Galaxy's Edge: Savage Wars

by Jason Anspach

  She wasn’t hit. His armor diagnostics could tell exactly who’d been wounded. But she looked pretty shaken.

  Not many people survived close contact with the Savages. She seemed to have a more acute awareness of that fact than most.

  She nodded quickly. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

  Rechs handed her the device they’d come for. Its clamshell carrying case was marked with New Vega’s highest security warnings. “Here.”

  She smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile. It had cost her too much to finally hold the object that she’d been sent for. Twenty-three lives. Five nightmare weeks she’d probably never forget. Her command and ship.

  Nor would hers be the last such price to be paid in the coming centuries-long war against the Savages.

  Not by a long shot.

  53

  Captain de Macha was slowing the team down. Even with another dose of Chill—which seemed to make him incredibly happy—he was still only able to barely limp along. They didn’t encounter more Savages, but as they worked their way back through the ruined ship, Martin and Rechs again took point, clearing the way in case the Savages had set some kind of ambush for their egress.

  There was none of that either.

  “Not a big fan of going back the same way we came in, sir,” said the sergeant major when they made it back to the elevator to take them up level.

  Rechs had removed his helmet and was drinking water. It seemed even quieter than before down here—as though some show had gone on hours ago, and now everything had faded into the post-chaos silence that followed such major events. “Know a better way out?”

  “It’s oh three hundred,” said Davis. “And this is the fastest way out.”

  Rechs knew time was short. He also knew that he had three wounded, and they were running low on charge packs. That was always the case. You never brought enough even when you thought you had. He’d alleviated part of that by redistributing what packs they had and issuing scavenged Savage weapons. Many of them now carried their pulse rifles as well as matte-black assault rifles complete with integrated suppressor system and a bunch of 5.56 ammo. Rounds that he hadn’t seen in general usage since Earth, and seldom after.

  The bigger problem was a more basic one: the team was tired. Rechs could see it in the way they walked. They had been up too long and fought too much, and a crushing fatigue had settled over the group.

  Rechs turned to Davis. “Do you know of a faster way back to the LZ?”

  The captain bit her lip pensively, the second time Rechs had seen her do so. “Outside the ship, in the tunnel complex, there’s subway access for the commuters who worked under Hilltop. Private line, but ultimately it has access to the main lines, and those crisscross just about everywhere under the city. We could get close to the stadium.”

  It was a way out. Not the same way they’d come in. Potentially faster than moving on foot above ground.

  They could divide up. Rechs and them. He’d go back to the APC and take it down the main tunnel right up to the Savage Nest. Drive in and det. And the APC was rated to handle the effects of a strike, at least for a time. He could put some distance between him and the blast, and let the stars fall wherever they chose to shine.

  Rechs told them the plan a split second after deciding. “We’re splitting up. Davis, you lead the team down into those subway tunnels and make straight for the LZ. I’m driving the APC into the Savage hulk alone.”

  “No dice, sir,” said the sergeant major plainly. Sweat was coming down his face; he hadn’t done a shot of Chill since he’d been hit.

  “Yeah,” said Greenhill, who’d almost just been thrown to his death. “We in it to win it. Together. Brother and sister, Colonel.”

  De Macha laughed and waved it all off with a broad and generous sweep of his hand, never mind the gunshot wound in his thigh. He was a true Espanian Cavalier. “This, my friend… this is just a small scratch. I’m good to go, as the sergeant major says.” He laughed. “I still have both my hands. Stick a knife in my teeth. I’m… how does UW say it… highly motivated.”

  “We say that on Spilursa too,” said Martin. “But we came from the old Earth—a long time ago. And yeah… I’m in it to win it, sir. We go all the way together.”

  All the way.

  Long time since you heard that, thought Rechs. And long ago. In another life not this one.

  He looked to the others. The question plain. The decision theirs.

  The Wild Man said nothing, but his coal-dark eyes urged that this killing go on forever and never end.

  Makaffie was in too. “This is some weird, wild stuff… uh, sir. I’d like to just get real high and see how it all comes out,” he said. He looked like a real killer now with a bando of spare charge packs, magazines, a pulse rifle on his hip, a blaster pistol tucked in his waistband, and a Savage assault rifle slung over his shoulder. And of course he was still shirtless and dirty.

  “I got what I came for, Tyrus Rechs,” said Captain Davis. “The only way U-Dub would be happier with me now is if I arrested you. Or shot you. They’d pin more medals than I have room for on my navy blues. But I said I’d see this out with you. And I’ll take you there. So…”

  No one said anything.

  “There’s still the subway after we drop the nuke,” said Makaffie.

  It was a chance to see the other side of all this. To maybe make the LZ in time to see the trigger-nuke go off from orbit. To see New Vega destroyed. A loss… but who really cared? The Savages had already taken the world. The survivors, if you could still call them that, were stored in bubble freeze. Doomed. Eventually—in the days, weeks, and years to come—to be unthawed…. and consumed.

  Calories.

  “Then let’s get going,” said Rechs.

  54

  They returned to the APC via the same route that had taken them into the old starship, always expecting a textbook ambush that never came. The hunters, assuming there were more of them, had apparently gone back to their business. The stealth-kitted Savages they had repulsed either hadn’t reported contact or were off looking in another section of the massive complex. Or maybe they were still down in the ship.

  And Makaffie was careful to keep his voice down.

  To Captain de Macha’s credit, he complained little, even though he was covered in a sheen of sweat by the time they made it back to the vehicle. “Sometimes when there is nothing left to do but fight…” he gasped as they loaded back in, “then of course… you must fight.” But his pain-filled eyes showed that that fight was an excruciating one.

  In the APC they were able to top off on charge packs and reload. De Macha was moved inside to the gunner’s position, Davis drove, and the rest rode up top. If they had to dismount to clear obstacles or enemies, they would do so under cover of the APC’s gun. The APC had a laser-sweep sensor system to augment local radar plus low-light imaging for driving, but for everyone else, it was night vision unless they were riding inside the red-lit interior.

  Davis called out the route over the comm as they drove.

  “Entering main access tunnel now.”

  They passed gaping entrances into broad storage chambers and side roads that climbed in spirals or twisted down into the lower levels. Signs indicating directions, warnings, and locations passed by, but all of them were meaningless now. According to Davis, they were looking for “Access Ramp Seven.”

  “Never woulda guessed all this was under that hill we was up dyin’ on yesterday,” Andres sighed into the comm.

  “Should be just ahead,” said Davis, slowing.

  “Contact,” said Martin, who was hanging off the passenger side. The man’s vision was sharp, thought Rechs.

  Sure enough, just ahead was a wedge patrol of Savage marines like the ones they’d fought on the surface. Faceless and decked out in combat armor.

  “Looks like Original Recipe v
ersion,” said Sergeant Major Andres. “Not these new boys been showin’ up lately. Light ’em up, sir?”

  Davis brought the low flat APC to a halt after turning it slightly to the right to provide better cover. The men on top moved around to the side, putting the APC between them and the enemy.

  “Light ’em up,” ordered Rechs.

  De Macha unleashed a fearful barrage of pulse fire from the deadly twin-barreled gun atop the APC. The Savage patrol was cut to pieces within seconds. The barrels fell silent in the darkness of the tunnel a moment later.

  “Proceed,” said Rechs once the kills had been confirmed.

  A few hundred meters on, Captain Davis found the ramp leading to the desired sub-level. It was narrow, the APC spilling out into the opposite lane as they moved farther in the darkness.

  A lone overhead light flickered on and off halfway along the ramp. The effect was more unsettling than comforting. Its very existence posed a question that couldn’t be answered. Why was it on when everything else was dark?

  The path curved, and became almost too narrow because of the vehicle’s length, but finally the APC emerged onto a wide subterranean road. The walls here were finished in pristine gray concrete, and all the lights down here were on.

  “How come these lights are on?” asked Greenhill.

  “Separate generators?” offered Makaffie.

  There was no time to consider further.

  The APC had just started down this new tunnel when one wall dropped away, revealing a sheer drop with no guard rail, filled with the same bubble storage hives. Thousands of them. At least.

  And then Sergeant Major Andres swore. “Savvies!”

  From down the road, they were covering in narrow alcoves on the wall opposite the hives. Two ambush teams had already fired man-portable anti-armor rounds. Both rockets jerked up and down as they streaked down the roadway toward the APC.

  De Macha slammed his hand down on the APC’s IR distracting flares, and they erupted from both front and rear of the APC and shot to the top of the tunnel, trailing burning phosphorous and smoke.

  It was the right move to avoid being hit by smart missiles. Almost an instinctual move for the veteran tanker. But that burning phosphorous presented a serious problem for the men outside.

  “Move for cover!” shouted Rechs over the comm. “Don’t let that stuff fall on you!”

  Rechs had seen that happen before. Seen the way it just burned and burned. Like it was trying to dig down to the very soul of the man the bright shining embers latched on to. And then burn all the way through to the other side.

  Rechs didn’t know whether Captain Davis heard him or not, but she floored it, sending the APC surging toward the Savages and taking the men out of danger of falling phosphorous before any of them had the opportunity to get off. Now he concentrated on hanging on to avoid being thrown.

  “Going through!” shouted Davis over the comm. Half a second later the APC reached the far end of the bubble storage devices on the left, and once more the tunnel was enclosed on both sides. Two of the Savages ahead ran right out into the middle of the road, firing weapons on full auto. The APC smashed into one, crushing it beneath the forward right ceramic ball, and clipped the other viciously.

  The other Savages stayed in their alcoves as they sprayed automatic gunfire wildly. Rounds struck the APC close enough that Rechs had to drop down behind its bulk to avoid getting hit. There was no opportunity to fire back. It required everything of those on the outside to merely hold on as they passed rapidly through the shooting gallery.

  But the turret controlled by de Macha did its part. The Espanian captain raked the firing Savages, the mounted gun doling out blistering death.

  And then the vehicle was past the ambush. For that’s what it had to have been: an ambush. The Savages had known they were coming.

  “Holy shit,” panted Greenhill. “Holy shit.”

  “Did we lose anybody?” asked Andres. “Anybody fall off?”

  “We’re good,” Rechs said, his HUD accounting for the life signs of each man on the team. Miraculously, they had all survived the vicious gauntlet they’d just run.

  “Holy shit,” Greenhill said again.

  “More ahead!” shouted Davis.

  Another open gallery lay ahead, off to the left. And alcoves to the right.

  Rechs wondered at the thought of two such successive ambushes. Surely the Savages weren’t expecting something big enough and strong enough to punch through even the first one. Maybe it hadn’t been an ambush after all. Maybe that had been an outer perimeter guard for what was happening here. Important work. The work of calories.

  Floating in the middle of this second gallery was a large dirigible—an airship—made of a Mylar-like material, suspended underneath what looked like a field hospital. Utility trucks, probably commandeered from the New Vegans, were lined up and offloading racks of sedated survivors. Each rack was lined with cages holding the survivors—at least twenty per. They were being loaded onto a conveyor belt that was attached to the floating dirigible.

  Giant mechanical mandibles, like something from a child’s nightmare of monstrous insects, were working on storage bubbles on the far side of the gallery. Loading sedated humans into the packing chambers within the bubbles.

  “Hold your fire!” shouted the sergeant major, sounding exasperated. “We got survivors!”

  Savage marines disobeyed the sergeant major’s orders and kept shooting from behind the cover of the delivery trucks.

  “Do we help ’em?” asked de Macha, smiling at the sergeant major’s gallows humor in the face of the enemy. Bullets plinked against the APC’s outer hull.

  The question required a split-second decision as Davis drove the APC at maximum speed, seeking to angle the vehicle so it took fire away from its outer riders, who were hanging on for dear life on the narrow sideboards.

  “Negative,” said Rechs over the comm, his voice low and gravelly. “Keep moving. Stay on mission.”

  A silence fell over the comm as the APC sped forward.

  Nobody liked what they had to do.

  Nobody liked any of it.

  55

  The Savages had jackknifed a semi to block their escape a few miles ahead. Or maybe it had simply been left there weeks before when some panicked driver turned hard on the wheel in a desperate attempt to get away from the Savage threat. However it got there, they weren’t going to be able to drive through it. Davis applied all four brakes at once and the APC fishtailed across the subterranean road before coming to a halt.

  “Sir,” said Sergeant Major Andres, “Savvies have cut us off ahead. Count about twenty covering. They just waitin’ for range and exposure.”

  “Sensors are picking up more Savages closing from the rear,” de Macha announced from inside the APC. “Maybe from that last gallery or one of the other entrances—I don’t know. But they’re moving.”

  Rechs jumped down from the vehicle. “Martin, Greenhill, on me. Use the APC’s gun to keep them off our backs while we clear the ones ahead.”

  The Wild Man went prone on top of the APC, deployed a small tripod, and fired his behemoth rifle at the distant Savages covering behind the semi. He immediately dropped two of the exposed marines and forced the rest behind the tractor trailer’s bulk. He scanned for glimpses of legs in the thin space beneath the trailer, then blew out a Savage at the shin and finished it off with a rapid follow-up shot the moment the marine hit the ground.

  “Nice work,” said Rechs. Because it was nice work. Some of the best shooting he’d seen in his years on the battlefield.

  The other men quickly dismounted. Above their heads, the twin-barreled turret began to fire to the rear. It sent long bursts to keep the enemy pinned. Or at least to slow them down. Charge for the turret gun wasn’t a problem; as long as the vehicle had power, the gun would continue to operate. Makaffie a
ssisted, firing short controlled bursts at closer targets beneath the turret’s current range.

  Rechs, Martin, and Greenhill fanned out into a wedge and approached the semi rapidly, covered by the Wild Man’s impressive shots. Along the left wall was yet another gallery full of storage bubbles, all of them filled. Thousands of people floating in suspended amber waited for a nightmare in one of their tomorrows. Not yet in a deep freeze. Waiting to become… calories.

  Rechs made a knife-edge gesture with his gauntlet for both Martin and Greenhill to sweep left. Then he bumped the jets on his armor and shot toward the right side of the semi. As he neared the rear lift gate, he opened fire.

  He kept the hand cannon on auto fire and ran it across all the Savages on that side, hitting several, blowing off limbs and turning heads to gray mists of industrial fluid, brain, and helmet fragments. Return fire connected with his armor, bounced, and flung itself away into the tunnel dark. The blows were like jackhammer shots that forced Rechs to cover back by the trailer’s taillights. As tires blew and refilled with stabilizing emergency foam, he continued to the opposite side of the trailer, wanting to force any pursuing Savages out into the open.

  He peeked back around the corner and saw the head of a pursuing Savage marine turn to mist. The Wild Man had landed a perfect shot at range on the newly exposed Savages.

  A nasty shot pegged Rechs hard in the chest plate and he ducked back into cover and tried to catch his breath, sinking to a seated position. His armor plating sported a new dent and was still smoking. It would stand up to a lot, but it couldn’t hold up against everything.

  Martin and Greenhill started murdering the Savages from the other side almost the moment Rechs was hit, overrunning the sole Savage guarding the other marines’ flanks before lighting up the rest of the exposed enemy. Greenhill unloaded with everything the heavy assault rifle could spit out, and Martin followed, cleaning up strays, double-tapping any Savages who hadn’t yet dropped.

  “Clear!” called Greenhill once the last Savage was down.