“The failure of small teams has forced us to assemble the Global Earth battalions you see around you in this arena. Even so, we’re not sure it will be enough. So we’ve contacted you.
“Your job is to attack the bogeys head on, distract them until our forces can get into place. Your mobility and firepower should give you a good chance of staying out of harm’s way while keeping their attention. Once our troops are in position to either side, all forces will open fire. Any questions?”
“Yeah,” said Chasm. “All this for a couple of machines?”
“The machines have proven to be formidable, and they’re leading a ground force that has just recently been detected. Yes, Duncan?”
“What’s our fall-back position?” Almost as one, the matchers turned to him as if he were a new breed of alien. They’d each been killed thousands of times and death wasn’t something they considered an important factor in a battle. But this wasn’t a game any more.
“In my experience,” he explained, “real world missions seldom go as planned. So if you want to survive, it’s best to have your exit strategy set before going in.”
“I couldn’t have explained it better,” the sergeant said. “The bogeys are approaching from almost due east and will have reached the outer suburbs when we make contact. If needed, all squads will fall back to the lower level of the eastern skyway. There you’ll meet a tank battalion composed of Defenders and Tortuga.”
“What’s our deployed armament?” one of El Loco Lobos shouted to be heard over the revving of nearby Scarab engines.
“You’ll each carry two weapons and as much ammo as you can. You’ll also get a pair of these,” the sergeant said, bending to pick up what seemed to be a pair of shoes from a nearby crate. “We call them Sky Skates,” he said, tossing them to Duncan. “A word of warning. The name is just for marketing. They won’t let you go more than a few feet off the ground. You can collect your own over there,” he said, pointing to a stack of crates a few meters away. “We’ve found translocators too slow in combat and their targets too fragile, so the skates were recently developed for on-field transportation. They grant soldiers much greater mobility in the combat zone, but I wouldn’t recommend firing any weapons while skating. The recoil can have… unpredictable results. Now, if you’ll collect your gear and then see Lieutenant Sanchez, she’ll direct you to your designated transport.”
DaemonS and the other Cowgirlz joined the matcher squads in the casual scrum before a large stack of crates. They each acquired their skates, slipping into them immediately, and were then told activation was by a switch adhered to the palm of one hand. After suiting up, they joined a loose line in front of the Lieutenant.
Sanchez, a short, fit woman decked-out in army fatigues, had a friendly gleam in her eye but a no-nonsense approach. “Tell me your team name and two weapon preferences,” she said, as DaemonS approached.
“Apocalypz Cowgirlz, rocket launcher, machine gun.”
One of a small army of soldiers retrieved the weapons and ammunition and handed them to DaemonS before Sanchez checked a small square screen in her hand. “Transport A-7 — to my right, third gunship,” she pointed behind her. At DaemonS’s hesitation the woman added, “Your teammates will meet you there.”
DaemonS nodded before threading her way through military hardware and weapons crates to the transport.
18
Avoiding lanes of dense traffic, which had somehow not been evacuated, the squadron of Scarab sped between the skyscrapers toward the city limits. In the dim evening light, the horizon glowed bright orange. It occurred to DaemonS that the sunset sky almost seemed to be....
“Burning! The city’s on fire!” shouted Defcon.
In the distance, towering over the low buildings and cutting a swath of destruction through the outlying suburbs were a pair of tall, frightening, and vaguely familiar monstrosities. They lumbered across the ground on dark tentacles that supported a glowing power core. A single huge laser cannon was fixed just beneath a circular platform that swiveled from side to side in search of prey.
Images flashed through her mind, terrible beams of energy lashing out across the world, buildings and cities burning, hordes of people fleeing and dying. “We’ve got to stop these Cyclops here,” she said, “or they’ll march across the world.”
The Cowgirlz looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, and maybe she had. The visions had just popped into her head, as if she’d somehow mentally connected with them.
“We will, Daem,” Vorpal said.
“But where did they come from? Surely any invasions would have been tri-cast on the news,” Defcon said, watching the destruction unfold.
DaemonS shook her head, “You don’t recognize them?”
Pincer spun from the display, “They can’t be...!”
“They’re all grown up,” Figment said. “The children of the research lab you found. It seems there were twins.”
“Of course. They were upside-down when we found them. Amazing,” Vorpal’s reflection in the window showed a face lit half by awe and half by fear. DaemonS’s own feelings were much less positive.
“Alright,” came the call from the sergeant, loud over her ear piece, “we’ve got to stop those beasts at any cost. They’re tearing a swath through the city and it’ll mean hell if they reach the core superstructures. Matchers, you have the mobility so we’re dropping you just out of range in the center zone: distract and destroy. Global Earth Gamma and Delta squads will each take a flank and we’ll coordinate fire. After offloading, the Scarab will provide air support. Let’s take’em down quick.” Moments later, the gunship transport lurched, angling sharply for the ground.
With sudden heaviness, the weight of the moment fell on her and DaemonS realized — truly understood in a way that only happens when one marches purposefully toward death — that this was a battle that many or all of them may not walk away from. The relative peace of the flying metal box was the calm before the storm and there may never be another chance to say how she felt.
“Cowgirlz,” she said, calling the attention of her teammates, “We are entering a battle unlike any we’ve been in before. There are no safe zones, no emergency translocators and no clone tanks. I don’t know what’s going to happen and whether we will all come through this in one piece so I just wanted to say that I’ve really enjoyed having you as teammates and as friends, and I wouldn’t want to be going into battle with anyone else. No matter what happens, I’ll always remember you.”
The sound of the twin engines rattled the crew compartment but no one spoke or moved until, “C’mere you big softy,” Pincer said, wrapping one arm around DaemonS. She wrapped the other around Defcon on her right and suddenly all the Cowgirlz were embraced in a team hug.
It went on for long moments, each taking comfort in the friendship of the others, before the comm crackled, “Airdrop in ten seconds.”
Bodybag was the first to respond with a gruff cough. “Now we have dat out of our system —Apocalypz forever!” she yelled pumping her fist in the air. The others quickly followed as the Cicada moved into position.
Three meters above the ground the Cowgirlz leapt from the aircraft and into the dust and sand that swirled amid the down-thrust of its vectored jets. Figment was right behind them. DaemonS hit the ground and rolled coming up fast. She snapped her rocket launcher to her shoulder and sighted the nearest Cyclops as her teammates reached their feet. It was still out of range. She breathed a little easier.
The other matcher squads were offloading to either side of them, stretching across the path of the attacking monsters. Rakurai, the Legion, and the Phalanx were to her left, Defense Gryd to her right. Already they were deploying in their attack formations. DaemonS motioned to the Cowgirlz and the group sped behind a nearby house.
“Nothing fancy, crew, hit and move. Stay out of the crosshairs of those big guns. They look slow but they only need to hit you once. Remember, ours is primarily to confuse,
to buy the Global Earth squads time.” The sounds of explosions erupted around them as the first teams began their attack. “Everyone ready? Then let’s bring on the Apocalypz!”
DaemonS led the Cowgirlz into the battlezone with a burst of artillery. Rockets and energy beams streaked toward the Cyclops from along the battlefront while, to the sides, other Scarab were just lifting after offloading the Global Earth squads. Beams lashed out repeatedly from the Cyclops and a house two blocks to their left exploded in flames.
“Look alive Cowgirlz,” she said, firing off a tight grouping of rockets at a glowing blue energy sphere encased below the laser turret of one. They slammed into the protective casing, amid a barrage of shock spheres and Gauss bursts. The monstrosity staggered but quickly reoriented its tentacles to regain balance. Its beams lashed out again followed moments later by those of the other Cyclops. In seconds, the entire neighborhood was crumbling, fires raging all around them.
In the air to either side of the giant machines, Scarab were orienting to bring their rocket pods to bear. “Now’s the time, lets cover those birds!” The Cowgirlz rushed forward from behind a mound of rubble amid a surge of matchers with similar thoughts. The air was filled with laser and projectile weaponry. As the matchers rushed forward, the Scarab opened fire. Sixteen rockets from each heavy gunship streaked toward the Cyclops blotting the sky in a swarm of destructive potential. Smoke from the ensuing orgy of destruction clouded the scene and DaemonS halted the Cowgirlz, ordering defensive positions. There was no cover to be had so they spread out, crouching to minimize their presence.
And they waited.
Moments that seemed like hours finally passed and the smoke thinned. The twin behemoths still stood, but they were stationary. And then, in painful slow motion, they toppled falling almost straight down as their tentacle supports lost strength.
As the Cyclops crashed to the ground, a cheer went up from the warriors. It was quickly stifled at the appearance of another Cyclops approaching from the horizon. Then, before their horrified eyes, as the last of the smoke cleared, at least a dozen more Cyclops followed. Towering over the distant jungle, the dark line of death advanced.
19
“Fall back!” The sergeant’s voice crackled over the comm channel, barely audible against the cacophony of death and destruction that stalked them. Trees flared into flaming torches, houses and vehicles exploded. All around them were smoke, fire and retreating soldiers rushing away from the monstrous machines.
“Gamma squad is gone,” came a desperate shout in DaemonS’s ear, “they took us out in a single strike.”
Half the Scarab were burning husks, the other half had retreated beyond range of the powerful beams of the Cyclops. “I repeat, fall back to the city center. Command is airdropping a platoon of heavies. Regroup behind the Defender shields and protect the Tortugas.”
Could even tanks stand up to the tentacled monstrosities?
The Cowgirlz fled through the neighborhood, racing toward the city center that was still kilometers away. Luckily, the Cyclops were lumbering hulks, and they were taking time to thoroughly erase the city. That meant the squads could easily outdistance them using the Sky Skates.
Buildings flashed past, a blur as the sextet weaved around, over or under obstacles, surfing the air toward the duracrete mountain of structures that reached high into the sky before them. Always the giant machines loomed behind, leering from amid the smoke and destruction with their killing eyes.
“You think the Tortuguas can take them?” Proximity made the local channel somewhat clearer than the global comm.
“I don’t know Vorpal. I sure hope so.” It was hard to keep focused. Other voices kept intruding into her mind. DaemonS shook her head, attempting to stay present.
“Dey be tough, but da tanks’ll get da drop on ‘em. ‘assumin’ the Defender shields ‘old.”
“They should hold against stronger than that,” Vorpal said. “I’ve seen the specs. It would take all twelve Cyclops to give the Defenders trouble. The only problem will be the shield recharge times.”
“But do you think the Tortugas will have any trouble taking them out?”
DaemonS clutched her head and felt a hard ridge at the base of her neck. Panic gripped her. The conversation faded and the world blurred for a moment. The skates were unsteady beneath her feet. A hand reached out to steady her and, as the vertigo passed, she saw Bodybag beside her.
“It grows worse, ‘oman.” The whispered words, audible not comm, were a statement, not a question.
She nodded before realizing something more. “You hear them too, don’t you?”
Bodybag look away into the blank towers of the distance for a moment before answering. “Dey never left.” The simple statement spoke of a long, torturous struggle. “Dey were quiet for a time after da transfer — after ya recloned me. But da research station gave dem power again.”
“How do you block them?”
“I don’t. Jus’ ignore ‘em. You get used to ‘em. Like a second set o’ t’oughts.”
“I’m not sure if I can do that, Bodybag. Sometimes I’m not sure which voice is mine and which is theirs.”
“Ye can do it ‘oman, ‘cause ye must. Besides,” Bodybag said turning to her with a smile, “yur stubborn, like me. Ye don’ wanna see dem win either.”
She chuckled, “You’re right, but I feel so helpless sometimes. I’m changing — being changed — against my will. I have no control over it and no way to stop it. I just wish there was something I could do.”
“Maybe there is.” Figment’s voice startled her, she hadn’t heard him approach.
“What do you want? What are you doing here?” She cringed at her her too harsh words. Were the wounds still fresh after all that had happened? He ignored the jibe.
“There is something we can do, something that will allow you to take your revenge and silence the voices.”
“We? What’s your personal stake in this?”
“I was as much a pawn as you — more perhaps. I’d very much like to make sure the Nekroid get what’s owed.”
“An dat means?”
Figment skated closer to them and softened his voice. “As soon as this attack started, the base you found was destroyed by a tactical airstrike. But that base wasn’t the only one or even the main one.”
“Obviously. There’s no way that base could have made a dozen Cyclops.”
“Well, at the same time you were fighting your way back to the city, my employer, the one who double crossed us both, held me in a subterranean facility. Apparently, it’s a system of tunnels that were converted from the ancient waste disposal networks by the same process that changed the research laboratory. The same process that is changing you.”
“So? What can we do? The immediate threat is from those,” DaemonS pointed over her shoulder to the Cyclops that still lumbered toward them, albeit from a greater distance now. They seemed content to take their time, ensuring nothing remained standing where they passed. “Everyone will be needed to stop them.”
“The tanks will hold them, and the other squads can take them down. We are the only ones who possess an intimate knowledge of the Nekroid, we are better used elsewhere.”
“What do you mean?”
“A small squad will not be missed at the front, not against those. We must take the battle to the heart of the beast. I know where that is. Furthermore, I’ve seen the conversion pools, two of them in the main facility. They must be taken out or this battle will be meaningless.”
The suburban sprawl ended abruptly in an outcropping of buildings that stretched high into the sky. Multi-tiered networks of roadways circled them at the lower altitudes before giving way to a web of aerial lanes higher in the stratosphere. Forming a line across the lowest roadway was a platoon of tanks, one shield-generating Defender for every heavy assault Tortuga. Matchers and the remaining soldiers flocked toward the defensive line. The Cowgirlz followed, landing a short d
istance from the other warriors.
DaemonS stared out over the burning suburbs. From her vantage point ten stories over the ground, it seemed a giant arrow of fire was flying toward the city’s heart. She turned to Figment “What’s your plan?”
“I’ve already cleared it with the higher-ups, proposed it during the retreat. Initially, it was to be a follow-up attack after killing the Cyclops. Obviously, that’s changed.” Now it was his turn to watch the devastation and relentless approach of death. When he turned to her, he seemed uncertain, perhaps even apologetic. “We can’t call in a tactical airstrike on their main base because it’s buried under the city. That means we’ll have to hand-deliver the ordnance.”
“Specifics?”
“We are going to have to carry two Raptures into the base and detonate them point-blank on the conversion pools. That should devastate their base and buy the Global Earth squads enough time to finish here before they mop up below.”
“But that’s suicide!” The blast radius from the mini-nukes was far too large to have any chance of escape.
“I know,” he said, bowing his head to stare at the hard roadway. “That’s why the deliveries must be made by volunteers.”
“But who would... oh.” DaemonS reached to the bony protrusion that stretched up from her shoulders, now growing up the back of her head. With her index finger she traced the rough edge from base to apex feeling its solidity. It was a part of her now, as if it had always been there. Or perhaps she was becoming a part of it. Neither thought brought comfort. She brought her hand down, turning it over to stare at the tough, brown hide now covering the back. “You want us to volunteer.”
“No.” His answer surprised her but he continued before she could interrupt. “But you are the most logical choices.” Figment returned his gaze to the oncoming devastation. The Cyclops were almost within range of the Tortugas; the battle would soon be rejoined. “Not only do you have the advantage of hearing them,” he tapped the side of his head, “and looking like them — to some degree — but you also have the greatest reason of any to go.”
Game, Set, Deathmatch Page 20