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Chapter 33: Kiting
The grotesque powered armor on their backs was equipped with jetpack-like propulsion systems, the fiery red flames maintaining their hovering state. Their weapons? Two oversized pistols unlike anything Raman had ever seen.
Before Artemy’s group could fully process what they were seeing, the two Reapers moved. With a swift raise of their pistols, four magnetic projectiles crackling with cyan electricity shot out, striking one of the soldiers to Artemy’s left.
A blinding flash erupted. When Artemy regained his senses, he saw a gaping hole torn through the soldier’s chest plate. Amidst the sparking electricity, blood and viscera sprayed out as the soldier collapsed lifelessly.
“Yuma Sakata! Return fire, return fire!” Artemy swallowed hard, pulling the trigger while shouting orders.
His teammates snapped out of their daze and opened fire with their assault rifles, unleashing torrents of bullets at the two Reapers. But the Reapers simply swayed in midair, tracing graceful parabolic arcs before leaping onto the rocks along the cliffside. In an instant, they vanished over the ridge.
“Boss, did you see that?! What the hell were those?! Secret weapons from the Monya Empire?!”
Second Lieutenant Raman stared blankly at the spot where the Reapers had disappeared, his face pale with shock. Secret weapons from the Monya Empire? As far as he knew, the Monya Empire’s most advanced technology revolved around the development and utilization of Element Zero. Portable jetpacks like these were a research project of the Doranx Republic, and those Gauss pistols capable of piercing powered armor were incredibly expensive—only elite units of national militaries could afford them.
Just moments ago, the trio had been wearing the clunky, ugly powered armor derisively nicknamed “mobile toilets” by other nations. How had they transformed into flying monstrosities upon entering the ravine?
“Boss, are you alright?” One of his soldiers nudged him, snapping him out of his thoughts. Raman glanced at Artemy’s shaken group on the southern slope and then at Rodman’s decimated squad on the northern slope. Gritting his teeth, he ordered, “The situation is dire on the northern slope. Let’s support Rodman first.” Without another word, he sprinted toward the north.
As if aware of their approach, by the time Raman and his men reached the bottom of the crater on the northern slope, the alien creatures had already vanished into the rocky crevices under the cover of darkness.
Rodman stared at the five fallen soldiers, their wounds still oozing blood, and stomped his foot in frustration. Out of six men, only he remained alive. And their opponents? They had retreated without a scratch, calm and composed. How could he possibly accept such an outcome?
Raman stood frozen, staring at the carnage before him. What had seemed like a straightforward mission had turned into a bloodbath, and they didn’t even know who—or what—they were fighting against.
Where had these creatures come from? Were they native to planet Namie, or secret bio-weapons developed by the Monya Empire? Judging by the earlier skirmish, they didn’t need oxygen, didn’t require pressure regulation, and could survive in a vacuum. Their razor-sharp claws could tear through steel and pierce powered armor. Once the integrity of the armor was compromised beyond the emergency repair system’s capacity, the difference in atmospheric pressure alone would be enough to kill the soldiers.
“Look! They’re… they’re back!” Just then, Artemy’s panicked voice crackled over the comms.
Without hesitation, Raman scrambled to the edge of the crater and peered toward the southern slope. He saw a flash of light followed by Sergeant Claude’s agonized scream.
Artemy continued firing, but the two Reapers feinted, leapt onto the cliff, and disappeared once more.
“This isn’t working. We’re too scattered and vulnerable to being picked off one by one,” Raman muttered, sighing deeply. Reluctantly, he ordered, “Artemy, abandon the original plan. Retreat to the flat area in the center of the ravine.”
“Yes, sir.” Artemy hastily led his remaining three men down the slope. But just as they began their retreat, the two Reapers descended from the cliff again. A flick of their Gauss pistols sent the rearmost soldier tumbling down the slope with a muffled groan.
“Taylor!” Artemy shouted in alarm. Turning back, he saw the enemy pull the trigger once more. Four projectiles struck a private on his right, accompanied by flashes of electricity.
“You son of a bitch!” Artemy cursed, firing alongside his last remaining teammate.
But as before, the Reapers danced through the air, dodging effortlessly. With a mocking flair reminiscent of runway models, they fired off a few parting shots and ascended back onto the cliff, disappearing from sight.
“Motherfucker!” The soldier beside Artemy couldn’t hold back any longer, shouting an insult loud enough for the entire team to hear.
It was no wonder he was so enraged. Those unidentified attackers were toying with them—a tactic known in certain circles as “kiting.” They were clearly using the superior mobility of their jetpacks to pick them off one by one.
“Move!” Artemy yanked his companion, taking advantage of the brief lull to quickly retreat to the flat area in the center of the ravine. Meanwhile, Raman arrived with the shaken remnants of Rodman’s group from the northern slope.
After a quick headcount, they realized nine men were missing—nearly half their force wiped out in just twenty minutes. To make matters worse, they hadn’t even laid eyes on the three infiltrators, let alone captured them.
“Should we report the encounter with the alien creatures and the ambush by unknown units to headquarters? Maybe request reinforcements?”
But before Raman could decide, a desperate cry came over the comms: “Boss, we’re under heavy attack! Requesting backup, requesting backup!”
The voice belonged to Herbert, one of the soldiers Raman had left to guard the APCs. If Herbert was calling for help, it meant the enemy was attacking the two Porcupine vehicles outside the ravine.
The panic in Herbert’s voice was unmistakable—he wouldn’t have called for help unless they were at a severe disadvantage. But how was this possible? The Porcupine APCs were heavily armored and armed with 20mm autocannons, 40mm grenade launchers, and a small multi-purpose missile launcher capable of firing anti-air and anti-tank missiles. How could the lightly equipped infiltrators suppress such firepower?
Could it be the alien creatures? No, in close combat, the APCs would crush them like bugs. The two jetpack-equipped Reapers? Unlikely—their Gauss pistols required four shots to penetrate powered armor, and even then, they wouldn’t inflict catastrophic damage on the APCs. So who could it be?
Damn it! How many secrets were hidden in this cursed ravine?
Was this entire operation a trap set by the Monya Empire from the start? No, that didn’t make sense. Unless they had lost their minds, they wouldn’t risk exposing their own technology with such a pointless ambush deep within enemy territory.
After much deliberation and no clear answers, Raman sighed deeply. “Let’s move,” he said, leading the remaining ten men in a hurried dash toward the entrance of the ravine.
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