Invasion Wars 1: Crimes of War

by Ray O'Neil

  The transport VTOLs were protected by jet fighter escorts, but they were certainly not invulnerable.

  The loudspeaker in Emich’s room dinged, followed by an automated female voice. “GCB has been activated. Remain in the aircraft until further instructed.”

  A strong thickness in the air meant they were doing some tricky maneuvers, the Gravitational Counterbalance stopping everyone and everything inside from tumbling around. Grey “petals” filled the clouds as Sky Screamers flew by, the shoot in their backs releasing them by the thousands. Fluttering and tumbling, they flew towards the VTOL with a mind of their own, buzzing like an angry hive of bees. Nearly having a Sky Screamer hit him head on, the pilot executed a swift barrel roll to the right, spinning the transport out of the way and leaving it flying slanted for a while to be ready with another maneuver; the jets on its wings positioning diagonally to continue its flight forward.

  The jet fighters unveiled themselves, turning off their cloaking system. Seeing that the enemy was behind the transports now, a pack of jet fighter nearby fell into a glide, turning off their back engines. In a second, their cockpit slide to the back and spun around, the side wings flipping to face in the other direction. Firing up what used to be the frontal jets, the flying wings flew towards Niflheim aircraft to unload their missiles at them. The guns surrounding the transports all went off at once, locking onto the metallic petals that fluttered towards them; being used defensively and letting the interceptors handle the Sky Screamers.

  Putting on his helmet and locking it in place, Emich grabbed his MBC3 and left his room. The pilot sat there next to him, rigged up in the flight sphere that surrounded him with controls and monitors. Death metal blasted from his personal speaker, filling his little bubble at the tip of the transport ship. The blank face of VALKYRIE floated above him, attaching the pilot to the rest of the transports flying in a V formation with them. They only needed a pilot to give human confirmation, the AI being the real controller of the ship.

  As he walked, Emich gave two pounds to each room, the left side with his fist and the right side with the barrel of his long cannon. Doors opened after his knocks, the soldiers shouting and celebrating in anticipation. Most of it was in Russian, meaning his squad was going to be a pain to keep under control. Because of the way their boot camps trained their men, they were most commonly known as ERA Berserkers. High in numbers and even higher in combat efficiency, their only weakness was putting the leash back on after they were released.

  He pounded the door to the last door on the left. “Out and about, soldier. Time for takeoff.”

  There was no response from inside. Emich was about to head to the launch bay, but turned around when he didn’t hear the door squeak open.

  He pounded on the door again, harder and making a louder clang. “It’s time to move out soldier! On the double!”

  “Just a second, sir.”

  Allowing himself in, Emich was in no mood for talk-back. “When I say it’s time to move out, you move out.”

  The brunette was still sitting down in her cot and still in her black spandex undersuit. The front of her bob cut hung down, hiding her face as she messed around with the connector port under her right hip. The cybernetic leg she was fiddling around still had its panels opened, the wires and chips inside exposed. She wasn’t as muscular as the Russian girls in the group, her figure more similar to a ballerinas. Small, graceful, and elegant; someone that wasn’t made for war.

  Seeing Emich was walking up to her, she gave him a flash of her blue eyes, practically glowing in the dim lighting of the room. “It’ll only be a wee bit longer. If my leg wasn’t being so stubborn, I would have been up by now.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Emich’s voice was suddenly softer, his face completely different and thankfully hidden behind the T-shaped visor of his helmet.

  “Oh, nothing. It’s always acting up, that’s all.” An Irish accent was present in her voice, the way her tone rose and fell and she spoke.

  Emich unhooked his helmet and set it on the ground as he went down to a knee; setting his gun against the wall. Pressing a button on his wrist screen, his metal gauntlets split open and bloomed backwards to free up his hands. Taking the leg from the female soldier, he looked it over and started moving parts around inside. With only a few moves and a twist of a wire, he slapped all of the panels closed and twisted the top end into the girl’s connector port. It beeped on, announcing that everything was working fine.

  “Now get up and suit up.” He picked up his helmet and put it back on, his gauntlets flipping back into place — one half at a time. “We’re almost at the launch point and we’re not waiting for nobody.”

  She got up and headed over to the Exoframe she had waiting for her in its maintenance tube. Stopping for a second, she couldn’t help but admire its fluid movement. “Say, it works like a charm. Were you a repair man in your civilian life?”

  Emich picked up his gun, dragging it across the floor, unwillingly letting out a loud screech. “No... My mother had one.” He stopped himself from saying anything else, turning himself towards the door. “I want you ready for launch on the double. That’s an order.”

  By the time Ashley Webber could turn around to position herself into the back half of the split open Beowulf, Emich was already gone. The fear was getting to her, the anticipation of the battle to be had. She looked down at her mechanical leg, forgetting all about being afraid. Taking a deep breath, she she settled down her burning rage and activated the repair dock to set her up. Hydraulics whirled as the top of the Exoframe lowered towards her, closing up the bulky metal suit.

  Closing her eyes, she used the sounds of bolts being tightened into her Exoframe’s corner slots to drown out the screaming in her thoughts.

  “Does anyone here know who the squad leader is? Anybody at all?” Dracul stopped another soldier as he was walking by. “Do you know who the SL is?”

  “Nyet.”

  Pushing him away, he looked over at the rest of the Russian soldiers. One of them had his speakers playing club music as loud as possible, everyone cheering and dancing around him like stiff robots in their Exoframes. Storming up to the crowd of dancers, Dracul punched his way through, connecting his fist with anyone’s face that was in his path. The one playing the music took a step back when he saw the German Sergeant was coming towards him. He tried to take Dracul with a swift forward kick, but only hand his leg grabbed instead. Lifting the Russian up by the leg, Dracul flipped him over, having the soldier land face down and shake the ship a little.

  “I catch any of you messing around again and I’ll shoot you myself.” He took his cannon off of the holder hooks on his back. “Maybe I should shoot the DJ here to teach you guys a lesson.”

  Emich got to the launch bay right when Dracul pointed his cannon at the prone soldier. “Do that and you’ll have to deal with me.”

  Dracul glanced over his soldier, seeing Emich standing right behind him. “And who are you? His boyfriend?”

  Emich lowered his head, looking down at the soldier. His Exoframe was covered with a black and gold iron cross on the front. At his waist was red leather half-skirt, heavily torn and charred. His armor was fixed with repair “scars” where parts were welded back together. Emich could only imagine Old Blood trooper had similar damage under the armor, due to his permanent war zone of a life.

  That’s how the Old Blood were: made strictly for battle and nothing more.

  “I’m the SL,” Emich stated. “I heard you were looking for me?”

  Dracul put his cannon down, but his aggressive stance didn’t change. “Yeah, I’m looking for you. I just wanted to see who was going to give orders around here. I’d do it, but somehow you’re a higher rank than me.”

  Emich could tell he was young, probably the same age as him. Joining the ERA Youth when he turned sixteen, he was able to see action during Second Spear; a practice that was only allowed during that state of panic the world. More time in the fight, more time to
go up in the ranks. Especially at a time where spots got emptied out faster than ever. The ERA could never have too many officers when there was a war going on.

  Emich didn’t answer. The less energy wasted, the better. There was no talking to an Old Blood. Their new age culture thrived on superiority and authority. Walking by Dracul without looking at him, he approached the group of Russians, the only music coming faintly from the cockpit all the way at the front of the transport.

  “Attention.” He pointed at the launch tubes on the transport’s sides, the hatches to the strike caskets wide open. “Line up at a tube and prepare for launch.”

  After the blows they received, the Berserkers obeyed and took a spot in front of a launch tube, setting their cannons and their gear inside before standing at attention. While they did, Ashley arrived. Emich didn’t bother with her, seeing that she was already making her way to the tube closest to her on the right. Getting into his casket, he closed the hatch and strapped himself in, lying down with barely enough room to move his arms. Previously, the strike casket was only used for covert operations, able to land single soldiers quickly and effectively.

  Now, they were the only thing that could allow a heavy Beowulf to drop in from the sky without breaking every bone in the soldier’s body.

  “Connect your status to Squad 7’s teamlink so I know who is in my squad and still alive. SL is Emich Aumeier and your SIC is…” He waited for the name to appear as his wrist screen filled up with team members. Everyone inside was barely out of bootcamp besides him and one other. “... Sergeant Dracul Goering. I’ll give you a quick recap of the mission. We are to strike into the southern spire of the ETO, Spire Durathro. Our mission is to take out its power production and make it so the troops on the ground don’t get grinded up by the ETO’s defensive measures. Taking out Spire Durathro is vital to this operation. Failure is not an option. Once you are in the objective, regroup on the SL.”

  “We can handling it on our own,” one of the Berserkers shouted on the radio.

  “Da, we don’t need them. Tell them to go back to mommy.”

  Everyone started talking at once, making it impossible to understand anyone.

  “Cut the chatter,” Emich shouted through the mass of taunts and jeers. “We are closing in on launch range.”

  The red light in the casket kept everything dark, its thick metal casing silencing everything going on outside. Turrets continued to fire upon the razor petals outside, some of them getting through. Clinging onto the transport’s hull, they sliced their way through, spinning in place like a self-propelling sawblade. Directing themselves towards the swirled spire ahead of their flight path, the launch cannons on the sides of the transports swung to the right in unison. Prisms on the south side of the Yggdrasil glowed, the sight of them activating in the distance like stars in water ripples.

  The light turned green. Emich felt the sudden tug of the cannon sending him out into the air, followed by the rockets firing up and shaking the casket violently. Now that he was in motion, the light disappeared to have the face screen of the casket show everything outside. The cameras on the casket’s exterior showed nothing but clouds and red lights flying by. Looking up he could see what was happening behind him.

  Right when he lifted his head, the transport’s nose was hit with a red salvo head on — its wings folding down as it was split right down the middle. Some of the caskets flew straight into razor petals, being completely covered as they cut their way in. The other transports behind them were sending out their troops as well, the freezing air behind them leaving hundreds of contrails to stream across the sky. The defensive prism fire continued, turning any of the transports or the caskets hit into a ball of flame; raining down molten metal on whatever was down below.

  Sporadic beeping told him that squad members were disconnected from the teamlink. Looking away from the aerial battle behind him, Emich took control of his strike casket, seeing that the ETO was coming in close. Fog covered the lower halves of the Yggdrasil’s spires and citadel, like a castle in the clouds made from a segment of earth. There was no telling where the power core of the ETO was located, since each Yggdrasil grows differently, so Emich had to make a guess on where to start. Aiming his casket upwards, he activated its frontal shock drill and risked putting himself deep into enemy lines, at the very top of the spire.

  “This is Emich. All units, aim your strike as high as you can.”

  Dracul’s voice was the first to respond and the last one Emich wanted to hear. “Negative SL. That would get us all killed. On me, Berserkers. Dive into the fog and take them head on!”

  Emich gritted his teeth. “SIC, you are disobeying direct orders. Violation of command will be trialed by force.”

  “I’m following orders, you panty waste,” Dracul shot back. “I’m just not follow your orders that will get the rest of us killed. On me, Berserkers!”

  Dracul’s casket dove into the fog, disappearing from sight. Others followed, even from caskets that weren’t from their transport. With red salvos flying by, Emich couldn’t risk changing directions now that he was so high up. Getting into drill range, he pressed the button on the joystick he used to control the casket. It shook violently, the rockets going into overdrive and its small wings pulling back — turning the casket into a massive bullet.

  The tip of the casket hit the ETOs outer wall hard enough to dig deep through the ship’s thick hull. Emich could feel the GCM struggling to fight off the impact, the air wavering inside and making him feel like he was inside of a marching drum. Stopping deep into the wall, the frontal drill carried him through as the screen in front of him showed the nearest cavern was only a few meters in front of him and to the right.

  It wasn’t his first time being alone on the battlefield, but it was his first time being alone on the inside of an Yggdrasil. Endless caverns, giant crystals hanging from the ceiling and growing out of the walls, alien plant life that was just as deadly as it was beautiful. Days disappear, time becomes nonexistent. All that matters is staying alive for as long as you can. The chances of coming out of an Yggdrasil was closer to zero than anything else.

  Coming out of his casket, Emich fell to the ground, his drilling taking him near the top of the huge cavern. Already with his cannon ready, he fired on a few Niflheim Sleip — large, eight legged creatures that always occupied the deeper parts of an ETO. One of them tried to get a shot off with its tusk lasers, firing two green beams at the descending ERA soldier. Aimed from the hip, the cannon’s red dot sight hopped between creatures in quick succession. Once he landed on the ground on a knee, the Sleip were nothing but shattered remains, their rocky bodies bursting into clumps from the impact of the cannon’s hard hitting round. Checking the area for any more activity, he stood up once he saw the coast was clear.

  He could hear laser fire, but not from where he was. “I’m under heavy fire,” Ashley said, over the blasts of her MBC3. “My position is near the SL.”

  Emich looked down at his wrist screen, seeing her dot was down the cavern to the left. Keeping his cannon forwards, he ran in that direction. “SL here. I’m the only one near your position.”

  Ashley kept herself behind a wall, the Niflheim Wotans firing their plasma blasters, sounding exactly like a violent thunderstorm. The bright blue rounds chiseled away at the corner, a big chunk cracking off and hitting Ashley in the shoulder. Stepping to the side to get into cover, she crouched down and fired a few blind shots their way, getting one in the leg, but not taking it out of the fight. It fired from the ground, ignoring the damage done to its shredded leg. Steam hissed from the tip of her barrel, red hot and covering the area around her in hot mist as it cooled down while she reloaded.

  “Bollocks. Don’t tell me everyone kicked the bucket already.”

  “Nope. Just an Old Blood for a second in command.”

  Emich could see the Wotans in front of him, their backs turned and their gunfire focused on a corner. Charging in, he got one in the back, the third shot bein
g the one that tore through its chest to leave a gaping hole in its torso. The one that was prone tried to turn over and look down its body at Emich, a shot tearing the blaster out of its hands and a second shot hitting under its chin and through the top of its short skull. By the time the other two could react from approaching Beowulf, Emich swung his rifle over a Wotan’s head and got it in a lock with the broad side of the weapon. Pulling down and stepping aside, he was able to send the tall alien down on its back.

  Bashing the barrel of his cannon while the Wotan tried to fire at him, it let out a grunt and shot up at the ceiling. The round that came out of the cannon at such close range was powerful enough to turn the Wotan’s head into an explosion of purple blood; the remainder of its body leaning back into the small crater it caused in the floor. Ashely got out of cover and moved forward, shooting the arm off of a Wotan and hitting its plasma blaster right in the blue swirl that spun in the middle. Emich shielded his face as the powercore of the blaster blew up, letting out a blue sphere of electrical fire. He hit his back on the wall from the small explosion, being just outside of the sphere’s reach.

  The sphere obliterated everything within it, leaving nothing but a clean circling of empty space, the crater in the ground a smooth curve.

  Holding himself up with his cannon, Emich pushed off of the wall and groaned, the shock of the blast making his back sore. “Try not to make a habit of that,” he said, coughing from the wind being knocked out of him.

  “My apologies.” she held him up to get him moving. “Are you okay, there?”

  Emich shrugged himself away from her, not wanting her help. “I’m used to it,” he said in a hushed tone. Reloading, he glanced back at her. “I just don’t want to be too used to it.”