Thirty light war cruisers swarmed the assault boat Matador as it rounded a sharply angled corner of the station. Ruby lasers lanced from Matador’s emitters, slashing the night. Six Association cruisers bucked violently as the lethal lasers cut through shielding and hull, boring into interiors, igniting reactors. A center cruiser exploded, its blast wave sending the others spinning away. More Association cruisers sped toward the Matador, but one veered off in a slightly different direction. It brushed close to the station’s equator covering a two-mile distance in less than three seconds. Then it dipped abruptly, crashing into the station in an impact so shattering the ship vaporized. A tremendous flash sprouted from the collision. It subsided rapidly, revealing a vast hole from which a plume of atmosphere shot out with typhoon strength.
The Matador’s captain, Rajay Thapoory, looked at the monitor in puzzlement. “Did that ship just deliberately…?”
A second cruiser raced toward the impact site, pausing fractionally to release clusters of small objects into the hole.
“Troop pods,” his XO said.
Thapoory shook his head. “Why are they deploying troops inside the station?”
The XO examined a sensor screen. “They’re bringing in more than troops, sir. Configuration scans are picking up bulk material inside some of those pods.”
Captain Thapoory took a handful of seconds to process the XO’s report. His eyes slowly narrowed. “Contact the Far Walker.”
Greggory, Lian, and Grimes stood around the display tank watching an image playback of the Association cruiser slamming into the station and the subsequent pod drops.
“What the hell…” Grimes’ expression registered shock and revulsion. “The Matador never touched that ship…that was a suicide crash!”
“If they wanted to hole the station, for whatever reason, they could have simply used firepower,” said Lian.
“It would have been too obvious.” Greggory turned away from the tank, facing Lian and Grimes. “Using a crash to disguise deployments inside the station is a good plan. The one, big flaw is that it still drew our attention.” He looked briefly at the display. “I think I know what they’re trying to do. Contact PSWO and Infantry. Tell them to mobilize.”
Tzayber Lur, Assault Leader, 12th Complement of the Bringers’ Fist Division growled into his mouth comm. The fifty soldiers under his command quickened their debarkation from the troop pod. High-speed winds screamed and whipped about, escaping through a massive breach above produced by the cruiser’s impact. Tzaybur Lur belted out praise chants for the 3,000 martryrs aboard who willingly gave their lives to pave the way for the Bringers’ Fist.
More pods soared through the breach, faster than they should have. Two bumped into each other and whirled out of control. One pod received the worst of the contact and tumbled twice when it hit the surface before skidding on its side and plowing into a thick support column. A handful of Bringers’ Fist soldiers managed to claw their way free of the mangled wreckage. Less than half of them cleared it before a pierced reactor gave up its volotile energies, consuming what was left of the pod.
Tzayber Lur chanted for the pod fatalities as well. Such were the hazards of a mission. They needed to dash halfway through the station, assemble five pulse cannons and blast that Demon helper ship out of its repair dock. And they needed to be quick about it.
“Move it, move it!” the Assault Leader bellowed, activating his powered armor boost to counteract the blasting wind. Chances were his Complement was not going to be the first to reach and secure the designated launch zone, but he was damned if it was going to be last.
Unit Leader Karinia Baez, Planetside Special Warfare Ops, crouched just within the entrance of a storefront facing a five-lane concourse. With a mental command to her helmet’s visual, she zoomed in on enemy movements at six hundred yards and closing. Fifty-one hostiles in heavy powered armor tramped swiftly down the concourse. A gathering of station occupants stood along both sides of the concourse, observing the soldiers’ approach. The occupants were part of a minority that chose not to evacuate the station. Perhaps they thought the situation was not serious enough to warrant so drastic a departure. Or maybe they were among those who were deeply loyal to the High Cleric and felt it unneassary to leave. After all, what did they, as true believers, have to fear?
A readout flashed above Baez’ helm display identifying the Association soldiers as members of the Bringers’ Fist, an elite detachment. Fist soldiers were the most highly trained and fanatical of all the forces under the High Cleric’s control. They were also incalculably ruthless.
A foreboding chill crept through Baez as the armored soldiers neared the bystanders.
The next instant they leveled cannon-size blaster rifles on the crowd.
Searing death funnelled from fifty-one barrels, slashing and burning through bodies with indiscriminate savagery.
Half the bystanders were reduced to charred chunks of flesh before the other half gained the presence of mind to scatter.
Some of the soldiers targeted their fleeing victims, blasting them apart in coherent ripples of light. Others preferred to kill up close, using narrow blades that extended from the tips of their armor suited arms. The blades were three feet long, less than an inch wide with ultra durable diamond edges that glowed emerald green.
Despite being no stranger to violence, Baez flinched when a pair of armored suits chased down four bystanders and hacked them to pieces.
The butchery continued as streaks of metallic green met flesh and bone, sending body parts flinging away on streamers of blood. With every bystander dead, the soldiers resumed their advance across a gore-splattered surface.
Baez reverted to normal vision and took a deep breath in an effort to tamp down her rage. Patience, patience. She sent a message through her subdermal comm. “First contacts are close to position.”
“Copy,” a voice replied. “Ready to light ‘em up.”
“Wait for my word,” Baez said with a smirk. She was ready too. The PSWO operative melted into the shadow of her dim hideaway and withdrew.
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