by CH Gideon
A swarm of parachutes, each connected to the drop-can via carbon-fiber lines, blasted up from the still-glowing topside and deployed in perfectly-coordinated succession. Twenty-one distinct chutes blossomed, filling the sky and causing everyone inside Elvira’s cabin to snap down into their crash-couches. If they hadn’t correctly braced for the lurch, someone might have lost a tooth. Or worse.
But the chutes’ deceleration was nothing compared to what they were about to experience.
The chutes slowed their descent, but their impact was far less than would have been on a world with a thicker atmosphere. They flashed through the green-zone deck in a matter of seconds and fell through the yellow-zone only marginally slower.
“Brace for braking thrusters,” she called, wincing in anticipation as the red-zone approached at a frantic pace.
This time when the drop-can fell past the red-zone marker, she missed by just under a tenth of a second. She would have snarled in frustration at such poor reactions, but the sudden jerk of the thrusters firing in unison was punishment enough. This was what made the couches crucial to so-called “hot-drop” deployments that required crews to ride their mech cans down instead of taking personnel shuttles.
She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from shattering, and it felt as though her heart was being run over by a bulldozer. When the braking thrusters burned so loudly that even with several layers of armor between them and her ears, they were nearly-deafening. Then the drop-can struck solid ground. Hard.
“Touchdown,” she declared unnecessarily. “All systems check.”
Her board slowly began to flicker with confirmations as her Wrench and Monkey performed their post-drop checks. It took them twenty-two seconds, fully four seconds longer than their best run in the simulator to complete the checks.
“All systems green, Captain,” reported Chief Lu.
“Confirmed,” Staubach agreed. “All systems green.”
While they worked through their system checks, she swiveled the external cameras atop the tilted drop-can and saw that her best exit was to the left.
“Popping the left hatch,” she intoned, reaching out with her mind to blow that panel’s explosive charges. They blew in unison, and the panels fell away, allowing the frigid air of the snow-covered world to rush across Elvira’s external thermometers. Xi “felt” the sensation of cold air washing over the mech’s hull much as she would feel it on her own skin, though it was considerably less intense. “Crab-walking,” she declared, activating Elvira’s ambulation systems and causing the mech to rise a meter from the deck of the drop-can as the six legs engaged.
Her mech’s first step into the ice-field was one she knew she would never forget, just as she would never forget the first steps she had taken on Durgan’s Folly.
She slowly crawled her eighty-ton vehicle out of the drop-can, and once outside, she assumed a combat-ready posture. Her paired missile-launcher banks swiveled up and forward, locking into a fire-ready position. Her twin fifteen-kilo artillery guns ratcheted up off their cradles atop her Scorpion-class mech’s hull and assumed a ten-degree angle before locking in place. Xi cycled her anti-personnel chain guns, filling the cabin with a faint whirring sound as they spun through a hundred phantom cycles apiece.
She activated the company-wide net after seeing a handful of her mechs’ icons appear on the short-range tactical plotter. Soon she had accounted for each and every mech in her unit, which made her breathe a sigh of relief before she keyed her mic. “This is Elvira requesting encrypted status reports.”
The reports flowed in, and it seemed that hers had been the most eventful drop of the entire company.
“Good work, people,” she said approvingly. “You know the drill: Eclipse, put our birds in the air and establish P2P with Battalion Command. First, we hook up with 3rd Company and then rendezvous with 1st Company and the support vehicles. Roll out.”
“Birds in the air,” Eclipse’s Jock, Second Lieutenant Carl “Sargon” Benjamin replied promptly. “Estimate P2P in eight minutes.”
“All right, people,” Xi said with a grunt as she felt an insuppressible shiver when the cold air swept across her fast-walking mech, which crunched half-meter-deep footholes in the kilometers-thick ice covering Shiva’s Wrath. “I hope you remembered your winter clothes.”
“All pods touched down,” Deck Chief Arnold “Jay” Rimmer declared over the drop bay’s speakers. “Good work, people. Our crews have arrived on the surface and will rendezvous in two hours. First Shift, hit your racks. Second Shift, secure the vaults and visually confirm inventory before taking four hours” downtime. Third Shift, continue prepping a standard loadout of support cans; they need to be ready in six hours. Let’s move.”
A short-lived cheer erupted across the deck, and Andrew “Podsy” Podsednik shared the moment as he drove a forklift across the drop-deck. The lift was operable with manual inputs alone, and after much debate with Chief Rimmer, he had won the right not only to serve as Third Shift’s supervisor but to help with the actual work of running the deck.
The drop-decks were typically served by teams of seven grease-monkeys and haulers, to go with three Wrenches who assisted with the tedious work or did actual machining when the need arose. Customizing replacement components before sending them to the surface via drop-cans similar to those which the mechs rode down was a crucial part of providing orbital support to armor on the ground. Without replacement parts, a relatively minor bit of battle damage could turn a mech into an oversized, useless “brick,” hence the term’s frequent use on the drop-deck.
For nearly an hour, Podsy helped his subordinates load a can of ordnance. It was mostly standard fare: high explosive and armor piercing (HE, AP) and incendiary shells, short-range missiles (SRMs), mid-range missiles (MRMs) and even a few long-range missiles (LRMs), heating pads, and relatively stable furnace fuels to keep the PDF—Planetary Defense Force—troopers from freezing to death, and of course, foodstuffs and water purification equipment. All in all, everything about this batch of cans was by the book, and thanks to Podsy’s direction and subtle modifications of established Armor Corps protocol, they were nearly an hour ahead of schedule.
“Attention all hands,” came Colonel Li’s iron-hard voice over the ship-wide. He was usually the epitome of a command officer: calm and stoic, but ready on a moment’s notice to rip something’s throat out.
But right now, Podsy heard unmistakable anxiety in his voice.
“Two minutes ago,” the colonel continued, “the Vorr and Jemmin forces in orbit of Shiva’s Wrath exchanged fire. Three ships are already down, but the Vorr and Jemmin appear to be disengaging, moving to a stand-off.”
As Li spoke, Podsy accessed the Bonhoeffer’s external feeds. At first, he saw nothing untoward, but then he noticed the faint trails of surface-bound vehicles headed for the same mountainous outcrop where the battalion was deployed.
And those vehicles had come from the Jemmin fleet.
“Maintain focus, people,” Colonel Li said with firm resolve threaded through every syllable. “It’s time we earned our pay.”
The speakers went quiet, and the small red light beneath them darkened to indicate the address was complete.
“All right, people,” Podsy called over the shift-wide channel while moving his forklift to a more central spot, “gather ‘round.”
Second and Third Shifts did as bidden, but Podsy couldn’t immediately locate Second Shift’s deck boss.
“Where’s Chief Batista?” Podsy asked.
A pair of Second Shifters shrugged. “Haven’t seen him in forever, Chief.”
Podsy shook his head. “Define ‘forever,’ please.”
“Eight minutes?” The Second Shifter didn’t sound confident.
Podsy set his jaw. The standard break-time allowed was ten minutes, which meant that every smartass liked to use some variant of the “eight-minute rule” when covering for their fellows’ absences.
“Fine,” Podsy allowed before gesturing t
o the line of partially-prepped drop-cans behind him, “you can tell him when he comes back that we’re re-packing half of these cans. One and Two need to have all of their LRMs removed, and we need to pull the Hawkeye MRMs too...”
“You can’t override a load order,” interrupted one of Second Shift’s Wrenches. “Those have to be confirmed by the colonel and Chief Rimmer.”
“I’m not telling anyone to stop working or to remove anything just yet,” Podsy said firmly. “I’m saying to stop loading the LRMs and Hawkeyes since Jemmin countermeasures will make them useless, and prep all eight pallets of jammer drones. We can pull the unwanted ordnance back out of the cans as soon as we get confirmation from command. Third Shift, go,” he commanded, and his people did while the Second Shifters looked on with mixed approval and reluctance. “Second Shift,” he continued, “you can keep working on cans Five and Seven because their inventories won’t need any modifications…go. That’s an order,” he snapped when they failed to jump, “and until Chief Batista comes back, I’m boss of the deck. Move!”
Most of the Second Shifters did as bidden, but a pair of stalwarts looked ready for a confrontation. They were older crew, ossified in their tendencies and disliking of anything that upset their formerly-established routines—routines which apparently included covering for naps taken by the shift boss.
Just as Podsy opened his mouth to argue with the rebellious crew, the main door swished open and Chief Rimmer moved onto the deck.
“Where’s Batista?” he demanded after sighting Podsy and making a bee-line for his forklift.
“I’ll go find him, sir,” one of the Second Shifters said hurriedly.
“I didn’t tell you to find him,” Rimmer snarled as he rounded on the crewman, “I asked where he was, and now I want to know what he’s doing.”
The Second Shifter hesitated. “Napping in the Hawkeye bunks, sir.”
“Wake his sorry ass up,” Rimmer scowled before resuming his trek to Podsy’s forklift. “Chief Podsednik, a word.”
The disobedient Second Shifters smirked triumphantly as Rimmer approached, and Podsy was legitimately concerned that the boss of the deck might have some sort of problem with his orders to re-pack the cans.
“Yes, sir?” Podsy wheeled the forklift over to cut down on Rimmer’s trek.
“We need to re-pack these cans,” Rimmer explained. “If Jemmin forces are down there, the Hawkeyes and longer-range missiles are de-prioritized. We need to send down all of our jammer drones and a couple extra packs of exo-suits since detached infantry patrols are in the book for potential Jemmin encounters.”
The flabbergasted looks on the rebellious Second Shifters’ faces was priceless, but Podsy kept his expression neutral as he nodded. “Yes, sir, I was just coordinating that effort.”
Rimmer’s brow rose in surprise before he looked over at the stationary Second Shifters. “Is that true?”
“Yes, sir,” replied one of the Second Shifters promptly, while the others nodded in agreement.
“Then why in the name of our Lord and savior, Mister Murphy, are you still standing here?” Rimmer barked.
Podsy quickly interjected, “They were reminding me that Cans Five and Seven didn’t need modification.”
Rimmer glared at the trio of Second Shifters. “Then get back to it. Now.”
The trio scattered, and Rimmer gave Podsy a brief look of approval. “You’re quick on your feet. I’ll have the official orders revised in three minutes. Do you need First Shift’s help to get this done on schedule?”
Podsy shook his head confidently. “We’ll make the window, sir.”
“Good.” Rimmer nodded before his eyes locked onto the person of Chief Jose Batista, Second Shift’s deck boss. “I’ll have Chief Batista and his people stick around afterward to clean up, while you and Third Shift take their bunk schedule.”
Podsy wanted to object, but he knew the extra duty shift that Batista’s people were about to serve was less a reward for Third Shift than a punishment for Second. So he gave the only sane response, “Thank you, sir.”
Rimmer set off for what was likely to be a lengthy upbraiding for his napping shift boss, but Podsednik’s mind was already back on the task at hand.
He needed to get those cans ready. Captain Xi Bao and everyone with her would need them.
2
Frozen Hell
“Good of you to join us, Elvira,” Colonel Lee Jenkins greeted after all four companies were assembled at the rendezvous point. “I heard you had a little excitement on the way down?”
“Just keeping my people on their toes, sir,” Xi replied with faint irritation.
“It’s where we need to be,” Jenkins acknowledged. “2nd Company will take point, 1st Company will take center with the infantry, and 3rd Company will break out at nine o’clock to the line of march two clicks. We’ll arrive at Alpha Site in two hours. Roll out.”
“2nd Company, on point,” Xi acknowledged before leading her mechs to the front of the column. 2nd Company was consolidated from the remains of both 2nd and 4th Companies, with Xi in charge. Elvira was also one of the mechs in 4th Platoon of 2nd Company. She never knew from one battle to the next who would survive the engagement to become the next company. The entire battalion was a mish-mash of equipment and people forced into a formal structure that wasn’t a perfect fit.
Round peg, meet square hole.
“3rd Company, nine o’clock, two clicks,” replied Lieutenant Winters, a newcomer to the battalion who had transferred over from Terra Han’s PDF after eight years in their mechanized infantry.
Only Jenkins, Styles, Xi, Winters, and Koch were aware that this mission was more than simple protection duty. Only Styles and Xi shared Jenkins’ knowledge that this was, in fact, a highly-secretive diplomatic meeting between the Terran Republic and an unknown species. Only a few people up the Fleet ladder even knew about the diplomatic nature of this mission. It seemed that Director Durgan had been much more circumspect in presenting this mission to the Terran government than Jenkins had initially suspected.
So when Jenkins said his next statement, he knew that only his hand-picked group would understand its full meaning.
“I just received confirmation that the Vorr are pulling out,” he said as his column assumed formation. “Jemmin forces are inbound and will assume the Vorr position within the hour.”
The brief delay before Xi replied told him she understood loud and clear. “Looks like sushi’s off the menu. Damn.”
Jenkins chuckled at her dark humor. The Vorr were an aquatic species which, as part of their customary greeting ritual, offered bits of their bodies for consumption as a gesture of goodwill and openness. He would have been required to partake in this ritual had formal introductions taken place, and Jenkins wasn’t ashamed to admit he was glad he would no longer have to.
“Jemmin or Vorr, who cares?” Lieutenant Winters asked enthusiastically. “We’re here to prove Armor can do the job that others can’t.”
“Love the spirit, Generally,” Jenkins approved, both of Winters’ expressed sentiment and his ability to react in real-time. This was it. Jenkins had spent months prepping the crews for a situation like this, and now they needed to prove their worth. “Roll out.”
Shiva’s Wrath was cold. Incredibly cold. With a mean surface temperature of seventy degrees below zero Celsius, and an icy mantle ten kilometers thick with an ocean six times that deep beneath, it was a literal ball of ice. Its ultra-thin atmosphere was, surprisingly, breathable with only minimal concentration and humidification, so every vehicle had been equipped with the necessary gear to make it usable. Even the infantrymen were equipped with respirator units that did the job of protecting their lungs from the bitter cold and eventual desiccation that would come from breathing the worldlet’s dry, unmodified air.
But to Xi, it wasn’t the bitter cold, the mantle of ice, or even the breathable atmosphere which boggled her mind. Even the blue-green gas giant looming above the horizon wasn’t enou
gh to unnerve her.
What unnerved her, far more than she had expected, was the near-complete lack of weather on the planet.
During the early mission briefings, she had built the image of a blizzard-bound world in her mind’s eye. Thick cloud banks, swirling snowstorms, drifts of white powder so deep she could lose her mech down one. All of these images had filled her apparently over-active imagination until, mid-way through the briefing, she had learned none of them would be featured on Shiva’s Wrath. She had consciously accepted that updated information immediately without a single doubt.
But now, walking her mech across the smooth, icy landscape, she was thoroughly stunned by the lack of weather on the bleak, frozen planetoid.
Polymer hitting metal clattered behind her, and Xi turned to see Sarah Samuels bend down to retrieve one of her many video drones. Not much larger than a human hand, she seemed to have hundreds of the tiny things stowed throughout Elvira. As she moved into Xi’s cockpit, the blond woman apologized, “I’m sorry about that, Captain.”
“As long as this neural linkage is working,” Xi replied tersely, “you’re free to roam this mech just like the colonel said.”
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” the reporter asked with a bemused smirk.
“And why ever would I like you?”
“Because even the greatest deeds are meaningless without their proper recognition,” Samuels replied all too easily. She had played this game. A lot. She was a predator who hunted information, and judging by the other woman’s casual demeanor, Xi knew she needed to stay on her toes. “I heard you might know more than most about that,” the reporter mused as she fidgeted with the camera now situated across her enviro-suited lap. “Recognition for one’s deeds, that is?”
Xi was wrong-footed by that particular turn in the conversation. Is she talking about Durgan’s Folly? she wondered in alarm. Is this bitch that good?
Xi shook her head. “We aren’t in this for the glory, lady. The only way society works is if people like you are protected while you do…whatever it is you do,” she said with an intentional hint of derision. “Sometimes that means people like me have to come to hellholes like this and stare down Nietzsche’s abyss just to ensure everyone’s ability to sip their lattes, argue with each other on the data nets, and I guess occasionally do something productive to keep the wheels of civilization from grinding to a halt.”