by M. D. Cooper
SETTING THE TRAP
STELLAR DATE: 04.26.8949 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: Fort Hammerfall
REGION: Iapetus, Hercules System, Septhian Alliance
Rika climbed into the ground transport, a vehicle the locals called a Swampfox. It wasn’t the prettiest…van-thing she’d ever seen, but Barne had picked up a gross of them for a steal. Corporal Stripes—the lone mech in the repair and maintenance platoon—had pronounced them sound enough for the mission they had in mind.
Rika smiled to herself at the memory. ‘Sound’ wasn’t the word Stripes had used. He had said something more like, “Not gunna fuck themselves to pieces, but they might fuck you with all the rattlin’.”
“Surprised Stripes isn’t coming along, Captain,” Sergeant Karen said as she pulled herself into the driver’s seat, seeming to read Rika’s thoughts. “He exhibited a special fondness for these things.”
Karen settled in place and grasped the controls—not that anyone needed to drive the Swampfox. It may have looked older than the invention of spaceflight, but it was Link capable, with a rudimentary comp that was guaranteed not to run over animals or humans.
Rika wondered at the order of the items in that guarantee, but considered that it may have been imported, and the translation might be off.
“If by ‘fondness’, you mean a strong desire to send them all to the scrap heap, you might be right,” Rika replied to the sergeant.
Karen chuckled and pulled her cloak around her armor, ensuring her profile looked natural before leaning around to check on Kelly and Keli.
“Four SMI-2s on a mission together. Think that ever happened in the war?” Keli asked as she settled into her seat.
“Sure,” Kelly replied. “Team Hammerfall had four SMI-2s at one point—back before Rika joined up.”
“Had four later on, too,” Rika added. “Took two mechs to replace the amount of lip you gave all the time, Kelly.”
“I didn’t have lips back then,” Kelly retorted.
“And yet you still got twice the discipline as Silva and I.”
Kelly grinned. “Not one to roll over.”
“So, what’s on the agenda for our little outing?” Karen asked. “Anything you’re looking to pick up? Some beer? Fried chicken? Kitty litter for the LT?”
Rika cast Karen a hard look. Knocking the LT was a time-honored tradition, but one usually had the sense not to do it in front of the LT’s commanding officer.
Karen blushed. “Shit, sorry, Captain. I’m still getting used to being able to speak again…I keep saying things with my out-loud voice that are supposed to say in the noggin.”
“It’s OK, Sergeant, I won’t tell Lieutenant Leslie. So long as you actually set up a litter box at some point.”
“Really?” Karen asked, turning to look at Rika with wide eyes.
“Well, if she figures out who did it, you might die horribly, so it’s up to you.”
“Damned if you do, and damned if you don’t,” Karen said as she punched in the destination on the manual console.
Kelly and Keli were doubled over with laughter in the backseat, and Rika smiled as well. It felt good to be able to relax, even if this wasn’t going to be a nice weekend drive.
“Corporal, Private,” Karen called back. “Shut your core-damned mouths back there.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Keli called out, while Kelly added, “Now the sergeant knows when to use rank in address.”
“Stars, some days I liked it better when none of us had mouths,” Karen said with a sigh. “Things were a lot less catty back then.”
“Oh! Good one!” Keli crowed. “I’ll have to tell Lieutenant Leslie you said that.”
“Seriously, you two,” Rika said, suppressing a laugh. “We’re not on a grade school field trip. Don’t make me come back there.”
The Swampfox reached the compound’s gate, and the guards looked over the vehicle and its occupants for a minute before waving them through.
“Sucks being the boss,” Rika said and sighed. “No one ever gives you the quick once-over. They want you to make sure to notice how good they are at their jobs.”
“Hard being an officer, we know,” Kelly said with mock compassion.
“You’re doing the best you can,” Keli chimed in, her tone soulful and appreciative.
“OK, seriously,” Rika growled. “When I said we need to act casually, I didn’t mean for you to mock your superiors for the whole trip.”
“Huh” Keli said then turned to Kelly. “This is most of what we do in our free time. How else do we act casually?”
“Beats me,” Kelly shrugged. “You follow sports?”
“I don’t even know if they have sports here.”
“Read any good books, watch any good sims or vids?”
Keli shook her head. “Nope. Our hard-assed CO doesn’t give us a moment’s rest. I am completely without hobbies.”
“Well, then.” Kelly laughed. “Looks like mockery is the only pastime we have.”
“I can think of a few extra pastimes for you two,” Rika grunted.
The pair continued their banter as the Swampfox drove for a few kilometers through the commercial district surrounding the old-airport-turned-Marauder-base.
Eventually it passed into a tunnel that ran under a series of maglev tracks. Once they were hidden from any external view, Karen slammed on the brakes, and the four women bailed out of the vehicle. Four other women—some of General Adam’s trusted SAF troops—wearing armor under cloaks to approximate the look of SMIs, rushed into the vehicle to take their places.
Rika led the others behind a column and into a maintenance tunnel that ran below the tracks. It was a tight fit, and half the reason Rika had selected SMI-2s for the mission.
They navigated through the tunnel, slipping around conduits and access ladders, until they came to a cross passage where Rika took a right. From there, a short twenty-meter walk brought them to a steel door.
It was unlocked, and Rika checked her cloak over, shaking any dust off before raising her cowl and activating the camouflage.
“Ready, ladies?” she asked.
The banter had faded in the tunnel, and the others maintained the silence, each giving a single nod.
Rika sent out a single ping, waiting for the all-clear response before pushing the door open and stepping out into Iapetus’s warm, afternoon light.
Forty-seven meters ahead lay their destination—a low warehouse, rented by the Marauders for secondary, low-security equipment storage. A pair of mechs were stationed at the warehouse, guarding its contents.
Rika crossed the distance at an easy pace, careful not to kick up excess dust. A minute later, she stepped inside the warehouse and smiled as she gazed at the other reason why she’d selected SMI-2s for the mission.
Within, lay six SkyScreams.
“Oh, baby,” Kelly rubbed her hand against her GNR’s barrel, then stopped. “OK…that gesture doesn’t work without two hands.”
Keli snickered. “Especially not when saying ‘oh baby’.”
An RR-2 walked into the room through a door on their right and snapped to attention, quietly saying, “Ma’am.”
Rika nodded to Yiaagaitia. “How’s everything look, Corporal Yig?”
“We’re secure, Captain. Though CJ thinks she spotted a surveillance vehicle in the area, and there are definitely drones making the rounds, though they’re staying back a ways from Fort Hammerfall. Keeping out of range of ours—or so they think.”
“How sure are you that no one spotted us coming in here?” Karen asked.
“Pretty sure, Sarge. CJ has their pattern mapped out. She has that upgraded sensor suite some RR’s got; can track a mayfly at a thousand meters.”
“Good,” Rika said and turned to eye the SkyScreams. “We stay mobile while we wait. It’s still an hour before Chase and Leslie take squads two and four out on the training exercise.”
Eve
ryone nodded in response, and Rika resisted the urge to make a quick Link connection to check up on the platoon’s status.
Of course, that would blow everything.
Right now, her Link presence was still registering as being inside the Swampfox, which was trundling alone on a long drive through Hittis.
The other mechs inspected their SkyScreams, and Rika contented herself with watching the surrounding area through the drones that CJ had sent out.
As the drone flies, they were only three kilometers from Fort Hammerfall. Between them lay a swath of warehouses, miscellaneous commercial buildings, and, finally, a half-kilometer of open space before the fence that surrounded the former airport.
After what felt like forever, Rika saw a convoy of Swampfoxes pull out of one of the hangars, followed by a flatbed truck. AM, RR, and FR mechs piled into the Swampfoxes, while a K1R-T climbed up onto the flatbed.
The K1R, a corporal named Oosterwyk-Bruyn, was more than capable of keeping up with the Swampfoxes on foot, but the locals had complained about the damage AMs did to their roads. A K1R would pound them to gravel, so a flatbed truck was his chariot.
The flatbed pulled out first, and Rika felt a smile pull at her lips. Everyone thought that Oosterwyk-Bruyn bore the nickname ‘The Van’ because he was massive—which he was. Or that his real name was hard to say—which was also true.
In reality, he had earned the name ‘The Van’ because he always insisted on being in the vanguard of a fight. His joke was that a formation didn’t need a vanguard. It just needed him.
Through the drones’ eyes, Rika saw The Van raise a massive fist in the air; she imagined him crying out “Roo-ah!” as the convoy pulled out of Fort Hammerfall.
“The trap is set,” Rika said with a predatory grin. “Now it’s just part of squad one and three left at the compound.”
Kelly snorted. “Anyone who thinks that twenty-odd mechs is ‘just’ anything is going to be in for one hell of a surprise.”
“Not to mention that our surprises have surprises,” Karen said, nodding to the SkyScreams.
DEFENSE OF HAMMERFALL
STELLAR DATE: 04.26.8949 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: Fort Hammerfall
REGION: Iapetus, Hercules System, Septhian Alliance
Rika pulled up the feed and saw seven haulers entering the area from different directions. They weren’t the only vehicles in the area, but they bore the markings of companies that Dala and David had identified as being tied to other suspicious activity over the past week.
None were headed straight for the former airport, but as they closed the distance, their ultimate destination became clear.
CJ reported a moment later.
Five minutes later, the only area where there were no suspicious vehicles in the area was to the west, where the mech convoy had disappeared into the hills for their training exercises.
Kelly shook her head and drew a line on the map.
Rika appreciated the team’s confidence, but those trucks could hold hundreds of enemies—maybe even a thousand. She had to assume they were all in heavy powered armor—the only thing that could go toe-to-toe with a mech.
She was certain that whatever the number, the enemies in those trucks were not all they’d face today. Whoever was attacking them on Iapetus was too smart to show their entire hand at the outset of the battle.
This was just the first wave.
Rika had to admit that for all her bluster, she felt naked knowing that the Golden Lark, and the Perseid’s Dream weren’t overhead.
She’d become accustomed to knowing that in the Marauders—unlike the GAF—when starfire was needed, it would fall. Hopefully General Adam would be just as willing to fire on the planet he was sworn to keep safe.
“Let’s get suited up,” Rika said aloud, signaling CJ to fall back into the warehouse.
The mechs climbed onto the backs of the SkyScreams, each undergoing the same process Rika had the day prior.
“Shit, forgot how weird this feels at first!” Kelly exclaimed as the ship pulled her body into the pilot’s pocket, and folded its armor over her.
A round of ‘yes ma’ams’ and ‘aye, Captains’ came back.
Rika drew in a deep breath as her SkyScream activated its systems and imprinted her new physical form into her mind.
She was terror, she was might, but she also had to coordinate a defense against a superior enemy while in the midst of combat….
Rika pulled the feed and saw that it was as she suspected. The enemy was in unmarked, powered armor. It didn’t offer them the versatility of a mech—living in your powered armor made you a lot more comfortable with it than just wearing it periodically—but they wouldn’t be easy to take down.
She hoped the mechs’ comfort in their own skins would be enough of an edge. Now that she could see the enemy’s loadout, Rika estimated that they could pack forty soldiers in each of the haulers. That put the attackers’ number at over a thousand.
Against half a platoon at Hammerfall.
Or so they think.
Rika saw that Barne had pre-configured the combat net with designations for the different units. The enemies were labeled as ‘Cockroaches’, his nod to how they kept turning up everywhere. However, at this scale, the name beside each of the enemy was abbreviated to only show ‘Cock’.
She reviewed the enemy deployments and guessed at where the rest of them would disembark.
Kelly snorted.
The SkyScream mechs fell silent as they waited for the Cocks to finish deploying. Though it felt like forever, the enemy was more efficient than Rika had hoped, disgorging their
forces from the cargo haulers in just under three minutes.
* * * * *
Leslie stood in Fort Hammerfall’s small CIC, watching the feeds of the enemy’s deployment, ‘Cocks’, thanks to Barne’s sense of humor. She’d changed the shortened description to ‘Roaches’, but it had been too late; the mechs had all started using ‘Cock’ in their communications.
The four fireteams, one at each of the four gates, took cover behind the plascrete barriers, and weapons protruded from the bunkers at each of the base’s four corners. Not that there were any mechs within those bullet-magnets, only sacrificial combat drones.
If there was one thing that decades of combat had taught Leslie, it was that mechs did their best when highly mobile. The brass had often treated them like mechanized infantry, but in reality, even the smallest mech was more like a main battle tank.
A battle tank that could leap a dozen meters into the air, land on your actual tank, and tear the guns off.
Leslie drew in a slow breath, let it out, and then repeated the process twice more before calling out to the mechs under her command.
Acknowledgement lights flashed across the holotank, and Leslie smiled, wishing she was out there with them.
Her placement in the CIC was due in part to their need for the SkyScreams to be piloted by experienced mechs. They only had six of those at present, and Rika was amongst their number.
That put Leslie in the CIC.
Granted, a large, open field was not her ideal area of operation. Leslie knew her style was better suited to dense urban combat—a battlefield where she could skulk and hide.
When this fight was joined, it would be no place for a squishie, the name her ‘toon affectionately called her behind her back.