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Chapter 17: Engagement.

"Secondary target in range. I have a shot." Despite the freezing temperatures the advanced armor the mercenary was wearing was keeping him quite warm. It was one of the best infiltration suits money could buy; the special coating on the ceramic plates kept his heat signature to a minimum, while electronic jamming systems kept lifesign sensors from detecting anything larger than a small rodent. With its integrated life support system even laying down in the snow for a few hours was completely comfortable.

Their client had provided the six-member team the best equipment developed by Cornerian government contractors. The Spectre armor systems were brand new, and a healthy arsenal from CDI and Laken had already been sitting in their ship's armory. The lithe feline merc was providing overwatch and sniper support for the other members, laying in a natural cavern overlooking the open bowl they had prepared an ambush from.

They had been tracking their target for months, and were already behind schedule. Their client had grown quite impatient, and considering the small fortune in equipment provided as a down payment that was a completely understandable state of mind. In all honesty, Kale Duesett was ready for this extended trip to be over. They were already over a week from the time allotted, including the time it took for them to elude the Venom Remnant forces who were assaulting the stricken planet. Eight targets down, one left to go.

"Take it." The clipped, aggravated voice came from Kalina Marsen, who had been ousted from her position as sniper. Her mistake killed this particular Channeler's family member and not her, so essentially she was the cause for the delays. That wasn't a fact the other team members were willing to let her forget.

"Taking the shot." Duesett shifted the weapon he was using. After their encounter with Venomian troops they decided the experimental projectile weapons from CDI were their best defense against foes with body armor and personal shields. Creator knew how their client managed to get a hold of them, but he was grateful. The sniper rifle was called a PR-SV, firing a high-caliber 7.62mm tungsten projectile. The purely mechanical weapon felt quite primitive yet was blessed with the latest sniper optics to come out of the otherwise high-tech firm. The scope's integrated rangefinder fell on the chest of the secondary target, some sort of armored alien wearing a strange camouflage pattern. He(at least as far as he could tell its gender) was armed with a strange scope-equipped rifle; what looked to be a similar ammunition magazine to a PR-74 was mounted on the bottom. The alien kicked at the snow, exposing the corpse of the native lizard soldier he had shot hours ago when securing his perch.

The distance was just over four hundred meters. The scope's sensors didn't detect any wind gusts to throw the projectile off-target and automatically calculated for the fall of gravity. Duesett shifted his aiming point and gently stroked the trigger. The rifle's sharp crack was muted by his helmet's integrated hearing protection but its recoil snapped into his shoulder, affording him only a glimpse of the alien falling to the frozen earth before it drifted off target.

The merc quickly reacquired his target, now lying on his back in the snow. With the scope's magnification he could see a portion of its armor was now mangled. Nobody could have survived that hit. Another body entered his field of view, elation and excitement instantly flooding his mind. This was it. "Primary target sighted. Taking the shot."

The Cerinian Channeler they had tracked down through an entire cluster was in his sights. The scope's calculations once again told him where to hold. As he took aim the vixen frantically struggled to pull her alien companion to safety. It was a move that would be paid for with her life. His finger tightened on the trigger once more.

Once again the rifle's recoil forced him off-target, yet he didn't see the puff of red mist that signified a head hit with a powerful weapon. He didn't see the Channeler fall. He didn't see either of them. With precision and discipline drilled into him from his time in the Cornerian Rangers, he relayed this information to the rest of the team. "Secondary target is hit, likely down. Primary target is likely a miss. Close in with caution."

"Acknowledged." Marsen's voice cut in, an amused tone in the fox's voice. "Turns out you were able to hit her about as well as I did. Good job, Duesett. Watch how a real professional handles this."

"Oh, fuck off." Duesett growled.

"Brian! Are you okay?" Krystal's voice belied her fear and concern for her friend's well being. Despite the freezing environment she felt like she was overheating, the adrenaline pumping through her body making itself known. Within an instant her staff was in her hands, her thumb hovering over the glyph which would activate its shield matrix. "What happened?"

"Fucker shot me!" The Marine groaned, struggling to reach a sitting position. His own adrenaline rush was in full force, though through his training he knew exactly how to control it. With shaking hands he stripped out of his gear; if the round he was hit with penetrated the vest they were in deep shit. They were in a safe enough location, or so he hoped; there was no direct line of sight to the rock walls surrounding the natural depression they were trying to enter. "They've got a fucking sniper!"

"A what?" The vixen shouted back, reaching out with her senses. They were telling her nothing, like the terrain ahead was completely devoid of life. That fact alarmed her. Were they facing an enemy who was able to fool her abilities?

"Long range sharpshooter! They'll find places to hide and try to pick you off from a distance!" The Marine breathed a sigh of relief as his uniform was devoid of any holes or blood. Yet, there was the danger that whatever hit him had cracked or broken ribs; whatever he was hit with packed enough punch to put his ass down.

"How do we get past this sniper, then?" Her heart was trying to pound its way out of her chest. While she went through combat training as a Guardian, this sort of conflict wasn't anything even dreamed about on Cerinia.

For Brian, however, this was his element. This was the dangerous game he played on an almost daily basis for the past two years. He had faced sniper fire before, though he had been lucky enough not to get hit. That track record had very well been broken. "We can retreat and try to stage an ambush, but that might put the Snowhorn back there in danger. I don't have smoke grenades, and we can't call in arty or extra support. We can rush them and hope we don't get hit before finding better cover. If I can get line of sight, I can try to engage."

Krystal took a deep breath. Out of the two options she couldn't place the Snowhorn in further danger, especially not from an enemy with unknown capabilities. Rushing them also sounded very dangerous, though she had a hidden advantage. "Okay, we rush them. Under one condition."

"What's that?" Brian struggled with his armor and combat gear; despite the adrenaline the agony from his ribs made it hard to move. He was going to have a hard time of it, but the job had to be done. It beat getting picked off by whoever decided to take a shot at them.

"Stay right behind me. My staff can project an energy shield, remember?" A memory from a few days ago was brought to mind, that same energy shield's presence had stopped General Scales from ripping his throat open. With luck it could stop bullets. Krystal stood up with an expression of determination incarnate. She had swapped her staff to her left hand; her right was busy pulling her M9 pistol out of its holster.

"Okay. It's a deal." The Marine slung his M14 over his shoulder; the M16 would be a better weapon to use if he had to fire back while running. "Keep on the move. Change your direction often. Be unpredictable. If this bastard can't get a clean shot off we'll be fine."

"Let's go!" The vixen growled, rushing forward as a sky blue globe of energy flared from her staff, quickly growing to encompass a one meter radius around her body. Brian treated it for what it was: portable cover. Even with that advantage crossing open terrain under fire was quite dangerous. He would have to determine the sniper's position, and fast.

That didn't take long. As they rushed up the snow-covered hill another crack echoed from the cliffs, the bullet slamming into Krystal's shield at supersonic speeds. The swirling energy field briefly flashed a purple color yet quickly recovered. Brian snapped his M16 to his shoulder, looking for any sign of a shot being fired.

The sniper was located on the second shot, a puff of snow kicked up by the weapon's muzzle. That was a rookie mistake; any sniper worth their salt would know about muzzle blast giving away their position. Training kicked in despite the agonizing pain. "Contact front, three-fifty meters!" His yell carried over to Krystal, who was momentarily confused. "Laying down suppressive fire!"

Duesett glanced through the scope, his jaw dropping in disbelief. These weapons were supposed to pass through energy shields like they weren't even there. The Cerinian's staff was generating a field strong enough to stop the high-powered sniper rifle he was currently using. That wasn't good.

"Closing team, be advised!" His voice carried through the open comm channel, devoid of anything but the excitement that comes from a new engagement. "Channeler has some sort of an energy shield. My fire is not..." Duesett was cut off as something smacked into the rock two meters to his left, creating a loud spang that echoed loudly and clearly even with his hearing protection. Within an instant the sounds were incessant, accompanied by a series of sharp _cracks_coming from the Cerinian's position.

"Shit! Taking fire!" The former Ranger scooted back, trying to create a smaller target while providing a critical new piece of information to his comrades in profit. "Secondary target is not down! Repeat, secondary target is not down and is armed with a projectile rifle of some kind!"

"Roger that." The deep baritone of their support specialist, Mick Fetger, carried over the channel. "Looks like they're trying to suppress you. Hold tight."

Marsen's voice cut in immediately afterward. "Have visual on primary and secondary targets. They just took cover behind the lizards' command hut. Both are armed with what looks like projectile weapons, unknown type." There was a short pause. "Fetger, move in to engage. I'll cover you."

The relative silence was almost immediately broken up by the chatter of automatic weapons fire.

Brian and Krystal reached the safety of the hut within seconds, rushing at full speed while the Marine kept on firing at the sniper's position. The building was very stoutly constructed, its frozen earth walls easily capable of shrugging off the sniper's fire. "Made it! You alright, Krys?" Brian took the time to change out his magazine, gritting his teeth through the pain shooting through his chest.

"I'm not shot." The Cerinian took a moment to look around, grateful for the insulation her flightsuit was providing. They were in a safer area, giving her time to reach out with her senses. Their repositioning had given them quite a bit of advantage, the faint traces of thought patterns moving around them at long distances. She couldn't quite make out the 'sniper' Brian was shooting at earlier, but the others were cause for alarm. "Two more coming from our left! I think..."

Her sentence was cut off as the rattle of an automatic weapon caused her to drop to the ground. The walls of the hut exploded with pock marks as fire rained down on their position. The snapping, popping sound of rifle rounds sailing overhead reached Brian's trained ears, along with the unmistakable report of a Kalashnikov. "The Snowhorns were wrong! It's the fucking insurgents!" The Marine fired back, bursts of 5.56mm rounds competing with the AK being fired at them.

Krystal activated the energy shield on her staff, gritting her teeth as she did so. They needed more information so she reached out to the two aggressors. Their thoughts didn't fit that of Brian's kind. They were, in fact... Lylatian. Yet, why were they armed with similar weapons to her human friend? She pushed in harder to find out.

The truth hit her like a slap to the face. She was their target. They were out to kill her. A fuzzy mental image crossed her mind, projected by one of them. That fateful night on Cerinia. Her mother, struck down by a blaster bolt meant for her. The one who killed her mother was here, firing right at them. She was going to finish the job if she didn't do anything about it.

Brian wasn't sure what he was hearing, but it sounded like her native language. Krystal's voice was panicked at first yet anger quickly took over; punctuated by an inhuman growl as the vixen exchanged her staff and handgun for the M4 Carbine slung across her back. "A ned'k cok kxaj xuffod! A ned'k cok 0ei xuhm ud0edo ocjo, 0ei leat-tumdot raksx!"

The Marine raised his rifle as the two figures came clearly into view. They weren't Iraqi insurgents. The slate black armor they were cocooned in wasn't anything remotely near what they wore. They didn't have tails, either. Yet, that left one big mystery in the air. If these were Lylatians or Venomians with access to powerful laser guns, why the fuck were they carrying what looked to be exact copies of an AK74 and RPK-74? He didn't have time to speculate. The one with the RPK represented the greater threat, so he placed the sight blade over its chest and fired off a burst.

Mick Fetger was hit with all three rounds of standard issue M855 ammunition. The armor he was wearing was some of the most advanced to come out of Wardtek, one of the primary body armor suppliers to the CDF. Unbeknownst to its designers, the polyceramic plates that comprised the Shade infiltration armor was very similar in composition to the layers of ceramic discs that made up Brian's Pinnacle Armor Dragon Skin vest. The three small, high-velocity slugs slammed into the armor's chestpiece, cracking the plate itself and sending the Lylatian merc to the ground, yet not seriously wounding him.

At the same time Krystal rushed away from cover before Brian had time to shout. She stopped thirty yards away from the hut, leveling her borrowed carbine at the one who had destroyed her life. Her conscience screamed at her; she was forgetting her training at the most crucial moment. Her rage screamed much louder. All the pain, fear, and sorrow was now directed at the one being she knew was responsible; the armored figure in front of her. Her thumb flicked the M4's fire selector to burst as she snapped the weapon to her shoulder. As her opponent leveled her own rifle at the Cerinian, she fired.

The female merc fell back, the rifle she was wielding firing wildly as she hit the ground. Krystal then felt like she had been punched in the shoulder by a Sharpclaw, her breath knocked out of her as she hit the frozen, snow-covered terrain. The pain hit a mere second later; an agonizing, burning sensation that felt like her entire body was on fire from the inside out. A moment later she realized the scream carrying through the air was her own.

As Krystal's agonized cry cut through the air, Brian's blood ran cold. She had been hit. "Fuck!" the Marine growled, breaking his cover to run towards the stricken vixen. Movement to his right caused him to stop; the opponent he had previously shot was getting back up. Two more bursts rattled the chilled air, sending the merc back down. This bought him the precious seconds he needed to make it over to her, fear gripping his heart when he saw the solitary hole punched through her left shoulder. Blood flowed from the wound in an unstoppable torrent.

They were in an impossible situation. Those bastards weren't going down easy, and now Krystal was severely wounded. "Hang on! I need to take care of these assholes!" The Marine's hand went to his shoulder, plucking his last M67 grenade from its resting place on his web gear. Their two assailants were struggling to get back up, which meant he had mere seconds to act.

From his vantage point Duesett could see his two teammates taking fire. The thunder of projectile rifles firing was muted by both distance and his armor's hearing protection, but the Cerinian and her alien comrade were fighting back with the ferocity of cornered beasts. This wouldn't be as easy of a job as their client had made it out to be.

Fetger fell, a string of pained curses carrying over the voice channel. "Bastard shot me! Armor's taking a beating, here!" Whatever the alien soldier was using it was pretty effective; their infiltration armor was designed to take moderate shrapnel damage. Did it protect against projectile rifles?

Marsen was the next to get hit, her pained grunt carrying into his ears. "Damn Cerinian! Armor still holding! Got a hit on her; she might be down!" Finally, some good news. The sooner they could take care of her, the sooner they'd be off this doomed rock and getting paid.

Duesett's gaze fell on Fetger, who was struggling to get his larger PR-74L on target. Before he could open fire two short automatic bursts roared from behind the hut, causing the wolf to crumple back to the snow. "Fucking ass-sniffing whelp! I'm going to kill you!"

The sniper switched his helmet's HUD to a status readout. Fetger's armor wasn't faring well; its sensors reporting that its integrity was well into the red. Marsen's was doing better, but... "Shit! Grenade!" the vixen's voice called out, but it was too late. The blast shook snow off of rocks even from his overwatch position; the two mercs were tossed aside like broken toys. Almost simultaneously the armor's combat software suite pulsed four sharp beeps into his ear, the standard signal that a comrade had been killed. Fetger's armor readout was black; he didn't survive the blast. Marsen's vitals were stable, but her armor was heavily damaged and she had been knocked unconscious. She'd feel that one in the morning.

"Element two, move to intercept and flush them out! Marsen's hit, Fetger's down!" Duesett tucked the PR-SV's stock into his shoulder, sighting in on where he expected the alien to make his appearance.

"Roger that." Violetta Dragen's voice echoed into his ear. The raccoon was a former Venom Eradicator, the heavily armored spaceborne shock troopers who had struck fear into most Cornerian soldiers. Instead of being clad in the others' infiltration armor she opted for her old Eradicator suit; it would take far more punishment than anything else they had. If the alien dropped another grenade the Eradicator armor would just laugh at it. "Coming at them from the left flank. Watch your fire with that damn thing, Kale. I just had my armor painted before this op."

"Alright, alright." Taking a deep breath he steadied his aim. "C'mon out, you bastard. I'll make it quick and easy for ya."

There was no time to tend to Krystal's wound. Two figures were coming at them from behind, replacing the motionless ones in front of them as the primary threat. One of them was outfitted in some ludicrously bulky, black armor and toting another RPK-74. Grabbing the other assailant's LMG came to mind, but he wouldn't be able to do what he needed to.

She wasn't in good shape. Her eyes were glazed over with a mixture of shock and pain, cementing his responsibility to get her out alive. He wasn't sure what these bastards were after, but he wasn't about to leave her for them.

The Marine shouldered his M16, firing off the remainder of its magazine at the two attackers. The torrent of 5.56mm lead didn't do much except cause them to seek cover, but the time it bought him was worth the ammunition. "I've getting us out of this mess! Stay with me, Krys!" After letting his M16 dangle from its tactical sling he plucked her M9 from its holster and stuffed it into his belt. He would be down to firing handguns after this. "I'm not going to let these sons of bitches kill us." Without any preamble he scooped her up, slinging her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. This elicited a pained cry from her lips, but he didn't have the luxury of being gentle.

"Please... help." Krystal winced, the pain radiating through her in waves. "They're here... to kill me." Fighting against blood loss and the excruciating agony her hand went for her staff. "Shield good... few more..." Her last conscious action was to activate the glyph, the swirling energy field covering them both. The darkness which was hovering on the edge of her vision overcame her sight, the pain mercifully fading away with it.

Brian took a deep breath, muttering a quick prayer under his breath. He never was much of a pious man, but they needed every bit of help they were going to get. Time was running out. He had to move. The Marine rushed forward into the line of fire, keeping his eyes open for some sort of cover or escape. The shield flashed in front of him, followed by the report of the sniper rifle waiting to target them once they broke from cover. He wasn't sure what she said, but it likely wouldn't last under such punishment.

Automatic fire joined in shortly afterwards, the clattering of Kalashnikovs from the two remaining assailants competing with the unknown sniper. With their armor his handguns would be useless. There had to be a way out. Seconds felt like hours as he attempted to evade the incoming fire; the stabbing pain in his ribcage and the added weight of carrying Krystal made the experience brutal. The only advantage he had was that he was trained for this. They didn't call it the Crucible for nothing.

"Come get me, you motherfuckers!" His shout served to steel his nerve as well as rile his enemies. With rounds buzzing all around him and the shield's hue rapidly changing from blue to purple, he found his opening; a large tunnel mouth several meters to his left. Without thinking twice the Marine charged in, carrying his wounded friend away from the torrent of gunfire. The terrain broke up as he ran, the short yet cavernous feature opening up into what looked to be some sort of loading yard for the mine complex. Stacks of boxes were haphazardly scattered, many of them crushed by the sleek-looking, obsidian spaceship that had landed among them.

That revelation solved the mystery of where the bastards had come from. The ship was likely locked up and no use to them at the moment, though if he somehow dusted the rest of the assholes it could make for a better craft than Krystal's crippled shuttle.

A shout jarred him from his thoughts. "They're passing the ship right now!" Brian whirled around, his hand yanking his M1911 from its holster as he locked eyes with another one of the strange antagonists. This was one of the Lylatians Krystal had mentioned, he was sure. If she was a fox, this one was a rat of some kind. His white fur stood out from the black jumpsuit he was wearing, in a cut similar to Krystal's. What drew the most attention was that he was reaching for some sort of exotic-looking sidearm.

Brian already had his weapon out. The Colt thundered its report into the freezing air, double thunderclaps heralding the two 230-grain hardball rounds that punched into the Lylatian merc's chest. His point of aim shifted upwards, a third round blasting its way into the rat's head from a distance of ten yards away. He was dead before he even hit the ground.

There was no telling how many of the bastards were out there, but he had to move. His first priority was to get his severely wounded friend to a safe enough place to patch her up and then continue to evade them as best he could. Beyond the relative shelter of the loading yard a blizzard raged. The territory was inhospitable, but it afforded him the best chance to get her to safety.

Olan's warning was cut off by another series of beeps coming over the comm channel. Barely after he had uttered them he was dead; the former CDF transport pilot's lifesign readout blanking out like Fetger's had. The alien bastard had to be military of some sort. The strangely camouflaged uniform had some sort of rank and unit patches on it, but unlike any he had ever seen. His armor stopped a damn projectile rifle shot, and he was using weapons that seemed to be improved versions of the prototypes they carried.

Kale growled out a curse. The alien son of a bitch had taken out a third of the team. Fetger was an experienced Venom War vet; Olan a solid, reliable pilot. Despite the fact their shares would be distributed amongst the surviving team members, things weren't looking good. They had taken care of eight of the Channelers without so much as taking fire from the Venomian troops ravaging Cerinia; the young one was by far giving them the most trouble. Even if she was dead and the alien was simply dragging her corpse around, they still needed physical evidence of her death.

"Break it off, everyone." Kale hissed, his mind grasping at straws to formulate a plan. "They're going to be driven into the mines. Between us and the lizards there's no way out for them."

"I've got a suggestion." Dragen's voice was deceptively calm; despite their differences in ideology he knew enough about the Eradicator to fully understand what she was capable of when she was pissed off. Olan had been an on-and-off lover of hers; as such he was one of the few living beings she cared about. Already the alien combatant had sealed his fate; he would be begging for death long before it would find him. "Send in the drones."