Reapers: The Shadow Soldiers (22 page)

However, the Collective proved to be more cunning than Burns had originally thought. Instead of a few dozen more men, they pulled up with a Vanquisher of their own and began firing on the Survivors with a high-caliber machine gun mounted on the top. Even Burns was worried that his armor wouldn’t be able to take rounds from the weapon.
 

“Take cover!” he ordered the men as they crouched down to avoid the onslaught. This allowed the militants to gain ground and better defensive positions. Still crouching for cover, Burns shook his head.

Where are you, Brosi?
he wondered to himself as he stood and fired off a few quick shots at the advancing militants. It wasn’t enough to completely eradicate them, and soon he was taking hits from the machine gun.
 

The rounds clanked off his armor, and he was hopeless to stop it.
 

Then, just as all seemed lost, the enemy Vanquisher erupted into a storm of furious, orange flames.
 

Burns looked back and saw Brosi’s own Vanquisher come screeching to a stop. Lieutenant Alvarez peered out the top with a rocket launcher in hand.
 

The Survivors rallied and pressed forward, pushing back the advancing militants to their original position.
 

Burns approached the newly arrived Vanquisher as Brosi climbed down the driver’s side stairs.

“Ready for phase two, sir,” he notified.
 

“You think you can get it offline?” Burns asked.

“I have no other option,” Brosi mentioned. Burns gave him a nod as he turned and pointed to a few of the Survivors he knew. “Simon, Ordai, Fodor—you’re on Brosi. Make sure he makes it to the controls and make sure the cannon gets shut off. Do what’s necessary soldiers!” They gave him an affirmative nod and then pulled back to Brosi’s position.
 

Burns looked over at the man once more. “End this, David,” he said with sincerity. Brosi nodded back and then turned and headed off with his squad. Burns looked back at the embattled militants. They hadn’t noticed Brosi—not yet.
 

Walking back to the action, Burns looked up and saw the glass dome of the observatory, which peered over everything else. Alvarez had said that that was where the controls would be. Burns just hoped Brosi could get the job done without Rhett at his side.

Shaking off the thoughts, he returned focus to the mission at present.
 

Proceeding to the front lines, he greeted Alvarez, who’d now picked up an assault rifle and joined the others in the fight.
 

“Let’s push on,” Burns ordered the man, motioning his hand forward. Not only did they have to get to the hostages, but they also needed to keep the Collective focused on them. The moment they could stop and think was the moment Brosi’s mission was compromised.
 

Alvarez gave a non-nonchalant salute back, and slowly the men started rising from their embattled positions.
 

With unstoppable determination, they pressed forward. Some were shot down, but the ULC was still taking far more casualties.
 

It only took a few minutes, but eventually the last few packed up and began to run away. It was pitifully futile, as they were efficiently picked off by Burns’ sniper support.

“In position,” Shamera’s voice echoed through the comms.
 

Burns gave a thumbs-up in acknowledgment. As he looked back, he saw the glint of her scope atop the wall.

“Copy. Cover our advance,” he told her as he and the Survivors began to walk through the carnage they’d just wrought.

Dozens of ULC militants lay dead, and the shell of a burning Vanquisher sent billows of black smoke into the sky. Yet, it wasn’t over. This fort could hold hundreds of men—they’d only seen the tip of the iceberg. They had to continue forward. They had to get those hostages out.
 

FREEDOM

“The hostages are kept in the arms warehouse,” Alvarez said. Burns looked over at him.

“You sure?” he asked. The brawny man bowed his head decisively.

“Positive. I had a few escapees who told me so.” Content with that answer, Burns topped off his weapons and then motioned to the others.

“You heard him, let’s make our way to that warehouse,” he commanded. They nodded back and followed behind.
 

Burns turned to Alvarez. “Lead the way,” he ordered, trusting the guidance of a stationed officer over his own shaky understanding of the city layout. Alvarez nodded back and took point.
 

Starting off, the group briskly made their way through the decaying city, not wanting to risk the hostages being executed as retribution for the assault.
 

Covering the rear, Burns roughly took count of casualties. Only ten of the Survivors remained. They’d taken a hit from the original forty, but the mission was almost over. They just had to free the hostages and make it to their exit. The hard parts were over.
 

Continuing through the derelict ghost town, Burns was appalled.

This had once been the hub of the planet, but it’d been beaten and bruised. It really showed why, even if they got control, the ULC would never hold territory for long. They ran on hatred and had no plan for the future. No governance—just cruelty. They couldn’t expect a civilian population to prosper under them, not a population as large as the Dominion’s.
 

Of course, that wasn’t the point. The destruction was the point, which gave Burns shivers. He couldn’t believe he was once just like the ULC. His shortsighted anger had sent him all across the galaxy, spreading violence and spilling blood without remorse. He was just glad there wasn’t an army of him. Hatred is contagious. He might have never gotten out. He might have never been able to see the error of his ways.
 

As the group made their way into the actual fort parts of the city, Alvarez motioned to a large armory building. That was where the hostages were being kept. They had arrived, and none too soon.
 

Burns instructed the men to form a perimeter around the main door. He knew the Collective would be coming, and he didn’t want any of the hostages to take fire.
 

Ensuring every man was in place, he turned and approached the large door to retrieve the hostages.
 

Giving it a tug, he realized that the door was locked. Putting his faceplate close to the crease between the large doors, he yelled in.

“Is anyone in there?” he asked. At first, silence, and then he heard some faint scuffling. “Hello?” he asked again, realizing it could be a ULC trap. After a few moments of silence, he finally received a response.

“H-Hello?” he heard a woman’s voice crackle.
 

“Hi,” he returned. “My name is Colonel Burns. I’m going to get you out of here, but I need your help in order to do it,” he told her. The woman was apprehensively silent at first, and then another response came.

“Okay,” she said lightly.
 

“Okay,” he returned. “First off, how many others are with you?” he asked, needing to calculate the best strategy for transport.
 

“Uh,” the woman stammered, “twenty four—I think.” Burns took a deep breath. The ULC had executed a dozen last time and threatened to do double if the Dominion sent more fighters. Two dozen executions—twenty four. This was all of them.
 

“Okay, one last thing,” he spoke up again. “Is anyone closer than fifteen feet from this door?”

“No,” the woman returned. He bowed his head.

“Good,” he replied. “Now, I’m going to bust it open. Stay calm, please.” He heard a slight murmur in response, and he took that as an okay.
 

Peeling away from the door, he took several steps back and then turned, facing the door once more. It was a sturdily-built, metal door, and it was locked tight, but he bet his boot was stronger. He flicked on the vertical assistance function again, and then waited for it to charge.
 

As the vertical assistance signal beeped, he began to run forward. Reaching the door, he kicked one leg up and then sourced all VAF power into it alone. His boot jutted out with considerable velocity and busted right through the lock, sending the two doors flying open.
 

He placed his foot back down on the ground, laying eyes on the hostages for the first time. They looked starved and nearly frozen.
 

Burns proceeded into the armory, checking the corners for an ambush. Assured that it was clear of traps, he got to work on the hostages.
 

He knelt down near the closest person. It was the woman who’d communicated with him through the door. Her hands were bound behind her back, so he motioned to one of the Survivors. The man threw him a knife. He caught it and then began to cut the bindings.
 

Freed, the woman immediately put her hands together and began warming them. Poor thing was probably frostbitten—her tattered clothing provided little warmth, and the armory had no heaters. Burns gave her a pat on the shoulder as she looked up at him.

“Thank you,” she gasped. He nodded back to her sincerely and then stood, motioning over a few of the Survivors.

“Let’s get these guys out of here!” he yelled out to them. They complied and joined him in cutting the hostages free.
 

Between the three of them, they divided the twenty-four hostages, each taking eight.
 

This simple division made the task go much quicker, and Burns was able to personally speak to those he freed. That same look of hope—they all seemed to have it. Despite their circumstances, even these people allowed themselves optimism.
 

However, they were not out of the woods yet. Burns was only halfway through his eight when the inevitable ULC counterattack arrived.

Looking up, he saw one of the guarding Survivors fall to the ground. Alvarez and the remaining men tried to hold the attack off but were eventually forced to pull back inside the armory.
 

Taking cover behind the armory door, Alvarez watched as the last of his guards was dispatched. Militants quickly closing in, he considered his options. Burns was still too far out, and he couldn’t risk the Collective getting shots off at the hostages.
 

Alvarez made a split second decision and entered into combat. He only got one shot off before his legs were littered with bullets, and he collapsed onto the tarmac—hard. Burns gritted his teeth. It was a poor move by the man, but it did buy time.
 

Moving swiftly, Burns was able to get into position and let the militants have it. Their rounds had little effect on his armor and soon he’d reduced their numbers to only a few. They began to retreat into the city to regroup. That couldn’t happen. Except, Burns’ submachine guns didn’t have the range, and he couldn’t abandon the hostages to follow. It seemed he was out of options.
 

He then heard a whisper from behind. It was Alvarez. The man was in great pain, but he was determined to stay focused. He had unclipped a grenade from his belt and tossed it to Burns.
 

Holstering his weapon, Burns caught the grenade and then pulled the pin.
 

Turning, he threw it as hard as he could. It flew a decent distance and then bounced across the tarmac.

Reaching the retreating militants in time, it engulfed them in an orange inferno.
 

For the moment, the path was clear. That didn’t mean that more weren’t on their way. They had to get moving.
 

“Let’s go, get them on their feet. We need to make our exit. Now!” Burns urgently ordered the few remaining Survivors. They agreed and began to prep the hostages.
 

Meanwhile, Burns knelt down next to Alvarez and tried to help him up. The man resisted.

“I’m fine! I can hobble out! Go!” he sputtered. Burns shook his head.

“Sorry, but I don’t leave men behind,” he exclaimed, activating lift functions with a bat of his eyes and pulling the brawny man up and over his shoulder.
 

The Survivors were now ready with the hostages, and it was time to move. Only, this time Burns would have to take point. He reached over to a holster on Alvarez’s back and removed a shotgun. Pumping it, he motioned over to his men.
 

“Let’s move!” he ordered, proceeding out of the Fort and back into the tight alleyways of the city streets.
 

He was going to face the ULC on his own terms. No snipers and no long-range attacks. They’d have to face him in close quarters, and in that arena, his shotgun would be devastating.
 

Still not knowing the streets, Burns relied on Alvarez’s word to navigate him through the icy labyrinth and toward the extraction. If they made a wrong turn or got lost, it would be game over.
 

Even though they’d had great success thus far, they would be wise to know that the Collective still owned this fort. Any stalling would see the small unit overwhelmed. Only a couple Survivors remained, and it would not be enough to protect the hostages for long. This was not to mention Shamera couldn’t see into the alleys.
 

Trusting Alvarez with absolute certainty nonetheless, Burns turned at every junction the man said. He might be in great pain—delirious even—but it was the only option at this point.
 

About halfway through the maze, every turn became filled with anticipation. If there wasn’t a man hiding in wait, then Burns would take a deep breath and continue onward. If there was, he’d blast him with one booming crack of the shotgun and proceed forward as well. The Collective didn’t seem to figure this out soon enough, and eventually the group had reached what appeared to be the exfil point—a hidden tunnel under the Fort. Sitting atop it was the wheat market.
 

Burns left the streets and made his way around to the front of the market. It was a small, corner-type shop that boasted all sorts of different breads. Its windows had been busted out, and it looked trashed inside, but for the most part it was intact. It wouldn’t be after Burns was done.