Starcraft II_ Heaven's Devils Part 20

Then, as the early morning darkness was torn asunder by flashes of light and the roll of artificial thunder, the real real bloodletting began. bloodletting began.

The first challenge Colonel Vanderspool faced was to get his troops across the river, a task two other officers had failed to accomplish. An attempt to use boats had been a complete failure. By the time the bargelike watercraft were launched, Kel-Morian artillery batteries had their range and cut them to pieces. It was said that the Padd.i.c.k ran red with blood, as a battalion of bodies floated downstream, and thousands of rot birds swooped in to feast.

A plan to launch sections of a pontoon bridge upriver, ride them down, and hook them together at the last moment had proven to be equally disastrous when one of the modules ran afoul of a sunken bridge, and rendered the rest useless. It was a colossal screw-up that left hundreds of Confed troops milling around waiting to be slaughtered by enemy air strikes and artillery fire.

So Vanderspool had come up with a third third alternative. Something that had never been tried before. A strategy that was calculated to take advantage of the fact that the Padd.i.c.k River was much shallower than usual. alternative. Something that had never been tried before. A strategy that was calculated to take advantage of the fact that the Padd.i.c.k River was much shallower than usual.

The first person to witness Vanderspool's genius was a lowly Kel-Morian taskmaster named Evers who, along with his squad of outriders, was on a routine patrol when the air attacks and the artillery barrage began. So there he was, inside the gutted remains of a waterfront warehouse, waiting for the ground to stop shaking under his boots when a pair of softly glowing forms materialized from the ruins on the other side of the Padd.i.c.k.

Evers thought their size, as well as the amount of heat they were generating, was consistent with that produced by Confederate goliaths, and his HUD confirmed the hypothesis. Okay, Okay, the taskmaster thought to himself, the taskmaster thought to himself, all they can do is strut back and forth along the riverfront and take occasional potshots at us. What a waste. Our artillery will pound them flat in no time at all. all they can do is strut back and forth along the riverfront and take occasional potshots at us. What a waste. Our artillery will pound them flat in no time at all.

Had it been daylight Evers would have known better, but it wasn't until the first goliaths entered the river that he realized the specially modified walkers were carrying something between them, and understood what the Confederates were up to. The goliaths were carrying sections of a pontoon bridge between them, and because of their height, would be able to wade wade across the Padd.i.c.k! across the Padd.i.c.k!

Then, having created a span over which regular troops could cross, the combat walkers would switch to an offensive role and open fire on anyone who opposed them, thereby establishing a beachhead that would be very difficult to dislodge. That was important stuff, and Evers was just about to tell his superiors all about it when a Kel-Morian artillery sh.e.l.l fell short and landed directly on top of his position. He and his squad were decimated.

The resulting flash of light strobed the surface of the river, and two walkers could be seen, both almost fully submerged as they towed a section of bridge between them. Three minutes later they were ash.o.r.e where they secured the section designated as "span one" to pre-selected anchor points. With that accomplished, they scanned the ruins for targets and began to kill everything warm enough to produce a heat signature. Meanwhile, the next pair of goliaths was hooking span two to span one.

That was when the Kel-Morian overseer in charge of north Polk's Pride was awoken from a deep sleep and given the news: The Confederates had thrown a bridge across the Padd.i.c.k and walkers were already coming ash.o.r.e. He swore, wondered how such a thing was possible, and whom he could blame.

Other than the goliath pilots and Max Speer, who insisted on dashing across first in order to get a shot of their arrival, a resoc named Sergeant Trent and his squad were the first people to cross the newly created bridge. Sanchez, Raynor, Tychus, Harnack, Kydd, Ward, Zander, and Doc followed immediately behind, just ahead of a full company of resocialized marines. They were to be followed by the rest of the ranger battalion, plus various auxiliary units, including a platoon of SCVs.

The comsat station and the repository were straight ahead. So even though the street that would take them there was heavily defended and preregistered by half a dozen sloths, Trent and his resocialized marines went right up the middle. Sh.e.l.ls exploded all around them, two men fell within a matter of seconds, and the only reason the rest were able to continue forward was because the artillery barrage stopped suddenly and a squad of rippers threw themselves into the fray.

It was a desperate move. One that was intended to stall the invaders long enough to bring reinforcements up to block their advance. Raynor felt a rising sense of anger as the rippers killed Trent and the rest of his marines within a matter of seconds. Vanderspool had known known, d.a.m.n him-and sacrificed the resocs like p.a.w.ns in a chess game.

Revenge came swiftly as a couple of goliaths came forward to destroy the rippers. Ward unleashed four of his eight heat-seeking missiles, and a series of eye-searing explosions strobed the surrounding buildings. "Follow me!" Sanchez yelled over the platoon frequency, as she led her troops forward.

Even as the Devils stepped over dead marines and plodded up the street firing as they went, more more resocialized marines were surging forward, seemingly eager to enter the meat grinder up ahead. Raynor felt a surge of adrenaline as a ripper lurched out of a side street. Raynor brought the gauss rifle up and opened fire, knowing full well that the ensuing engagement would be more a matter of luck than skill since the two of them were evenly matched. resocialized marines were surging forward, seemingly eager to enter the meat grinder up ahead. Raynor felt a surge of adrenaline as a ripper lurched out of a side street. Raynor brought the gauss rifle up and opened fire, knowing full well that the ensuing engagement would be more a matter of luck than skill since the two of them were evenly matched.

And Raynor was correct, because the 8mm spike that killed the Kel-Morian wasn't fired by Raynor. It was a ricochet that hit the plascrete in front of the enemy soldier, bounced upward, and punched its way through a weak spot in the jury-rigged armor into his helmet.

Raynor stepped over the armored body and followed Sanchez up the blood-splashed street. Resocialized marines were all around them as a Kel-Morian goliath emerged from a parking garage to confront them. But the towering machine was transformed into b.l.o.o.d.y sleet as Ward fired the rest of his missiles at the walker and it exploded.

Raynor felt pieces of the monster's neosteel skin rattle against the back of his hardskin as the Devils followed Sanchez into what had been a department store. They walked parallel to the sidewalk. The front of the building gave the Devils some momentary cover as two squads of marines charged straight up the middle of the street and were cut to b.l.o.o.d.y ribbons.

Raynor caught only glimpses of the slaughter through the store's blown-out windows, but the sight of it made him feel sick to his stomach. It had become clear that if it weren't for the resocs' mindless self-sacrifice, the a.s.sault would have stalled by then. The resocs were like robots who would take chances that regular troops wouldn't, charge no matter what the odds against them were, and die without complaint.

It was a moment he would never forget as the Devils were forced to leave the relative safety of the store through a window and reenter the street in front of a barricade. The KMs had made use of overturned vehicles, ribbon wire, and anything else they could lay their hands on to block the entire width of the street. About two dozen Kel-Morian regulars were concealed behind the obstacle, hosing the street with automatic fire, as both the marines and the Devils pounded their fortification.

But there were gaps between the cars, and holes in between the sheets of metal that bridged them, so Sanchez called Harnack forward. "See that gap?" she demanded. "The one next to the bus? Light 'em up."

Harnack's firebat suit was impervious to small-arms fire, so with Raynor and Tychus to guard both flanks, he was able to make his way up to the barricade and send a tongue of fire in through the gap. The bus caught fire, the gas stored in its tank exploded, and a hole appeared. The resocialized marines stormed through. Two of them went down, and it was necessary for Tychus to step on one of them to reach the other side.

Unfortunately, the next barrier was harder to overcome. Two sloths were positioned about a block away, and as the first barricade fell, both opened fire. "This way!" Sanchez shouted as she took a sudden left and led the team up a plascrete ramp and into a parking garage. The tanks were still firing at the marines and rangers as the group continued to climb.

Once they arrived on the roof it would have been a simple matter to cut across it and make the twelve-foot jump to the next building, had it not been for the Kel-Morian dropship that was sitting on top of the garage!

Even as the Confederates continued to charge forward, a group of unarmored Kel-Morian regulars spilled out of the dropship's belly and opened fire. Raynor saw their weapons sparkle and heard the insistent rattle of small-caliber bullets as they hit his armor, but really couldn't feel much.

A few of the enemy soldiers were armed with rocket launchers, however, and Raynor saw a bright flash as a ranger's legs were cut out from under him and his hardskin cauterized the bleeding stumps. He was screaming by then, but only until a noncom cut him out of the comm net, so that orders could be given.

Doc was there seconds later, kneeling in a pool of blood as she eyed the scanner in the palm of her hand. Thanks to a link with the suit's CPU she could see the patients' vital signs. She did the best she could to comfort the soldier, as she opened the safety clasps and applied plastiscab dressings to the raw stumps. Having treated such injuries before, she knew what was on the soldier's mind.

"Don't worry," Doc said kindly, as bullets whipped around her. "They missed your b.a.l.l.s. We'll strap a pair of electro-mechanical sticks onto you, reprogram part of your brain, and voila! You'll be good as new."

It looked as though the advance was about to stall out when Tychus shot two Kel-Morian regulars and got close enough to toss a grenade into one of the dropship's air intakes. The bomb exploded inside the starboard engine; it blew up, and a fuel tank went with it.

Sanchez yelled, "Duck!" and most people did, as a fireball floated up into the sky and the dropship's retros fired for the very last time. Then, having achieved an alt.i.tude of about six feet, the ship crashed onto the roof and broke into three large pieces. All of which continued to burn.

"That's what I'm talking about," Ward said contentedly. "Burn, you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

Zander slipped a set of rockets into the empty launch tubes on Ward's shoulders. "I'm out of reloads," Zander said. "You only have four rockets left. Use them wisely."

"Roger that," Ward rumbled, as he hefted his gauss cannon. "Meet Mister Backup!"

Both men were overridden as Sanchez ran toward the edge of the roof. "This is Alpha-One-Six, follow me!" She was picking up speed, and about to jump the gap that separated the garage from the building next to it, when a sniper hidden somewhere in the densely packed buildings on the hill in front of them squeezed his trigger. The first bullet hit her visor. The second pa.s.sed through her right eye. The officer took two additional steps, toppled forward, and fell straight down.

Tychus, who was second in command, swore as Sanchez disappeared between the two buildings. "Kydd!" he shouted, as the rest of the Devils sought cover. "Find that b.a.s.t.a.r.d and kill him!"

Kydd was already on the job. He was crouched behind the low wall that circled the roof, scanning the rampart-like blast walls on the hill. The acoustic targeting system built into his suit fed information to his HUD. The other sniper was somewhere on the hill, but he already knew that. The rifle, which was normally so heavy, seemed a good deal lighter now that he was wearing powered armor.

The sun was just starting to rise, so the eastern side of the comsat station was glazed with silvery light, and a dark shadow fell toward the west. Eventually the daylight would be helpful. But for the moment the overall light level was still relatively low, the effectiveness of Kydd's night vision equipment was starting to fade, and there were so many targets on the fortification it was impossible to know which one to shoot at. a.s.suming the enemy sniper was visible, that is-and odds were that he was too smart for that.

Making the situation worse was the fact that once Kydd fired at one Kel-Morian, the rest would seek cover. So what he needed to do was draw the other sniper out, get the sonofab.i.t.c.h to reveal himself, and take him out with the first shot. "This is Alpha-Two-Five," Kydd said into his comm unit. "I need someone to draw fire. Don't show yourself for long, though... . This guy is good."

Raynor was hidden behind the concrete structure that capped a set of stairs. He felt himself step out into the open, and wondered if the armor was making him foolishly overconfident. He experienced an enormous sense of relief when nothing happened, resolved to count to three before ducking into cover, and was on two when what felt like a sledgehammer struck his helmet. Raynor felt a brief moment of pain, followed by a long fall, and a sudden stop as his suit hit the ground. He heard Tychus shout, "Doc! Jim is down ... Get your b.u.t.t in gear, d.a.m.n it!" Then he was gone.

Kydd was completely unaware that Raynor had been hit. All of his mental and physical energy was focused on locating and killing the Kel-Morian sniper who was concealed somewhere on the hillside in front of him. So when the enemy marksman fired, and Kydd saw the momentary wink of light that signaled a muzzle flash, he slipped into the fugue state he had first experienced on the firing range in boot camp. To him, it came easily, as though he had entered an alternate reality in which time slowed, enabling him to shift the crosshairs on his telescopic sight half an inch to the right, and consider the crosswind that could nudge the .50 caliber slug off course-all the while allowing for the chance that the fraction-of-a-second lag created by his armor could throw off his aim.

The rifle had an enlarged trigger guard, making it possible for armored fingers to access it. And the highly specialized weapon was equipped with a two-stage trigger. That meant once the trigger was activated, and the initial slack was taken out of the mechanism, only a very light touch would be required to drop the firing pin on the round in the chamber and send death spinning through the air.

So as the target began a slow-motion pullback, preparatory to disappearing altogether, Kydd applied the necessary amount of pressure and felt the trigger "break," as the first stage was released. Then, having taken a deep breath and let it out, he ordered his right index finger to contract.

The report was m.u.f.fled because of his helmet, and the recoil was negligible thanks to Kydd's hardskin. It was his duty to kill the Kel-Morian, but it was personal too, because even though she was a few years older than he was, Kydd had developed feelings for Samantha Sanchez.

So as time jerked forward, and the heavy slug blew the top of the other sniper's head off, Kydd felt a primal sense of exultation. He could almost hear Sanchez say, "Good shot, Private Kydd ... okay, what are you people waiting for? An engraved invitation? We have a hill to climb." "Good shot, Private Kydd ... okay, what are you people waiting for? An engraved invitation? We have a hill to climb."

As he imagined her voice, a lump formed in his throat. He wished he'd had the guts to give her the chocolates he had purchased for her, rather than allowing Tychus to swipe them for Doc's birthday. He felt like such a coward.

"Nice shot, Kydd," Tychus said over the squad freq. "Okay, what are you jerk weeds waiting for? Let's jump that gap!"

Kydd broke cover and made his way forward. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and he was grateful that no one could see.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

"They took the Kel-Morians by surprise and freed hundreds of Confederate POWs, and now the brave soldiers known as the Heaven's Devils have been sent to a new location. Security regulations prevent me from saying where they are, but you can be sure of one thing: the enemy will be sorry!"

Max Speer, from a dispatch filed somewhere on Turaxis II THE CITY OF POLK'S PRIDE, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II As Tychus led the Heaven's Devils onto the roof of the building beyond, and the rest of the company followed, Doc knelt next to Raynor. The bullet had cut a deep groove into the side of his helmet and a trickle of blood was leaking out of it. Ca.s.sidy thought Raynor was dead at first.

A servo whirred as Doc thumbed the external visor release b.u.t.ton. It slid out of the way to reveal Raynor's pale face. It appeared as though Raynor had turned his head, or moved just as the sniper fired, causing the round to bounce off the curvature of his helmet without penetrating it. Ca.s.sidy triggered the release on her right gauntlet so she could reach inside her patient's helmet-and pressed a finger against a point located just below his right earlobe and at the back of his jaw.

Raynor felt a sudden stab of pain and opened his eyes to find Doc peering down at him. "d.a.m.n," he said. "I'm alive."

"'Fraid so," Ca.s.sidy agreed.

"How bad is it?"

"I suspect you've got a scalp laceration," Doc replied clinically, as she stood. "But your blood pressure is normal, so it can wait. What the h.e.l.l were you thinking anyway?"

Raynor reached up to take her hand. "I was thinking how lucky I was that the sniper wasn't going to shoot me," he said ruefully. "d.a.m.n, that hurts."

"You want some pain juice?"

"h.e.l.l no ... the last time you did that I felt too too happy. Let's go." happy. Let's go."

Having made the jump to the roof beyond, the Devils returned to street level behind behind the sloths. They were firing south at the resocialized marines and newly arrived rangers. All of whom were struggling to move up the street toward the hill and the repository deep inside of it. "Ward!" Tychus said, "take those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds out." the sloths. They were firing south at the resocialized marines and newly arrived rangers. All of whom were struggling to move up the street toward the hill and the repository deep inside of it. "Ward!" Tychus said, "take those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds out."

Ward braced himself, took careful aim, and fired a rocket. It hit the right-hand sloth low, in between its tracks. The resulting explosions lifted the machine a couple of inches up into the air, blew a hole in its vulnerable belly, and triggered a powerful secondary explosion. That blew the turret off and sent a gout of flames shooting straight upward.

The second sloth's turret was coming around by then, trying to find the new threat and kill it, but that opened it up to a ground attack by the resocialized marines. They swarmed through the barricade farther down the street and came forward firing handheld rocket launchers of their own. The sloth shook as it took a couple of hits, shuddered convulsively, and blew as one of the resocs threw a D-6 charge in under its belly. The resoc died in the resulting explosion, but that made no difference to his comrades, who charged forward and quickly caught up with the Devils.

Now the combined force was at the bottom of the hill and approaching the fortification's heavily defended main gate. It had taken a direct hit from a siege tank and consisted of little more than a crater surrounded by a collar of debris. A bloodied leg could be seen protruding from the dirt.

But that didn't mean the Kel-Morians were going to let the invaders enter the repository unopposed. As the Devils and a force of resocs pushed up the slope and surged around both sides of the crater, a squad of Guild Guards was there to receive them. Suddenly, what had been an arm's-length conflict became extremely personal as the groups overran each other.

"To me me!" Tychus shouted over the comm, as he fired his gauss rifle at point-blank range. It was important to form a phalanx that could produce ma.s.sed fire and hold the real estate they'd been able to take.

The Devils were the first to respond as Ward, Zander, and Harnack came together to form a solid front. The rangers and marines hurried to realign themselves as Ward loosed his remaining missiles. The closely s.p.a.ced explosions left ragged gaps in the enemy's ranks, but the battle was far from one-sided, as one of the guards fired his flamethrower and a ranger was engulfed in a fiery conflagration.

Retribution came swiftly. Because rather than charge the enemy with the others, Kydd had orders to hang back and choose his targets with care. So the man with the flamethrower blew up as a slug found a fuel tank and Harnack triggered his own weapon. "You b.a.s.t.a.r.ds want to play?" he demanded angrily, as a gout of flame played across the guards in the Kel-Morian front line. "Well, let's fire it up!"

Tychus, meanwhile, had met his match. The KM taskmaster was as tall as he was, but not as broad in the chest, and armor clashed as they collided. They were so close together that neither man could use his rifle for anything other than a club, so both took swings at each other. As each man blocked the other's blows, they were forced to release their weapons and fight hand to hand.

It was a situation that favored the Kel-Morian, because the Guild Guards prided themselves on close-quarters combat while Confederate military forces spent precious little time on such training. So Tychus found himself being subjected to a well-executed leg-wheel hip-throw and a follow-up blow that dented his helmet. Sweet mother of mercy, Sweet mother of mercy, Tychus thought to himself, Tychus thought to himself, this b.a.s.t.a.r.d needs to die. this b.a.s.t.a.r.d needs to die.

But killing the other man wasn't going to be easy as Tychus attempted to roll away. The suit's backpack made that difficult as the Kel-Morian methodically kicked him in the side.

As Tychus came to rest on his back, and the exhaust from his backpack splashed the ground, he caught one of the huge boots and gave it a powerful twist to the right. That brought his opponent crashing down. Tychus was quick to follow up by rolling on top of the taskmaster and sitting astride the other man's chest.

Tychus felt for a grenade with one hand, found it, and thumbed the Kel-Morian's visor release with the other. It opened to reveal an unshaven face that was contorted into a fearsome grimace as the Kel-Morian struggled to buck his opponent off. "Sweet dreams, a.s.shole," Tychus said as he armed the grenade, dropped it into the other man's helmet, and immediately rolled away.

Maybe, had there been a little more time and had the Kel-Morian been able to pull his gauntlets off quickly enough, he might have been able to reach down into the cavity next to his chin and remove the bomb before it went off. But such was not the case. There was a flash of light and a loud bang as the taskmaster's helmet exploded.

"Quit laying down on the job," Raynor said as he arrived on the scene and reached down to give his friend a hand.

"I thought you were dead," Tychus said as he came to his feet and bent to retrieve his rifle. "We were going to have a big party and everything."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Raynor replied dryly, as a marine lieutenant led a platoon of resocs across the body-strewn expanse of concrete toward the ramp beyond. "Maybe next time."

"Come on!" Ward shouted. "Today is the day! I can feel feel it!" it!"

"The crazy sonofab.i.t.c.h is going to try and get himself killed!" Raynor exclaimed. "Come on!"

Max Speer grinned happily and continued to record the action as the Heaven's Devils chased after Ward up the ramp and into the meat grinder beyond.

Raynor hadn't traveled more than a hundred feet before his boots began to slip on the blood-slicked surface. Then it became necessary to climb over piles of bodies, as the twin-barreled gauss cannon on the landing above continued to roar, and spikes blew holes through both the living and the dead. One of the badly shot-up suits belonged to the lieutenant who had been leading the platoon. He lay with an arm outstretched, as if pointing the way.

It might have ended then and there. But the Heaven's Devils had a guardian angel looking out for them and his name was Ryk Kydd. So as Ward charged up the incline bellowing his rage, a piece of divine intervention was on the way. It was shaped like an armor-piercing round and smashed through the gunner's visor. As he fell over backward, the weapon ceased firing and tilted upward.

Another KM tried to take over, but Ward had arrived by then, and fired his gauss cannon from six feet away. A hail of spikes blew divots out of the Kel-Morian armor until one of them found a way in and bounced around for a second before running out of kinetic energy. Ward, who was surprised to be alive, paused. That gave the others a chance to catch up and hem him in.

Having arrived on the landing, Tychus and Raynor took the opportunity to eyeball the path ahead. It was a zigzag affair that switch-backed up the hill. That enabled the defenders to fire at the attackers not only head-on, but from above as well, which made for a deadly combination. The realization was punctuated by the flat crack of a high-powered rifle. From above, a figure threw up his hands and toppled down the hill. Kydd was still on the job.

"These people are starting to p.i.s.s me off," Tychus said, as he let his rifle fall so he could free the gauss cannon from its tripod. That was when a fresh platoon of resocialized marines arrived from below. They were under the command of Master Sergeant Rockwell. As usual he was following rather than leading as he yelled at the top of his lungs. "Get up there, you jerks! Rip the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds apart!"

Raynor threw up a hand and stepped out to block the way. "Hold on... . There's bound to be a gauss cannon on the next landing. Sergeant Findlay is going to take it out. Then you can advance."

"Ignore that command," Rockwell ordered sternly, as he arrived on the platform. "The platoon will advance! And that's an order."

With that the marines surged around Tychus and ran up the slope. A hail of spikes cut them down. "Stop!" Raynor shouted. "Wait, G.o.dd.a.m.n it!"

But it was too late. Struggle though they might, the marines didn't have a chance. But they were brave, or crazy, not that it made much difference. As the front ranks fell, those behind struggled forward, boots slipping as rivers of blood flowed downhill, desperately trying to achieve the goal that had been a.s.signed to them.

Finally, after thirty seconds or so, the last marine fell. And that was when Rockwell spoke. Raynor realized that the noncom was still on the platform! "What a bunch of losers," Rockwell said disgustedly. "It makes you wonder what the Confederacy is coming to."

The haymaker started down around Raynor's knees, gathered force as it curved upward, and made contact with the lower part of Rockwell's helmet. It packed enough force to lift the noncom an inch off the pavement and throw him backward. He landed with a crash, skidded for three or four feet, and came to rest against the waist-high wall. "I'll have your a.s.s for that!" Rockwell shouted from his position on the ground. "You're on report!"

"And you're an a.s.shole," Raynor responded disgustedly, as he turned to follow Tychus upslope. "Not to mention a coward."

Logically enough the repository's overseer had sent all of his armored personnel down to the bottom of the hill in a vain attempt to stop the invaders at the main gate. So, as Tychus marched up the ramp firing the gauss cannon, the unarmored troops on the next landing were badly outmatched. Especially since each time someone tried to bring the weapon into action, Kydd killed them.

By that time the Devils were like a well-oiled machine, darting from position to position, always careful to cover one another before advancing further. So by the time the Devils arrived on the level area, there was little more than a pile of bodies waiting there to greet them. "One more stretch to go!" Raynor exclaimed, as another squad of resocialized marines brushed past.

"Poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," Tychus said, as he dumped the gauss cannon in favor of a KM a.s.sault rifle. The reason for his disgust quickly became apparent as a Kel-Morian goliath appeared at the top of the ramp. Now it was impossible for the Devils to fire without hitting the resocs, and the marines paid a heavy price as the goliath opened fire on them. The cannon sh.e.l.ls literally blew them apart, spraying both sides of the ramp with gore.

"Fall back!" Tychus shouted. "Ward! Can you take him out?"

"No, Sarge, my tubes are empty," the soldier replied as Zander dragged him back.

"d.a.m.n it," Tychus said, as the monster lumbered downhill and the Devils were forced to retreat. Tychus said, as the monster lumbered downhill and the Devils were forced to retreat.

As the walker arrived on the platform and swiveled toward them, it looked as though nothing less than a wholesale slaughter was about to ensue, until one of the dead bodies stood up!