Alien War Trilogy 1: Hoplite

by Isaac Hooke

  Parnell frowned, his face momentarily darkening. But then his features smoothed. “You’re my tacticians. I’ll trust your collective judgment. Chief, send out an HS3 to scout that jungle now. And leave another in the middle of the plain to act as a repeater.”

  “Will do,” the chief replied.

  Bender dispatched the necessary HS3s and then returned to his work on the extractor with Tahoe, Harlequin and Vicks.

  “The lead HS3 has entered the jungle,” Bender announced several minutes later.

  “Keep us posted,” the commander said.

  A minute later, Bender said: “It just reached the site where the two missiles launched. This is odd... there should have been some debris from the mobile silos, but all I’m finding is tracks leading away west. I was sure our Raptors got them.”

  “Maybe they did,” Rade commented. “And the hammerheads dragged them away, along with the shuttle and boosters.”

  “Have the HS3 continue exploring,” Commander Parnell ordered. “But I want it to return to the edge of the jungle by nightfall so that the rest of us can proceed west.”

  Half an hour later TJ spoke up. “I managed to recover a lone log entry from the damaged holographic drive. The last entry ever made.” He sounded grim. “I’ll play it for you all.”

  “Wait,” Parnell said. “Send it to me only, for now.”

  TJ glanced at Facehopper, who nodded in assent from behind his faceplate.

  “There you go,” TJ said.

  The commander was quiet for several moments. His face seemed to grow pale behind the photochromic polycarbonate of his helmet.

  He abruptly sat down on the cave floor. Toppled, really. After several moments he waved a hand wearily. “Play it for everyone else.”

  The holographic image of a woman appeared on Rade’s vision. She was relatively attractive, though at the moment appeared very haggard-looking: her cheeks sagged, accentuating her frown lines, and her eyes were dark hollows. She was dressed in command fatigues.

  “This is Commander Julie Amati,” the woman said. “Of the John A. McDonald. We thought we were safe after we sealed the cave. We stayed inside, laying low, planning how we would survive the next year or more until rescue. But unknown to us, they were digging the whole while. Slowly coming for us. We realized it too late. They destroyed everything we built here to sustain ourselves.

  “We’ve retreated to the inner recesses of the cave system to make our last stand. I’ve dispersed the combat robots throughout the tunnels to buy us some time. We’ll do our best to drive off the enemy, but I don’t have high hopes: there are simply too many of them. Marik has come up with a last ditch plan to stop them, involving the stalactites. If it fails, this will be my last entry. Commander Amati out.”

  Her image faded.

  The platoon remained very still, observing reverent silence for several moments. How could they do otherwise? They had just listened to a message recorded by a woman moments before she was about to die, wherein she proclaimed her intention to fight to the end. Any MOTH would have done the same.

  “How do we know that was really Commander Amati?” Lui finally said. “Could be a computer-generated stand-in.”

  “That’s her,” Parnell confirmed. “I knew her from the academy. Did you see the way she rubbed her right eye when she mentioned making her last stand? She did that often in real life.”

  “Computer-generated stand-ins can be very convincing,” Lui said. “Capable of matching the unconscious habits of a given subject down to the micro-tic level.”

  “Lui, mate,” Facehopper said. “I think we’ll assume she was real, for now.”

  “Just saying,” Lui replied.

  “Bender!” Snakeoil transmitted from his sentry position at the cave entrance. “I think I discovered the source of your mysterious servomotor.”

  “What are you talking about, bro?” Bender returned.

  Snakeoil ignored the question, and instead said: “Chief, it was probably a bad idea to send that HS3 into the jungle.”

  “Why,” Facehopper transmitted. “What’s going on?”

  “Attackers are streaming onto the plains,” Snakeoil replied.

  “More hammerheads?”

  “No,” Snakeoil said. “These are mechs.”

  twelve

  Rade glanced at Facehopper.

  “Say again?” the chief said. “Mechs?”

  “Yes,” Snakeoil returned. “Either mechs, or giant robots. Of a design I’ve never seen before. Their torsos are thick, built like tanks. Definitely could hold at least one occupant, if not more. Their legs are powerful, meant for running. And their upper bodies have four arms—two in front, and two in behind. They’ve got swivel mounts on their hands, for swapping out weapons. And they’ve got what look like shoulder-mounted rockets.”

  “How many of them?”

  “I’m counting thirty.”

  Rade exchanged a look with Facehopper. “Twice as many as we have.”

  “Snakeoil, pipe me into your feed,” Facehopper said.

  The chief shared it with the platoon.

  Rade saw the plains, dim in the twilight of the waning sun. He knew Snakeoil’s display was brightening the light levels, as it was almost night. Rade focused on the dark masses that approached, zooming in on his local copy of the stream.

  The mechs were precisely as Snakeoil described. Massive torsos connected to long, powerful legs. It appeared the upper bodies were rotated sideways so that all four arms were facing forward. Those arms were spread out so each weapon had an unobstructed line of sight. He observed what looked like a projectile launcher, an incendiary, and a missile launcher. And on the shoulders were mounted what looked like lasers, not the rockets Snakeoil had originally surmised. Their heads were small nubs with yellow “eyes” near the base. Based on the height measurements provided by the AI, the mechs were a little under twice as tall as the Hoplites.

  The computed trajectories of the mechs matched up with the rock face directly below the cave.

  “They look like insects standing on their hind legs or something,” Bomb said. “Like roaches waving their arms when you’ve turned them upside down.”

  “Roaches,” Manic said. “That’s what I’m going to call ‘em.”

  “Snakeoil, have you tried pinging them?” the chief asked.

  “I have,” Snakeoil replied. “On all frequency bands, encrypted and unencrypted. No response.”

  “Snakeoil,” Rade said. “Do we still have contact with the foremost HS3?”

  “Negative,” Snakeoil replied. “But we do have contact with the repeater. I’ve already recalled it.”

  “Did we get any interesting video footage before the HS3 went down?” Rade asked.

  “Not really. I’ll send you the last ten seconds so you can judge for yourself.”

  Rade streamed the feed to the rest of the platoon as he watched it.

  The HS3 hovered through the purple foliage. Because of the thick canopy overhead, and the twilight, the light levels were extremely low, and the footage was marred by the grainy streaks caused by the camera digitally increasing the brightness.

  Rade saw a sudden flash of metal, then darkness.

  “Smith,” Rade said. “Replay that last second, eight times slower.”

  The footage replayed. That flash of metal turned out to be a large, metallic arm, striking down through the trees toward the HS3.

  “That tells us everything we need to know,” the chief said. “Everyone, to your Hoplites! We’re going to assume strategic positions at the cave entrance.”

  “About that,” Snakeoil said. “We’ve been surveying the rock face immediately surrounding the entrance. We got some hides for the rest of you. I’m sending the positions now. I’ll leave it up to you, Chief, on how you want to distribute the platoon.”

  “Rage,” Facehopper sent. “Allocate the positions. Commander Parnell and Lieutenant Vicks, we’ll deposit you just inside the cave entrance. Try to stay back during the fig
hting. Harlequin, you’ll fight from Bender’s passenger seat. I’ll expect you to put that M7 to good use. Snakeoil, Mauler and Grappler, target the incoming mechs with your cobras and fire when they are within range.”

  “They’re already within range,” Snakeoil said. “Targeting and firing.”

  Rage loaded into his Hoplite and hurried into the choke point of the tunnel exit with the others; they crawled their mechs through the partially collapsed section as fast as they were able.

  We should have dug out this damn section.

  Halfway through the choke point, Rade received the hides Snakeoil had picked out. He decided that only four of them were suitable for deployment. The remaining positions were too exposed.

  “Snakeoil, how far is it to the top of the rock formations?” Rade asked.

  “About another kilometer,” Snakeoil replied. “We won’t be able to position any mechs up there in time, though, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Rade finally emerged into the wider portion of the tunnel and picked up his pace.

  “Cyclone, Keelhaul, Skullcracker, Bender,” Rade said. “When you reach the cave entrance, I want you to deploy to the following hides.” He marked off the locations on the topographical wireframe overlaying the upper right of his vision. “Cyclone and Keelhaul, take the two crevices near the entrance. Skullcracker, your place is behind this outcrop. Bender, you get the upper ledge here. Before going outside, stow a combat robot in your passenger seat.”

  “I have an Artificial taking up space in my passenger seat already,” Bender said.

  “That comment was meant more for Cyclone, Keelhaul and Skullcracker,” Rade replied.

  “Gotcha.”

  Rade assigned the remaining eleven mechs to the cave entrance—seven in kneeling positions, side by side with shields deployed, four standing behind them. He instructed two combat robots to remain with Vicks and Parnell, and had the remainder deploy into the available passenger seats of the mechs.

  The tunnel shook.

  “What was that?” Facehopper sent over the comm.

  “We just took a missile hit,” Mauler returned. “No casualties, but we lost half the ledge.”

  “Can we still squeeze seven mechs into the cave opening?” Rade asked over the comm.

  “We can,” Snakeoil replied. “But it’s going to be a jagged line of mechs.”

  “That’s fine.”

  The platoon of Hoplites reached the entrance. Mauler hadn’t been kidding when he said they’d lost half the ledge: the entrance curved inward, forming a ragged, gaping hole that fell away onto the cliff face.

  Tahoe, Keelhaul, Skullcracker, and Bender jetted out to assume their hides, while the remaining mechs took their places along the edge.

  “Be ready to fire your cobras at any incoming missiles,” Rade instructed those who had remained by the entrance. “But be prepared to retreat.”

  “One of us needs to stay behind at all times,” Snakeoil said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “To launch a Trench Coat,” Snakeoil said. “We have to do everything we can to destroy any incoming missiles. If we allow any more to strike, we risk collapsing the entire entrance.”

  “All right, we’ll alternate when missiles come in,” Rade said. “I’m sending the combat order now.”

  He randomized the list of mechs at the entrance and fed it to the platoon. He set the AIs to automatically alert the next person in the queue when a missile attack came.

  “Those of you assigned to the front line when an attack comes,” Rade said. “I want you to launch as many Trench Coats as necessary to stop the missiles, but then pull back.”

  “Only common sense, boss,” Manic replied.

  “And so it is,” Rade said. “But you’d be surprised at how quickly common sense goes out the window in the midst of combat.”

  “As do most plans,” Lui added.

  Rade had assigned himself one of the standing positions in back, and he stared over the shields of those in front of him to survey the rapidly approaching enemy. They were about a kilometer from the base of the rock formation.

  “Tell me you’ve downed some of them already, Snakeoil,” Facehopper said.

  “We got three of the roaches so far,” Snakeoil said. “With the assistive AI of the Hoplites, we’ve been repeatedly targeting identical spots on the same mechs. Their armor seems thickest at the center of their torsos, and I’m guessing that’s where their power sources or AI cores are housed. So we’ve been concentrating on the legs, bringing them down that way. Unfortunately, that doesn’t disable them entirely, and the fallen are still able to fire nano-second pulse lasers in return. Our shields have been holding up so far, but they won’t last forever.”

  The shields were mirror-like, designed to reflect as much laser light as possible. However, that wouldn’t stop the more powerful lasers from penetrating.

  Rade pulled up the stats of his platoon, and saw that Snakeoil had borne the brunt of the laser strikes so far: his shield had a huge groove carved into the middle where the enemy seemed to be concentrating fire.

  “Snakeoil, you’re relieved from the front line position,” Rade said. “Fret, take his place. Everyone, link your cobra targeting system to my own. I want us firing at the same roach.” He muted the outgoing comm and spoke to his AI: “Smith, target the legs of the leading mech. Aim for the knee joint. I want you to update the position in realtime so that we’re constantly hitting the same spot. Let’s see if we can blow its feet out from under it.”

  “Ready,” Smith replied.

  “Fire.”

  Rade watched as the mech collapsed. “Let’s do the same thing with the next enemy.” He targeted the knees of the adjacent roach and fired. In unison, all the infrared lasers in the group pulsed.

  “Incoming missiles!” Mauler announced. “Thirty of them!”

  “They’re firing everything at once, are they?” Facehopper said. “Target them with your cobras! Take them down before they break into smaller warheads!”

  “Don’t think these ones can break into smaller warheads, Chief,” Snakeoil said.

  “Even so, I want them out of the sky!”

  Rade unlinked the cobras so that the others could fire at will. The mechs did just that, and half of the missiles either exploded or dropped. Rade raised the laser of his other hand and fired again, as did other Hoplites, and those Centurions that had switched to laser rifles. Fourteen missiles were terminated in that next volley. The last two detonated moments before Rade was about to give the order to retreat deeper into the cave.

  “Another wave!” Snakeoil said. “Thirty more!”

  Again Rade and the others defended. The enemy wasn’t giving the MOTHs enough time for their lasers to recharge, and Rade and the others were forced to fire at half strength. Six missiles closed.

  “They’re going to hit!” Rade said. “Into the tunnel people!”

  Rade and the others retreated while Grappler, the first MOTH assigned to remain behind, activated his Trench Coat countermeasure twice. The missile defenses moved outward, thirty-four pieces of metal that used 360-degree homing radar to seek out incoming rockets. Grappler dove into the tunnel a moment later.

  The cave entrance shook violently. At least one of the missiles got through, then.

  “Grappler, you okay?” Rade asked. He instinctively glanced at Grappler’s vitals. All green.

  “Fine,” Grappler responded. “I only took out three of the missiles, though.”

  “The entrance is definitely messed up,” Tahoe said from his hidden perch outside.

  When Rade and the others returned to the entrance, they discovered it had partially collapsed. Only three mechs could stand there abreast.

  “They’re using the missiles as a distraction!” Keelhaul said from his hide. “To close with us!”

  Rade took a place behind Manic, Trace and Lui, who had already knelt at the opening and raised their shields. He saw that the first of the roaches were alre
ady arriving at the base of the rock formation below.

  “On the bright side,” Bender said. “I don’t think they have any more missiles left.”

  Even though six mechs were able to occupy the opening by alternately kneeling and standing, the Hoplites couldn’t all target those roaches that were scaling the rocks, not at the same time, because the angle was too steep. Only the three kneeling in the forefront could do that. Not unless he made them lower their shields a bit, potentially exposing Rade and the others who were standing.

  “Manic, Trace, Lui, target the same enemies down there,” Rade said. “Knock them off the rock one by one. The rest of us, meanwhile, will try to stop the remainder from approaching those rocks in the first place.”

  He kept expecting Facehopper to order him to the side so that the chief could take command, but the order never came. He was happy to let Rade work, apparently. Rade had gotten to the entrance first, after all.

  Rade and the two others standing with him focused on one of the roaches that was still approaching from the plains, and managed to destroy its knee joint after four shots. But by then the rest of the enemy mechs had reached the rock formation.

  “We got twenty-five climbers,” Tahoe said.

  Rade decided the risk of losing one arm was acceptable, so he ordered the mechs in the forefront to lower their shields slightly. He lifted his arm over them, crooked the elbow, and switched to the point of view of the laser’s scope. He spotted the climbers immediately.

  “Everyone who has a view of the cliff,” Rade said. “I want you to target the rock face fifty meters above the lead mech. Let’s see if we can cause an avalanche. Coordinate with your AIs to determine the best points of impact.”

  The AIs generated a firing matrix, and gave them precise targeting information. Rade and the others launched their lasers, employing frag grenades generously. Harlequin joined in, launching his M7 in turn.

  Dust began to rise from the rock face. Rade heard a deep rumbling sound, and the cave floor shook underneath him.

  “One avalanche coming right up,” Tahoe said.

  The tumbling rocks tore more matter in turn from the wall, until an all out avalanche made its way down the cliff. The incoming roaches were swept from the wall and vanished in a cloud of dust and rock. The seven near the bottom managed to break away from the rock face in time, and retreated before the onslaught.