Chapter 10

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Clearwater Shopping Complex,
Omega District, Revolt City.
1200 hours GST

To my right was Midnight and to my left was McCord.

And to my front, stood an entire company of PRF soldiers.

Good thing the entire first platoon was to my rear.

We snuck up towards the enemy on foot, discreetly dispatched one or two enemy lookouts and set up a couple of mortar teams with their sights zeroed in on hostile positions. However, we had no choice but to leave the IACs behind as they were far too big for a stealthy approach. That meant we lost a significant amount of firepower, but we still have enough to take over this FOB.

But stealth will be out of the window once the first shot is fired.

Raptor 1-1 remained a low profile in before of a perfectly trimmed thick foilage that stretched across the front of the north entrance of the mall. The rest of the squads did the same, with 2nd squad and 3rd squad on our flanks and the 4th squad behind us. We were lying on our bellies, watching our foes with a cautionary eye.

Gideon said on comms, "Sergeants, ready your men."

The clicking sounds of fire selectors switching away from 'safe' could be heard along the the platoon. I set my own rifle on 'single'.

McCord said, "Targets, 30 meters, give or take." McCord was looking through the foilage. Midnight was doing the same as well. A beam of light shone through the gap where his eye was. His iris traversed from left to right, then right to left again.

"Copy," he replied.

Through the gaps of the branches and twigs, I did the same.

The face of the entire North Entrance was a colourful concrete wall, unstained by the bloodshed. Shades of blue, yellow, red and green splattered across the entire structure. They were painted in shapes of hexagons and triangles, sort of like patches. There were several large windows across the second and third floor above the entrance, all of them had armed men behind their glassy skin. The second floor however, had two machine gun emplacements that we may have to deal with really soon.

On the roof, there were a couple of lookouts. They were careless. If there was a sniper or a marksman, they would've spotted us by now. A massive antenna was erected on the right side, that's where the lookouts were gathered. I assume the massive antenna, which bore a slight resemblance to a skinny waiter droid, could be a jammer.

On ground level, around fifty men dressed in dark green digital camouflage stood guard around the main square. They were well armed, alright. Rifles, machine guns, and several RPGs could be seen in their hands. Beside them, was an IFV armed with a 30mm cannon. It sat idly on the side, with the commander sticking his head over the hatch, talking to two other PRF grunts. A row of streetlights aligned themselves along the entrance, with some of the PRF men leaning against them, talking.

A sudden loud thud sounded within the squad. Then Lee could be heard whispering, "Jackson, if you don't shut the fuck up, the PRF's gonna vaporize our fucking asses."

"The fucking belt's stuck, homie, what do you want me to do about it?" Jackson replied.

"Second platoon is already in position, ready up," Gideon said again, "mortar team?"

"Just call it lieutenant, they won't be standing any longer," Sergeant Walker replied, "just make sure they don't hit our drone, eh."

I looked up, and there it was. A small dot in a vast blue backdrop. A spotter drone.

I returned my eyes to the bush, and watched the enemy APC. The two PRF soldiers climbed down from the vehicle and moved to the side. The commander on the other hand went below the hatch. Several seconds later, the 30mm barrel swiveled up and down, left to right.

"Shit," I muttered, "the IFV is back in action"

Midnight whispered to me, "How the fuck are we supposed to kill that?"

McCord looked towards him, his stern expression turned blank, "Pretty sure someone's in charge of the MARS."

"Who has the MARS?" Gideon asked.

Sergeant Yuri from the weapon's squad replied with a heavy slavic accent, "Corporal Cooper has it, sir."

"I believe he knows what to do?" Gideon asked again.

"HEAT round armed and ready," Yuri replied, "give the order and we'll send that son of many bitches to the junkyard."

"Ey, the grumpy guy's insults are getting better everyday ," Jackal commented.

"All thanks to you," Yuri replied.

"No worries," Jackal said, "you giant, enormous bellend."

The Slavic man grumbled on comms with insults in his native tongue.

"Listen, you two can go make love after this, not now," Gideon interrupted.

The Multi-purpose Anti-Armor Rocket System is a man-portable reusable anti-armor weapon designed to destroy or disable armored vehicles. Against tanks or light-armor, it can fire a 90mm HEAT rocket that's powerful enough to knock out most light armor vehicle in the PRF inventory. It can also fire a HEDP or an airburst round to perform counter-defilade duties. More advanced warheads can be loaded as well, such as the LOW (Lock-on Offensive Warhead) which turns the MARS into a fire-and-forget weapon.

"Hold up. Lieutenant, we got a problem," Walker cut in, "our drone is watching the jammer."

"And?" Gideon asked.

"Looks like they're activating it, we'll lose comms soon." Walker said.

"Shit, I'll get Echo on comms, you know what to do Walker," Gideon said.

"Copy, Walker out," Walker said.

If they jammed us, we would lose comms between the platoons. Without comms, taking this base will get a little more difficult.

By difficult, I mean a lot of us will die.

"Sergeants, the plan is still intact we fire on third platoon's signal-" Gideon's voice suddenly went out.

McCord cocked his rifle and said, "This is it."

I could hear Lee whisper, "Jackson, the gun ready?"

"Fuck no bro, the belt's fucked," Jackson replied.

The entirety of Raptor Company went from a prone position to a crouch postion, except for the automatic riflemen of course. I followed my brothers (and sisters) in arms, finger on the trigger, ready to stand.

Suddenly, the air cracked with the sound of a loud pop.

But if you participated in hours of non-stop live fire training, it wasn't gunfire.

I looked up, and there it was.

A bright, yellow, glowing dot in the sky. The necks of the PRF men craned upwards towards the source, disorientated, confused.

That was the signal.

-----------

All stations! Fire at will!" Johnson ordered.

Almost immediately after he said those words, the Stormbringer's guns blasted into the debree field ahead. The remaining eight ERASMs shot up from the missile pods. With Marcus' uplink, tracking and targeting the opponents were easy. All Jameson had to do was to pull the trigger.

The missile was painted black, so it blended into the darkness of space. But having a dark-colored missile doesn't mean your enemies can't detect it. Extrasolar motion sensors can easily pick up a non-stealth missile. But the ERASM deploys several decoys to trick enemy sensors while flying straight into its target.

Johnson tried his best to find the missile, but the Navy made sure it's hydrogen engine's signature was dampened, meaning the enemy couldn't visually see it nor detect it on the radiation sensors.

Then suddenly a massive explosion erupted within the debree field until the airless space snuffed it out.

"Jensen? How we doing over there?" Johnson asked.

"Fuckin' hell, all power sources are knocked out! We lost weapon systems, shields, everything, " She replied, "The entire medical department just went dark, and whole damn engineering team didn't survive the engine blast!"

She cursed, "Goddam missile got us good. We are sitting ducks out here."

Soundless flashes and explosions disappeared as quickly as they have emerged. The guns fired again and again, without end. Anything in the way of their firing line was shredded to dust. On the other hand the vertical launch canisters vommited flames as it unloaded half of it's arsenal into space.

The Jericho's guns were making a masive difference as well.

One by one, Johnson watched as Marcus' Mortal-class destroyer tear up the enemy battle cruisers. For every battle crusier that closed in on the Sandstorm, the ambush force loses a ship.

It was the fifth ship he had shot up in this engagement.

Smaller explosion peppered in the distance. It seemed as if the lasers were doing their job.

"Good effect on target," Jameson said, "Hang on, tracking several fast movers on the scanner."

"Holy shit, sir, we got fourteen gunships and mobile attack craft in bound for our ship, starboard side!" Jenkins announced.

Richard looked out of the windshield, "Are they fucking stupid? What can they do to us?"

Johnson looked towards the threat. Fourteen well-armed gunship and smaller ships could be seen heading towards his ship at maximum velocity.

Fast moving gunships, charging blindly.

Shit.

"They're not dumb, they're trying to board our fucking ship!" Johnson shouted.

"PRF Naval Infantry," Richard muttered.

"Already on it sir," Jameson said.

The Phantom guns turned towards the gunships.

And all starboard side Phantom guns fired in unison.

The 25mm Gatling guns fired large, high-explosive rounds that were designed to puncture reinforced titanium and steel hulls. To take out a dozen gunships with a dozen of these bad boys were overkill.

Small dots of fire peppered the enemy formation as the programmable rounds exploded as close as they can to their target.

By the time the guns stopped firing, only two of them survived. They took a 360° turn, and headed where they came from.

Of course, Jameson would fire two MS-2s at them before they could escape.

Suddenly, a red lightning bolt zapped across the space. Dashing past the Sandstorm's bridge and over the Stormbringer's hull. The dark crimson beam blinded the crew temporarily, until the adaptive viewpanels darkened.

"Fucking hell!" Richard yelled.

Through his reflection, Johnson could see Jenkin's caucasian face freezing up.

It was too fucking close.

"Got that bastard," Marcus said.

The Jericho replied to the enemy's railgun blast, by sending one of her own bolts directly at the source.

A violent blast of fragments scattered outwards, crashing into nearby scrap. Anything in their way was sliced into pieces by the high velocity shrapnel.

Alarms blared in his earpiece, followed by distressing chatter. Then Palmer's stressed voice cut in. She was panting intensely, as if she just ran five miles, "Thanks, Marcus, we owe....yo....on.."

Johnson reached up to his earpiece to check whether his earpiece was malfunctioning or did he really lost contact with Palmer, "Palmer? Palmer?"

Her voice came back in again, this time, she was even more stressed, "Fuck, Johnson, Marcus, the Sandstorm is being boarded, I repeat, the Sandstorm is-"

A loud muffling explosion could be heard in the background. Then the sound of a loud bang erupted. Then Rukhovian chatter could be heard.

"On your knees!" someone yelled.

There was a moment of silence, until gunfire erupted, "I SAID ON YOUR KNEES!" Johnson didn't know whether it was the gunfire or the yelling that made him jump.

Hasty footsteps followed with very step growing louder and louder.

Then it stopped.

Then the cracking of weapons could be heard.

The same man repeated his last, "On your knees."

"Fuck you," Palmer's voice replied, "you will not take thi-"

A loud thud followed and then Palmer screamed in agony

Then the connection ended.

"Freya, Freya?!" Marcus reached out.

Johnson knew something was up when they didn't finish the Sandstorm when they could've. Her destroyer contained battle plans, navigational coordinates and intelligence that may compromise the entire operation. If the PRF got their hands on them...

Johnson shivered on that thought.

Maybe he could blow her ship up instead of risking data falling into the wrong hands. But Palmer wouldn't do that, Johnson wouldn't do that either. At least 300 crewmembers were aboard that ship and he wouldn't want to end their lives.

Johnson turned to his comm officer, "Rebecca can you patch me up with the Sandstorm?"

"Negative sir, I'm trying my best but, the PRF is jamming us," she said, rapidly tapping the display keyboard, "I can't even reach the Tempest."

Richard came up behind Johnson, "Captain, sensitive information is on board that vessel, I suggest we blow her up."

"Johnson, I'm gonna fire on the Sandstorm," Marcus said, "We can't risk naval intelligence."

Johnson's eyes widened, "NO, we're not blowing her up."

"Captain-"

"But the intel, Johnson," Marcus protested.

"We're gonna get her out of there," Johnson said.

Richard frowned, "Sir, technically and strategically speaking, there's no way we can get her out of there."

Johnson turned and looked past Richard's shoulder and towards Jenkins, "Jenkins are there any hostile ships in the AO?"

Jameson looked down onto his helm console, "I ran three deep scans sir, that crusier was the last one."

By then Richard knew what's up. He nodded with approval.

"Richard, you know what to do, get Mendoza and his platoon."

Richard nodded, and headed for the exit.

"You're -" Marcus paused for two long seconds.

"Marines?" he asked again. Johnson could picture a smile on his face when he asked that.

"Marines, Marcus. We'll use the Marines."













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