Old Guard Bolos Book #5

* * *

The alien lay dead at the edge of the battered forest, amongst shattered trees and charred branches. The battle armor that the creature was wearing was blasted open by the ion-bolt turrets from the giant Templars that lined the road above. Darkened blood stained the soldier's breastplate and soaked the soldier's crimson sash tied to his waist. Colonel Ishida looked over the corpse for several minutes before attempting to remove the helmet and get a good look at the face and head.

And Walter Rice's endless commentary on the performance of his laser didn't help. Throughout the entire fight, Rice was recalibrating his crystal, altering its spin to cover different arcs at different speeds. Walter was also prone to sudden outbursts, constantly making the colonel believe that they were about to be hit.

His son's thirty Templars were in the thick of the fight for six hours before Tigris Guard was finally ordered to take over the offensive. All along the front, Alabaster Guard units held ground while Tigris Guard units jumped past them. This occurred while the aliens changed tactics, now using hit-and-run assaults with concentrations of their infantry, and plasma pistols instead of their needle rifles to blast the soldiers out of their positions. In some places, the human lines were thrown back with great losses, but in others they advanced unimpeded. Sensors showed that the aliens were withdrawing all of their armor to the rear, but the Templars of the Tigris guard refused to give chase without infantry effectively covering their flanks.

Progress would be slow in this battle.

It was late morning now, and the sky was surprisingly clear for this time of year. Distant explosions created a rumbling sound in the area that never let up. The Delassian forces had large supplies of shells, and Colonel Ishida was suspecting that they'd be using all of them.

"Hold on a minute." Walter Rice said from close behind him.

Kaethan had approached along with Walter, who was now wearing his official Alabaster Coast sunglasses, given to him by Sergeant Pritchard just a few minutes earlier. He was an honorary member of the unit, Zen told him, now that he had fought along side them.

The alien's helmet was caught on something, and Toman was having trouble taking it off. Walter, though, removed a long dagger from the alien's belt, and pried off a metal clamp at the neck. The helmet then slid off cleanly.

"Looks like some ancient Egyptian god," Kaethan commented.

The alien's neck and left jaw were blackened by a nasty burn, but otherwise the head was undamaged. Its green eyes were open, unseeing.

"All aliens look like someone's idea of a god," Toman said harshly. "Or demon."

"He's big enough," Walter said.

"Three fingers, two opposable thumbs." The colonel sounded like he was making mental notes. "I don't feel up to taking off his boots."

Kaethan noticed Walter, who had cleaned the alien dagger with a strip of cloth from the alien's sash. He now was looking intently at the blade.

"Collect knives, Walter?" Kaethan asked.

"No," he said vacantly. "I minored in metallurgy. I make them."

"You make it sound like all metallurgists make knives."

"Most guys do. What else would you choose as a semester project? A kitchen faucet that survives a re-entry burn?"

"So instead you make daggers that survive re-entry burns?" Kaethan chided him.

"Is it usable?" The colonel asked with a serious edge. "Or is it just decorative?"

Walter surprised them both as he seemed to balance the weapon in his hand, and then he gripped it by the blade as if for throwing. Then once more he studied the blade itself that reflected the light in rippling silver and white.

"Both, actually," Walter finally said. "It has several alloys in it just for decoration, but it certainly looks like it's been heavily used in its lifetime. This blade definitely has a purpose. I wonder if they all have them."

"They do. There are two more bodies . . . scattered . . . down that way. They both had daggers on their belts."

"Colonel," Walter asked sheepishly, "will I be shot for looting if I take a couple?"

Toman shook his head.

"That only happens when we fight each other," he assured him. "But be ready to give them up if asked."

"Will do."

Walter stood up and went off looting, then. Some nearby explosions sounded from down the road, on the far side of the rise. Kaethan stood up and looked expectantly toward the sound, but no further rounds were hitting.

"How are your men doing?" Toman asked as he studied the inside of the helmet and the electronics that were there.

"Lost five," Kaethan said solemnly as he looked back at the alien body. "Two others are seriously injured."

Only two of his Templars were totaled, but ten were heavily damaged. A small army of engineers was swarming over them now trying to get them back into fighting shape. Their railguns themselves were starting to be targeted near the end, after the aliens found out how hard it was to punch through their armor. But the alien missiles, when they got through the Templars' defenses, burned through their protection with a variety of warheads. The heavy walls between compartments helped keep many of the casualties down.

"You did very well this morning, son."

As surprised as Kaethan was at the compliment, he couldn't accept it.

"Not one of the recon units made it out." Kaethan shook his head. "I'd call that a failure."

"They had no chance," his father rebuffed. "The aliens' needle rifles sliced right through those Haulers. I can't believe you're trying to use them."

With Kaethan's silence, Toman suddenly realized that his son took that personally. He, of course, was blaming the government for using such an inferior personnel carrier, not his son . . .

"But your Templars stood up wonderfully." Toman tried to recover from his mistake, by changing the subject. "Are those Mark Twelves, Thirteens?"

"No," Kaethan replied shortly. "Just Elevens."

Toman cursed to himself silently. Another mistake. His son took offense again. This always happened whenever he tried to talk to Kaethan. It seemed destiny. At this rate Kaethan would disown him by the end of the day.

The Elevens, he formed a recovery, were actually better in some ways . . .

"Father," Kaethan said then.

"Yes?"

Toman set down the alien helmet to his side.

"I always assumed that you were threatened with the same tortures that your mother threatened me with if I ever encouraged you to."

His son smiled and chuckled. Toman felt that this was a change for the better. Rarely had he inspired that reaction in his son.

"Just checking," Kaethan said.

"Did you actually think that I was disappointed in you for not joining? What would ever give you such an outrageous idea?"

"Nothing, Father." Kaethan stopped him. "Just checking."

"I would hope so," Toman said, and picked up the helmet again to study it.

A column of Haulers passed them, then, driving towards the rise to the east. They wouldn't cross over, of course. They'd just drop off their infantry, and join the ever-growing numbers of other Haulers abandoned by the side of the road. Some things, humans learned quickly. For other things, it took longer.

* * *

As the last of the Kezdai infantry streamed across the bridge, a hail of artillery shells was raining down from above. This was the only safe crossing of the Witch River for fifty kilometers in either direction, and both sides knew it. Every howitzer and rocket howitzer in the Telville arsenal was nearly melting its barrel trying to get at the forces that were concentrated there. But not a single shell made it to the ground as a massive lightning storm crackled and thundered over the valley, forking up into the sky to intercept dozens of shells at a time.

Sergeant Emmet Lear of Alpha Company, First Mechanized Brigade, watched the lightning show from behind a large rock outcropping overlooking the valley, heavily shrouded by trees and underbrush. The highway was a kilometer to the north, snaking away from him, viewable through many branches and leaves. Electricity filled the air around him, causing him to suffer static shocks whenever he touched the ceramic-metal barrel of his gauss rifle. The smell and taste of ozone in the air was almost choking. His short beard itched constantly as the hairs seemed to want to stand on end. Added to that, a sharp rock goaded his ribcage as he lay prone, peering through the underbrush.

The highway into the valley veered left over the crest, with two kilometers of moderate slope before turning hard right to cross the four-lane bridge. On the opposite bank, the roadway ran up a much steeper slope before turning back to its left to disappear behind the forest of trees and large rock outcroppings. Any vehicle travelling on the roadway had little cover.

The valley itself was rocky, with huge boulders and rock faces peeking out from underneath the many trees that clung desperately to what soil kept them rooted. Rainforest ferns that covered most of Deladin now gave way to an undergrowth of thorny bushes and tall grasses. Rushing down the valley was a thunderous whitewater rapids, fed by the snow-capped mountains to the south. The Witch River had been labeled as suicidal to any adventure seeker who wished to raft it.

"Anything getting through yet, Sergeant?" asked the tired voice of Major Peter Mikolayev over his command channels.

Emmet's prone position gave him a good view of the far side of the bridge three kilometers away, where the last of the alien infantry was still crossing unimpeded. The rock outcropping shielded him from the rest of the valley, though the tall periscope viewer at his side allowed him to see over part of it.

"Negative," Emmet replied simply.

There was a moment's pause as a sigh could be heard.

"We're shutting down, then. All units hold position and await further orders."

The command would have little effect on the front line, the sergeant knew, since the Tigris Guard had already deployed in defensive positions behind the valley crest. Captain Riggins' thirty Templars were already scattered along the stretch of roadway leading up to the valley. Emmet's Mechanized Brigade was digging in around the tanks in the forests, and bringing their Haulers forward to support them. Everyone was already expecting this standoff to last a while and was preparing for a siege.

The bombardment continued for only a minute more after the announcement, slacking off quickly, though a few rocket howitzer rounds continued to streak overhead from their bases far to the rear. Raising his one-meter tall periscope, the sergeant sneaked a peek over the outcropping. A large part of the valley was still blocked by the rock, but Corporal Pierce of Bravo Company, hidden one kilometer north of the road, could see the remainder.

Movement immediately caught his attention, and with a twist of the ungainly periscope, he zoomed in on a line of vehicles.

"An armored column is entering the valley," he said into his headset. "I see ten vehicles, moving slowly. More are following . . ."

Emmet's first thought was that the aliens had now tested their defenses and considered it safe to invest some armor into the valley. He wasn't overly concerned that they'd sortie since all of their infantry were now safely evacuated.

"Pierce just got sniped," reported Captain Larson of Bravo Company. "Assigning another observer . . ."

Sergeant Lear swore under his breath as he continued to watch the arriving column.

"Twenty vehicles," he updated the count. "One-fifty tons . . . ten wheelers . . . energy cannons . . . twelve-wheeled mass drivers . . ."

Sergeant Pierce was a personal friend of Emmet's, and his stomach tightened at the thought of him just taking a needle. There shouldn't have been any reason why Pierce exposed himself. They had their periscopes and good positions. Something must have drawn Pierce out, or else their lines had been infiltrated.

"Twenty-six vehicles total in two columns," Lear updated again, trying not to think about it, "still approaching the bridge."

Yesterday, Emmet Lear had been a dealer in heavy-construction vehicles. That life was forgotten at the moment, but his civilian occupation gave him an advantage at judging the size of the war machines that were rolling down the opposite slope. The sight of such large armored vehicles on wheels disturbed Lear, however, who was used to tracks being on any ground vehicle over fifty tons. Although this would give them a much better speed on pavement, he considered, they'd be very limited once the battle turned off-road. A few of the vehicles were also of a tractor-trailer design, which he knew were extremely unstable on broken terrain at higher speeds.

"EW is picking up gravitic disturbances at the river," said Major Mikoleyev over his headset. "Anyone see anything?"

Emmet quickly zoomed out his periscope and looked around. The valley was clear of any other movement. Even the infantry had now disappeared into the woods and rocky terrain across the river. Of course, with Pierce gone, Lear now had to worry about what was behind the huge outcropping that sheltered him. He'd have to climb on top, or crawl out in the open to get a look on the other side, however, exposing himself to fire. There was no chance he'd do that.

Then his spine tingled as Lear heard a low whine quickly growing in volume around him, freezing his bones. Dropping the periscope, Lear lay flat on his stomach with his hands over his helmet.

The voice that suddenly exploded over command channels was not recognized, but it was obviously young.

"Four gravtanks climbing our slope south of the highway!"

"All units engage!" Mikolayev called out. "All units engage! But do not enter the valley! They could be trying to draw us in."

"Five hundred . . . six hundred tons!" the unknown observer called out. "Plasma cannon of some sort. The column is crossing the bridge!"

The hum was dying off now, but Emmet didn't move until the screams of Raven missiles, launched by his comrades, filled the air. Rising quickly to his knees, he looked both at the rear of the massive gravtanks disappearing over the trees, and then at the rapidly advancing armored vehicles driving up the highway.

"Captain Riggins!" Lear called out over the command channel. "You will be hit simultaneously from your front and right flank . . ."

"Incoming!"

Emmet didn't know who called that out, or why, but that never mattered to a soldier in combat. He just dropped everything and tried to become one with the dirt.

THUTHUMP!

A shockwave and blast of heat passed over him with a thunderous roar, followed by a rain of smoldering branches falling onto his back. A moment later, entire trees were crashing down the slopes around him, causing landslides. When he looked up, the trees at the top of the valley had been blasted away. Dense smoke filled the air, but he had an unobstructed view of the four alien gravtanks just as they acquired their targets. Incredibly bright plasma lasers flared from their cannons. Lear couldn't see what damage they might have wreaked among the Templars, but a mass of return fire began to literally blast the gravtanks apart. Huge chunks of armor flew high into the sky as armor piercing rods slammed into them. Turning his attention back to the highway, Emmet saw five of the alien armored vehicles explode the moment that they topped the crest, but the remainder lashed out with bright blue particle beams and then disappeared from view as they tangled with the Templars.

From Lear's vantage point, all he could watch were the gravtanks as they disintegrated, chunk by chunk. Raven missiles suddenly began streaking up to blast them from all sides as their point defense beams fell silent. One by one, as the gravtank's powerplants were hit, the mammoths dropped from the sky as if their supporting strings were cut. Only a few moments after the last gravtank fell, the alien armored vehicles reappeared, this time in open retreat at high speeds. Only a dozen or so were left.

As the sergeant watched the surviving column recross the bridge, he suddenly remembered his duties. After finding his periscope in all the debris, he scanned what he could of the valley.

"All vehicles in retreat," the sergeant announced. "No other activity."

All during the fight, the command channels were completely silent as Major Mikolayev let the commanders fight their battles. The extended span of silence after Emmet gave his report, however, made him think that his headset was damaged.

But then Mikolayev came back online.

"All units prepare to be relieved in order. Alabaster will be taking point again. All infantry units check your bracelets and report to Decon' as needed."

With a sudden fear gripping him, Lear ripped open his sleeve and took a look at the radiation band that was wrapped around his wrist. Its friendly green had now turned ominously yellow.

* * *

The electrical fence had fooled him into believing that the complex he had infiltrated was an important target. What he was finding was that it was some sort of biological research center. The room that he was hiding in contained shelves and shelves of glass and plastic tanks containing marine animals of various types. Perhaps they were experimenting with biologic weapons of some types, but he doubted it. There were no hermetically sealed environments anywhere to be seen.

He had been hiding for several minutes now, ever since three Human armored vehicles rolled through the gate. Soldiers dismounted out of the rear of the vehicles, but they did not deploy. If they had, then that would have been a sure sign that this complex was valuable, and that he should direct an artillery barrage down upon it. Although the vile Keertran troops did not appreciate the value of artillery, his Is-kaldai Riffen certainly did. His crashed dropship had a complete battery of guns that were already targeting the Human infantry that were attempting to approach through the rain forest. It had been difficult to pass through their ranks without being detected, but he had an important mission. His commander wanted to know if the cities had their own point defense systems, or whether only the military units were protected. To find that out, he and several of his comrades were to find an observation point overlooking the nearby city.

Then artillery would be called in.

A Human female with long black hair had appeared out of the large building to his right, obviously a researcher of some sort. Up until that moment, he had thought that the complex was abandoned. The female had been talking to the infantry commander for quite a long time while the scout waited impatiently, sneaking peaks out a window at periodic intervals. Just when his patience was finally running out, he heard the engines start up, and two of the three vehicles moved out. The last troop carrier, however, remained. Its twelve soldiers deployed around the perimeter fence, and he hoped that they'd miss the cut that he had made in it.

The Human female was nowhere to be seen when he looked.

Escape, without being seen, would be difficult now, but he had to try. The building that he was in had few windows, but he was able to locate nine of the twelve soldiers, and had a good idea where the remaining three were. The sea fence was not being protected. The ocean, he decided, would be his best way out.

Getting to it from the building that he was in would be impossible. The seaside doorway could be seen by several of the Human soldiers. The building to his right, however, he noticed had a concrete canal that ran out into the sea from its lowest level. It wasn't being guarded.

Sneaking into the building's front door, although daring, was not difficult. Decorative shrubbery was planted all around the outer wall, concealing his movement. Only the last dash into the doors was risky, and after looking around frantically, he believed that he had gotten away with it. The soldiers were looking outwards through the fence, not inwards.

His scrambling through the other building had given him the basic concepts of Human architecture, and the stairway and elevator were quickly spotted. Because he had no wish to experiment with the elevator, he opened the door to the stairwell.

It was just then that the black haired female made her appearance again, as the elevator doors suddenly opened. A shrill scream echoed inside the scout's helmet as he tried to push back out the door and bring his rifle to bear. The elevator doors were already closing, but he did have a shot at the form that had retreated against the far wall.

He didn't take it.

The scout's aversion to making a loud noise was part of the reason that he didn't fire his rifle, but another was an aversion to killing a noncombatant. Kezdai blood feuds often ended in the complete annihilation of one clan or another, males and females alike, but noncombatants were always spared. Of course, all members of the warring clans themselves were considered combatants.

This scout had made a mistake, however, and he realized it. Allowing this female to live would risk his own life and mission. As a red arrow above the elevator pointed downwards, so did he run. The stairway had small steps, and he stumbled a few times, but he managed to reach the ground floor in decent time.

As he pushed through the stairway door, he saw that the elevator doors to his right were already closing. To his left was a large, tiled room with a pool, open to the outside at the far end. The woman could have been tricky and gone back upstairs, but he had to be sure.

Before running back upstairs, he ran into the poolroom to look for her. The visuals inside his helmet gave him a three-hundred-degree distorted view around him, but even with that he only caught a glimpse of the female as she came up behind him and gave him a shove into the water. He fired his needle rifle wildly as he plunged into the deep, saltwater pool.

What happened next he never had time to organize into a coherent understanding.

One moment he was sinking rapidly into the water, and the next a massive black and white form was underneath him and pushing him back to the surface. Then, just as he broke the surface of the water, he was hurled, as if from a catapult, directly into the tiled wall of room.

He fell to the floor in a daze.

But Kezdai were immensely hardy creatures whose bones had evolved to absorb great impacts from falling from the high cliffs of their ancient homeworld. Great pains wracked his body, but the scout still managed to sit up, lift his rifle, and unleash a withering fire across the room. His own blood covered his helmet's visuals, making him uncertain of what shapes were around him. All he saw were shadows until the massive black and white form seemed to explode out of the pool before him, and crash into him.