Chapter 46 – Venatio
August 23rd, 2552 - (16:25 Hours - Military Calendar)
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach
Viery Territory, New Alexandria
:********:
Heat.
There was so much of it that Duncan swore he was on fire even as hell's finger came crashing down behind him. Hector and the Staff had pulled off just in time, shooting away at a breakneck acceleration. The plasmatic whirlwind plunged into the ground in their wake, kicking up a curtain of broiling earth that quickly split apart as the beam of plasma gave chase.
"GO! GO! GO!" Duncan struggled to pull the turret around, fighting to see through an intensifying light that suddenly diminished, a hard turn to the left sending the column of fire scything past them. The Staff had swung right, small flames flickering into being along the carrier as the beam sliced by.
The last of the plasma guttered out, having already seared a steaming trench between them.
Duncan barely heard the Staff's order over the ground pummeling footsteps of the Scarab. "Ep-4, regroup at the east side avenue!"
"On it!"
Hector peeled away through a patch of rugged ruins as the mechanical giant let out another long roar. Duncan brought around the M41 just in time to see the towering silhouette of the Scarab staring down at him, its face suddenly brightening in a green flash.
"Six o'clock!"
Hector whizzed away at a sharp left turn that threw the Hog into a wide fishtail, swinging its back behind it in a skidding arc. The incoming plasma streaked behind them and followed close at their heels, carving a smoldering gouge into the ground. Duncan felt the heat wrap around him like an oppressive blanket. Hector swung the other way, correcting their course like a whip. The emerald torrent lashed past again, sending another rush of boiling dust into Duncan's visor. He slapped away at his helmet in a desperate bid to see again. Wiping the last of it clear, he angled the turret in time to catch the Scarab taking another thundering step. The small turn allowed the insectoid head of its ultra-heavy rear cannon to get a clear shot. A second later, the glowing slit of its mouth spewed car-sized bolts of plasma. The rapid burst whisked after the troop carrier in an elongating curve as it tracked its movements. Seeing that, the Staff swerved from right to left to confuse its aim. Several bolts struck alongside his trajectory only to bathe the carrier in a useless spray of dirt and rubble.
Duncan took the opportunity to at least return fire. He let loose with the M41, only to find two streams of rapid plasma fire answering back in kind, kicking up dust around the Hog as they tried to bracket them. Through the incoming flurry of superheated ordnance, he spotted the source. Atop the assault platform that ribbed either side of the Scarab were two plasma cannons whose barrels glittered intermittently from the discharge. Their position on either side of the focus cannon seemed to give the Scarab two glimmering eyes around a spreading, brightening maw.
It screamed and fired again.
The self-contained river of plasma barreled after them, aiming straight for him.
"Another one!"
"Copy!" Hector waited a second, getting the timing just right before twisting the wheel left. They veered off while the deadly cascade came down behind them. It tried to bend after them but Hector put more force into the pedals, speeding them out of its reach. They raced over a sloping piece of wreckage and hit level ground with a bouncing impact. Duncan kept firing back at the opposing gunners on the Scarab while Hector steered towards the Staff, dodging and weaving through the uneven debris field. They passed another firefight, avoiding four Hunters fresh from the bloody aftermath of a one-sided slaughter as they went.
Before long, Duncan realized they were driving back down the avenue. The haze was lessening, and he could see the troop carrier driving ahead of them. With the last of the rubble falling away, so too did the smoke.
Being able to see everything clearly came as a relief.
To either side of them, the sidewalks were brimming with soldiers. The hodgepodge of Tango and Lima Company personnel columned down the pavement by the dozens. Some were jogging, others limping, others being carried over the shoulders of comrades who looked just as injured. Every single one of them was soaked from head to toe in a layer of dust. Every movement, however rigid, caused a sprinkle of dirt to fall loose. Even the handful of Tango Company's Warthogs and Scorpions moving ahead of them trailed a fine spray of dust along the avenue. They were less a retreating company and more an army of revenants fresh from the grave. A close look at the others showed Duncan that Epsilon was no different, that he was no different.
"Heads up, Tango, Lima, regroup on the M2 highway! I repeat, regroup on the M2, let's go!
The voice of Captain Thompson broke over their communications, providing some order to the marching chaos. Gradually, the dazed masses went from a meandering saunter to a steady sprint. The majority of those that could run dashed down the empty lanes towards the highway, shaking more dust from themselves as they went.
The six-laned M2 crossed over the avenue at the halfway point to the container port. Those furthest along the path began righting south onto its outer lane, disappearing between the buildings that stood guard on either side of the route.
Where Tango's troops sped up, their vehicles lingered behind. Tanks and Hogs slowed to give their stragglers a chance to hop on. Nearly a platoon-sized element of the wounded and injured closed in on them from across the avenue. Drivers and passengers alike lent a hand to the clusters of haggard survivors, pulling them into troop compartments or atop the tread mounts on the Scorpions. Several of them came over to Epsilon. The troop carrier was their main go-to and Zack, Renni and Yuri fell into the minutes-old pattern of pulling bloodied servicemen into their own seats. Before long, the last three were running towards Hector's Hog. With his permission, two of them grabbed ahold of the frame and planted their boots on the footboard, ready to hang on for the ride.
The third came around to Duncan. "Hey, can I get a hand?"
Duncan checked him out, noting the busted leg bracers and the cuts and bruises that marred a ruddy face. He was young, almost too young, like he'd dropped out of high school just a few months ago. Ash and soot covered a half-torn nametag: 'PFC F. Sizemore'.
"You've only got one option, kid, and a piggyback ride isn't one of them."
"I'll hop on your back if I have to but I'm getting out of here."
Duncan pulled a hand from the gun and clasped the trooper's with it. He heaved him onto the back and pointed to a small spot at the very rear. "You can lie down, or you can sit."
"Sitting sounds good."
Duncan helped him to plop down into a comfortable position behind him.
The kid held up his rifle. "I'll cover your six, ODST."
"Good, guess I'll cover everything else then." Duncan whistled down to Hector. The wheels revved for a moment, then they were underway again.
"How old are you, kid?" The thought slipped out before Duncan had thought about it, but he refused to take it back.
"Old enough." Sizemore said as if it were a question he'd been asked many times before.
A loud, shuddering stomp resonated through the ground.
Duncan left any further conversation at that. He glared over his shoulder at the wall of smoke that was beginning to roll over the avenue. There was no giant shadow lurking in the depths in so far as he could tell. It would take a while for something as big as a Scarab to catch up to them. Nevertheless, he stiffened at the release of a sudden roar that, at this distance, sounded like the howl of a vacuum machine. A powerful droning noise ensued, and he took in with some trepidation the reason why the Scarab hadn't pursued them. He saw a flash of bright green light deep within the haze and knew for a fact that it had found more prey.
Stranger still was the realization that the footsteps weren't only coming from Szimpla. There were other vibrations, fainter in comparison. They were distinct from the first and seemed further away, though the exact direction or distance was nearly impossible to discern.
He turned back around and saw beyond the highway towards the other end of the avenue, towards the Scorpions, Warthogs and towering barricades set before the container port. None of the forces there were making any moves yet, although their defenses appeared tighter than they had earlier.
The turn was coming up. The last tank in the group rolled onto the outer lane and Epsilon followed after it.
The M2 stretched on at a leftward curve towards the southeast. Four of its inner lanes eventually rose into an expressway a few buildings down before moving out of sight, the two outermost lanes continuing along the ground as exit ramps leading to other roads. Most of the survivors from Tango and Lima were moving towards the expressway. There were more of them than Duncan expected. He made a quick headcount including the vehicles and came away with somewhere around 100 personnel. The number seemed high up until he remembered how many people had probably been inside of Szimpla, and that what he was looking at now was less than half of a standard Army company. And even then, it wasn't entirely Tango. God only knew where the rest of Lima was.
Among those closest to where the expressway began, he singled out Captain Thompson. The Tango Company CO stood atop the roof of a car that had crashed into the median. More and more of his men were gathering around him. As Epsilon brought up the rear, he started speaking over the comms, competing with the earth-shattering reverberations of the Scarab all the while.
"Alright troopers, listen up! We've got a situation on our hands! There's no time to fall back! That Scarab is moving south! It's not taking a swing at the container port directly! It's most likely headed for a weak point in our lines over at the central mall! We can't do anything for Szimpla, but we can stop it from punching clean through to the starport! We'll link up with reinforcements from 2nd Battalion, Zeta Company and cut it off from there! Move out!"
Thompson hopped down from the car. However, instead of getting into any of the nearby Warthogs, he waved his troops forward and began a brisk jog towards the expressway.
His men weren't far behind. Those too injured to walk had already been secured aboard whatever transportation was available. While there wasn't enough seating to carry everyone else, the troopers didn't seem to mind ground-pounding for the road ahead. The air filled with the sound of jogging boots and burbling engines as the company vehicles travelled on the edge of the friendly formation. Epsilon stuck to the rear of the group, keeping an eye on their flank for what Duncan hoped would be a short trip.
:********:
The air conditioning coming through the ceiling vents of the docking umbilical was mercifully cool. It offered at least some reprieve from the pure body heat generated by keeping so many people so close together. The press was tight and Erica struggled to see past the sea of human heads. She tugged her backpack more firmly onto her shoulders and held Noah's hand, pulling him close so that she wouldn't lose him in the crowd.
Progress forward was slow at best and nonexistent at worst. Those in the umbilical with her stood shoulder to shoulder, at least seven people across from wall to wall. She wasn't claustrophobic but she would've given anything in the world not to be here. She wagered that the people around her were probably of the same mind.
She peered past the slow-moving gathering to their ultimate destination. What she gauged as somewhere just 20-meters ahead was the terminus of the umbilical's corridor. At the end of the movable connector was the pressurized doorway of the starship that they were soon to board. With the door open, she could see straight inside. Three columns of cushioned seats stretched back out of sight in sets of four. From what she could work out for herself, there was plenty of room for families to stay together. Given what she remembered from Haven Airlines' debut back at the Csillagos, that was by design, making the ship a few meters wider than the average intersystem transport of the same class. How the business had fared in the half a year or so since their launch was anyone's guess, but she had a feeling that they were making an absolute killing of late.
Vista and Cassowari had been smart in seeing the disaster months in advance. Most, like herself, had only seen it when it was already shooting at them.
"Are we close yet?"
She looked down, finding Noah trying to see through the crowd. He had an even harder time of it than she did. By the slight crack in his voice, she knew he was tired.
"Almost there." She assured. "Just a few more steps."
"How much is a few more?"
He was almost groaning. For his sake, Erica let go of his hand and reached down to pick him up, holding him in the crux of her arm like an overgrown parrot. He was usually as talkative as one too. Now, not so much. He took one look down the corridor before resting his head on her shoulder and shutting his eyes.
Erica caught wind of her own mistake far too late. Someone moved in closer to her, taking away Noah's spot at her side. As happy as she was that he was dozing off, he couldn't have done it at a worse time. She couldn't put him down anymore. The best she could hope for was that they would speed along at some point. Until then, she was going to have to put on her best balancing act, her pack on one arm and her son in the other.
Her unspoken prayer quickly bore fruit. There was another shuffling progression that reached her in seconds. She took it in stride and moved forward. A few steps here, a few steps there and she found herself less than 10 meters away from the entrance. She'd never been so relieved to use her legs for more than just standing.
"Make room, make room! Move aside!"
The commotion was coming from behind. She turned around to find the masses at her back parting for someone. This wasn't the first time either. She knew by now what to do. They all did. She stepped to the side as those standing around her pressed one way or another, squeezing and compacting together to clear a path. The first hospital bed appeared further back, turning around a corner of the umbilical with some difficulty. The trooper pulling it from the front had to heave it on course to avoid running into anyone. The wheels screeched through the corridor with an ensemble of more emanating from even further back. As the first went by, she saw the man on the bed, a soldier with torn up fatigues and a nasty gash on his bare chest that had been stapled shut. The oxygen mask wrapped around his face was fogged with exhalation. She watched him go by as well as the rest of the group. One by one, the other hospital beds proceeded past. Each was worse than the last, a moving exhibition of third degree burns and angry-red scars.
By the twelfth, she thought she'd seen it all, but she recognized the thirteenth before he'd even turned the corner. The black boots of an ODST gave it away.
Rico was asleep. Like the others that came before him, he was breathing into an oxygen mask. His armor was tattered and those spots where it had been completely removed were covered in a patchwork of red-tinted bandages. Not so for his left arm of course, the only thing entirely unaccounted for.
Two soldiers drove him past. She didn't see a hint of consciousness on his face. What she did see upon glancing at Noah were two wide open eyes that shifted between hers and Rico's.
He'd been so quiet that she had no idea how much he'd seen.
The last hospital bed passed on with a small team of Army medics and civilian doctors trickling in behind it. The last of the incoming group having gone by, the people closed back in again.
Since Noah was awake, she seized the opening and put him down on his own two feet. He groaned, rubbing his eyes at having to stand up on the hard carpeting of the umbilical. She kept a solid grip on his hand while she looked out again for Rico.
He was among the last pair of beds to be rolled into the starship. The doorway was wide enough for two to enter side by side. Two flight attendants, a man and woman ushered them in where more of their colleagues had formed a line to direct them further along the interior. Somehow the attendants looked just as washed out and hollow-eyed as everyone else.
"Was that Uncle Ricky?"
She let out a deep sigh. She had no clue he was going to be on their flight. She didn't give Noah an answer, thinking it best not to.
Soon, after some more shuffling, they made it to the front of the line. She gave a courteous nod to the flight attendants as she and a few others stepped past the starship's heavily reinforced door.
The inside of the ship's first floor was much unlike the docking umbilical in every way that mattered. The lighting was much more stable for one. For another, there was a lot more room to move about. Her arms and legs felt freer.
The line of flight attendants guided her down the first aisle. The rear half of the ship was already fully occupied by those families and loners that came before her. Nearer to the center, past the closest pair of stairwells to the second level, the floor of the fuselage descended a few steps to a small, railed enclosure that appeared as a private lounge or seating area. Where the seats should have been, there was instead a large gathering of 20 hospital beds. The last one was still being rolled down a short rampway that curved into the lounge. There both it and its occupant were guided into alignment with one of the two rows of wounded servicemen. The able-bodied troopers, medics and doctors that had accompanied them were at work tethering the beds to special hardpoints in the flooring.
Rico was among them. She spotted him close to the center, tranquil as ever while his bedding was secured in place.
The last attendant pointed her to a quartet of empty seats set against the left side of the ship, just a few rows ahead of the lounge.
Noah walked in first and threw himself into the window seat. Unless she was mistaken, the exhaustion from earlier was entirely gone. He was watchful, attentive, constantly peering over his shoulder to see through to the beds.
Erica sat down next to him, leaving two seats free. Setting her pack between her knees, she took the opportunity to look through the window. The oval-shaped panel of pressure-sealed glass offered an elevated view of the starport tarmac. The north side of the apron spanned out in front of them. However, most of the landscape was blocked from sight by the turquoise bow of the neighboring starship. There was activity in the space between the two transports. Sandbag walls had been established around the ships, creating a secure perimeter for each. Squads of soldiers were manning them, machineguns mounted and rocket launchers close at hand.
It was the last thing she wanted to see.
An armed presence this close to the ships gave her an unsteady feeling about how the broader fight was going. Her mind instinctually gravitated towards Duncan, where he was, what he was doing, what he was up against. The memory of how hard he fought at the Csillagos was still fresh. She'd never truly seen him in action before, especially against creatures she never knew could be so intimidating in person. A bitter regret began rising in her chest at being the one to convince him to take his uncle up on his offer. As years of experience had taught her to do, she threw it to the very back of her thoughts and forgot about it.
"When're we leaving?" Noah asked.
Erica shrugged. "There're still more people that need to get aboard. We just have to wait a little while, okay honey?"
Noah took a moment to respond, nodding distantly. "...How's dad gonna leave? Think he'll use one of these too?"
It wasn't the first time he'd caught her off guard with a question, but it was one she definitely hadn't wanted him to ask. She didn't have an answer readily available. The one she ultimately came up with was unsatisfying, for her at least.
"He won't need one. He's going to finish the fight those monsters started, alright sweety?"
Noah brightened up. He nodded again, more resolutely this time. "So, where're we going?"
Another question, one she somewhat expected but still wasn't sure how to get it across to him. Her eyes travelled elsewhere in search of an easy explanation and instead landed on something altogether more puzzling, disturbing even.
The boy from before, the same one that had tackled Duncan, her Duncan, was walking down the aisle towards her.
Arthur, she remembered the name with no small amount of wariness.
He had that same hardened expression that he had worn when he first came into the safe room, the same one he'd worn when he took a swing at her husband. It nearly slipped her mind that she had helped to save him back at the hotel. She wasn't too sure if she regretted that yet.
Despite what she thought and how she felt, it was quickly made clear that she was not on his mind at all. He went past her without so much as turning his head. The person coming behind him, however, immediately slowed upon spotting her.
Erica recognized her as well, and the conflict she felt barely a second earlier was no longer there.
Christa, that was her name.
She watched the teenager step to the side of the aisle to let others walk past. She leaned into their row to talk.
"Hey."
"...Hey."
Noah whirled around at the voice. "Chrissy!"
A slight smile crossed her face. "Hey Noe. Didn't know I had a nickname already. How're you?"
"He's fine." Erica intruded. "We both are."
Christa winced. She bit her lip, looking this way and that. Erica could read the apology in her gaze before the words even left her mouth.
"I know we haven't really gotten a chance to talk since...you know..."
"Forever." Noah butted in. "I didn't even see you guys after the-, um-, hey, where's Arty?"
Christa bit her lip again, seeming more flustered. She could tell where the conversation was headed, and it was obvious she didn't want it to get there.
"Don't worry, he's not going to cause any trouble this time. Listen, I just wanted to say I'm sorry, really, for all of it. You helped us get out of that hotel. I can't thank you enough for that, for both of us, but Arty paid you back for it in the worst way possible. He's an idiot like that. I'm not trying to make any excuses for him but sometimes it takes a lot just to keep him from shoving his own foot in his mouth whenever he talks to people. I-"
Erica raised a hand. "It's okay. Duncan told me you guys have a bit of history together."
Christa winced again, thoroughly surprised. The momentary shock was overwhelmed by a reminiscent frown. "...How-, how much did he...tell you?"
"Well, to be honest, nothing yet. He either never had the time to or never got around to it."
"Oh...I see..." Christa glanced back to where Arthur was.
Erica looked that way as well and found him sitting in a chair two rows back, staring pensively out a window. "But I'd be interested in hearing the story if you're interested in telling it."
She watched Christa's demeanor change as color seemed to enter her face again. And yet with it came a narrow-eyed heaviness. It was the kind she'd seen on Duncan whenever he thought she wasn't paying attention, more recently on Noah whenever he asked around for someone to play with, and most recently on herself whenever she looked in the mirror in the terminal bathroom, thinking about the two people who should've still been by her side.
Christa sat down in the seat beside her without saying a word at first, but Erica could already sense the truth. Whatever the girl had to say, whatever story she was about to tell, there was no chance she was going to be ready for any of it.
:********:
The pounding footsteps were drawing closer, and Duncan's patience was wearing thinner. He wrapped his fingers firmly around the triggers of the M41, guiding the circle of his reticle across the width of their temporary area of operations. It was only a shame that the turret was going to serve as more of a distraction than anything else. However, if they played their cards right like Captain Thompson had suggested, they would make it a convincing one.
The M2 Highway's expressway continued at a shallow arch, passing from north to south over its neighbor, the M3 whose six-laned length went from east to west, setting it beneath the shadow of the M2. An intricate network of exit ramps fed into each route in a series of elaborate interconnections. The surrounding buildings formed an urban furrow around the two highways. Most of the nearby structures were undamaged, immaculate even, evidence enough that it was an area that had somehow managed to steer clear of most of the fighting.
That was about to change.
Each titanic footfall shook the windows of the buildings as much as it did those of the sparse vehicles that littered the M3 highway. The impacts were slowly but steadily getting stronger, drawing nearer to their position.
Epsilon was stationed on the right side of the M3, just 30-meters east of the expressway's underpass. The Staff's troop carrier was the closest to the concrete median dividing the highway. Hector's Hog was furthest to the right near the sidewalk, leaving at least one open lane between the two for greater freedom of movement.
They were going to need it.
Whenever he wasn't gauging how close the footsteps were getting, Duncan would glance over to the opposite side of the median where two other Warthogs had a similar setup, one a troop carrier, the other a turret Hog. Burgoyne was behind the wheel of the latter while Lima Company's lieutenant held to the M41, both covered in a light coating of dust. Tango Company's sergeant major kept the vehicle straddling both sidewalk and asphalt, leaving it there in case he needed to use either road or walkway to get a move on.
They were easy prey, all of them, but that was the whole point.
Further west along the highway, sandwiched between the arching shadow of the M2 and a row of buildings running beside the expressway was another group of four Warthogs. The two teams of Rocket and Gauss Hogs had hunkered down on the closest exit ramps to either side of the M3. Their position made it so that nothing coming back east towards Epsilon would have any chance of seeing them until it was well past.
It was a choke point, theirs, and they were going to guard it for as long as possible, but only after the distraction team had made their move. The four guardian Hogs weren't alone either. Their backup was waiting somewhere behind the many cerulean-hued windows of the very same buildings they were using for cover. Duncan couldn't see them through the glass. It was a good sign. It meant the enemy who would mostly be charging straight ahead would have virtually no way of spotting them.
The distraction team would do everything in its power to keep it that way.
Duncan chanced a look back. The M3 carried on for a short drive before finally passing through an open area, the parking lot of New Alexandria's central mall. He could almost see the northernmost wing of the building itself. The bulk of the massive megastructure was well out of sight. They were looking at a good 150-meters between their current position and the relatively empty expanse of the parking lot. The citizenry of the city had fled en masse from the locale during the first day and it was about to pay off. Once the Warthogs made it there, they would be home free.
It was still a tall order given what had been asked of them.
The footfalls rose to a raucous clamor. He could feel the Warthog trembling beneath his boots each time the ground shook. The tremors were getting so close that he could see dust from the underpass raining onto the M3 in rhythmic downpours.
"Anytime now." Mito said, shouldering his rocket launcher.
"I say they can take their time." Hector exhaled. "Once they're here, they're here."
"And we book it." Zack added.
"I second that." Renni said.
"Sounds like it's right around the corner." Burgoyne said on the comms. "Be ready."
"Roger." The Staff replied. "Epsilon, remember, focus on the lighter defenses. We can't do much about the big guns, but we can at least limit what's flying our way for the ride back."
Duncan took that to heart. The best thing to do going forward would be to chip away at those armaments that had the best odds of catching them. Everything else they could outrun.
Maybe.
He wrapped his attention around those things he could control, namely the turret and the amount of lead he could send hurtling in the opposite direction. Speed and precision would have to win the day for them. An imbalance of either one for even a few seconds could mean the difference between life and death.
Their target arrived less than a heartbeat later when a single segmented leg stomped onto the M3, throwing up another spray of pulverized asphalt. In short order, the rest of the armored carapace came into view as more thundering steps drew it out from a divergent thoroughfare, from head to body and finally to 'tail'. The lumbering quadruped kicked up dust, heels stabbing down into unfortunate cars in plumes of metal and fiery explosions as it began reorienting itself onto the M3.
"Ep-9, do the honors." The Staff said.
Mito's answer came from his launcher. A single rocket howled down the highway on a tendril of smoke, weaving past the support columns of the expressway before slamming headlong into the Scarab's face. The explosion struck it like the backhand of a child, bucking its lower body as a strong breeze would an oak tree. Its head quickly swung back through the black clouds, its entire frame turning fully towards the four Warthogs further along its route.
"That got its attention!" Zack said nervously.
"Now all we got to do is keep it!" Burgoyne gripped his wheel and started reversing. "Start pulling back, nice and slow!"
No one needed to be told twice.
Engines revved and wheels skidded. All four Hogs drove backward on pre-planned escapeways. Duncan wheeled his reticle across the sloped frame of the walker to a point near its portside. The circle flashed red at a target that was just as quickly obscured by the rise of one of the Scarab's legs. The limb came down atop the back of a delivery truck like a giant stiletto, stabbing through the cargo container, crumpling and impaling the chassis. The last motion placed the metal behemoth into a perfect firing position. Its mandibles parted to expose the building green glow of its focus cannon. Its roar rose into an animalistic pitch that culminated in an air-splitting hum as the first discharge spewed out.
The plasma torrent blasted towards Burgoyne and the other troop carrier, forcing the former to speed forward as the latter lunged back, splitting up just as it arrived. The pillar of fire plunged into the space between them but immediately began sweeping backwards after the carrier. Right then Duncan saw that the Scarab was trying to draw it closer to grant an opening to the ultra-heavy plasma cannon on its back. The 'tail' let off a swift succession of oversized bolts that streaked towards...the expressway.
The arch of the M2 highway trembled under the series of rapid blows, each chewing a steaming bite out of its side. The focus cannon ceased firing, freeing the troop carrier to return to reversing itself even as the Scarab's tail let loose again with the same destination in mind. The new succession of explosions bit deep into the outer lanes, sending cracks and fissures spiderwebbing across the others in puffs of cement and buckling concrete. By the time the last bolt landed, the Scarab had already closed with the expressway and was now barreling into it. The thrust of a forward leg smashed deep into the breach in the asphalt. The thrust of another scythed clear through the highway like a knife through butter, smashing aside a cluster of cars before slamming down, anchoring the Scarab for a third thrust from the neighboring limb. An eruption of concrete, car parts and warped rebars went ahead of its passage, flying out onto the M3 in a spilling avalanche. The Scarab forged on through the aftermath. More mechanical movements brought it past the buildings that hemmed the lower highway. It pounded onwards after the distraction team, none-the-wiser as to the two strike teams hiding to either side of it.
But their Gauss cannons and rocket systems remained silent.
They were supposed to.
The Scarab's main weapon showed no such restraint, however. Neither did its secondary. Both now let loose again, a shimmering cascade from the focus cannon tunneling through the air alongside a new salvo from the ultra-heavy cannon.
Epsilon was the target.
The Staff hit the accelerator, shooting forward as the snaking blaze landed behind him and followed in hot pursuit. Hector did the opposite, swerving left into the middle-lane as the first oversized bolt came crashing in front of him. He reversed at speed as more began to land, each burst of plasmatic power growing closer by the second.
Duncan lived up to his end of the deal by holding the M41 steady while peppering the Scarab's portside gunner with unrelenting fire. The Brute held its own through the shower of bullets that burrowed greedily into its armor and ricocheted around it. A stream of rapid plasma bolts lashed back out in return. Duncan got the better end of the exchange, however. Both Hector's constant maneuvers from left to right and the ordnance exploding around them served to rattle his aim but also made him impossible to hit. The Brute was a more stable target in comparison. Duncan used those short heartbeats in between turns to chip away at its position in measured bursts, one of them even slapping into its face with enough force to twist its jaw.
The last of the salvo from the tail landed uselessly in front of them as the focus cannon also petered out. Duncan jumped on the reprieve by pouring a heavier concentration onto the rival gunner. Just when his quarry seemed ready to keel over, the Scarab raised a leg with sufficient speed and force to flick a trio of sedans off the ground. The airborne vehicles turned into makeshift mortars upon their descent. Hector predicted their flight and changed gear, shooting forward a split second before the first one crash-landed behind them. The impact sent a rush of air and glass into Duncan's back that he readily ignored as he tracked the flight of the second. The Staff reversed and swung to the right, letting the vehicle touchdown hood-first in a blowout of aluminum shards. The last crashed into the median at a sideways dive that saw it cut in half, sending both pieces spiraling down either side of the highway in a jettisoning of car seats and metal gears. Duncan held his breath, fighting the urge to duck as the trunk of the car flew less than a meter overhead. He needed every millisecond he could get to focus on the gunner.
But the gunner wasn't behind the cannon anymore. In fact, save for the tripod mount, the plasma cannon was also missing.
While Hector pulled around the wreck of the first sedan, Duncan sighted along the fore of the Scarab. He could see its mouth brightening in preparation of another barrage, this one aimed at Burgoyne and his men. He located his target above the motion of its portside joints. Bruised and bloodied, the Brute was running down one of the two sloping catwalks that girded the Scarab's neck like iron gills, ending at its mandibles. It had the plasma cannon in hand, only bringing it to bear once it reached a more level part of the catwalk. It roared and sent a trail of plasma zipping after its competitor, two acts echoed by the larger walker with far greater intensity.
Hector continued to pilot backwards, the deluge of bolts pocking the passing asphalt but occasionally sizzling into the hood. "Ep-8!?"
"Working on it!" Duncan piled on even harder, abandoning burst fire for a continuous onslaught aimed at his rival. In a blink, the Brute found itself taking one too many shots to the chest. Bleeding even more profusely, it stubbornly pulled itself into a small alcove behind the Scarab's mandibles, breaking from his line of sight.
"Lost visual!"
"That's fine!" Hector said. "So long as he's not shooting, that's one less gun aiming our way!"
The words quickly became a curse all their own. The Scarab suddenly turned its head, sending the newest torrent from its focus cannon worming across from Burgoyne and towards Epsilon. The arcing tendril failed to factor in their speed however, splashing down a few meters shy of the troop carrier and well clear of Hector's Hog.
The Scarab was likely to try again but its next salvo was delayed. The light of both its main and secondary weapons dimmed with hesitation as the world behind it came alight.
Further back along the M3, the Rocket and Gauss Hogs had emerged onto the highway to handle the armored reinforcements travelling in the Scarab's wake. The staggered host of 20 Hunters, an intimidating spearhead if Duncan had ever seen one, had stomped a short distance behind the walker to reinforce whatever gains it made. Their loose formation had come to a complete stop under the fireworks show of rocket barrages and accelerated slugs that buffeted and tore through the shields of their vanguard. The three closest Hunters succumbed in close sequence, the first to a rocket barrage to its exposed side, the second to a decapitating blow from a Gauss cannon and the third from a combination of both that blew out its midsection in a spray of orange gore. The survivors fell into their shield stance, aiming fuel rod cannons at foes that had already reversed back to cover.
New foes suddenly made themselves known from above, windows shattering en masse in a display of glittering shards and muzzle flashes. The Tango and Lima Company ambush within the two buildings that girded the highway rained down pain upon the forces below, firing down from several floors overhead. Grenades were hurled, rockets sailing ahead of them as bullets travelled even faster, all ending in small lacerations through wormy flesh that were swiftly blown wide open by flowering blasts, the bounce and detonation of frags acting as the perfect finisher. Explosions flashed up and down the length of their lines so that it appeared as more of a bombardment than an ambush, one that rapidly claimed five more Hunters. The blue-armored giants swung to the ground or collapsed to their knees, spilling the viscera of their dying colonies onto the highway. Others worked together, forming ad hoc clusters of duos and trios that guarded each other's backs with raised shields and bellowing cannons. Even as the first return fire struck into the surrounding buildings, the Gauss and Rocket Hogs pulled back onto the highway to catch the enemy off guard once again.
An earth-grinding step from the Scarab signaled its awareness of its new predicament. It planted a leg onto the median, attempting a tight 180 to the right in a bid to address the threats it had missed.
"We need to get that thing's attention back on us!" Burgoyne yelled. "Aim for the rear gun, take it out!"
With no other obvious targets, Duncan squatted down a bit more to line up his sights. The metal housing of the rotating tail gun began to spark as the combined wrath of two M41s and a band of rifle fire homed in on it. Mito added two rockets to the mix. Each one flew straight into the side of the weapon, momentarily consuming it in blasts of flame. The smoke cleared to expose the ultra-heavy plasma cannon's half-melted mouth. Fires sprung from bursting conduits at its base but it refused to yield, continuing a turn it never got to finish as the sustained assault battered away at what remained of it. Its housing crumpled under more bursts of flame and exhaust until a flash of emerald energies vomited through every crack and crevice with explosive force. Another blast of plasma ballooned out of its side, taking half of the cannon with it. The rest of its lights flickered out and died.
The Scarab took another step and stopped. Its left foreleg slammed down onto the median, pulling it back around towards the highway. However, its last move had fully exposed the gunner Duncan had been trying to get at earlier. Machinegun fire from Burgoyne's Hog joined with his own, slashing away at the Brute from head to foot before it could do the same. Its screams were cut short. It dropped the plasma cannon and collapsed, rolling off the catwalk into an end over end tumble that smashed both weapon and owner into the asphalt.
If the Scarab noticed, it didn't seem to care. It took another step, letting out a roar alongside a new volley. A searing geyser rocketed towards Epsilon once again. The squad reversed in response, beating a hasty retreat until they were out of range. But the Scarab continued to work the rushing energy like a hose and whipped it across the median towards Burgoyne. The two Hogs likewise managed to reverse out of the way in time. However, the driver of the other troop carrier was too rash, not looking where he was going until it was too late. The Hog crashed back first into the hood of a jeep. The latter bucked backwards but not so much as to move aside. The Hog had stopped in its tracks, leaving both driver and crew stunned.
"Lee, get moving!" Burgoyne yelled.
The driver regained his composure and pulled forward only to hear the bellowing of a giant and the droning of a discharge. The new salvo reached him just as he was about to reverse, washing over the vehicle from end to end. Agonized screams, human screams rung out from the gushing deluge of plasma, each one silenced simultaneously by the singular explosion that hurled car and body parts across the highway.
Instead of a cry, the sergeant major went silent for a moment. The silence lasted only as long as the time between the Scarab's last and next volley.
"Epsilon, go! Get to the mall!"
Seeing what was on its way, Hector pulled hard to the right until the back of the Hog bounced over the sidewalk. He reversed into the open driveway of an apartment complex. The Staff used the extra room to curve around. Both Hogs let the incoming plasma lance across the space between them. Wheeling back out over boiling asphalt, they shot off one after the other, now fully facing the direction of the mall.
Burgoyne had pulled a similar maneuver on the opposing side of the M3. Together, the three of them put on greater speed. They weaved from lane to lane in an effort to dodge more wrecks and avoid more collisions. However, they also made themselves slow enough to keep the Scarab from losing interest. It was easier said than done.
They were already more than halfway to the parking lot of the central mall. The last 50-meters felt like an unending torment. Every few seconds were punctuated by the roaring impact of gouts of plasma that cooked the air and burnt the streets, tracing steaming trenches across the M3 with every salvo. All the while, the last plasma gunner on its starboard side picked up the slack for its dead partner. The sergeant major for his part was forced to endure a rainfall of bolts as he navigated careful paths past the tunneling infernos of the focus cannon. His own gunner, the Lima lieutenant, did what he could but the constant turning stopped him from being able to return the same amount of fire. Desperate streams steadily but surely turned into disconnected bursts.
They were less than 20-meters from the property of the central mall when an aggressive spray from the starboard gunner blew out one of Burgoyne's rear tires. He immediately strained at the wheel to keep from swerving out of control, struggling even harder to keep it on course.
"Can you make it!?" The Staff called.
"I'll manage!" Burgoyne replied.
"Just hold out a little longer!"
A little longer felt more like forever. Nevertheless, forever finally came to an end.
The three Hogs reached the exits that led off the highway and onto the encompassing parking lot. Hector steered to the one on the left with the Staff shadowing him the entire way. Burgoyne sped down the exit on the right with a wobbling dexterity.
The lot itself was an expansive space, one the size of at least several Gravball fields combined into a square perimeter. Aisles upon aisles of pavement striping marked out entire swaths reserved for the mall's patrons. The area could fit an army of thousands of cars without issue. The megastructure at the center of the lot was almost as massive. White walls, panes of dark blue strip windows and dozens of store brands lined every dimension of the octagonal building that Duncan had seen when they first arrived.
He saw none of that now. He was too caught up with trying to survive to think about how nice a place it had once been to visit. The overwhelming majority of the parking lot was empty with a few loose clusters of cars scattered here and there, granting them an advantageous amount of breathing room. Their maneuvers were no longer constrained by the highway, and with a handful of tremoring steps, neither were the Scarab's. As the Warthogs raced across the urban plain, the biomechanical titan cleared the last of the buildings. It continued walking along the highway but used the extra room to turn itself towards Burgoyne's Hog.
"Sergeant Major, that thing's trying to get you in its sights!" The Staff warned.
"Yeah, I see'em!"
"Recommend you pull back around the side of the mall, sir! We'll take it from here!"
"Negative! If we split off, it'll have an easier time focusing on one of you! Keep drawing it east! We need to get another 30-meters out of it before we're set!"
"Roger that! Good luck!"
"Same to you!"
Duncan was starting to think they'd used up all their luck as Hector and the Staff sped a short distance down the parking lot before looping around and racing back towards the Scarab. They leveled out their pace until they were both side by side. Their target was still seeking its own, trying to set itself up for a shot at Burgoyne who was piloting closer to the mall in a widening arc.
"Alright Epsilon, let's break its nose!" The Staff said. "Hit and run, let's go!"
That Duncan could do. He pulled his triggers and spooled a stable line of fire into the nose of the walker. Nova, Yuri, Renni and Zack leaned out from their seats or past the roll cage to open fire from the troop carrier. Even the Staff joined in, getting off one-handed shots with his DMR. The collective outgoing stabbed and stenciled ragged patterns into the face of the Scarab, but as Mito launched his last two rockets, the twin-blasts ripped two of its mandibles from its face, sending them twirling away.
The Scarab stopped its previous motion and changed course. With the hull around its focus cannon crumpled and maimed, it drew itself once again towards Epsilon.
First the brightening light, then the scream.
They had already peeled off to the left and right to give the salvo a wide berth between them. Scorched air and roiling dust whipped past. Still, they maintained their fire, looping around once again and heading in the opposite direction. The sound of pounding footfalls let them know that the Scarab had taken up the pursuit. They drove parallel to the highway, keeping their route as straight as possible. Anything less and the plan could fail.
Before long, Captain Thompson broke in on their comms. "Tango-Actual to Oscar-1 and Epsilon, fall back to a safe distance! I repeat, fall back! You did good! Now steer clear!"
Relief washed over Duncan like a fresh shower despite the chaotic swerving that the latest plasma volley had thrown Hector into. He pulled the M41 around to get a clear picture of what was about to happen.
The Scarab was now well into the parking lot, at least 100-meters deep. Its path refused to diverge from the M3 highway. It plodded on and on, blasting away in spite of any activity going on behind it, of which there was suddenly plenty.
Scorpion treads and Warthog wheels rolled onto the western end of the parking lot. Emerging from streets and alleys that ran adjacent to either side of the M3, the squadrons of heavy armor and special weapons had been hiding behind the nearby buildings. They'd been there the entire time, the third phase of a three-part plan. Burgoyne's distraction team had taken care of the first by securing the Scarab's attention. The Rocket and Gauss Hogs had pulled off the second by separating the walker from its accompanying back-up. The elements of the third phase were on their way, ready to play their part against a well-isolated priority.
The reinforcements from 2nd Battalion's Zeta Company had mixed perfectly with the surviving armor from Tango. The two company commanders had decided on the strategy together, and here they were about to pull it off.
The Scarab kept firing at Epsilon, not even registering the 10 tanks and two dozen strong arrangement of Rocket and Gauss Hogs that were now angling their collective weapon systems towards its most vital weak spot.
The Scorpions opened with a synchronized cannonade that rammed into the rear of the Scarab with the power of a fusillade, so many timed explosions creating a cacophony of sound that wrung across the lot like a bell. The Scarab took a trembling step forward. It shifted a leg in an attempt to turn around. The arriving barrage of accelerated slugs and rockets stopped it cold, pocking its hull like a meteor shower, casting out splintered metal on plumes of fire and smoke.
An alarm blared from the depths of the walker. Simultaneously, its movement ceased. The joints in its legs groaned as they bent and gave way in spouts of vaporous coolant. The main carapace began lowering towards the ground. The light of its focus cannon dimmed and flickered in and out, entering an emergency standby.
Plasma fire from the starboard cannon as well as the one at the back of the troop bay lashed out against the closest of the tanks. It was nothing, mosquito bites compared to the next cannonade that slammed into the exposed back of the walker in a blooming explosion. The plasma cannons fell silent as the Scarab quaked from a series of eruptions that burst and ripped across the length of its frame, components rupturing, conduits overloading.
Hector and the Staff hit the brakes on their Hogs. They parked close together but far enough away from the Scarab to be out of range. Burgoyne's Warthog hobbled alongside them shortly after.
They each looked on while the eruptions tore through the hull of the Scarab. Duncan waited for it, manually tinting his visor, but it was hardly enough when the moment arrived.
The Scarab let off one last howling scream that died in its throat as a flash of luminous light blasted through its carapace, sending comets of flaming debris soaring skyward.
:********:
From his position, Mackley watched the bright blue light blossoming in the south the way a spectator would watch a touchdown by his favorite Gravball team. He only wished he had the popcorn to go with it. Pieces of Scarab skyrocketed from the area, gravity slowly but surely reclaiming them and drawing them back to the ground, creating a deluge of trailing smoke and falling wreckage that resembled the unfurling tail of a peacock.
"Looks like they got the other one!" Lang shouted.
"One down, one to go!" Mackley replied, drawing the scope of the Stanchion away from one priority and towards another.
He kept the long barrel of the M99 balanced on his knee, using it to support his aim while he shifted towards the scene playing out below.
Some 100-meters down from his position was the Alföldi Center for the Performing Arts, a building shorter than most of those around it that possessed the more unique characteristic of a glass dome for a roof. Its many porticos were supported by geometric pillars. Circumferential steps rippled down from its entrances as bronze statues of the city's theatrical royalty pretended to be frozen mid-step, as if walking to or away from the building. It was such a nice place that he could see himself taking a date here, that is if the immediate area wasn't already a raging war zone, and more importantly, if he ever got a date.
The green rectangle of Alföldi's public garden stretched out from the north side of the center in four acres worth of manmade lakes and transplanted willow trees, tall lampposts and gravel walkways. The walkways had been turned into an expedient racetrack, the wheels of speeding Warthogs spitting gravel into the air as they skidded and zoomed along the paths, turrets firing. Many of the lampposts had been bent at odd angles or fallen to the grass where their sparking circuitry lit small fires around the garden. Flames also danced over many if not most of the willows, the leaves of a small cluster suddenly rattling as a breath of emerald plasma surged through their branches. The waters of the lakes rippled tremulously, the largest of which suffered from imposing waves that resulted from each barging movement of the Scarab.
It was his first time seeing one in person. Needless to say, it just about lived up to everything he'd ever heard about them: massive, loud and angry. It definitely wasn't the kind of thing he would want to take on in a straight fight. Thankfully he wouldn't have to, not that everyone else was so lucky.
The walker was one of two, and if what he and Lang had seen from afar was anything to go on, the last one still in operation.
It had landed to the northwest of the container port. Like the other, it refused to attack the heavily fortified position head-on and settled instead for a flanking maneuver that brought it further north to Alföldi. That was where the two dispatches from the container port's Golf Company and their northern neighbors from 2nd Battalion, Hotel Company had rendezvoused, there to stop its advance between their respective areas of operations. Some 15 Hogs and half a dozen Scorpions had come to put a stop to it, the former engaging it from up close via the gravel walkways, the latter from the ranged distance of the adjoining streets. The Warthogs raced about the garden, braving the constant deluges of its various cannons as they did their best to keep it pinned to the central lake, giving the Scorpions the chance to pummel its hull with one 105-millimeter shell after the next.
It was holding up relatively well under the bombardment, however, and it continued to return fire. Already, the burning wrecks of two Warthogs were scattered across the garden. A third joined their ranks as a direct hit from the focus cannon sent it spiraling into another lake in an explosion of water and steam.
Making matters worse, attention was becoming increasingly divided between keeping the Scarab pinned in place and holding back its cohort of two dozen Hunters. The juggernauts had pushed into the area in the wake of the walker to complicate things further. With more and more running battles between Hog and Hunter, only three of the vehicles were still circling the main lake, putting up a fight against the Scarab for all they were worth.
Dalton was among them. From so high up, Mackley could see his squad leader driving his Rocket Hog around the very edge of the lake. Reznik was behind the M79, banking his shots into the turn. Sitting in the passenger seat, Daz added onto it with two rockets from her own launcher. Their latest barrage struck against one of its legs, dealing further damage to the already brittle limb.
"Whiskey-1 to Whiskey-3 and 4, how're we looking on that kill shot!?"
"Still lining one up, sir!" Lang replied.
Mackley watched his squad leader maneuver onto a walkway as a pursuing blast from the focus cannon scorched the ground behind it.
"Make it fast! We're running out of elbow room down here!"
"Roger!" Lang leaned out from his seat, one of a pair set against the forward end of the Falcon. "Pilot, bring us down behind that building on the northwest side!"
"Northwest side, copy."
Mackley kept his aim steady from his post on the rear seat while Kilo-9-2, the same pilot who had seen 1st Platoon through some of the roughest fighting in the city, banked hard to port. The Falcon leaned into a rotation around the buildings on Alföldi's east side. The scenery below also seemed to rotate as the movement changed Mackley's perspective. He found it hard not to think of it as a safari rather than a special maneuver. He felt like a hunter tracking a large predator over a metropolitan savannah. By all means, said predator was impossible to miss. However, hitting it wasn't the problem. It was about hitting it in the right place at the right time from the right angle. Kilo-9-2 was here to help them pull it off.
Acquiring UNSC air cover had become an exercise in frustration since the corvettes took control of the skies. Finding a pilot in a city dominated by enemy airpower was like finding a needle in a haystack, but finding one willing to fly to their aid was like finding an oasis on Luna. There were no oases on Luna. He'd checked, so finding Kilo-9-2 over the radio had been nothing short of a miracle. The key to their victory here would be to keep that little miracle a secret.
The collective assault from Golf and Hotel Company had done well to buffet the Scarab and stall its advance, but it couldn't land a finishing blow. Their target wisely kept its back away from the aim of the Scorpions so that only its forward mass could be assailed. With the presence of the Hunters, the bulk of the Warthogs were being caught up in localized firefights popping up around the garden. The few still able to focus on the walker such as that of the Sarge were shewed away whenever they got within range of its flank, its ultra-heavy cannon belching out enough plasma to keep them well clear.
The Falcon could run into the same problem. Kilo-9-2 knew this, which was why he flew low, passing just below the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. The jet turbines howled with each incremental rise and fall in output. The rotors beat the air overhead with less or greater ferocity each time the aircraft descended to a lower altitude or came up again.
They stuck to the shadows, moving from cover to cover, never going so high as to garner the attention of the ultra-heavy cannon or so low as to attract the interest of the deadlier focus cannon. The three Warthogs fighting it in its immediate vicinity kept the Scarab from truly analyzing its environment. Had it done so, it might have noticed the moment Kilo-9-2 arrived in its blind spot.
Curving around the glass walls of the building on Alföldi's northwestern corner, the Falcon stopped just short of leaving its shadow. There it slowed and hovered in place.
"Whiskey?" Kilo-9-2 called.
Across the way, Lang lifted the thermal goggles from his visor to shoot Mackley a look. Mackley in turn sighted through the scope. The range calculations of the multi-layered crosshair vacillated as the Falcon drifted forward enough from the building for him to get a clear visual. He zoomed in past the chaos of movement and gunfire that unfolded throughout the garden to the largest object standing within it. The Scarab currently had its hands full weathering another round of rockets from the Warthogs and cannonades from the Scorpions. The giant shook under the assault but refused to yield.
He pinched and turned the magnification adjustment scroll on the top of the scope, enlarging his view until he was practically right next to the walker. He panned up its metallic height towards a spot just above the troop bay. He closed in on the small alcove at the very rear of the platform. He flicked another switch and his view changed to a shifting spectrum of cold purples, warm oranges and bright hot yellows. An eerie network of yellow illumination spanned throughout the entire frame of the Scarab like an x-ray of tensing muscles and stretching tendons. He singled out a particularly bright spot at the rear, the brain or heart or whatever these things used to remain functional. However, his angle wasn't quite clear yet. He didn't know what kind of armor the walker might be packing so he wanted to make sure his kill shot really was just that.
He looked over at Lang. Shaking his head, he pointed down and raised two fingers.
Lang nodded. "Kilo-9-2, we're still too high! Take us down, 20-meters!"
"That'll probably put us in view of that thing's tail. You sure about that?"
"We've already got the drop on it, Kilo! Now we just need to drop!"
"If you say so. Taking us down."
Both the ever-present scream of the rotors and the howl of the jet turbines lessened in tandem. The windows of the nearby building panned upward as they made their descent. Mackley was adjusting his aim all the while. They were sure to hit a sweet spot and he needed to keep an eye out for it.
After a few seconds, the Falcon slowed again, still halfway submerged in the shadow of the building. Mackley saw his opening the second they came to a stop. The Stanchion's crosshair landed directly on the bright yellow core at the back of the Scarab. He flashed a thumbs up.
"Power junction in sight!" Lang said. "Kilo, keep her steady!"
Mackley made another careful adjustment by dragging the barrel a quarter of an inch across his knee, a small shift that made a big difference. His crosshair now lined up perfectly with the center of the core. He took a deep breath to loop his finger through the trigger guard, a second breath to steady himself and a third to squeeze.
A split-second flash of light stabbed clear through energy shielding, metallic components and hull-plating in a swift lance that spewed out the side of the Scarab's face. The bright thermals of his target rapidly cooled, a red light flickering at what remained of its cratered center. The sound of an alarm blared powerfully through the air as the walker began stooping on all fours. Its carapace approached the ground, small explosions going off across its frame as well as at the joints.
Mackley quickly switched off his thermals and peered over at Lang. "Hey, you should probably-"
"Yeah, yeah, I heard these things go out with a bang!" Lang said. "It's already off!"
Mackley nodded and waited.
The three closest Warthogs broke from their attack runs and shot away from the walker, getting their distance. After several long seconds the Scarab let out a deep roar. Its death cry ended in the thunderclap of a powerful detonation that erupted from its body, blasting its four legs aside and sending burning debris into the air in a spray of azure flames. The illumination didn't last long and dulled almost as quickly as it came. The remains of the carapace as well as its limbs splashed down into the lake in a secondary explosion of hissing steam.
"WOOOOOOOHHH!" Mackley cheered. "First Scarab down and not even a sweat! Keep'em coming!"
Lang nodded in agreement, whistling at the view. Without having to look, both of them reached out to share a fist bump.
"Hey, Whiskey-3, you mind not jinxing us out here?" Daz asked over comms. "Not all of us can fly with a one-hit kill machine, you know. Some of us actually have to earn a living."
Mackley spotted where Dalton's Hog had pulled to a stop on the edge of the now boiling lake. "And I'm earning mine just fine! Don't worry though, 2, you'll get on my level someday!"
Even from afar he could see the corporal leaning out of the Hog to jab a warning finger up in his general direction. "Watch it. You're not supposed to be the one on the gun anyway, remember? Doctor's orders?"
"Yeah, and there's not a doc in sight! Besides, it was never a problem!" He heaved the Stanchion back across his lap. "This thing doesn't even have any recoil to begin with!"
"Just know that the next time one of those things shows up, it's my turn!" Lang said.
"Yeah right, you've been hogging it this whole time!"
"Save it for later!" Dalton shouted as he pulled off a moment before a fuel rod slammed down right where he'd been parked. He skidded around to face the approaching Hunter pair, lining up Reznik for a new broadside. "There's still more to clean up! Close in and help us with these Hunters, copy!?"
"Loud and clear, sir!" Mackley replied, returning the Stanchion to a ready position on his knee. "Kilo, take us in!"
Venatio - Hunting