Gears of War

by Jason M. Hough

  Because in that glowing, golden cloud they were on equal footing.

  Good, Gabe thought, and he rushed toward the enemy.

  14: NEVER-ENDING SUNSET

  In the Imulsion cloud, visibility dropped to twenty feet or less.

  Gabe, sure he’d been the first in and thus carrying no doubt that only the enemy would be in front of him, rushed the first human shape he saw. He had his Lancer’s bayonet buried all the way to the poor bastard’s gut before he even saw the man’s surprised eyes behind the fogged-up cover of his gas mask.

  Gabe yanked the blade free, tearing the mask off even as the Gorasni slumped over, gurgling as he hit the dirt. He wanted nothing more than to put that mask on, as his lungs already burned from the acrid air.

  Before Gabe could pull the mask on, though, something swung at his head. He ducked and rolled, twisting as he came back to his feet and lunging with his Lancer. The guerilla before him shifted to avoid the jab, then slashed with his machete. Must have run out of ammo, Gabe thought, as he sidestepped the blade, aimed, and fired from the hip into the man’s abdomen. The poor bastard’s guts blew out of his lower back and sprayed across a fern.

  He crumpled. Gabe moved on. He’d been in the cloud barely ten seconds and already he felt the Imulsion sting in his lungs and eyes. Worse, he’d lost the others. Blair was nowhere to be seen, or any other Gear for that matter.

  Despite the harsh dose of reality she’d given him, Gabe couldn’t help himself. He tried once more, coughing as he spoke. “Wyatt, report. What is your status?”

  Silence answered him.

  “Sorotki, do you read me?”

  This time he did get a reply, though it was distant and punctuated by hisses of static. “—leaking fuel. Need to turn around and try to make Vectes.”

  Gabe grimaced. That was not what he’d hoped to hear. “Did you save a hunter?”

  “One torp left, sir, but it doesn’t matter. Firing linkage is toast. I can’t help you.”

  Gabe took a breath, and let it out. “How many combat missions have you flown, Sorotki?”

  A hesitation. “One,” he replied. “This one.”

  Gabe ran a hand down his face. He couldn’t do it. How could he ask someone so young to do this? There was no choice, though.

  “Well, Sorotki, you’ve got a chance here to make yourself into a legend. How’s that sound?”

  “To be honest,” he replied, a nervous laugh under his words, “I’d rather be back in Vectes with a glass of beer.”

  “We all would, son.” Gabe smiled. “But we’ve got a job to do.”

  “I’m not sure what I can do.”

  Gabe told Sorotki the plan.

  Then he waited. And waited.

  After a pause, from shock or simply an inability to transmit, the pilot finally replied.

  “You’re insane,” he said.

  “I know, Sorotki. But it’s our only chance. Will you do it—”

  A UIR soldier came howling out of the haze and tackled him. A solid takedown, driving him into the sandy muck and forcing the wind from his lungs. Gabe used the momentum, though, and kicked upward as they landed, vaulting her over him and sending her cartwheeling into the oblivion of the cloud. She vanished, lips curled back in a snarl as she went.

  Rolling onto his stomach, Gabe pushed to stand up, brandishing the bayonet on his Lancer, ready for all comers—but no one came. He took a tentative step toward where the woman had just disappeared, and realized he had no idea which way that had been. In the process of being tackled, then rolling over and standing, he’d become disoriented.

  “Sorotki?” Gabe tried. “Please confirm your orders.”

  Nothing.

  “Wyatt?! Blair!?”

  Still nothing. He gave up. Interference, he told himself. The alternative explanation was too terrible to contemplate.

  “Blair!?” he tried again, shouting this time.

  “Here!”

  But the word seemed to come from everywhere. At least she was still alive.

  He had to find her. Warn her in case Sorotki had the fuel and the guts to do what Gabe had asked. Gabe moved north, farther up Gatka Ridge. Half a mile distant the massive spire loomed, lit from the glow of Imulsion and fire from below like some demonic fang out of anyone’s worst nightmare.

  Gabe coughed as he jogged. The luminescent golden haze swirled, completely enveloping him. It reeked like a blend of sulfur and gasoline, and made his throat itch. He’d heard stories—horrible stories—of the effects Imulsion had on those who worked around it for long periods. But those people only got the occasional whiff of the stuff. This was like being in a damned steam bath. He had to do something about it. Casting about, Gabe spotted a fallen enemy nearby and took the gas mask from him. He pulled it on, and tightened the strap.

  Fighting raged all around him. Grunts and screams, sporadic gunfire, and beneath it all the moaning agony of the wounded. Spot fires raged in the trees, casting flickering shadows in the choking haze.

  He started forward, jogging, glad of the relief the mask provided. Already the burning sensation in his lungs had abated.

  A screech behind him. Gabe tried to turn, but too late. The snarling Gorasni woman from before came flying out of the trees and tackled him again, this time by crashing into his upper back and throwing her arms around his neck. Her hands clawed at his neck and face, tearing the gas mask away. Gabe’s feet, in soft sand, were thrown out from under him. He went down face first into the fine powdery stuff, his body driven in by her weight and the force of her assault.

  Sand filled his mouth and nose. His eyes immediately began to sting again from the aerosolized Imulsion in the air all around him.

  Something punched his side. Once, twice, and then a third time. She was stabbing him, he realized, but the tip of her blade kept finding armor. It was only a matter of time before the blade would find a gap, though, so he did the only thing he could think to do. His Snub pistol was still in its holster. Gabe yanked it free and twisted his arm around as if about to shoot himself in the head. But he angled his hand back just a bit farther than that.

  The woman saw the gun, swung her machete up and around.

  Gabe fired.

  There came a strange snapping noise, and for a second neither of them moved. Gabe twisted around and saw her outstretched hand, the blade still in it. Only, half the blade was gone. She’d tried to block his shot with it, a move of pure instinct that might have worked if she’d been holding a block of carbon weave or pure steel. The blade had done nothing at all to stop the bullet. It had gone right through, shattered her gas mask next, then bored into her left eye socket.

  She toppled sideways.

  Gabe pushed himself up from the sand, coughing out wads of the gritty stuff. It clung to his teeth and coated his throat. He needed water, but had lost his canteen. The sand was, at least, preferable to the nauseating acrid haze of Imulsion.

  He glanced around for his gas mask, found it, then threw it into the trees after seeing the cracked casing. The Gorasni soldier’s was useless, too, after he’d put a round through it.

  Gabe supposed breathing some Imulsion was just about the least of his concerns right now, and gave up.

  “Squad leaders, report,” he said into the comm.

  Fighting raged across the island. If any of them heard him, they were too busy to reply.

  15: MEETING OF THE MINDS

  Gabe continued north, his mind racing.

  Sorotki had gone silent, never confirming Gabe’s order. Wyatt was MIA, or worse.

  From the sounds of battle raging across the island, there were a decent number of Gears still on their feet, but something about the tone of those skirmishes worried him. The intensity had dropped. Or maybe he’d just gotten too far from the action.

  Someone came rushing around the tree in front of Gabe and swung their Lancer at him.

  Lancer?

  Gabe ducked under the weapon, dove to one side, and held up a hand.

  “
Friendly, friendly!”

  Blair stared down at him. Her face was coated in dust and grime. Probably some blood, too, though he couldn’t tell if it was hers or the enemy’s. Certainly a lot of it dripped from the blade of her Lancer’s bayonet. A murderous insanity gleamed in her large eyes.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  “Me? Speak for yourself,” he said. “Tried to raise you, to raise anyone… but no one replied.”

  She reached out and helped him to his feet. Then she twisted him and studied the back of his armor.

  “Your comm is off, idiot.”

  “That’s Lieutenant Colonel Idiot, to you.”

  Blair punched his shoulder.

  “Must have been when that Gorasni was trying to carve my kidneys out with her machete,” he said. “No wonder everyone stopped replying.”

  Blair glanced around, suddenly alert. “Where’s this Gorasni now?”

  “Dead,” he replied.

  “Well, great,” she said. “We can marvel at your prowess later. Test your comm.”

  “Can you hear me?” he said, activating the mic.

  Blair shook her head. “Are you reading me?”

  Gabe could. He nodded. “Transmitter must be shot.”

  “Guess that puts me in charge!”

  “I suppose it does. Listen, we need to get everyone back. South side of the ridge. Now.”

  “Why?”

  “No time, just do it.” He didn’t know if Sorotki would come through, but if there was even the slightest chance…

  Blair was already off and running, back toward the center of Gatka Ridge. “LC located. His comm is down,” she said into her own radio. “All squads rally at the south end of Gatka Ridge. I repeat, south end!”

  Gabe was heartened to hear several affirmatives come back. Despite everything, his Gears weren’t defeated. Not yet anyway. He followed Blair. Or tried to. She’d rushed headlong into the yellowish glowing haze, quickly becoming a shadow. With no other option, Gabe moved in the direction she’d gone, stowing his Lancer in favor of his MX8 pistol in one hand and the machete in the other.

  He soon found himself weaving through a maze of boulders and smaller rocks that were scattered across the damp soil. Ferns had been uprooted by grenade blasts, and several trees were aflame. Weaving through the mess, he hoped against hope that he wouldn’t see the outstretched hand of a Gear sticking out from one of those fires.

  Thinking of the dead and fallen reminded him of Wyatt. He realized suddenly that he’d built a wall in his mind, ever since losing contact with his brother when the Corvas had targeted his beacon and unleashed a barrage of Hunter-class torpedoes on those ships. They’d missed their target, yes, but where had Wyatt been when they did? Swimming away? Back on his fishing boat amongst all those enemy ships?

  This wasn’t the time to think about it. Gabe gritted his teeth and quickly erected that mental wall again. Deep down, he knew the truth. Wyatt must be gone. He would have to accept that, but acceptance could come later. And grief, too. There was always time for grief. Too much, really.

  Fighting still raged around him, but it seemed to be dwindling. Somewhere behind him the guns of the enemy frigates started firing again, but their targets were distant, as he heard no explosions or even the whine of their shells sailing overhead. Whatever they were shooting at, it wasn’t on Gatka Ridge, or anywhere else on the island. Gabe had an idea what that might mean, but didn’t want to get his hopes up.

  Movement on his right, from the direction of the spire.

  “Blair?”

  No, he realized. Not Blair.

  A group of UIR foot soldiers, equipped with Gnashers and wearing gas masks. They must have realized their enemies were moving toward the southern end of the ridge, and from the way they were running it was clear they thought the rout was on. These soldiers were bloodthirsty, almost gleeful, as they stormed toward their fleeing foe.

  Then they saw Gabe. A lieutenant, and all alone.

  He couldn’t see their faces due to the masks, but Gabe knew that each of them was grinning from ear to ear at their luck.

  C’mon Sorotki, Gabe thought, if you’re going to come through for me, do it now, before they all come out of their barricades and hunt us down.

  He knew instantly that he needed to get in close, or those shotguns would tear him to shreds. So Gabe rushed straight toward the enemy at a full sprint. Rammed his shoulder into the lead guerilla, powering through the man and slicing the one behind him across the jaw with the blade of his machete, cutting the gas mask in two in the process. The man screamed and twisted as he fell, pulling Gabe’s machete away. He landed atop his comrade whom Gabe had driven to the dirt with his shoulder.

  Stopping meant death, so Gabe forgot about the blade and kept running. The next soldier was bringing his gun up, firing before he really knew what was happening. The shot slapped into the dirt between them, and before the man could adjust his aim and get another off, Gabe had lifted his MX8 and shot him in the throat.

  The fourth was ready, though. He dropped to the ground as Gabe fired, sliding into Gabe’s ankle and sending him sprawling. Shit, he’s fast! Gabe tumbled in the mud. The dirt tasted of ash and Imulsion, just about the worst combination he could imagine.

  Coming to his feet unsteadily, Gabe turned in time to see this last enemy approach.

  “Well, well,” the man said in a thickly accented voice, pulling down his gas mask so that it rested around his neck.

  “You again,” Gabe replied. It was the bald officer he’d seen twice before. “Thought maybe my sniper got you on that frigate.”

  “And I thought you’d been at the helm of the fishing boat.” He spat, then grinned. It was a smile Gabe did not return. Instead, he swung his MX8 Snub up and fired. But as he squeezed the trigger his opponent knocked the gun from his hand with a sharp crack across his wrist with the heavy barrel casing of a Booshka grenade launcher, wielded like a club. Gabe’s pistol still fired, but the shot went wide and the weapon clattered off a nearby boulder. It landed in the mud, ten feet away.

  He was weaponless now, and the other man knew it.

  “Nice trick, by the way,” the enemy said as he circled Gabe, savoring the moment. “Using those fishing boats. Would have worked, too, except for one mistake.”

  “What mistake was that?”

  “Expecting me to believe that the COG would sit on their hands for twenty hours when there was an Imulsion source to be won.” He grinned, baring his teeth. With a sudden jab, too quick for Gabe to dodge, he lashed out with the Booshka, hitting Gabe just below the sternum and driving him to a knee. The blow left him gasping, torturing his already stinging lungs.

  From behind Gabe came the sound of anti-aircraft guns roaring at the sky.

  The enemy went on, gloating now. “The COG is too desperate for Imulsion to wait so long. So I ignored Ciprian’s message. And here you are, a feeble force that’s already failed. The Imulsion is ours, Gear. The war will be ours, too—”

  A sudden roar filled the air. The howling engine of Sorotki’s Corva, diving out of the sky from the south, moving at full speed, flak exploding all around it. And behind it, just a few hundred feet above, the tiny square of a parachute.

  The kid had followed orders after all.

  The UIR officer turned to see what was going on. Gabe would have pressed this advantage, but the best he could manage was to find his footing again. He stood swaying, watching the scene before him unfold as the chopper roared down.

  The Corva slammed into a spot just above the middle of the four-hundred-foot-tall spire, a place where the rock narrowed and was riddled with several ancient fractures. A place that Davis had told Gabe about when she’d climbed to her sniper roost what seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Sorotki’s aim could not have been better.

  The impact detonated the one remaining Hunter-class torpedo aboard, as well as what little fuel the aircraft still carried. The result was a massive fireball. The rock beneath Gab
e shook as the whole island reverberated from the blast.

  But this explosion was nothing compared to what followed. Gabe’s gambit had worked.

  He watched in fascination and horror as the massive rock feature cracked in half, and the top two hundred feet began to tilt like a tree being felled for lumber. Only instead of a log of wood, this was a few thousand tons of rock.

  The massive chunk of stone split in half as it fell, then seemed to shatter into a hundred boulders each the size of a large home, but that did nothing to change the result. Knifespire smashed into the ground, not just in front of the Cathedral, but in a line stretching due south for almost seventy yards. It shook the earth as if the planet were tearing itself apart, pulverizing anything beneath it. The UIR soldiers, their guns and equipment, but most of all the cave that held the Imulsion source.

  “No…” Gabe’s opponent whispered. He was rooted in place, watching helplessly as his prize was buried.

  It was then that the shrapnel began to rain down. Gabe and his opponent both dove for cover as chunks of smoldering rock the size of bricks began to hammer into the ridge all around them. Some larger chunks hit the ground and exploded, or smashed into trees, snapping them like twigs.

  A rush of air roared out from under the falling rock and, as Gabe had also hoped, the cloud of Imulsion gas clinging to the ground was thrust off Gatka Ridge and out over the sea, where it quickly started to dissipate.

  Blair was saying something in Gabe’s ear, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted now. The gist was clear enough: Gatka Ridge was clear, and much of the enemy force had been pulverized by the fallen mountain. She was ordering the Gears to advance.

  Gabe smiled. Couldn’t help it.

  “And that’s your mistake, Gorasni,” he said. “Your leaders, and mine, might be happy to fight over Imulsion, but me? Personally, I can’t stand the stuff.”