“Roger that,” said Freya.
*****
Eric turned, firing a burst from each of his guns into a golem that was almost on top of him. Two more were advancing close behind. They trained their weapons on Eric, and Eric ran toward them, cutting them down one after the other.
“Haeric!” cried Eric. There was no response.
“Eric!” shouted Ragnald in his ear. “What in Hel are you doing?” A roar from behind him indicated Varinga was landing.
“Keep going!” Eric commanded. “I’ve got to help Haeric!”
A rain of bullets hammered the front of his suit and helmet as half a dozen golems opened fire on him. Giving his overheated guns a rest, Eric ran directly at the machines, his arms outstretched. The golems tried to get out of the way, but Eric moved too quickly. Each of the suit’s fists caught a golem in the midsection, picking them right off their feet and hurling them into the pair behind them. This pair stumbled and fell into the next pair. Eric laughed. They wouldn’t be down for long, but it was satisfying to take advantage of the machines’ own penchant for precision. As the Norsemen knew well, sometimes chaos was a better strategy.
He’d reached the end of the golem contingent; the first of the trolls was just around the next bend. He spotted Haeric’s suit, lying still on the ground, and ran to it. The armor was dented and ruptured in several places. Kneeling over the suit, though, he saw that his son was alive and apparently unhurt. Haeric had wisely remained in his suit rather than get out and be torn apart by a hail of bullets. “Get out of the suit, Haeric,” Eric ordered. “Hurry!”
Some of the golems behind him had gained their feet and were pelting his suit with bullets again. Meanwhile, the first of the trolls had nearly reached the bend just ahead. Haeric tried to get the suit’s chest plate open, but it was jammed. Eric tore it off. “There’s no time, Father,” Haeric said. “Take the detonator.”
“You hold onto it,” Eric said. He helped his son out of the suit and then wrapped the mech suit’s right forearm around Haeric’s waist. Haeric would soon get very cold without the suit’s built-in heating, but the mask he still wore would at least protect him from the poisonous air.
Eric made a half-pivot to his left, shielding his son from the golems’ guns, and swept across their midsections with his left-hand machinegun. He tore three of them to pieces before his gun jammed. “Blast it!” he growled, sidestepping toward the golems. Warnings flashed that his armor had been breached, and he smelled acrid smoke. He grabbed one of the golems by its spindly neck and hurled it into another, causing them both to crash into the canyon wall and then fall to the ground in a heap of twisted, smoking metal. The last one backed away as it continued to fire its gun into Eric’s left knee joint. Eric brought his fist down on the thing’s head, shattering it. The machine crumpled to the ground.
Out of the corner of his right eye, Eric saw the first of the trolls coming around the bend. He turned away, still holding Haeric, and ran toward the valley. Any thought of the detonator or the trap had left his mind; he could think only of getting his son to safety.
He didn’t get far: the golem’s assault on his knee had had its intended effect. The joint froze as he put weight on it and he nearly fell. Regaining his balance, he stepped with his right leg and then swung the suit to the right to pick his left foot off the ground, swiveled the hip joint, and then stepped again with his right. Like a man with one leg in a cast, he hobbled along the canyon floor, following the contour of the western wall to keep some cover between them and the army of trolls.
Soon, though, the canyon straightened out again, leaving them no place to hide. They flattened themselves against the western wall, trying to remain out of sight as long as possible. Eric was sweating and shaking from the exertion required to move the suit in such an unnatural way. He set his son down before him. “If you run,” he gasped, “you can still make it.”
“Wh-wh-what about y-you?” Haeric asked, hugging himself and shivering uncontrollably in the frigid air.
“Suit… failing. No time to… get out. Go!”
“Sh-sh-should I…?” Haeric asked, holding up the detonator. The first of the trolls were past the boulder now; it was as good a time as any to spring the trap.
“Do it,” said Eric.
Haeric flipped the safety catch and then hit the button. Nothing happened.
“Blast!” Eric growled. “We’re too far away.”
The rhythmic thumping of the trolls’ footsteps grew closer. Eric’s display had gone dark, but he knew the machines were almost on them.
Haeric eyed the far wall of the canyon. “I c-c-can do it, Father.”
“Not… without a suit.”
“I’m fast. They won’t hit me.”
Pride swelled in Eric’s chest. How brave Haeric was! He had to know that he wasn’t fast enough to dodge the trolls’ guns. No one was. But he was willing to try anyway.
“No,” Eric said. “It’s impossible. Flee while you can. There is no shame in running from enemies such as these.”
“I c-can do it,” Haeric insisted. “If you h-help me.”
The trolls were so close now that Eric could feel the ground shake with their steps, even through the suit. “All right,” he said. “Stay behind me.” At least he wouldn’t have to see his son die before he fell as well.
Chapter Fourteen
“A
s the marines corralled the last of the miners onto the ship, Freya stood on the valley floor, her eyes on the opening of the narrow canyon to the north. She heard gunfire and explosions. “Where are the Norsemen?” Freya asked the marine who seemed to be in charge. The comm device the Truscans had given her translated for her.
“The fellows in the fancy suits?” the sergeant said. “They’re buying us some time.”
“Are there more marines?”
“Not anymore,” said the sergeant.
“Is everyone aboard, Freya?” asked Commander Dornen on her comm. “We’re running out of time.”
“Civilians are aboard,” said Freya. “Marines are boarding now. Eric’s men are going to need a little more time.”
“How much?”
Freya turned to the sergeant, who had heard Dornen over her comm. He shrugged. “Not long. We rigged a trap for the machines a few days ago. An explosive charge under a big boulder. Your Norsemen were going to try to blow it and trap the machines on the other side.”
“How will we know if it worked?”
“In a few minutes, I expect to see the Norsemen running like hell in this direction. If they don’t have forty KW23s on their tail, then it worked.”
“Freya?” said Dornen, his voice urgent. “How long?”
“A few minutes,” said Freya.
“How many is a few?”
The sergeant shrugged again.
“Three minutes,” Freya said. “Does Varinga have any weapons that are effective against the machines?”
“Not that we can use on the ground. Tell me the Norsemen aren’t going to lead those KW23s right to us.”
“My understanding,” said Freya, “is that they’re trying really hard not to.”
“Hell,” said Dornen. “I can give you two minutes.”
*****
Eric pivoted and stepped out from behind the rock—directly in front of two trolls. They leveled their guns at him, and he lurched forward, nearly falling into the one on the right. Now too close to get its side-mounted guns pointed at him, the machine struggled to step backwards on the rough terrain. The troll’s helplessness lasted only a split second, but Eric made use of it, slamming his armored fist into the thing’s chest. Metal buckled and tore, and the troll staggered backwards, firing its huge guns wildly. Eric ducked under the guns and punched the machine again, this time in the torso just under its left arm. The troll spun to the right, its guns ripping into its comrade. The second troll fired back at the haywire machine until it exploded in a burst of torn metal and fire.
While those two were occupied
, Eric limped forward, dragging the damaged leg behind him. Five more trolls advanced on him; so far they hadn’t fired, probably because their two comrades were in the line of fire, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off them to check on his son. “Drones, attack!” Eric commanded. The hrafnlingr converged in an instant and then surged as one toward the trolls. The drones weren’t meant to be an offensive weapon; their “attack” consisted of buzzing around the enemy, emitting blinding strobes of light, accompanied by focused bursts of sound, heat and radio waves intended to confuse their sensors.
It was enough. Eric staggered sideways out of the trolls’ path, and the trolls trudged forward, momentarily blinded. The effect wouldn’t last: within a few seconds, the trolls’ sensors would recalibrate, like eyes adjusting to darkness. Eric, half-blinded, dragged himself forward in the hobbled suit. Haeric came along his right side, smartly keeping his father between him and the trolls. Haeric was frantically pushing the detonator button, but still nothing happened. The boulder was now less than fifty feet away. How long ago had the marines set this trap? Had the enemy disarmed it? Had the wires corroded? Or was Haeric still too far away?
The bulk of the enemy force was hidden behind another bend, but if they pressed on, they would be fully exposed. At any moment, the trolls would regain their senses and train their guns on them, and Eric couldn’t shield his son from every possible angle of attack. Eric pivoted left, preparing himself for a final, futile onslaught against the trolls.
Several bursts of heavy machinegun fire came from his left, and Eric turned to see that Ragnald and Gulbrand had disobeyed his order to retreat once again. Crouching behind boulders, they rained bullets on the trolls, doing little damage but drawing their attention. A half-dozen more men were on their way. The hrafnlingr dropped to the ground, their energy expended, and the trolls opened fire on the Norsemen. Eric stood stock still, for the moment having escaped the machines’ attention through some fluke of fate or oversight in their programming. Perhaps they’d appraised the condition of his suit and concluded he wasn’t a threat. They were probably right. The valor—or foolhardiness—of his friends was in vain: if he took a single step, the machines would finish him off, and his son along with him. The rest of the Norsemen took cover where they could find it, and joined Gulbrand and Ragnald in the firefight.
“Father!” shouted Haeric from behind him, his voice barely audible over the near-deafening roar of machineguns. Eric turned to see Haeric standing against the cliff wall, pointing upward. His son had found a path up the wall. They didn’t need to go forward: Haeric could go up! The route he’d identified would take him to a ledge only twenty feet from the boulder that was rigged to fall. More importantly, there was no rock between the ledge and the location of the bomb—assuming it was still in place. If the detonator didn’t work from there, it wouldn’t work anywhere.
“Go!” said Eric. As his son started up the wall, Eric moved slowly toward him, arms raised to give him as much cover as possible. The ground sloped upward toward the wall, so Eric could better protect his son by moving away from the trolls. As the Norsemen continued to trade fire with the trolls, Eric waited for the enemy to turn their fire on him. For the moment, though, it didn’t come. One troll fell, and then another. Haeric was now almost halfway to the ledge and still climbing. For all Eric knew, he was already close enough to trigger the bomb, but Haeric needed both hands free to climb; he’d slid the detonator into a pocket. Even from this distance, Eric could see how badly his son was shivering in the harsh cold. His hands had to be half-frozen, even through his gloves. It would be a difficult climb, even if he weren’t attempting it in the middle of a firefight.
A man behind Gulbrand fell with a scream as a stream of bullets penetrated his armor. Eric took another step toward his son. He’d gone as far as he could in the damaged suit. Haeric pulled himself to the next handhold—and beyond the reach of Eric’s protection. Eric turned to face the trolls, who continued to ignore him, focusing their fire on the Norsemen to Eric’s left. Eric held his fire, not wanting to draw attention to Haeric. Undoubtedly the machines were aware of the man laboriously climbing the canyon wall, but had determined he was a low priority. For the moment, they were correct: miraculously, the Norsemen were holding their own against the machines.
Two more men soon fell, though, and many more machines were advancing to replace the others. Only the bottleneck created by the narrow opening and the smoking carcasses of the fallen trolls momentarily kept the rest of the machines at bay. Two of the trolls had already begun to shove the debris out of way; very soon the way would be clear and dozens more trolls would pour through the opening. Everything depended on Haeric reaching the ledge with the detonator.
Judging that Haeric was far enough up to avoid being hit by any machines targeting his father, Eric opened fire with his one functioning gun, trying to slow the progress of the trolls moving debris. Only two trolls remained standing past the location of the trap, and they were damaged and taking heavy fire. By now, the civilians and marines were probably aboard Varinga. Dornen wouldn’t keep his ship on the ground if there was a threat from the trolls, but if Haeric could trigger the bomb, it would buy him enough time to get the Norsemen aboard.
As the trolls in the gap shoved the last of the debris aside, a thundering boom echoed through the canyon, audible even over the constant machinegun fire. Looking up, Eric saw a shower of sand and gravel. The giant boulder pitched forward, slid a few inches, and then fell.
“Move!” shouted Eric. “Get back!” The men near the boulder turned and ran. Eric hopped twice on the suit’s one good leg, fell on his face, and continued to crawl. Glancing back, he saw a chunk of rock take out one of the nearby trolls, leaving only one standing on the near side of the gap. Those under the boulder tried to advance to avoid it, but they were too slow. The boulder came down with a crash, crushing the trolls underneath it and trapping those on the other side. As a dust cloud billowed toward them, the Norsemen farther from the boulder concentrated their fire on the last remaining troll, and it staggered and collapsed. Victory cries went up from the Norsemen.
“To the ship!” Eric commanded. “That bastard Dornen won’t wait long!” As the men began to make their way back toward the valley, Eric turned to call to his son, but the dust cloud made it difficult to see, and the infrared on his suit was no longer working. “Ragnald!” Eric called. “Do you see Haeric?”
Ragnald stopped and scanned the area. “No. Maybe—wait, Haeric!” He ran into the dust cloud.
“Is he there?” Eric cried. “Haeric!”
For some time, there was no response. The dust began to settle. From somewhere beyond the boulder, Eric heard explosions—trolls trying to blast the rock away. Then he saw Ragnald trudging out of the cloud, carrying something before him.
“Haeric!” Eric cried, lurching forward, dragging the broken leg behind him. “Is he shot?”
“I don’t think so,” Ragnald said. “I am sorry, Eric. I think his neck is broken. He must have fallen when the bomb went off.” Haeric’s body lay limply in the arms of Ragnald’s suit.
“No!” Eric shouted. “He knew what to do. He knew to get out of the way—” He broke off as more explosions went off on the other side of the boulder.
“Eric! Ragnald!” called Gulbrand, from near the mouth of the canyon. “We must get to the ship!” The others were already ahead of him.
Eric threw open the suit’s chest plate and climbed out. The cold hit him like a slap across the face. He ran to Ragnald. “Give him to me,” he said, holding out his arms. “Give me my son!”
“We must go,” said Ragnald. “I will carry him to Varinga.” Another explosion sounded, and a crack crept across the surface of the boulder. Eric wanted to argue, but he knew Haeric’s only chance was to get him to Varinga as quickly as possible. The Truscans’ magic might still save him. “Go, then!” he shouted. “Save my son!”
Ragnald nodded and broke into a run, following the others to the valley. Er
ic ran after him, the icy air burning in his chest. Already his toes had gone numb. He could not match Ragnald’s pace, and he soon fell behind. Cold and exhausted, he stumbled across the rocky ground in the darkness as the sounds of shattering rock echoed around him. I will die here, he thought, cold and alone on a strange world millions of miles from my home. And yet, it will be all right. It will be all right if Haeric lives. Please, Odin. Please, Christ. Let Haeric live.
At last he stumbled into the open valley. Just ahead of him stood a man in a mech suit. Moving closer, Eric saw that it was Ragnald, still holding Haeric’s lifeless body. He stood staring across the valley. “Ragnald,” Eric said. “What….”
And then Eric saw it: a sleek black triangle, rocketing away on a plume of white flame. The rest of the Norsemen stood scattered across the northern end of the valley. There were maybe twenty of them—all that was left of Eric’s platoon.
Varinga had left without them.
Chapter Fifteen
F reya walked quickly across the valley floor, a headlamp lighting her way. She wore cold weather gear and a mask to protect her from the toxins in Voltera’s atmosphere. Slung over her shoulder was a duffel bag stuffed with supplies—a last-second gift from a grateful miner.
The Norsemen were gathered a hundred yards or so from the place where the valley narrowed. She gathered from the sound of distant explosions that they’d been successful in executing the marines’ plan to block the advance of the machines the Norsemen called trolls. She didn’t know how long it would hold them, and she didn’t particularly want to find out. From above, she had seen at least forty more heavy infantry units. As she neared the men, Eric, dressed only in his inner suit, ran to meet her.
“Wh-what happened?” Eric asked, shivering uncontrollably. “Where is the sh-sh-ship?”
The War of the Iron Dragon: An Alternate History Viking Epic (Saga of the Iron Dragon Book 5) Page 13