Slaves of Hyperion (Star Crusades Uprising, Book 6) (2 page)

“Keep moving!” he cried and pushed on until reaching the outer perimeter wall. When in cover, he looked back at the crashed cobra and was relieved to see all eight members of the team moving towards him. The last two cobras came in fast and disgorged their own forces alongside the next wall about a hundred metres further along the compound.

“Status?” he asked, but it was superfluous. No sooner had he asked the question than he could already see their positions on his HUD. It was fast, quick to read and immediately told him the unit was in position.

“Okay, plan B, we go through the walls. Proceed as planned,” he stated clearly.

Like a well-oiled machine, two of the men attached devices to the wall. It took just seconds, and they backed off, turning from the wall.

“Fire in the hole!” shouted the one and with no further warning, a chunk of masonry was blown apart. The hole was at least three metres wide, plenty big enough for them to enter. Spartan stepped through first, and the rest of the two squads followed him. A number of floodlights filled the outer sections with a dull orange glow, and the building in the middle was lit from several internal lights. Dusts and debris filled the air, and for a second Spartan almost lost his way. He connected to the recons that were situated almost three kilometres away near the main powerplant replay station for the area.

“Cut the power, now!”

It took less than five seconds for every light in the compound to cut out as well as every structure, streetlight and power coupling in the block. With the lighting gone, the entire compound was now almost totally black. The team inched forward, their dark armoured suits melting them into their surroundings. They spread out with Spartan and his squad heading for the main door while the others moved to their own targets. As he moved forward, he quickly communicated with the pilot of the downed Cobra.

“What happened? Casualties?” he asked.

There was a short pause from the pilot before he replied.

“Mechanical failure, no casualties, Sir. She’s set for detonation when we hit the air. I’ve already stripped the data and communication core.”

Spartan nodded to himself at the quick and precise information. It was an unfortunate loss and meant the second squad was now unable to assault via the roof of the compound. Still, the teams had been practicing this operation for weeks, and the loss of a single squad wouldn’t stop their mission. When they left the site, they would trigger the charges and destroy the crippled Cobra in its entirety. Nothing but charred metal and burnt out components would remain.

“Transfer your gear to Cobra Three and provide extraction fire support.”

“Sir!” came back the reply.

He looked to the door that was now just a few metres away. It looked almost identical to the one they had worked on back in the mock-up of the compound erected on board the ANS Santa Cruz. The old warhorse had plenty of space for their training now that so few people were stationed there. It was odd compared to her days of carrying thousands of marines. He looked back to the barrier now facing them. The hinges and bolts were hidden from view by the close fitting metal outer skin; it was designed for security and had been reinforced recently. He lifted his hand to give the signal but spotted movement on one of the higher levels. His instinct told him of the danger, and he sidestepped just as a burst of gunfire ripped through the courtyard. The soldier behind him took three rounds in his chest armour and stumbled back, hitting the ground. He watched him fall and then looked up in the direction of the attacker.

Bastard!

Spartan lifted his rifle and took aim through the holographic sight to the enemy watching down to the courtyard. With the target in clear view, he pulled the trigger. With an almost silent whoosh the firearm sent a surge of power through the coils and accelerated a single metal slug to just below the speed of sound. It struck the man in the forehead and sent him flying back into the room he occupied. The gun itself was completely silent, and only the crack made by the projectile crashing through the air made any sound at all. Two more rounds were sat in the two other barrels, ready to be released at any moment. He looked back to the fallen man only to see one of his corporals lifting him to his feet. He nodded to Spartan.

“He’s okay, the armour did its job.”

Spartan smiled inwardly. The armour was good equipment, but the thought of losing these well-trained individuals was always a heavy burden to him. They hadn’t even penetrated the main building, let alone spotted their hated enemy. Losing a man so early would be a heavy price for the mission. They were interrupted by an almost elated message from Sergeant Yobun.

“Sir, we’re in!” he called out over the communications unit. The commander of the Third Troop was on the other side of the compound and performing the same mission as Spartan’s team. Just seconds later, and Spartan could already see ammunition expenditure on his HUD. It meant they were in combat and firing their weapons.

Third Troop is in action already. Come on, we need to get in the fight, or they’ll be on their own!

He turned to Corporal
Lina Sovana
to encourage her to speed up, but she was already on the door and placing charges at key points. It was fast work, and Spartan allowed himself a moment’s pleasure at the skill and precision exhibited by his team. Most had come straight from the Marine Corps like himself, but some, such as Corporal Sovana, were from the police Anti Terror Units; the elite tactical teams used to bust drug dealers and stamp down on organised crime. She looked to him, nodded and then stepped back.

“Blow it!” he ordered.

With a simple tap on the detonator device on her suit, the series of three charges ripped chunks from the wall. Spartan pushed forward to find their way still blocked by the scorched but still standing door. Through the holes he could see there was another layer of armour behind the first section. He looked back to the young woman.

“It’s still up, Corporal. Bring down the wall!”

She needed no further encouragement and took up position along the wall just a few metres away. It was a procedure they had tested already in case of such an eventuality. There was always a chance the entry points would be reinforced, and there might even be deliberate diversions from the main ways inside. Corporal Sovana placed a new series of shaped charges and double-checked them before again stepping back. She looked to Spartan who gave her the nod.

“Fire in the hole!”

There was a mighty flash that the suit’s visor instantly deadened, much like the way a welding mask might react to the arc of a welding torch. His thermal imaging picked out the signatures of two figures, both on the floor but already standing. One was carrying a weapon of some kind, which was all he needed to know. He stepped inside the breach and fired two short bursts at each figure. The triple-barrels fired one after the other, allowing a high rate of fire yet giving the weapon time to load the chambers, a round to the head and a round to the chest, just as he had practiced so many times before. It was classic double tapping, and then he was past them and inside the lower level of the old police compound. The first eight fighters of First Troop moved in behind him while the second team set up a perimeter in case anybody tried to escape. They frequently practiced working with the troop of sixteen so that they could operate as one unit or break down to smaller groups of either eight or four. It gave them the flexibility to operate in all kinds of situations.

“Stay frosty people, we have reports of up to a dozen tangos in here. Watch for wires and traps. I don’t want to lose any one today.”

“Sir!” called
Sgt Seven Troky
from outside the building, “We’re picking up movement at the militia barracks. Looks like somebody spotted the explosions.”

Spartan checked the overhead view from their circling reconnaissance drone. The barracks was far enough away that he reckoned they had at least ten, maybe fifteen minutes before they might be found. The wrecked Cobra was no longer burning and not obvious from the ground. He spotted the shapes of the other three Cobras as they took off and moved away. While they were on the ground, they were vulnerable to gunfire.
 
They had another way out, and there was also the assumption they would need a larger vehicle to extract prisoners and potentially wounded.

“Update me on their progress,” he ordered and continued his approach to the main staircase on the left wing of the building. At the bottom he waited for the rest of his unit to catch up and did another quick check on the aerial view, still no change. He scanned every possible hiding place while keeping his rifle up to his shoulder. His HUD overlaid the information from his firearm, as well as integrating infrared and thermal imaging to create a visual feed, that gave him a major edge over the enemy. The infrared gave him a monochromatic view of the interior while the thermal imaging showed him heat sources.

“Ground floor clear, moving up!” called out Sergeant Yobun.

Sergeant Morato tapped Spartan’s shoulder. It was a simple signal, but that was all he needed to take the corner. He moved to the far left, his rifle pointing directly up the stairs and in the expected direction of the enemy. Teresa moved to his right and the others behind them in two short columns, as they had rehearsed so many times before.

“Stun grenade!” called Teresa.

On cue, a hexagonal stun grenade sailed passed them all and to the next level. It was smaller than the equipment used by conventional ground forces and designed to operate on impact. It took skill and timing to use it correctly and could be as much a danger to the team as it was to the enemy if not used properly. It disappeared from view and was followed by a dull crump. It was the signal they were waiting for.

“Move it!” barked Spartan.

Both columns rushed the stairs, each of them scanning for signs of the enemy. A man staggered into view, either confused by the attack or temporarily blinded by the grenade. Either way it didn’t matter, he was struck by two short bursts fired by the unit. None stopped as they continued their steam roll through the building. Spartan moved along the corridor and approached the next flight of stairs, taking him to the main level above.

“Sergeant, secure this level,” he said as dispassionately as he could.

But it wasn’t easy having the mother of his child as his number two. Not that he would have it any other way. They had worked together since joining the Marine Corps, and there was no one else he trusted more to watch his back. Sergeant Morato nodded and gave hand signals to the other three in the split unit. They moved off onto the level to look for signs of the enemy. Spartan looked back to the staircase and checked his own half of the unit was ready.

“Intel has this as the primary level in the compound. Watch for friendlies. Second Troop is entering from the south side.”

With that, he moved up with the rest of the group close beside him. The staircase widened to an open foyer type arrangement with a circular reception desk facing them. Spartan spotted movement and threw himself to the right side of the corridor, knocking down the two closest of his men. A loud burst of rifle fire clattered towards their now vacated position. The weapon was large calibre, possibly even a light machine gun, and tore finger-sized holes in the walls around them. It was archaic compared to the triple barrelled XL52 Mk II assault rifle he was carrying.

“Taking fire on the northern stairwell. We need flanking fire, now!” he said calmly over the suit’s communication system.

“Roger,” came back the calm response from the Sergeant
Tsuki Yobun
, the confident commander of the Second Troop. Unlike Spartan, this Sergeant was an old school NCO back from well before the uprising. He was much older and had the scars and experience to prove it.

Spartan looked back to the top of the staircase and realised the precarious situation they were in. He twisted the muzzle to deactivate the more stealth sub-sonic mode. In this situation, he needed firepower and penetration over quietness. Not that any noise he made mattered now, the terrorists own firearms roared in the stillness of the night air. He glanced over to the other three who were all looking up to the position of the enemy.

“Give me covering fire, now!”

There was no hesitation, and each lifted their weapons and blind fired towards the position of the enemy. A sporadic burst of defensive fire hit back, but it was wild, and the shooter must have been ducking to avoid fire. Spartan lifted his head briefly and aimed at the position he had last seen the man firing from. The reception desk was flat-fronted and cool on his display, much cooler than expected. He could pick up the sparks and flashes from their rifle rounds failing to penetrate the target. He fired a short burst and dropped back.

“Sir, he’s dug in. If you ask me, that desk area has been armoured for a day like this. I’d say inch thick plate or some kind of composite,” suggested Corporal
Lina Sovana
.