Decisively Engaged (Warp Marine Corps Book 1) by C.J. Carella Page B

his van towards one of the side streets. Kirosha was an old town, built long before motor transport was even a glimmer in the eye of some engineer, and most of its streets reflected that. Come to think of it, Obregon had read that the handful of big straight avenues in the city had only been built after gunpowder was discovered; the broad streets were designed to allow muzzle-loading cannon to shoot straight into any rampaging mobs who dared disturb the High King’s Peace. They certainly had helped his troops mow down the current crop of rioters.
    The side streets were narrow and twisty, following even minor terrain features rather than cutting through them. The Rovers could only negotiate them single file; without the micro-drones helping navigate they would have gotten lost in short order. Luckily most Ruddies had decided staying indoors was the thing to do, so the Marines had the streets mostly to themselves. At least at first.
    Smaller groups of insurgents kept trying to catch up with the three technicals. A tall Ruddy wielding something like a big can opener at the end of a stick jumped in Rover Two’s path. The van was moving at a good thirty miles per hour when it hit, too slowly to trigger the force fields; the impact with the welded-on metal grill on its front sent the wannabe warrior flying, the big axe-spear thing still in his hands when he hit a wall and bounced off it.
    “Someone’s shooting at us,” Hendrickson said. More tiny points of light appeared wherever a Ruddy bullet hit the force fields around the van. They were taking fire from above. Houses were so packed together that you could get around jumping from one rooftop to the next, and some enterprising Ruddies with guns had done just that.
    “Take ‘em out.”
    Hendrickson complied as Rover Two kept moving. The ALS-43 stuttered a long burst into the sniper’s building. Armor piercers: the big plasma rounds, designed to spear through force fields and composite armor plate, sawed through the third level of a four-story structure, tearing through support beams, walls and anybody unlucky enough to be inside. Hendricks drew a line of bright explosions as he traversed the weapon on its improvised mount. The top floor staggered before neatly collapsing into the shattered ruin of the third floor; a rifleman was tossed out of the building, screeching like a crying baby before the impact with the ground shut him up. A moment later, the entire building crumbled, scattering bodies and brickwork everywhere.
    The shooting stopped.
    “I think that did the tr…”
    A Ruddy RPG hit the front of the van. The superheated gases of the shaped-charge warhead flattened against the force field, giving Obregon a close look at the fiery core of the anti-tank weapon’s detonation. It was a bit like looking at what awaited all sinners in the end. The deafening sound washed over him and made his teeth vibrate painfully even under his helmet. No damage, but the front shield’s power supply was down fifteen percent. He kept driving. They all knew that if they stood still they’d just make a better target.
    Hendrickson’s reaction to the explosion was much livelier. “Motherfuckers!” he screamed, swiveling the ALS-43 around and laying down a storm of fire. He walked a series of bursts towards the rocket team’s position around a corner. The café they were using for cover blew apart in a conflagration of hot plasma and superheated brick and mortar. The launcher and the burning upper torso of one of the rocketeers rolled out into the street. Rover Two drove over the body; Lance Corporal Edison in Rover One leaned out and destroyed the launcher with two point-blank shots from his gun.
    All of which was well and good, but the micro-drones had spotted several more groups of armed men rushing out into the streets. They were going to have to fight for every inch of ground between them and the people they were trying to rescue.
    “Gunny?” PFC Kowalski said from the