109: Chapter 11 The Hound That Lost Its Teeth

C-19 took nine minutes to finish cutting that circle.

When the Chainsword was pulled out of the steel plate, the chain teeth were glowing red-hot, and the steel plate around the cut was also scorched red, the heat causing the air to twist and shimmer.

Retracting the Chainsword, he raised his right foot and kicked the exact center of the circular cut.

The half-ton steel disc fell off the blast door, slammed onto the floor on the other side, bounced twice, and rolled into a corner. A hot breeze smelling of gunpowder and scorched metal rushed into the corridor.

C-19 slipped through the cut sideways.

In the corridor on the other side of the blast door, four defenders were crouching behind sandbag fortifications, with two rifles, a light machine gun, and one person clutching two homemade grenades.

As the grey figure emerged from the circular hole in the blast door, all four men were stunned for a moment.

That moment was enough.

C-19 rushed to the sandbag fortification in three steps, the Chainsword unactivated. Grabbing the top of the fortification with his left hand, he overturned the entire row of sandbags along with the steel frame. The four defenders were exposed in the middle of the corridor before they could even stand up.

The Assault Team filed in through the cut. TW-29 was the third to emerge, his Bolter already braced against his shoulder. The four defenders lay on the ground, rifles tossed aside, heads held in their hands.

C-19 had already walked past, not even looking back.

The factory's structure extended downwards.

The corridor changed from horizontal to a slope that grew increasingly steep; the emergency light tubes on the walls became sparser, and the light shifted from a dim yellow to a murky darkness. The smell in the air changed—engine oil, welding fumes, and a pungent scent of metal scorched by high temperatures.

Production Area.

C-19 stopped at a fork in the road. The left corridor was wider, with deep wheel marks from heavy equipment on the floor. The right corridor was narrower, but light could be seen faintly at the end.

He chose the left.

At the end of the corridor was a half-open rolling shutter door; C-19 bent down and slipped through.

Inside was a massive underground space, the ceiling at least fifteen meters high and supported by thick concrete pillars. Lathes, welding stations, and parts racks filled the entire space, with metal shavings and oil stains scattered across the floor.

Two massive workstations occupied the center of the space. The fixing clamps remained open, but the workstations were empty.

Assembly stations for walking vehicles. Both were gone.

C-19 scanned the space, his gaze locking onto a reinforced door on the north wall. Above the door was a metal nameplate; most of the writing was obscured by oil, but the words "Control Hub" could still be made out.

Kara was behind that.

He walked toward that door.

The communicator rang. It was TW-112's voice, sounding urgent.

"Visual contact at the northern treeline. Two walking vehicles coming from the southeast, moving fast, about two kilometers from the blocking position."

C-19 stopped in his tracks.

Two kilometers. Fifteen minutes to the blocking position, and more than a kilometer from the blocking position to the factory entrance. Once the walking vehicles reached the outside of the factory, TW-112's thirty men would be caught in the middle, with vehicles in front and no way to retreat.

He glanced at the door to the Control Hub.

Kara couldn't run. The Control Hub only had this one entrance.

But TW-112's men couldn't wait.

He turned and walked back the way he came.

Northern treeline. TW-112's blocking position.

Thirty Thunder Warriors were scattered in cover at the edge of the jungle—felled trunks piled with dirt and a few stone slabs overturned from the ground; it was crude but sufficient.

TW-112 lay in the foremost cover, looking southeast through the gaps between the tree trunks.

He saw them.

Two deep red silhouettes emerged from the depths of the jungle. Six legs moved alternately, each step crushing the shrubs and rubble on the ground. They stood nearly four meters tall, with a leg span of over six meters. The thermal weapon platforms on their backs swayed slightly as they moved, muzzles pointing forward.

Two units. Moving side-by-side. About thirty meters apart.

TW-112's finger rested on the Bolter's trigger guard.

The Bolter couldn't pierce that armor, he knew. But he didn't need to pierce it.

"Listen up, everyone." His voice was low, almost devoid of emotion over the communicator. "Don't try to block them head-on. Relocate after firing one magazine. Target the optical sensors and joint gaps. Hit them if you can; if not, run. Stall for time."

The thirty men did not answer. But the safeties of thirty Bolters were clicked off almost simultaneously, the metallic clicks echoing through the treeline.

The walking vehicles drew closer. The ground began to vibrate, each step sending a dull boom up from the soles of their feet that made their chests feel numb.

Fifteen hundred meters. One thousand meters. Eight hundred meters.

The walking vehicle in front stopped.

The optical sensors at the head position turned and aimed toward the treeline.

Then the thermal weapon fired.

A beam of white-hot light shot from the muzzle, hitting a giant tree on the left side of the treeline. The trunk exploded the moment the beam touched it, splinters and flames flying in all directions; the trunk snapped in the middle, its upper half crashing down with a burning canopy between two covers.

A wave of heat rushed over them. The temperature sensors on TW-112's power armor chest plate issued a warning.

"Fire."

Thirty Bolters fired simultaneously.

The sound of shooting wasn't a continuous rat-tat-tat, but a series of individual, dull booms. Each projectile trailed a faint wake as it flew toward the two walking vehicles.

Most of the bolt shells exploded against the armor plates, leaving shallow craters. A few hit the gaps in the leg joints, sparks and fragments bursting from the crevices. The walking vehicle's gait suffered a very brief hitch before returning to normal.

No substantial damage.

But the walking vehicles stopped. The optical sensors scanned back and forth across the treeline, locking onto the sources of fire, and the thermal weapons began clearing the covers one by one.

A second beam of light hit the cover ten meters to TW-112's right. Dirt and stones were vaporized, and the two Thunder Warriors in the cover rolled out from the rear, smoke rising from their power armor.

"Relocate!"

TW-112 rolled out of the cover and ran twenty meters between the tree trunks, sliding into another cover to change magazines, then poked his muzzle out to continue firing.

The walking vehicles didn't give chase. They stood in place, using their thermal weapons to burn away the covers in the treeline one by one.

TW-112 knew he couldn't stop them. Thirty men and thirty Bolters were barely even a nuisance to two walking vehicles.

But they had stopped. They were dealing with the blocking position instead of continuing toward the factory.

Every extra minute they stayed was another minute for C-19.

He swapped in a third magazine.

When C-19 emerged from the factory entrance, he heard the sound of explosions to the southeast—dull and continuous, the sounds of thermal weapons and Bolters intertwining.

TW-112 was stalling for time.

C-19 did not head toward the blocking position.

He stood in the clearing outside the factory entrance, facing southeast, his Chainsword held in his right hand, unactivated.

Waiting.

TW-112's voice came through the communicator intermittently.

"Third cover destroyed, two lightly wounded. walking vehicles are moving, heading toward the factory."

They were coming.

At the edge of the jungle, two massive deep red silhouettes emerged from the treeline. Six legs crushed shrubs and small trees, leaving deep footprints on the scorched earth; the muzzles of the thermal weapons were still emitting white smoke from residual heat.

Two walking vehicles. Side-by-side. Walking toward him.

The optical sensors locked onto him.

One person. Standing in the middle of the clearing. Grey power armor. A Chainsword in hand.

The thermal weapon of the leading walking vehicle began to charge, a white light glowing inside the muzzle.

C-19 moved.

He didn't charge forward. He ran to the left.

The white light in the muzzle reached its peak brightness the moment he started running.

The light beam shot out.

It hit the spot where he had been standing a second ago. The scorched earth was fused into glass.

C-19 had already run to the side of the leading walking vehicle. The muzzle trailed him for half a second before giving up and starting to recharge.

He rushed toward the walking vehicle's right front leg.

At Manila Fortress, he had cut the hydraulic lines. Now, the lines were encased in shields.

C-19 didn't draw his Chainsword.

He reached out with his left hand and grabbed the edge of the shield at the right front leg joint, his fingers digging into the gap between the shield and the leg armor.

Then he pulled.

The shield let out a sharp metallic scream. The weld points snapped one after another, sparks flying from the broken welds.

The entire shield was torn off the joint.

It had been welded shut onto the joint. He had torn it off with his bare hands.

The moment the shield fell off, the hydraulic lines were exposed—black rubber hoses as thick as a thumb.

The Chainsword roared to life.

One strike.

The hydraulic line was severed. High-pressure hydraulic oil sprayed from the cut, the scalding fluid splashing onto C-19's power armor and emitting white smoke.

The walking vehicle's right front leg lost its hydraulic support and the joint went limp; the entire vehicle tilted to the front right, the balance of its six legs broken.

C-19 didn't give it time.

He rounded to the right middle leg. Grabbed the shield's edge. Tore it open. Cut the line.

The second leg was disabled.

The walking vehicle completely lost its support on the right and toppled over, its underside scraping the ground for two meters, kicking up scorched earth and rubble. The muzzle of the thermal weapon pointed at the sky, and the charging white light shot into the grey sky, burning a brief bright spot into the clouds.

The first one. Incapacitated.

C-19 turned.

The second walking vehicle had already changed direction, its center of gravity lowered and its stance widened; its lateral movement speed was noticeably faster. The thermal weapon was aimed at C-19, the white light inside the muzzle growing brighter.

Charging complete.

C-19 faced the muzzle head-on, less than thirty meters away.

There was no time to run to the side.

The thermal weapon fired.

A white-hot beam of light shot toward him.

C-19 started moving at the moment the muzzle's white light was at its brightest, taking a step to the left.

The light beam grazed past his right shoulder by less than twenty centimeters. The thermal radiation scorched the surface coating of his right shoulder pauldron, turning the grey paint charred black. The power armor's temperature sensor emitted a piercing overheat alarm.

One step. Twenty centimeters.

But the second walking vehicle wouldn't give him a second chance. The thermal weapon began to recharge, while its six legs started moving laterally to pull away.

C-19 rushed forward two steps and then stopped.

The walking vehicle's lateral movement was faster than expected. Kara hadn't just added shields; she had also optimized the gait control.

He couldn't catch up.

Recharging would take a few more seconds.

Just then, a bolt shell flew in from the side.

The first hit the walking vehicle's shoulder armor, exploding in a burst of sparks. The second missed, flying over the head. The third struck the optical sensor array at the head position.

The bolt shell exploded on the surface of the lens. It didn't penetrate the armor, but the shockwave and fragments covered the entire surface of the sensor array. The lens shattered.

The optical system was blinded.

The walking vehicle's lateral movement suddenly became uncoordinated; having lost its visual reference, it could only rely on inertia to maintain its movement.

It veered off.

Its lateral trajectory shifted from a straight line to an arc, veering nearly two meters to the left.

C-19 didn't look back to see who had fired those bolt shells.

He charged.

The walking vehicle's thermal weapon finished charging and the muzzle turned toward C-19, but its optical system was blind and it could only rely on thermal imaging to aim.

The light beam shot out. It missed by more than a meter.

C-19 was already at its legs.

He grabbed the shield of the right front leg with his left hand. Tore it open. The Chainsword severed the line.

The right front leg was disabled.

He didn't stop. He rounded to the middle leg. Tore the shield. Cut the line.

The middle leg was disabled.

The walking vehicle toppled to the right.

C-19 stepped back two paces, watching the underside of the second walking vehicle scrape across the ground and finally come to a halt; the muzzle of the thermal weapon buried itself in the dirt, and the charging system automatically shut down.

The six legs were still twitching. The gait control module was still trying to make it stand up, but only four legs remained and it had lost its vision; it could only spin in place, its metal legs gouging furrows into the scorched earth.

C-19 turned off the Chainsword.

The chain teeth stopped spinning. The humming sound vanished.

The clearing suddenly became very quiet, leaving only the sound of the walking vehicle's metal legs scraping the ground and the sporadic Bolter fire from TW-112's blocking position in the distance.

He turned around.

TW-29 was standing by the factory entrance, his Bolter still braced against his shoulder, muzzle pointed toward the second walking vehicle. Gunsmoke drifted from the ejection port.

C-19 gave him a look.

TW-29 lowered his gun.

His hands were steady.

C-19 didn't speak; he turned and walked back into the factory entrance.

Behind him, TW-29 followed.

Inside the control room.

Kara watched the footage on the tiled screens.

Both walking vehicles were down. From the moment the man in grey armor appeared in the clearing until both vehicles were incapacitated, it had taken less than four minutes in total.

Her gaze stopped on a frozen frame of the playback.

The man in grey armor was grabbing the edge of a shield and pulling. A shield welded to the joint. The weld points snapped one by one.

Ryan stood beside her, mouth agape, a sentence stuck in his throat.

"I saw it," Kara said.

Ryan closed his mouth.

Kara looked at that frozen frame. She looked at it for a long time.

Then she turned off the screen.

Outside the control room door, footsteps drew closer—heavy and rhythmic, the sound of power armor treading on the concrete floor.

Kara sat back in her chair.

She placed her left hand on the tabletop. The hand missing two fingers. She never placed this hand where others could see it.

Now, she placed it on the tabletop.

The footsteps stopped outside the door.