becoming aware of several things, the first of which was that he knew what had destroyed the assault vehicle. The Protectorate mostly used things that they had brought with them back at the tail end of the 21 Century, when they had gone through the wormhole in the asteroid belt and emerged in orbit around the ruined alien homeworld. Those and some of the things they had pirated from Republic cargo or colony ships they could run through the alien replication factory they’d discovered and make more. But there was one thing they had built on their own, using designs from before the Sino-Russian War and cannibalized parts. The Marines who had first faced them had dubbed them Hoppers because the armored gun vehicles walked with a curious, hopping gate on ostrich-like legs designed to travel over rough terrain.
One of the Hoppers lay on the ground a hundred meters from the assault vehicle, burning just as fiercely, its cockpit and weapons turrets a smashed ruin. It was clear to McKay that the Hopper had taken out the assault vehicle with a missile before being destroyed itself.
Beyond the wrecked Hopper McKay could finally see the shuttle and marveled that the spacecraft was still intact. The delta-winged craft was designed for combat and heavily armored but it couldn’t have survived a missile strike from the Hopper… it was just luck that the Marine assault vehicle had taken out the Hopper before it had a chance to destroy the shuttle. He could see that the shuttle was sealed tight, the cargo and boarding ramps both retracted, but showed no other signs of being ready for takeoff. At least a dozen bodies were scattered around the shuttle’s landing gear, most of them Protectorate biomechs, and the battle was still raging around it.
A force of about twenty biomechs was clustered around the cover of the wrecked Hopper, oblivious to the flames still licking off of its shredded turbines, laying down a steady stream of automatic fire in the direction of the shuttle’s massive, heavy duty landing gear. What was left of the Republic forces were huddled behind the landing gear, firing back but in controlled bursts, conserving their ammo.
And about thirty meters behind the Hopper, there was an overturned cargo jack-a compact, remote-operated forklift; someone must have been using it to unload equipment from the shuttle when the attack came and in the battle it had been knocked on its side and partially buried in the dirt. Without hesitation, McKay sprinted straight for the cover of the cargo loader, legs pumping as he put every ounce of speed he had into crossing the fifty or sixty meters of open ground. The skinny private passed him up like he was standing still, sliding into position behind the loader before McKay was halfway there. He made a mental note to be embarrassed about that when he had the time.
Once all five of them were behind the cover of the loader, McKay grabbed Sergeant Manuel by the arm and pulled her close enough to hear him over the din of unceasing gunfire. “You have grenades?” He asked her.
“Private Toma and I have rifle launched grenades, sir!” She responded, patting a pouch on her chest.
“Load ‘em up,” he instructed her. “At my signal, launch them into the Gomers position, then stay here and provide cover fire.” He pointed to the Corporal and the Security NCO. “You two follow me.”
He watched Manuel and Toma load the rocket-assisted grenades into the launchers below the barrels of their rifles, then edge out around the end of the cargo loader to aim them. “Fire!”
The grenades exited the launchers with a puff of coldgas and then their onboard rocket motors ignited, taking them across the thirty meters in an eyeblink to slam into the Protectorate biomech troops with twin blasts that McKay could feel in his sinuses. Shrapnel pinged musically off the casing of the loader and a shower of dirt and debris showered them even thirty meters away.
The last bit of shrapnel was still ricocheting when McKay shouted “Go!” and bolted from behind the cargo jack with the Marine and Security guard trailing close behind. The grenades had taken a toll on the biomech attackers, scattering four of them into component pieces and incapacitating a few others, so McKay concentrated his fire on the ones still standing, particularly the ones who were turning to face the new threat from behind.
Bringing his carbine to his shoulder as he ran, he began pumping controlled bursts into the necks and heads of one biomech after another, hoping fervently that the others with him were doing the same, and that his people at the shuttle would take advantage of the distraction to attack.
He could hear the Protectorate 9mm rifle rounds spanging off the metal of the Hopper’s leg as he dropped the empty mag from his carbine and fished another from his chest pack, seating it with a slap of his palm and then racking a round into the chamber. Instinctive movements, repeated thousands of times in training… his hands didn’t even shake. What came next was harder… bullets were still ricocheting off the footpad above him, making it unwise to stand up. He looked around and saw Corporal Bill and the Security NCO moving up nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, firing steadily and considered yelling at them to cover him while he moved… and then the Security Tech-Sergeant went down with a bullet through his knee.
“Sonofabitch!” McKay muttered under his breath.
He gathered his feet underneath him and jumped out from behind the footpad, making himself ignore the rounds impacting in the dirt around him as he rolled to a crouch beside the Tech Sergeant, who was laying prone, writhing in agony. Emptying his fresh magazine in the direction of the enemy, he slung the carbine and grabbed the Fleet NCO by the back of his armored vest, then hauled him backwards toward the cover of the Hopper’s footpad. He’d almost got the man to safety when he felt a sledgehammer slam into his chest and the air went out of him in an agonized gasp.
Somehow, he stayed on his feet and yanked the wounded Tech Sergeant behind cover before he collapsed next to him, struggling to breathe. He patted at his chest and felt a pair of ragged holes in the armor there, but couldn’t tell if the slugs had penetrated through to his flesh.
Still fighting to take a breath, he rolled over and grabbed in his pockets for a smart bandage, ripped it open and wrapped it around the wounded man’s leg. The Tech Sergeant relaxed as the bandage injected him with painkillers and coated the wound with clotting agents. Satisfied that the man was not in immediate danger, McKay grabbed his carbine off his shoulder and painfully reloaded it, then rolled onto his knees and tried to lever himself back to his feet..
Things had changed since he’d been shot, he saw instantly. The biomechs were down and even as he watched, Sgt. Manuel and Pvt. Toma were rushing past him to finish off the ones still moving. The friendlies who’d been firing from the shelter of the shuttle’s landing gear had moved up and circled around the downed Hopper and were advancing warily, led by Sgt. Sean Watanabe, the Special Ops team’s senior NCO after Jock. He was a short and stocky man with an open face and dark hair worn a bit longer than when he’d been a Marine; like McKay, he was wearing body armor but no helmet.
“Are you okay, sir?” Watanabe asked as he jogged over to McKay.
“All I need’s a clean pair of shorts,” McKay snorted. “Situation report, Watanabe.”
“They attacked out of the woods while we were offloading, Colonel,” the Sergeant told him.
“While I was supervising offloading,” Commander Villanueva interjected, coming up from behind Watanabe, a pistol in her right hand, her left arm hanging limp with her forearm wrapped in a blood-soaked smart bandage.
“Yes, sir,” Watanabe nodded confirmation. “The flight crew wasn’t on board, just one of the junior enlisted they sent down from the
“The biomechs don’t operate with this sort of organization without a controller,” McKay interrupted. “Hold on.” He pulled out his ‘link and keyed in Vinnie’s frequency. “Vinnie, this is McKay, do you copy?”
“Read you, sir,” came the immediate reply. “We have the Investigation team secure at the outpost, heading to the LZ now with the Marine platoon.”
“LZ is secure, Vinnie,” McKay told him. “But we do not have a fix on the biomech controller… unless they’ve come up with something new from what we saw during the war, they don’t have much range, so they’re going to be in this area. I want you to take the Marines and cover the area between the outpost and here. We’ll run a search the other direction.”
