Bombardier - The Complete Trilogy

by SD Tanner

  “No, this is Dunk’s fault. Your grandfather underestimated him, but you haven’t. Do what you think is right and we’ll follow you…I’ll follow you.”

  By raising his eyebrows, he hoped to show the skepticism he was feeling. “And you’ll crown me King?”

  “Even if I have to jam the damned crown on your head.”

  It was the first time Tank had ever hinted at a criticism of his grandfather, making him wonder why. His grandfather hadn’t killed Dunk when he had the chance and neither had he, so maybe they weren’t so different. He would kill in defense, but he wasn’t a murderer, nor did he crave power. Staring across the sea of faces turned towards him, he realized they needed to hear him speak.

  Using the microphone in his helmet, knowing they could hear him, he took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be King, but I don’t want to be ruled by an idiot either. That’s the core of the problem right there. Even the best of leaders will make mistakes and they can’t please all of us all of the time. Like any good parent, they want to do the right thing even when we don’t like what they’re doing. It isn’t only what Dunk Two is doing that’s the problem, but why he’s doing it. He does things to suit himself and not the needs of the people. This war will cost many of us our lives and it already has, but Dunk is done.”

  Tank squared up to the crowd, raising his fist high. “Death to Dunk!”

  His cry was taken up by thirty thousand voices all shouting, “Death to Dunk!”

  With that war cry, his troops were galvanized. Turning almost as a single force, they began jogging towards the ships. Thirty thousand soldiers were prepared to kill a man they’d never met. The BattleRigs were powering up, shuddering as the nanobytes brought them to life. Thousands of boots pounded across the silver surface, creating a rhythmic beat. Excited to be leaving at last, men and women were calling to one another as they boarded the rigs through the open docking bays. Where earlier they had been waiting as if they were going on a picnic, now they were moving as a determined horde, ready for battle.

  As the area in front of the podium cleared, he and Tank began walking across the silver surface, headed towards the lead BattleRig. Striding beside Tank, he gave him a sidelong look. “Death to Dunk. Really?”

  “It has a nice ring to it.”

  He was leading good people to their death, unsure if he was equipped to put up a decent fight. Where Tank appeared to revel at the prospect of taking out Dunk, he was worried. Every single one of the troops under his command were people. They had families, someone who loved them, but he was about to throw them under the bus. There was no such thing as pure evil, only complete stupidity. Dunk Two was so crazy that for all of his genius, he made himself stupid, dragging everyone else down with him.

  “I only want to stop Dunk Two.”

  “By stop you mean kill, right?”

  Although he’d never knowingly killed anyone, he wouldn’t hesitate to defend his people. Killing by remotely firing at another vessel was one thing. To look a man in the eyes before taking his life was entirely another.

  “Have you ever killed someone standing in front of you?”

  Tank’s stride stretched a little further, as if he could somehow walk away from his direct question. “It comes with the job.”

  “But you don’t like it?”

  Stopping and turning to face him, Tank shook his head. “Not many people do. It comes down to a question of defense. If it’s either your guys or theirs then you’ll do everything in your power to kill them.”

  “Do you ever regret killing?”

  “Every single day, Ark. Nobody wants to carry it on their conscience.”

  “How do you live with that?”

  “I don’t think about it.” Looking up at the sky, Tank sighed deeply before meeting his eyes again. “You don’t take any life lightly, but when push comes to shove you do what you have to. Whatever shit comes of it then you deal with it later.” Placing his hand on his shoulder, he added, “When the time comes, and it will, do not hesitate.”

  Walking with Tank towards their ship, he was again struck by how unprepared he was to lead the Bombardier Army. They’d transferred their faith in a man long dead to him. It would literally be the death of them.

  CHAPTER EIGHT:

  Homeward Bound

  (Ark Three)

  The fleet had been traveling through space for two months, steadily making its way towards Earth. He planned to park the BattleRigs once they were closer, sending the Scorpions out as scouts. It had been ten months since he’d rescued Mariana and Luki from CaliTech. Mariana was still unconscious in the small area on the ship designated as a medical bay. The nanobytes controlled the tubes inserted into her body, keeping her hydrated and fed. Luki and the Trachans had taken to one another, so he’d stayed with them. Tiana was primarily on his lead ship, but making regular visits to the other BattleRigs, helping to manage the nanobytes.

  Once the initial excitement of launching the fleet had worn off, all that remained was the mind numbing dullness of space travel. Unlike his days as a Navigator, he couldn’t sleep through the tour. Waking for yet another day of wasting time, he kind of hoped Dunk Two had invented teleportation.

  Killing Dunk Two wouldn’t stop Dunk Three from stepping into his well-worn shoes. He didn’t know how he was going to convince his brilliant brother to join him. Tank was of the opinion that all of the Dunks had to die, including the one sleeping under the research laboratory in CaliTech. Although he might be right, he wasn’t ready to murder his brother.

  At oh eight hundred they had a standing briefing with the Council of War. These were the seven men and women in charge of the Battalions of BattleRigs and supply ships. As the head of the show, he attended every meeting, struggling to pay attention to the catalogue of trivial problems they could solve without him. The Trachans had trained his Bombardiers and Navigators to run the ships and they provided onboard support to the engineers. Well trained and with good support, they didn’t need to tell him about their daily problems.

  Although everyone slept in the living area, as the Head of the Army, he had his own quarters. With a meeting table, bed and his own bathroom, it represented the height of luxury on a crowded ship, but it didn’t mean much to him. He only need to rest for an hour a day and he ate little. Being a Bombardier may have improved his productivity, but it also escalated his boredom.

  Staring at his face in the bathroom mirror, he couldn’t see through the wall thanks to the nanobytes pulsing energy. Not that it mattered. He already knew what was happening on the other side. Most of the Bombardiers and Navigators had paired up, forming couples and families. Since joining Tracha, he’d been accepted into their community, respected for something he had yet to achieve.

  Snapping the last clip on his armored suit, he picked up his helmet. After the last attack, they’d learned to stay in full battle gear even when there was no apparent danger. Some grumbled about having to be battle ready, but none had forgotten the two hundred lives they’d lost. Despite searching extensively, Tank and Tiana had never found the crew. Their loss had left a bitter taste in all of their mouths.

  Inside of the large briefing room was an oval table surrounded by chairs sturdy enough to seat Bombardiers and Navigators in full armor. His Weapons, Navigation and Visibility specialists were already sitting at the table. At exactly oh eight hundred hours Tank and Tiana walked in through another door. Today Tank was acting as the Captain of the lead BattleRig.

  Dropping into the seat at the head of the table, he looked at each of them. “Is everyone on the grid?”

  “Battalion Delta is on the grid. Bombardier seven-two-one reporting as General.”

  One by one, each of the seven Generals reported in until all of their faces appeared on the screen at the head of the room.

  They would each present a RAG report. Red was for critical issues, Amber was for not serious, and Green was for barely worth mentioning. Leaning back against his chair, he prepared to be bored, only it did
n’t work out that way.

  The thing that materialized out of thin air in front of him stood at least eight feet tall, was over four feet wide, and covered in a dull metallic colored skin. With broad shoulders and a sunken head, it was aiming two sizeable guns at him. Pushing off from his chair, he dove sideways. Tank was already on his feet, swinging his armored arm at its legs. The Weapons and Navigation specialists joined him in an effort to throw it off balance. The legs of the table never designed to be danced on by three heavyweights buckled. The table lurched to the left, sending the robot’s shots wide. Falling with the crashing table, the oversized mechanical toy tipped to the left. Landing heavily onto its side, it seemed confused about what to do next.

  While the heavyset legs flailed, Tank launched across the now broken table, landing onto its chest. Tank must have weighed at least three hundred and fifty pounds without armor and over four hundred with it. His weight alone could crush the lungs of any man, but not this oversized toy. Sitting up, it dislodged Tank by rolling him onto the floor. The ship’s speakers had begun to emit a high-pitched howl, alerting everyone to take their battle positions. After the last disaster, they had orders to launch the Scorpions, leaving a battle team to fight the robot.

  “Grab its guns!”

  Tank was already reaching up from the ground, pulling down a thick arm already taking aim at him. Pulling its metallic arm free, it punched Tank’s exposed face, making him drop to the floor again. The robot had no features, only a dark metal face and a visor where its eyes should have been. Even though it was faceless, he could feel just how much it hated him. Stepping forwards, it fired again. Dropping to floor, he rolled to the other side of the now lurching table.

  Tank was on his feet wrapping an arm around the thick waist covered in layered belts of ammunition. “Go!”

  Ignoring Tank’s order, he pushed himself back onto his feet. The robot was taking aim again, targeting only him. Both doors to the meeting room opened revealing Mex and Lace on each side holding Needle handguns.

  “Get down!”

  Dropping to his stomach, they unleashed the mini-railguns firing needle-shaped bullets at the robot. The room exploded with the sound of gunfire and pieces of the robot’s armor flicked across the room. Not bothering to defend itself, the upper body of the robot spun and the bottom half followed a nanosecond later. Ignoring the bullets, launchers rotated from its back onto each shoulder. Plasma grenades fired from both launchers, each directed at a different door. Still firing, Mex and Lace disappeared under the blast. Seeming satisfied, the upper half of the robot spun around towards him. As the lower body followed, it was again pointing both guns at him.

  “Ark, go!”

  Tank was ordering him to leave again, but that wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t going to run. As it fired again, he rolled once, twice, three times across the floor, narrowly avoiding being hit each time. They weren’t winning this fight. During the last attack, the robot had known to blow their Scorpions, ripping away the docking bay. It had then killed the crew with a missile, topping off the attack by blowing a hole in the hull of the Bridge. He already knew it was loaded with enough ammunition and weapons to take down his ship. Thinking fast, he decided Tank was right. He needed to go.

  “It only wants me.”

  Launching at the back of the robot, the Weapons and Navigation specialists tried to knock it from its feet. Heaving themselves into its solid frame, both Bombardiers reached around, each grabbing an arm.

  Throwing himself across the broken table, Tank put himself between him and the robot. “Go!”

  As he climbed onto his feet, heading towards the broken door, he shouted, “Come with me. We’ll take it to a hatch.”

  When Tank squared up to the robot, ready to fight it head on, he pulled at the back of his armor. “C’mon, Tank. Gotta go!” The robot was already pulling its arms from the Bombardiers. Whistling through his teeth, he flicked his head at it. “Walkies!”

  Not waiting to see if it was following, he ran out of the room with Tank hard on his heels. The ship had thirty escape pods positioned along each level. Using the speaker on his headset, he shouted, “Tiana, clear the hatches on my level.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m gonna lead this puppy into a hatch and then I want you blow us into space.”

  Her reply was cut short by the gunfire chasing him along the corridor. Leaving searing burn marks on the silver walls, the plasma fire was a blur of flickering light against the shiny metal. The hatch was at the end of the corridor. Designed for emergencies they were easy to open. A strip of green colored light glowed across the top of the round door indicating it was pressurized inside. Snapping the metal bar across the door, he pulled it open. Tiana had already fired the pod into space, leaving only an empty tube. He and Tank ran to the end of the hatch waiting for the robot to follow.

  “I don’t know about this, Ark. We’re cornered.”

  “It’ll be fine. Tiana, blow the outer door open when I say.”

  Losing them inside of the tunnel, the robot had stopped firing. He couldn’t see its head, only thick metal legs as it stomped in a steady and predictable way towards the hatch.

  “What if it fires down the hole?”

  “Then Tiana will blow the hatch.”

  Sounding dissatisfied, Tank replied, “She won’t need to if it fires a missile.”

  “It can’t see us. I don’t think it’ll waste the shot.”

  Just as he expected, the robot was bending low, easing itself through the hole at the entrance to the hatch. The door clunked noisily as it closed behind it. Seeing them standing side by side with their backs to the outside hatch, it straightened. Raising both guns, it took aim.

  Whistling through his teeth again, he shouted, “Hey, Dunk Two!” Raising his gloved hand, he gave the robot a one fingered salute. “Now, Tiana, now!”

  The door behind him blew outwards, instantly sucking him and Tank into space. Tumbling under the force of the escaping pressure, Tank flew beside him. Now in free space, they both reached out, grasping for one another’s armor. The mechanical toy flew out of the hole after them.

  He and Tank were holding onto one another’s forearms, still moving through space. Free from interference by the nanobytes, he could see silver Scorpions hovering around the BattleRig. The other ships were far away, but they would all be on route to them. Half a dozen Scorpions broke away from the BattleRig, heading in their direction.

  “Good plan,” Tank said, but his tone was sarcastic.

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “Aside from the floating in space thing.”

  “Tiana, get the Scorpions to pick up that oversized toy…and us”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea? It almost killed you.”

  She had a point. “Tell them to carve it up in space and bring back the body parts.”

  “Lovely,” Tank said dourly.

  “We need to find out what it is.”

  “I think we know what it is. Worse than that, I doubt it’s a prototype.”

  “We’ll hand it over to the Trachan engineers. Maybe they can copy it.”

  CHAPTER NINE:

  Dead Gene Pool

  (Dunk Three)

  “What did you do?”

  Dunk Two spun his chair to face him, giving him a wide-eyed look. “Nothing.”

  “I told you not to send a BattleDroid after Ark Three and then you did.”

  “Wish I hadn’t now. He stole it.”

  Still sitting in front of the screen he’d used to control the droid, it was displaying the last image it had. Tank and Ark Three were standing with their backs to a hatch, staring down a tube shaped corridor at the BattleDroid. Ark Three had his hand extended and he was giving Dunk Two the finger. If Dunk Two believed Ark Three had stolen the droid then at least it meant he wasn’t dead.

  “Why did you try to kill my brother?”

  Rolling his eyes and standing up from the chair, Dunk Two stretched his shoulders as
if he’d been the one doing the fighting. “Don’t start that again. I’m more your brother than he is.”

  Grabbing him by the arm, he leaned into Dunk Two, hoping to convey how serious he was. “I mean it. Don’t kill Ark.”

  “He’s going to kill us.”

  Thrusting his arm away from him, he shook his head in disgust. “You don’t know that. He could have killed us when he rescued the aliens and he didn’t.”

  Clearly not interested in rehashing an old argument, Dunk Two walked away, leaving him with several bewildered engineers. Watching his disappearing back, he sighed to himself. The issue between Ark Three and Dunk Two was getting out of hand. They were both taking actions that would lead to a full-scale war, only he didn’t know what Ark Three could do. He’d never seen ships like the one showing on the screen, but obviously Ark Three had more than a few of them. Dunk Two had shored up their defenses in ways he hadn’t known were possible. The wormhole machine was operational and they had hundreds of BattleDroids. With eight hundred Battleships spread across space, at least one droid had been assigned to each. Earth was now surrounded by a grid of heavily armed ships, ready to do battle with anything that dared enter their space.

  There was no way Ark Three could know what was waiting for him. He needed to stop this now before Dunk Two tore him apart. Frustrated, he walked out of the room, heading for the cryogenics chamber underneath the building. Hoping they would find the cure for old age, the original Dunk had put himself into suspended animation. It had been an absurd idea and Dunk Two hadn’t invested any research time into extending his life.

  When the door to the lowest level of the building opened, a large cryogenic tube dominated the middle of the room, instantly reminding of a mausoleum. Other than the controlled conditions, while suspended, the human body didn’t need much. The coffin shaped chamber was surrounded by banks of screens controlling its environment. Two technicians were always present, monitoring the system and making sure nothing disrupted the delicate balance inside of the chamber.

  Striding across the room, he peered into the small square of glass at the top of the coffin. Dunk’s deeply wrinkled face was pale, his eyes were closed, and there was a faint mist covering his features.