Victory or Death (The Bicentennial War Book 3) by C.J. Carella

Author:C.J. Carella [Carella, C.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-04-30T22:00:00+00:00

Twelve

Starbase Malta, Xanadu System, 203 AFC

“Move it, Marines!”

LCpl Matthew Fromm rose to his feet from behind the covering piece of debris, ignoring the thundercrack of grav beams going off nearby. His imp projected a route through the bombed-out ruins and he ran, firing a sheaf of grenades from his IW-5 while on the move. The self-propelled smart missiles flew off to strike the squad leader’s designated target. Matthew didn’t know what the target was, or the effect his quartet of plasma grenades had made. War was like that. A big chaotic mess that made no sense to the people on the ground, or maybe to anybody involved.

This was only an exercise, but it was not going to be fun or pleasant. Especially since someone had figured out what he and his buddies might be fighting for real, sometime soon.

Matthew reached the new firing point, the remains of a bunker something had cracked wide open. A cloud of nano-drones floating overhead showed him the enemy. A squad of Gordos was maneuvering through the ruins, shooting at anything that moved.

The Nemeses didn’t use soldiers, or if they did, they were small enough to fit inside one-meter tall floating drones that looked like stacked pairs of balls. One small ball on top of a slightly larger one. The shape had led to the nickname Gourds, which a native of New Texas had changed to Gordos, Texican for ‘fatsos.’ So Gordos they were. Grey floating bulbs, each packing some serious firepower and shields.

He turned to the three Marines in his fireteam. “All right, let them have three grenades each and then we tag ‘em with direct fire.”

“Roger that,” PFC Greenberg said. The other two, Smith and Sorbo, simply nodded, their movements exaggerated so they were visible through their thick body armor.

“On three. One, two…”

Twelve grenades landed among the approaching aliens. The blasts packed as much punch as a barrage of heavy mortars back in the day, but Matthew knew they would only serve to temporarily distract the Nemeses grunts. Gordos died hard.

He rose from cover, spotting the distant enemy despite the haze and smoke from the plasma grenades. All four Marines targeted one of the bulbous figures and fired as one. The floating gourd staggered as its shields flashed under the multiple hits. One of the grav blasts got through and the critter or robot dropped like a rock. Its buddies returned fire; their graviton guns were at least as good as the Marines’, and each alien had three of them. A single Gordo produced more firepower than a crew-served weapon; the barrage forced the Marines to take cover. A couple got tagged, but their shields held.

“Shitshitshit,” Private Smith moaned as the enemy fusillade ate through both the bunker walls and the portable force field protecting the fireteam.

“It’s okay,” Matthew said through clenched teeth. “They’re taking the bait.”

The aliens focused their attention on the Marines and didn’t notice the rest of the squad coming up on their left flank. At least not until a fusillade from nine Devil Dogs tore into them.

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