His mouth was dry and the blood thumped in his ears as it finally moved into position directly over the spire.
The seconds ticked past and its speed decreased when the rotors turned off. It was time to fire.
When the expected response failed to materialize, he scowled.
"Why haven’t you fired?" he demanded over the comms he opened to the people who controlled it.
"We're trying," one of the pilots answered. "There's something wrong with the trigger."
He cursed his fucking luck. Had they not checked the trigger mechanism beforehand, or had something been destabilized during the short flight?
"Shit," he snapped while he tried to think of some way to drop the chaff despite the technical failure. It would need to happen soon since the wind had already begun to push against the side of the blimp and force it to the left and away from its attack position. "I think if we maybe have someone who can shoot that far…"
His voice trailed off as a small cheer erupted from his people. There was enough of a response to indicate that something positive had happened, and he turned quickly to identify the reason for their jubilation.
The blimp had been pushed slightly out of position but it didn't quite matter at this point. The cloud of chaff had already been released over the spire. He had talked to the people who controlled it and they would turn it to try to deliver weather damage. The reasoning was that even if it was shot down, it would draw fire away from the real attack.
Speaking of which, it was time for the Desert Warriors to act.
They chose not to use their horns this time. As much as the Prophet appreciated the psychological effect it had on their enemies, it was simply a bad idea to announce this particular assault. The cannons could still see well enough, even if their radars were down.
He delivered the order on their commlinks and made a dual statement to command them to advance as well as initiate radio silence from this moment forward until they engaged fully with the defenders.
The Prophet moved out first and his lieutenants fell in beside him while the others assumed battle formation behind them and they began the charge. The troops included a mixture of the mechs the Desert Warriors were known for, the colors reminiscent of the desert and spikes jutting from their armor. A number of rebels had joined them as well. The mechs they used were mostly those that had been recovered from both sides after the battle in Auburn. The Knights had left a few functional mechs behind and a few others that needed minor repairs.
It was, he decided, an army. There was no other word for it, and he could appreciate the support as they raced forward. The larger Argonauts couldn't run properly, but the longer strides did allow them to keep up with the smaller, lighter mechs, at least over the open ground.
Their numbers and sudden movement were enough to capture the attention of the people who manned the defenses. When they were about five hundred meters from the spire, he could hear that alarms had been triggered inside. The cannons at the top began to swivel to aim at the attackers, but they looked uncoordinated and leaned to the side and almost intersected with the others. They would no doubt open fire, but they would effectively be blind.
Despite that assurance, it was still daunting given the sheer size of the weapons and the devastation they could deliver.
Even from a significant distance, the grinding whirr was clearly audible as each cannon powered. This was followed by a thump as the five-kilogram rounds were launched with enough force to make an impact that shook the ground all around like an earthquake. The warriors already knew to remain in a wide, loose formation, and the first volley missed. They overshot the attacking mechs and only one shot landed inside their ranks. Fortunately, it was too far from any of them to deal any real damage.
The sheer impact was still a sobering thought, and the Prophet pushed his mech a little faster.
The next volley seemed a little more coordinated. They had abandoned trying to aim by sight and now focused on suppressing fire in selected locations in an effort to disrupt the charge.
They were still firing blind, however, and the signal went up among the warriors. The mechs at the back fired flares that arced into the sky and slowly descended as the second volley was launched. The bait was taken, at least partially, and most of the rounds were aimed much higher than they should have been to be effective.
A few struck home, however. The Desert Warriors drew back from a crater that had suddenly materialized in front of them, and one of the Auburn rebels was all but obliterated when one of the rounds found him.
The Prophet hadn't expected to reach the spire without taking casualties, but every man or woman lost would be painful to watch. He steeled himself and pushed forward. It was foolish to even imagine that they could accomplish their assault without losses but at the same time, he was also forced to acknowledge that each and every fighter was needed if they expected to break into the city.
Their plans had been partly based on the reasoning that their group would be practically unreachable by the mechs above the spire when they came too close. At a certain distance, the cannons wouldn’t be able to swivel enough to target them.
It appeared that the defenders agreed. The firing slowed as they continued to advance and when they were about fifty meters away from the entrance, the gates opened slowly and mechs rushed out to set up defensive positions.
"So, it begins," the Prophet stated. He lifted the radio silence, let his warriors form up a little closer, and pressed forward.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
It occurred to him
