe.  The guard tried to react, but
lacking the nerve conduction speed of the Maurids he could not even get his
mouth open for a shout before his lungs were no longer capable of providing air
to his vocal cords.

Two other
Maurids dove forward, grabbing the lower arms of the male in their iron grip,
while the Leader grabbed the wrists of the upper arms.  The three lowered
the big male to the floor, keeping him from triggering any alarm, hoping
anxiously that the Caca hadn’t sent a link alarm through his implant.  If
he did, their mission might be over before it began.

The Maurids,
looked around, sniffing the air, waiting for the alarm.  When it didn’t
come the leader gestured toward the door and one of the females moved quickly
to it.  She pulled a device from one of her pouches and placed it over the
mechanism that controlled the door lock.  The device went to work on its
own, imputing the code they had programmed into it, then verifying the identity
of a Caca authorized to enter the room.  The Leader grabbed the particle
beam pistol from the dead guard, while another male took his magrail rifle.

The door slid
open and the Maurids charged in at full speed, their heads turning swiftly in
all directions to take in the room.  The com panels were across the thirty
meters of the room, manned by a half dozen Cacas who were trying to keep
communications flowing through all the static and jamming that was crowding the
airwaves.  There were two armed guards against the wall, both turning with
open mouths as they fumbled with their weapons.

The Leader aimed
and fired his pistol at the guard to the right, the red beam intersecting the
head of the Caca perfectly through its center.  That head exploded it a
blast of heated tissue and bone, propelled by the superheated steam that the
beam had produced.  The male with the magrail rifle fired a burst on full
auto that caught the Caca in the arm and continued into his chest, then swung
the weapon upward into his head.

The four Maurids
who were not armed with anything but their natural weapons took off across the
floor, running like great cats, rear legs coming up and pushing off as the
front limbs reached forward.  In less than two seconds they were landing
on four of the Cacas, biting down with their strong jaws as they slashed with
their claws.  The two they hadn’t hit struggled with their weapons, one
pulled out a monomolecular knife and sliced through the spine of one of the
attackers.  That Maurid fell off his bleeding victim, his rear legs no
longer functional, gouts of blood pumping from severed arteries.

The Leader lined
up the head of that Caca with his pistol, anxious that he might hit the
equipment behind the male.  He squeezed the trigger for just a second,
killing the Caca, then turned his weapon on the last remaining male as that one
backed away, confusion and fear on his face.  A second shot and that male
was no longer a problem.

“Get those
bodies out of those chairs,” the Maurid Leader told his people, walking over to
the male who had been critically injured.  He looked down at the male,
whose eyes were already glazing over.