“Ok people, let’s go!” Marek shouted into the comlink and dashed forward. It was about 500 meters to the bunkers, and they managed to get halfway there before the enemy opened fire.
Automatic weapons swept the entire area, and Marek’s troops started to go down. The fire was heavy and effective, but not as devastating as he’d feared. The diversion had done its job – the enemy’s attention was clearly focused on the right.
Marek ran as fast as he could, directly toward one of the bunkers. Without any ordnance capable of taking them out, his force had to conduct a close assault on the emplacements. He missed his powered armor. The nuclear-powered servo-mechanical legs would have allowed him cover the half klick or so in less than a minute. Using his own unassisted flesh and blood legs, it was taking an eternity…or at least it seemed like one.
“Keep moving…all of you!” It was hard to motivate troops, especially inexperienced ones, to run directly into this kind of fire. They would hesitate, try to shoot back – and that would get them killed. “Let’s go, follow me to the bunkers!”
Marek had his assault rifle out, and now that he was close he could see shadowy shapes moving around behind the bunkers. He held his fire until the last minute – no sense drawing attention to himself by taking take potshots. Along the line, though, many of his troops were firing, and despite his encouragement, some had stopped and were shooting from stationary positions in the open.
“God-fucking-dammit, MOVE! All of you! Forward!” He looked over for a second, as if his stare could will his soldiers forward. In that instant, two Feds saw him and were bringing up their rifles to shoot. Marek turned back just in time, firing by instinct. The Feds both snapped backwards, one clearly dead from two shots to the head, the other at least badly wounded, blood pouring from his chest.
He could see in his peripheral vision that the troops on his right were catching hell. A number of them were bunching together, hesitating, firing. They were getting chopped up by the enemy fire. Marek wanted to run over and do something…anything. But there was nothing. The officers and non-coms were already trying to rally the wavering troops, and Marek had to worry about the ones still going in.
He reached the bunker, struggling to climb up the sleek plasti-crete walls. Again, he thought of his armor…the slightest leap would have vaulted him to the top of the emplacement. Instead, he scrambled up, barely reaching the top in time to shoot the two of the three defenders coming up through the top access point. For an instant he thought the last one had him, but a shot rang out from behind and the Fed crumpled and fell.
“Thanks for the assist.” Marek chanced a quick glance behind him to see Jack Winton halfway up on the bunker, his rifle still leveled from the perfect shot he’d just taken.
“Good thing I told you to get screwed when you said I was too old for this attack.” Winton smiled and held out a hand. “Now help an old man up before we both get shot.” He grabbed Marek’s outstretched hand. “Thank you,” he muttered as Marek hauled him up. “Thank you, sir, I mean. My military discipline is a little rusty.”
“Let’s go.” Marek ran over to the hatch the Feds had used to climb out of the bunker, pulling a shaped charge out of his satchel as he did. “We need to take this thing out.” He dumped the explosive down the hatch and waved for Winton to follow. “Move!”
Marek ran to the edge of the bunker. It was too far to just jump – once again, he felt the pangs of loss for his armor. He kneeled down and lowered himself off the edge, dropping the last meter and a half. “Jack, come on!” He called up to Winton, who was following him, but doing it at a considerably slower pace.
Winton dropped, but landed badly, twisting an ankle. Marek grabbed him and they ran toward the cover of a rock a few meters away, Winton screaming in pain. They almost made it to the cover of the large stone before the charge blew.
They were thrown to the ground and pelted with shards of shattered plasti-crete. Marek took a chunk in the thigh, an ugly wound that bled profusely but looked worse than it was. Winton fell face forward, dropping his rifle. Marek turned back toward the bunker, which now had a huge gash torn in the back. He could see shapes moving around inside, and he fired through the opening on full auto, taking down all the defenders he could target.
“John!” Winton was pushing himself up, trying to get to his feet. He was pointing toward the camp, to a squad of federal troops running toward them. The Feds began firing just as Marek and Winton ducked below the large rock. They were pinned by the enemy fire, incoming rounds slamming into the other side of the outcropping.
They crouched behind the rock for what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only a few seconds. Marek was waiting for the enemy to rush the position and overwhelm the two of them, but then he heard the fire from behind. His head snapped back to see his troops, dozens of them, climbing up over the crippled bunker, pouring fire into the advancing federals.
He felt a rush of elation - the thrill of escaping imminent death, of course – but also pride…pride in these troops he’d trained so well. He looked at Winton for an instant, a tiny smile on his face. Then he leapt up, ignoring the thundering pain from the wound in his leg, and waved for the troops to follow. “Let’s go, boys and girls! To the camp!”
The advancing mass let out a cheer and surged forward, rushing across the 100 meters to the towering walls, the stunned federal troops turning and fleeing. They had covered about half the distance when they heard it. First, a large explosion, coming from the south. Then, a series of smaller blasts followed a second large one, and later by a gargantuan thunderclap. “Way to go, Lucius. Good job, my friend.” Marek was talking to himself, under his breath. Then to the troops. “Our troops in Weston just did their jobs. Now let’s do ours! Forward!”
For an instant, the cheer was louder than the distant explosions as hundreds of rebel troops ran toward the looming walls.
The streets of Weston were deserted. Anton and his team jogged down a backstreet, trying to stay undetected as long as possible. He knew the infrared cameras would pick them up sooner or later, and he wanted to get as close to the targets as possible before they encountered active resistance.
They had come upon two guards on patrol, but they managed to take them both out before they could send a warning. Anton had handled one and Mike Vargus the other. It was knife work, with no room for error, and Vargus was as hardcore a veteran as Anton, having served in the special action teams on Carson’s World.
There were ten of them, clad head to toe in black. They had light body armor, but had chosen mobility over greater protection. The Federal supply dump was in Founder’s Square, right in the center of the District. Cooper had ordered the Star of Hope monument razed and the park cleared to make room to consolidate all of the Weston-area depots after Marek’s forces had raided three, seizing weapons and destroying what they couldn’t take.
There were guard posts all around the square, with three-man teams behind modular barricades set up every hundred meters, and the whole area was covered by large floodlights. Anton’s team stopped halfway down one of the side streets, just out of view of the nearest sentry post.
“Tony, Mack, you are you guys in position?” He was speaking softly into his comlink. Tony Graves and Mack Jahns were two of his best men, and he’d detached the pair to plant the explosive in the Federal HQ. Cooper had set up his headquarters in the Columbia Hotel, just a block from the square. They had half a dozen Octanitrocubane-5 shaped charges, enough to take down the entire building ten times over. The explosives had been appropriated from one of the mining operations, and the stuff was just a step below military grade.