Wholesale Slaughter: The Complete Series Books 1-6: by Rick Partlow

Author:Rick Partlow [Partlow, Rick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B08R2341M8
Publisher: Aethon Books
Published: 2021-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

“Mithra save us…”

Logan didn’t know who had said it. The IFF transponder display was fried, along with his radar, lidar, and everything else that had made the Sentinel a command platform. He appreciated the sentiment, but he wasn’t sure God was listening.

Perhaps it was a blessing that the IFF was down, because he didn’t want to see how few of his mecha were still fighting. He couldn’t make much out through the smoke, the visibility down to maybe fifty meters on a side, barely enough to see the group of three others standing beside him.

His father was there, his Sentinel resplendent with the crest of the Guardian across its chest, amazingly almost unmarked after the seemingly endless battle. Next to him, unwilling to leave the side of his commander, was General Anders. His mech was the same model but the armor over his chest and legs was cracked and flaking off, huge sections charred and smoking, as if he’d thrown himself between Jaimie Brannigan and all the incoming fire headed his way. And perhaps he had.

Logan’s own Sentinel wasn’t much better off, what wasn’t solid red and inoperable flashing yellow in warning it soon would be. It was upright though, and the plasma gun still worked. Enough for a last stand, and if this wasn’t a last stand, he’d never see one.

“Here comes the next wave,” Anders said, his voice hoarse, dry.

Logan could see them, a dozen assault mecha charging through the billowing clouds of impenetrable smoke like demons straight out of Hell.

This has to be someone’s version of Hell.

He fired, shuffled sideways, dragging an uncooperative left leg, and fired again once the capacitor banks recharged. One of the traitors went down, a Golem, hunchbacked and ugly and now a burning ruin, its pilot trapped inside. How many enemy mech pilots had he killed today?

Not enough.

Anders went down first, a laser slicing through his mech’s left arm, amputating it at the shoulder. The loss of tons of weight threw the general’s Sentinel off balance, sent it stumbling to the right and directly into the line of fire of someone’s ETC cannon. The cannon rounds pierced the reactor shielding on the strike mech’s back and Logan thought he might have seen an ejection pod burst out of the Sentinel’s chest and hurtle into the smoke before the mech’s reactor blew in a starburst of plasma plumes.

Logan had been too distracted by the loss of Anders’ machine. He didn’t see the missile until it was too late, until it was so close all he could do was try to turn. It hit his Sentinel’s already-balky left leg and everything was light and intense heat and a vibration violent enough to slam his head against the cushioned collar. He felt everything tilting, and thought for the briefest of moments that he had a concussion until he realized the mech was collapsing, its left leg blown off at the hip.

The fall took an anguished eternity and when it finally ended, he was thrown against his restraint straps with enough force to drive the wind out of him.

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