The Fate Of Nations: F.I.R.E. Team Alpha: Book One (37 page)

              Having broken through a section of the nearest line of enemy troops, Carter turned the team to the south, toward the exit corridor being held by Captain Renner and his resistance unit. Renner and his group had hastily entrenched themselves, and had already weathered several assaults, but were now facing a coordinated attack from all sides.

              The remains of five Mark-23 powered armor suits lay smoldering only feet away from Renner’s lines; brought down by shoulder fired anti-armor missiles. Dead from both sides of the battle were strewn in all directions. Horrid, high-pitch screams from the wounded penetrated the deafening combination of exploding mortar shells and small arms fire. The smell of burning flesh mingled with that of scorched earth, spent explosives, and burning buildings. Smoke and dust from dozens of differing sources swirled and about to form noxious clouds that almost seemed to have a malevolent, demonic will of their own which compelled them to smother every living thing around them.

              “Captain Renner,” Carter said in to the com-system, “Prowler is approaching from the north with four. Repeat friendlies approaching from the north!”

              Carter led his team toward Renner’s position’ literally killing their way across the fifty meter distance. In the minutes it took to fight through the enemy, the deaths of three members from the other FIRE teams were announced over the com-net. Death was becoming incidental while time became critical. The surviving team members could do nothing but fight on. The enemy was recovering from the initial shock of the FIRE teams’ attack and was beginning to fight back in a coordinated manner.

              When, at last, the team was able to join Renner they found the survivors of Teams Bravo and Echo had already arrived. Carter found Captain Renner and Mason Price, the leader of team Bravo, sheltering behind one of the meter-high concrete walls that stood on either side of the access road that led through the gate that the underground fighters were defending. He could see Isaac Muller and team Echo defending a section of the wall directly opposite them.

              “Where are Frogger and his team?” Carter asked as gun fire passed inches over their heads in what seemed to be a constant stream.

              “They’re still inside the Navy headquarters!” Price replied, shouting over the battle-din. “They touched off their EMPP and put the facility out of action, but there’s a squad of power armor pinning them down inside the building. We were about to go get them!”

              “Right,” Carter said. “You and your team come with Team Alpha and we’ll relieve Frogger and his team!” Carter ordered. “Chuckles!” Carter shouted, using Muller’s call-sign.

              “Sir!” Muller said, moving toward Carter in a half-crawl. Carter put a hand on the Austrian’s shoulder.

              “I need you to stay here and help Renner hold the door open. Pirate and I are going to help Team Foxtrot!”

              “It will be done!” Muller affirmed.

              “We’ll need your teams IMS-7s!” Carter said.

              Muller quickly collected the four IMS-7 missiles carried by his team; adding them to the one still possessed by team Alpha and distributing them among teams Alpha and Bravo.

              “Teams Alpha and Bravo; we’re heading for the naval headquarters!” Carter said into his com link. “Team Foxtrot is pinned down by a squad of powered armor and we’re going to break them out.”

              Each team member replied with: “Roger that!”

              “Alpha has the right; Bravo takes left!” Carter commanded, vaulting the barrier wall. “Move out!”

              “Covering fire!” Muller shouted as Teams Alpha and Bravo went over the wall and started fighting their way to the naval headquarters.

              Team Echo began firing in unison. All along the wall dozens of Renner’s fighters joined them. For several seconds a continuous torrent of directed gunfire forced the WCA troops to seek whatever shelter they could find. This furious, concentrated fusillade protected the two advancing teams like and invisible, moving shield as they rushed forward; annihilating anything in their path.

              Carter led Team Alpha to cover behind a destroyed armored vehicle that had obviously fallen victim to a man-portable missile. To the left he saw Price and his team crouching behind a bullet ridden SUV-like patrol vehicle. Twenty yards in front of them was a line of eleven enemy Mark-23 powered armor suits firing volley after volley from their shoulder mounted twenty millimeter cannons. They were supported by a platoon of First Earth Guardsmen.

              Twenty yards beyond that was the naval headquarters building. It was engulfed in flames. Concentrating on containing team Foxtrot within burning building none of the troops besieging Team Foxtrot did not seem to take any note of the approach of the newly arrived FIRE teams. Intermittent firing from other, less target-fixated enemy troops continued on all sides. 

              Fire from Team Foxtrot cut down a wave of assaulting First Earth Guardsmen as they attempted to enter the burning headquarters building. The exhaust plum from and IMS-7 emerged from a second floor window and destroyed a Mark-23 that was attempting to advance toward the building. Unsure of how many missiles the defenders of the naval headquarters still possessed, the remaining powered suits elected to continue their siege.

              “Ten Two-threes and five missiles,” McNamara observed; “not good, Boss.”

              “We’re stuck with it,” Carter replied. He activated his com-set. “Pirate from Prowler,” he said.

              “Go ahead Prowler,” Price replied.

              “We’ll use our IMS-7 on the five Two-threes directly in front of us. You take Bravo through the gap. Alpha will keep the rest of the Two-threes busy while you cover Foxtrot’s egress!”

              “Roger, that!” Price confirmed.

              “Prowler for Frogger, Do you copy?” Carter asked into his microphone.

              Armand Beauchamp’s voice came through Carter’s speakers clearly, but slightly muffled. Beauchamp and the rest of team Foxtrot were, no doubt, using their IBOS’ respirator masks as protection from the thickening smoke that filled the headquarters building and billowed from its windows. “Frogger copies,” Beauchamp said.

              “Did you copy my last transmission to Pirate?” Carter asked.

              “Affirmative!” Beauchamp replied. “We will be ready to break out when you attack!”

              “On three!” Carter ordered.

              Three seconds later five IMS-7 missiles struck five of the enemy powered armor suits. Jets of molten metal and shrapnel were injected into the armor’s crew compartments; liquefying the operators and sending gouts orange flame in all directions as the heat and pressure burst their way out of the faceplates and blew off the gauntlets and boots that had once contained the pilots’ head and limbs. The air was filled with the overpowering stench of burning human bodies.

              Price led Team Bravo through the gap to meet Beauchamp and the three surviving members Team Foxtrot as they finally fought their way out of the flaming Naval Headquarters. Caught between the two FIRE Teams, the infantry soldiers reporting the Mark-23 suits broke ranks and fled. Most were mowed down as the Bravo and Foxtrot teams as they fought their way toward Captain Renner’s position.

              The remaining Mark-23s turned their full attention on Team Alpha. Two of the armored suits used the rockets attached their backs to leap over the team’s position; cutting off their retreat and forming a deadly crossfire.

              “Section one lay cover!” Carter ordered. “Section two, assault to the rear; get back to Renner!”

              Carter and Burgett each threw a hand grenade and opened fire. They fired controlled burst directly Mark-23’s faceplates; hoping to, at least, disrupt the powered suit’s targeting systems. Burgett’s hi-powered weapon managed to stagger his targets. Hoping to close to a range where his rifle could penetrate his enemy’s armor, Burgett ran toward two of the looming Mark-23; his enhanced speed and reflexes allowing him to evade a hail of twenty-millimeter cannon fire as he charged. He had closed to only fifty feet before his fire breached the faceplate of one Mark Twenty-three. Three micro-explosive rounds detonated after traveling two inches into the pilot’s skull. The armored suit simply stopped moving; becoming a macabre, technological statue.

              Burgett somersaulted forward; narrowly avoiding a hydraulically assisted punch of the seconded armored suit. Rolling to his left, he avoided being stomped by the Mark 23’s massive metal clad foot. On his back, Burgett fired a rifle burst into the armored suits groin; the weapon’s muzzle nearly touching the armor’s surface. At such close range the bullets ripped through the suits torso; cutting the operator in half and immobilizing the suit. Getting to his feet, Burgett fired a round through the faceplate to finish off the pilot.

              Carter remained behind the wrecked armored vehicle and fired on the third armored trooper. With his injured arm, Carter could fire only his ineffective sidearm. One of the armored suits closed on his position even as Carter’s sots careened off of its armor. Carter stood his ground; determined to cover his retreating teammates as long as possible. When he had exhausted his magazine, he set a grenade for proximity blast, and retreated to shelter in a shallow Crater that had been created by mortar shell; reloading his weapon as he ran.

              As the third Mark Twenty-three moved around the wreckage Carter had been hiding behind, Carter’s grenade exploded. Using the explosion as a distraction, Carter fired carefully aimed shots at the cannon on the Mark Twenty-three’s shoulder. All eight rounds struck the weapon, jamming the small motors that allowed it to be traversed and aimed. With the cannon out of action, Carter charged out of the crater intending to use his hyper-alloy knife to disable the powered armor by piercing the thinly protected joints.

              Carter’s knife plunged into the thinner Kevlar armor that covered torso and waist and opening the pilot’s abdomen. But, before Carter could end the encounter by stabbing his blade into the throat, an armor-plated fist slammed into his midsection. The mechanically augmented blow launched Carter twenty feet backward. He landed on his injured arm and rolled another ten feet. Wounded, but still mobile, the armored trooped lumbered toward Carter as he tried to get to his feet.

              Carter’s legs failed him. Small droplets of blood sprayed from his mouth as he breathed in labored, rasping breaths. He could not find his sidearm or his knife. He forced himself to his feet; determined not to meet his death on his knees. He drew another, smaller knife from a sheath on his boot. The powered armored loomed over Carter: its mechanical hands reaching out to squeeze the life from him. Carter slashed at the machines wrist; slicing into the flexible armor between the metal-plated forearm and hand. His cut drew blood but his enemy’s other hand seized him by his left shoulder, crushed his clavicle, and sent five- thousand of volts of electricity through his body. The armored trooper held Carter off of the ground as his body convulsed.

              On the verge of unconsciousness, Cater became vaguely aware of the sound of bullets ringing off of metal. The Mark-23 dropped Carter and turned toward the sound of gunfire. Carter pushed his face out of the dirt; managing, with great effort, to get to his knees and support himself on his right arm. His already wounded left arm was now even more shattered and useless.

              With narrowing vision, Carter saw Burgett firing a succession of aimed, single shots at the armored troopers faceplate. He saw the rifle of a slain enemy soldier a few yards in front of him and crawled toward. If he could move, he thought, then he could fight. He could not hope to damage the Mark-23 with an ordinary rifle, but he could kill any unarmored troops which were sure to return once they had regrouped.

              Finally, when the Mark-23 was within twenty feet of Burgett, one of his rifle shots shattered the armors faceplate. The operator screamed; his face lacerated and pierced in several places by shards of impact resistant polymers. One of his eyes had been destroyed. Burgett ended the man’s screams with a final shot that emulsified his head.

              Then Burgett went down. A spray of blood erupted from his right shoulder and he was propelled backward several feet to land on his side and rolling uncontrollably to a stop. The three surviving Mark-23s had given up their pursuit of the other FIRE teams to aid their comrades. Having seen Burgett dispatch three of their own, they had turned their full attention to him.

              As he tried to rise a second twenty millimeter round tore through his abdomen. He fell onto his face, but rose onto his elbows to fire at the remaining armored suits from a prone position; feeling a pool of his own growing steadily beneath him. He divided his fire among the powered suits, trying to damage, or at least, interfere with their targeting systems.

              More cannon rounds churned up earth and fragment concrete walkways in front of and around him. He was grateful that they were firing solid, armor piercing rounds instead of those tipped with high explosives.

              Burgett glanced toward where he had seen Carter fall. He saw the colonel on his belly firing a captured rifle with one hand at a squad of enemy infantry. He smiled as the Mark-23s closed in on him.
The Boss is alive,
he thought. He changed the magazine in his rifle and plucked a thermite grenade from his battle harness.