Hugh fires up the console in front of him and patches himself into the weapon controls.
"You focus on getting the Manta down in one piece, Sarge," he shouts, and then he brings the beam turrets to bear on the cigar ship behind him. "Hasta la vista, amigos," he whispers, then lays down a long burst of firepower.
The manta's buffeted by atmosphere; Hugh's shots whip under and past the cigar. Its tiny auto-beamer replies with a second-long burst. Faint whumps indicate hits on the manta, but none of the glyphs are in the red yet.
Below and before Semo, the battlefield stretches out like a ragged donut. Smoke curls up from stricken tanks or smouldering cavern mouths. Dust plumes from armored columns waft away in the arid Boranai air. Here and there flashes from shells or energy beams draw attention to the more active fronts.
Hugh fires again and this time is rewarded with brilliant flashes from the cigar. Its forward armor ablates explosively, then muffled flares from inside. Its spouts intermittent smoke trails and falls off course. Whoever's still in there tries one last shot at the manta, but the beams fly wide. The cigar falls back, the smoke growing heavier. It starts spiraling for the ground.
The manta leaps and bucks like a saddled bull. Semo's just as happy to turn the guns over to someone else as he has his hands full just trying to keep them on course for a survivable landing. He feels the shudders from the hits and can hear them firing back, but doesn't have time to follow the action.
The ground draws quickly closer. Semo focusses on trying to find a decent place to land where they can support the troops on the ground. Closer to the spire is probably better, as they need to get this mission completed as quickly as possible. Of course, perhaps they would be more effective using the manta's weapons against the defenders.
"Ah, Sarge, now you're getting all technical on me. Every good landing includes a strafing run, so let's just throw what we have at the enemy and *then* we put her down."
"Yessir!" Semo exclaims. The big Samoan banks the manta for a strafing run against the opposition between the attacking column and the spire. Since Hugh has the beamers, Semo will handle the other weapons. Any large concentrations of enemy troops will receive the gift of a sunball, while ground vehicles will be greeted with the partical accelerator.
With the Imperial bandits out of the way, Semo's free to bring his manta out of its near-freefall and skim Boranai's surface. At the speed they're going, Hugh doesn't bother with the beam turrets. He just stays on the radio, trying to pinpoint where the ground forces are having trouble and matching that with the manta's sensor readouts.
Smoke blasts away from the Imperial ship's wake as it plows through the sky above smouldering tanks. Tiny muzzle flashes are evident in the shaky camera views in the cockpit, some three miles off. Hotel Company's pinned down by heavy fire from a network of caverns just outside the Spire sprawl, and they're slowly being flanked. The telltale lances of beam weapons match up with Hugh's onboard Imperial records, and he gives Semo a green light for a sunball.
Twenty seconds. Semo holds the craft steady, waits for the rangefinder. The scopes show friendlies hunkering down and taking cover. Semo triggers the accelerator cannon, propelling the sunball at massive speeds into the tunnels. A muffled flash backlights a few Turai, and then the manta's up and over the ridge, heading right into the Spire's outlying sprawl. He sees a corner of a building explode outward in a spray of foamcrete, spots the Abrams tank who dealt the blow, and decides to add a "normal" accelerator shot. The hypervelocity killdrone makes a circular shockwave as it slams into the middle of the building, then the wall blossoms out into a shower of debris and a few chrome bodies.
Whump. Spang. Thoom. Incoming fire rakes the manta as Semo slows down to navigate through the larger buildings around the Keeper's Spire. The Turai handheld beamers aren't cutting it, but there are enough spear-bombs in the air, guided by drone, that it could prove dangerous.
*Hotel 6, we've broken through the perimeter and are moving on grid two seven! We have eyes on the Spire!* The success of the manta's air support is evident on Hugh's scopes. A column of three tanks (albeit one with a great deal of smoke pouring from its engine) is rolling its way down a side street. One Apache lights up a boulevard with its chaingun, the thriiip of the reports like a giant tearing canvas. More explosions, Imperial spears mixed with grenade launchers and 120mm shells.
The Imperials are quickly abandoning the outer buildings, opting for a fighting retreat towards the Spire. If the Turai get a chance to fortify that, it's unlikely the allies would be able to take the building without ruining it in the process. And there's a time limit - eventually the Imperials will dig their bombed Gateway out of the rubble...
Near-misses from the balcony across the courtyard kicked up stinging geysers of whatever the half-metal, half-concrete stuff they used for construction. Private Reyes, spurred on by the shots, dove over a low wall, something that must have been a foundation until the Hellfire hit it. The energy beams punched more craters into the landscape behind him. Gutsy's M240 spat back, sending the heat-shimmer of the cloaked hostiles into cover. Somewhere some white boy was blasting Iron Maiden from a IFV's loudspeakers. Too bad Reyes and his four comrades were cut off. An enemy trap took out their own APC and now they were pinned down somewhere in the alien city. Oh, and now there was one of their flying manta-tanks come to finish the job...
Except that's not what happened. There was a bassy crack from the front of the manta, then the building the hostile fire was coming from cratered, half-collapsed, then the impact wall and the opposite blew out in great mushrooms of debris. No warhead explosion, just impact shockwaves. Reyes shouted something at his squad. His squad, heh. They were all privates. The ground rubble was cast in stark shadow and bright noontime light as they ran, the bubblegum air cold in their lungs. There were two hostiles still trying to move when Reyes' team got to the ruined building. Reyes didn't see who shot first, but he remembered hosing one of the enemy soldiers, just firing until the gun went dry. There wasn't much blood at first, and then the thing's armor just gave up and it got messy.
Reyes gave the flying tank a thumbs-up, whoever they were. Suddenly another crack, another bassy explosion. The manta took a hit from the surface somewhere nearby. Looked like a through-and-through on the stubby port wing. Sky-blue beams pulsed down to strike not two blocks from Reyes. Another shot from the surface, this time a miss. Reyes gathered the four Rangers back up and they moved towards the shots.
Reilly spotted them first. They were hunkered down in a partially demolished basement with some sort of hovering artillery piece, like a floating mortar. Four of 'em, and they all seemed pretty occupied with shooting down Reyes' savior, so the private hit the mortar with his M203. He got his sight back after about 30 seconds. The entire building was raining down around them in chunks no bigger than marbles.
---
It's like that all over the sprawl. Semo and Hugh spot a firefight, lend a hand, and move on. Little by little the allied forces draw nearer to the Spire itself. The ground fire intensifies. Even the Kansatai and their skimmers head out to try to stem the flood of US firepower. The manta's beam turrets make quick work of the Kansat gravcars, but the poor stolen Imperial vehicle pays for each city block taken, each concourse cleared of hostiles.
The Spire's in sight now - the manta's made it farther than Hugh expected, but even still, the cockpit's hellish red with warning glyphs. Their manta's in the vanguard with two Apaches, about a half-mile ahead of what's left of Hotel's armored column; two Bradleys, an Abrams, and a Humvee that's miraculously survived long enough to see their objective.
The battlefield changes suddenly. Up until now, they've had altitude over the sprawl and cover within its many buildings, but now the Spire looms over them. For an ostensibly research-oriented facility, it has - or had - quite a lot of defense turrets. Most of these have been picked clean, but the remaining guns have an angle down on the allies. The radio crackles with sitreps. The Gateport is still holding, despite repeated attempts to break through from elsewhere. Local resistance is minimal. The orbital and outsystem Gateways are still blocked. US reinforcements are inbound from the south side of the city on one of the rebel freighters, but they're encountering the bulk of the remaining AA defenses.
The Spire lights up with gunfire. Drone-guided munitions streak towards the manta and the helos. A chain of explosions rocks a nearby building, staggering Semo even through his restraints. Mercifully few bystanders are still out in the open. The Spire's outbuildings fire a Pink Floyd show up at Semo, Mellish, and Hugh's ride. The concentrated fire forces one of the Apaches back down to street level. The second helo heads skyward, trying to get range. Its chaingun roars as it climbs. Hugh sweeps the manta's beamers across the fortified Spire entrances, sending ragdolls into the air. The last of the manta's accelerators belches, the hypervelocity round ripping a Humvee-size hole into the Spire like a fist through aluminum foil. It's too much fire, too many vectors. The manta's impellers give out. Fire spurts from the controls, filling the cockpit with smoke. Mellish slams the access hatch to the personnel compartments, trying to clear the air. The auxiliaries give out with a deafening bang as another explosion tears something free. Suddenly the cockpit's clear - the smoke tornadoes its way out a three-foot hole in the aft fuselage. Semo's going to have a dead stick in about two seconds. The question isn't whether he'll land or crash. The question is: Where does he want to crash? There are skimmer landing pads on the side of Spire; Semo could floor it while he can and try to plant the manta some 40 floors above ground. He could take the thing right into their front lobby - that'd take some heat off the Apaches. Maybe rotate down, glide back as best he can, maybe at least crash near friendlies.
Hit and run. Hit and run. Semo guides the manta from hot spot to hot spot, trying to take the heat off the guys on the ground. Unfortunately, the manta is getting slowly chewed up bit by bit as they go.
"You got it, Cap!" Semo slams the throttle home, hoping to coax a little more juice out of this tortured baby before it turns into so much scrap metal.
It all happens far too fast. Semo opens the throttle and gets the manta pointed at the hole his accelerators just made before the cockpit lights start winking out. A giant invisible hand mashes the three Delta boys back in their seats. Everything on the periphery of the viewports is just a blur. For some reason, Semo can clearly make out the increasingly larger comedy of a lone Turai right in the manta's path. He looks right, jukes left, stops, tries to go back to the right, then the manta hits the lobby and everything goes black.
Semo's the first one awake. Everything's still black. There's a tremendous pressure on his chest. He can't breathe. His first instinct is that something's crushing him, but he can't feel anything to push away. Semo's fingers finally find the reason; his chestplate's been buckled in, compressing his torso. The carapace won't give. He finally finds the attachment points and the armor releases with an audible pop.
An explosion somewhere close shakes up the rubble, and enough light filters in that Semo's helmet sensors can adjust. Semo can see Captain Verrill coming around - Hugh's still in his seat, but said seat is ripped from its coupling and lies sideways on the deck. The crash must have ruptured something explosive as well, either within the manta or the Spire defenses. Semo can see where rubble and superstructure collapsed inwards into the manta wreckage, and then spots Mellish's body, crushed by the cave-in.
"Ohhhh....oh fuck," Hugh moans, refusing to return to full awareness. His head slumps backwards, and he takes a couple of shallow breaths. "That was...was...fucked up."
The ship rockets forward like one of those jet-fueled dragsters Semo's seen on TV. Even with his prodigious strength, the big Samoan couldn't possibly overcome the instant G-forces. Some poor schmuck of a Turai happens to get caught in the direct line of the manta's path. The last thing Semo sees before blacking out is the body spraying gruesomely across the nose of the fuselage.
The next sensation he has is the inability to draw a deep breath. In the semi-darkness of the tunnel, it takes time for Semo to puzzle out the cause. Fortunately, popping the clasps on his chestplate brings instant relief.
Rising, Sgt. Putupu begins to look around. The captain's crasher broke loose, but he appears to be alright. A little further on, he finds Mellish's body; from the look of it, he probably died very quickly.
Hearing Hugh begin to regain consciousness, Semo rushes to his side. "Yessir, it was. And it looks like The Hammer paid the price. I'm sorry. Let me help you up, sir." Semo begins to unclamp the restraints holding the captain into the seat and help him to his feet.
"What?" Hugh mumbles as Semo helps him up. He looks at Mellish's body and rips loose from the Sergeant's steady arms, stumbling and tumbling on his way to Mellish as if getting to him as quickly as possible was somehow still important. Hugh goes through the motions of checking the Hebrew Hammer's pulse, but there's nothing to be done. He picks himself off the ground.
"God-fucking-damn it," he whispers. "Mellish, you fucking idiot, why'd you have to come with us?"
He looks over to Semo, his jaw slack and his eyes unfocused.
"Gotta...bring this one back, Sarge. No more bodies left behind. Need to give him a proper fucking burial. Need to bury a lot of our guys..."
For a beat, he's not sure if he's going to cry or laugh. Then he laughs.
"...so remember where we parked, Sarge."
He picks up his rifle and racks the charging handle.
While the captain tries to come to terms with The Hammer's death, Semo stands back respectfully and crosses himself.
Quote:
"Gotta...bring this one back, Sarge. No more bodies left behind. Need to give him a proper fucking burial. Need to bury a lot of our guys..."
For a beat, he's not sure if he's going to cry or laugh. Then he laughs.
"...so remember where we parked, Sarge."
Semo winces at the attempt at a joke, then nods. "Taken care of, Cap - on both counts. Only dying will stop me from carrying out those orders, and you know how hard I am to kill. Other folk, on the other hand..."
A moment later, Hugh is mostly back to normal and ready to re-enter combat. Semo does likewise and outfits himself from the weapons available, along with plenty of ammo. "No we ain't. Time to render this site morbid."
Semo wrenches open the manta's hatch, eliciting both a pained grunt from his overtaxed muscles as well as the straining metal. There's more light outside the wrecked ship and the duo's visors amplify what's there. Fires sputter in unrecognizable piles. Sparks rain down from sporadic electrical shorts. Here and there a twisted limb or shattered armor pokes through the rubble. Creaks, groans, and the worrisome scraping sounds of shifting debris are the only close-by sounds, but farther out, muffled by the tons of foamcrete and alloy superstructure, the thumps and whams of battle rage on.
Hugh and Semo stagger deeper into the Spire. It's hard to tell what the ground levels were supposed to be. The sound of rushing water catches their attention; what must have been an indoor fountain cascades down a broken slope and pools around a handful of dead Keepers, their warmth washed away by the current. A nearby lift-shaft is filled with twisted metal.
The Delta boys follow the water upstream, up the jagged slope, and Hugh realizes that it wasn't just the manta crash that did this damage. Anything powerful enough to deal this kind of wound to the Spire wouldn't have left them alive, wouldn't have left the manta in any recognizable shape at all. Hugh made sure the Needleship's guns never came close - there was still the question of civilians. The damage would've been evident from the outside had the allied forces been able to strike this far into the building with conventional weapons. No, Hugh thinks, the bomb that took out the Spire's Gateway mechanism must've done this. Which means that there's still a Gateway down here.
Punctuating Hugh's addled thoughts are a group of three haggard Turai. It looks like they crawled their way up from the crash site with some time to spare (which makes Hugh wonder how long they were out). One of the soldiers is trying to hotwire a damaged vox. The second is re-binding the third's broken leg. That Turai sees Hugh and Semo and spares them an inquiring glance.
"You got two choices," Hugh says casually as he brings up his rifle. "Leave your weapons and walk out of here...or get killed. You got five seconds, then we decide for you."
Debris as far as the eye can see. Looks more like the surface of the moon than any inhabited planet. The only organic material in sight is scraps of human flesh. This place is little more than a morgue.
As they make their way further into what is left of the Spire, Semo keeps his eyes open for anything that will serve as a breastplate. Having to give up his badly-dented one has left him feeling a little exposed. Perhaps he can find a Turai large enough for his armor to fit.
Semo walks in front of, and to the side of, Hugh. As befits his Delta training, his weapon is always at the ready. Seeing the trio of wounded Turai, Semo moves to cover them from an advantageous angle. The captain gives them the option to flee, which is pretty kind under these circumstances. Not many would.
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