Boss by Scott Moon

Author:Scott Moon [Moon, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scott Moon
Published: 2019-01-27T22:00:00+00:00

7

Ogres Versus Golden Feet

EXPLOSIONS echoed from the perimeter of the three-hundred and eighty acre cornfield. Columns of fire mushroomed on the horizon — one, two, three. Johnny stared, recognizing not only the type of explosion but who had fired them. He didn’t know why, but Lamart’s rockets sent up a debris cloud tinted red and green like something from a holiday parade.

He snatched binoculars from his belt, zoomed in, and saw kinetic projectiles ripping through an automated harvester. A missile struck the combine causing an explosion of yellow kernels like Johnny would never see again. Lamart and the others crouched fifty meters apart in the two meter tall corn rows. The attacking Golden Feet squads moved forward, seeking the same concealment but sending waves through neat, dense rows as they picked up speed.

Ogre Fists and Golden Feet exchanged heavy weapons fire, including rockets and then grenades as the distance closed.

A few seconds later, Johnny felt a pulse of air from a distant shockwave. No one in his unit was certified for nukes or nearly nuclear armaments. That didn’t mean they lacked some big bangs.

He sprinted to his MK7 and clambered in, shouting orders on the OFC communication band even as he was gearing up. Nightmare and the rest of the rear guard Marney had left at the farmhouse moved with practiced efficiency to reinforce the inner perimeter. They made two rings of gear and improvised barriers; one a hundred meters from the house and the other three hundred meters out. His Ogres never defended fixed positions for long; he preferred to shoot and move. Defenses had to be just strong enough to make whoever was coming work for it.

“Put the first ring farther out, Nightmare,” Johnny ordered. “Davenport, do you copy?”

No response.

Nightmare growled over the comm band. “Perimeter out this far. Do it now you dog Ogre Fists!”

“Do it now you Ogre Fist dogs,” Johnny corrected.

“That is what I say,” Nightmare said. “You must tell what a dog is.”

“You’re a dog, Nightmare,” Johnny said on cue. Laughter rippled through the company radios.

Johnny marched his MK7 to the barn and yanked open the door.

Davenport and the others were scrambling for their CASPer units. “We got it! Jessup gave it up like a little punk kid,” Davenport said.

“Fine. Right now we have at least one merc unit coming to cash in on our warrants,” Johnny said. “Probably the Golden Feet.”

“This day just keeps getting better!” Davenport shouted, then high-fived several of his team. “Someone get this piece of shit out of that chair. Dose him with healing nanites and tie him up. Put him on a flatbed.”

Johnny watched until Jessup was lifted from the chair by Davenport’s personal medic, who was a decent guy despite his choice of friends. Never talked much unless it was about horses or the latest medical journal publication.

One laser after another punched holes in the top of the barn.

Johnny moved out, taking three of his Team 1 and one of Davenport’s Team 2 to face the main thrust of the GFC assault.

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