Free Bigfoot War 3: Food Chain by Eric S Brown

the sound suppression system of his Wolf spared him from being made permanently deaf.
    The entire clearing shook on his view screen as round after round cycled into his cannon to be discharged in a blast of flame and flying lead. The beasts fell in waves. One monster’s lower torso and legs danced around wildly before teetering over to its final resting place, its upper half completely vaporized by a dead-on hit from his cannon. The Mark II Wolves opened up, their rail guns chattering and spraying spent shell casings that glowed orange from their own heat into the grass. A beast wailed as a stream of rounds struck its chest and cut a path of bloodied, torn meat to its head before its skull splattered like a blood-filled water balloon. Hundreds of twitching corpses and wounded beasts littered the ground of the clearing so thick the waves of incoming beasts behind them were forced to wade through them. Still more of the monsters came roaring forward. Smoke and the smells of fresh blood and burning hair filled the air. Beckham’s cannon clicked empty. He tossed it aside, shifting his Wolf into a boxer’s stance. The other Mark I Wolves followed suit.
    This is where it really gets ugly , Beckham thought as the last of the Mark II mechs finished out their ammo belts as well.
    The beasts closed the distance left between them and the firing line quickly with nothing left to hold them back. Beckham’s Wolf lunged forward to meet a snarling monster on a collision course with it. Its fist struck the beast in the face. Bone and cartilage folded up under the force of the blow, sending the creature reeling backwards, leaking blood from its broken nose. He saw the pair of Mark III Wolves emerging from the trees, swords out, slashing wildly at the beasts from their flanks. Beckham realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that the Mark III Wolves would never reach them in time to make a difference. They had misjudged the beasts’ speed and will to fight regardless of the losses they suffered.
    The right hand of Beckham’s Wolf reached out to crush the skull of a beast in its thick fingers while he shoved another off of him with his left. There were just too many of the monsters though. Two of the beasts plowed into him at once. His massive Mark I suit toppled to the ground as the creatures piled onto it, pounding it over and over with red-smeared knuckles. His view screen went dark as the suit’s power failed and its systems went offline. Beckham bounced inside it as it shook from the fury being vented upon its armor. All he could do now was lay there and wait for the beasts to tear their way in to reach him. He hoped his death would be a quick one and that he wouldn’t be alive as they ate him.

    * * *

    PFC Maberry kicked his Mark III Wolf into high gear, taking a running jump into the ranks of the beasts, knocking several of them to the dirt as he landed. His sword sliced two of the creatures before him in half in one vicious swing. The Wolf’s servos strained as he pushed them to their limits, ducking a hairy fist as it came at his head. Cutting the beast who threw the swing’s legs from underneath it, he watched the beast begin to fall as he spun around to engage three more of them. Already warning lights blinked on his display, urging him to go easier on the Wolf’s systems, but he didn’t have an option. The Mark III suits lacked the heavy armor of their counterparts and a single, powerful blow to the right spot could cost him his life.
    PFC Maberry lopped off the head of the closest beast as it reached for him. Its body staggered about, hands clutching upwards at the spray of blood where its skull had once been. Maberry met the next two beasts head-on. His sword flashed, cutting a hand that grabbed him off the arm it was attached to. The beast jerked back its bloody stump and tried to run from him, crashing into those coming up behind it. Beckham drew back his other hand to deliver a bone-shattering