by J. A. Scorch
After a short walk through some secure, magnetically-locked gates, Teve was pressed up against a wall near the entrance to the armory. Two mask-free corporals sat on stools behind thick, wireframed glass on armory detail, greeting Hoang as he arrived. The shooting range was several locked doors away, attached to the room.
"We're here for the two-thirty timeslot. Did you arrange the weapons list I sent through earlier?"
"Yes, sir," said one of the corporals. "All weapons on the list have been serviced and laid out. Range is yours for the half hour."
"Excellent. Also, you better put your masks on. Not worth the risk, I'm afraid."
The two corporals looked at one another and quickly scrambled for their gas masks. Teve swore one of them ripped off a section of skin in the process. It felt both odd and somewhat compelling to scare the hapless idiots of the facility so easily.
"Come along now, Sergeant. You can stop alarming the locals anytime you're ready."
Teve stopped giving each of the men a fright and moved out as the guards shoved him through another security door.
A few minutes later he was placed inside the shooting range; both hands individually cuffed to the bench in front of the long-range targets. It had been years since he had to fire a weapon in such a static environment. The exercise seemed almost pointless given his current situation. Hoang's voice boomed through a set of speakers overhead.
"In a few moments, I am going to release you from your restraints. As you can see, there are several firearms in front of you, ranging from pistols to automatic rifles. We have, of course, removed the high-explosive rounds you would use in the field and replaced them with non-incendiary range rounds."
Turning his shoulder, Teve saw Hoang and his goons through a thick observation window. "So you want me to shoot targets? What is the point of this?"
"The why will become apparent in a few moments. Just try to keep your focus, and remember ... " The doctor trailed off, giving Teve an icy stare through the thickness of the glass. "I can have you killed at any moment with the press of a button. So think twice about turning these weapons against me."
Casting his mind to Dorsey's latest note, Teve thought about the temptation to shoot his way out of the cage. He could try and kill his way through to the doctor and possibly gain enough traction to end a few of the asshole guards he surrounded himself with. The reality was that Teve would be dead within five minutes but also free of the facility. On the other hand, if he resisted the urge to seek vengeance, Mish might pull off her miraculous escape plan and save him from hell without the need to spill blood.
"In thirty seconds, you will be free of your bonds. I want you to pick up the closest weapon and fire at the targets as quick as you can."
"That all?" Teve asked.
A smirk flashed across Hoang's face, sending a shiver down to Teve's core. The man's happiness never boded well for him.
As he turned to face the range, something caught the corner of Teve's eyes as it descended from the ceiling and stuck him in the neck. It was another one of the doctor's syringes. Teve tried to move away from the needle, but it was too late.
"What is this? I'm not resisting you."
The speaker crackled. "This is not a punishment, Sergeant. This particular compound won't knock you out, either. You are about to experience an extreme form of focus. In a few moments, you will see the range with absolute clarity."
Teve continued to struggle, pulling against his cuffs as he tried to escape the area. He came close to shrieking out loud in frustration when the first target down the range popped up. One of the eight-foot-tall Zeal soldiers better identified as Stiltz stared back at him. Its lanky frame and spindly limbs triggered something within as he remembered all the fighters he had lost battling these half-organic, half-machine aliens.
His cuffs snapped free.
"Pick up your weapon," Hoang shouted.
Without thought or fear, Teve snatched up the standard issue semi-automatic sidearm used by the UEF. He shoved in a full magazine of nine-millimeter rounds and pulled back on the slide in the blink of an eye.
"Fire."
Time slowed down. With one hand, Teve squeezed off two rounds in rapid succession as a new target jolted up to the right of the Stilt he just hit twice directly, dead center. Without needing to take the time to adjust his aim, he fired off two more rounds and landed each shot in the same spot.
More targets jumped up and fell a second later as Teve struck them with perfection. As the sidearm began to drain, he grabbed a magazine with his spare hand and popped out the empty magazine, replacing it within half a second before firing. He yanked the slide back quicker than he knew possible and fired off more rounds in one sweeping motion.
"Pick up the rifle," Hoang yelled.
Teve slapped the pistol down and snatched up the X762A1 automatic rifle and accompanying magazine sitting by its side. He had the weapon loaded and ready to fire in less than a second and began blasting out controlled bursts on the Zeal targets.
The tall, yet narrow dummies continued to fall, dropping back with every perfect shot he landed. Never in his life had he achieved so many direct hits.
As the rifle began to empty, Hoang shouted out again.
"Adapt."
The targets all popped up at once and moved about, strafing left and right, back and forward. Their sporadic movement did little to slow Teve down. He hit every target within three seconds using one hand to hold the next magazine he would slap into the weapon while the other fired.
Each objective came to his mind before his hands could react. The doctor had given him the ability to kill without fear, without the need to think. All he had to do was keep shooting. Teve repeated the process until he ran out of ammunition. His finger kept squeezing the trigger while the rifle's barrel spewed smoke out its long tube.
"Put it down, Sergeant," Hoang ordered.
Teve responded and slapped the rifle down as the targets all vanished. He placed his hands in the cuffs and waited for them to be reattached. The automatic restraints tightened, securing him in place as his eyes continued to seek out enemies that no longer existed.
The door behind him opened to reveal Hoang and his guards. The doctor was smiling with delight. "Excellent work."
"What the hell was that?" Teve asked. "I feel like I could shoot a Stilt from five klicks out."
Hoang let his smile fade as he brushed past his guards and approached his patient. "That was the next part of the process to make you the perfect soldier. Soon, Sergeant, you will be unstoppable."
Chapter Eleven
Porter woke up a few hours early after receiving a directive from Garcia. He was to resume training cadets over the coming days before the MAF offensive. The idea didn't bother him as he now enjoyed passing on his skills to the new pilots whenever possible. What bothered him was the insane notion that Command thought a few days of practice would make a difference for cadets fresh out of flight school.
Briggs was still asleep on the other side of the room as Porter slapped on his boots and fatigues. A private had stopped in earlier to hand him a new uniform and insignia to show off to the world his new rank of captain. The promotion felt almost meaningless given the circumstances the fleet was about to face, but he tried his best not to complain internally.
When Porter arrived on deck, some familiar faces stuck out to him. Cadets Smith and Rodriguez greeted him with a salute. He had trained them only a few weeks ago, before the assault on the first two Cyclones. Many of the pilots he instructed at the time didn't survive given their lack of experience and overwhelming odds of the mission they had faced. Command knew losses would be high, so they sent the cadets, not wanting to sacrifice their elite aviators on such a one-way sortie.
"Captain," they both said simultaneously.
"At ease, Cadets. So, what brings you two back to me?"
"We've been told we need more training, sir," Smith said.
"Damn straight," Porter replied. "I saw your work out
there during the last op. You two are lucky to be alive. Fall in."
"Yes, sir," they said as one.
Porter strolled down the line of twelve cadets he had been given to somehow inspire over the next few days. It was barely enough time to motivate himself into battle, let alone give some newbies any hope of surviving.
"In two days, we are going to hit the final Zeal carrier with everything we've got. I'm sure by now you've all got wind of the plan. As bold as it is, it's the only idea the MAF has up her sleeve." He found the end of the line and started back down again, taking in each of their faces.
The usual types existed out of flight school. The scared-out-of-their-mind cadets shuffled on the spot, trying hard to conceal their expected anxiety. There were also a few who thought their shit didn't stink and that killing Zeal was a piece of cake. How wrong they were.
"Now, I'm not going to waste my time and yours training up anyone who thinks this fight will be anything but the hardest slog of your pathetic lives. So if you think you don't need to be here, leave now."
The line of men and women didn't move. A few of them exchanged looks, smirking away, thinking Porter didn't notice. He honed in on one of the rowdier cadets of the bunch.
"I don't think you heard me, Cadet Asshole."
"My name isn't Cadet Asshole, sir," said the square-jawed jock fresh out of the academy. Porter had known his type all through his own training: wealthy parents who pushed their children through various colleges using bags of money to buy the results they desired.
"You think I need to remember your name, Cadet? In two days, the shit kickers of the bunch like you will be dead. There's no point me wasting another second learning your life's story."
"Sir?"
"What? You got a problem with that, Cadet? Don't like to hear that your mummy and daddy can't help you through this? Well, how about you shut the fuck up and fall in line."
"Sir, yes, sir," the cadet shouted.
"All right. No need to spend more time with this bullshit. Everyone to your Stalkers. Those of you unfamiliar with the X90 Stalker are about to get a practical introduction to the beast." Porter radioed the deck crew to prep thirteen Stalkers and motioned for the cadets to follow him to the attached flight suit room of the level.
Over the next four minutes, they each squeezed into a suit, helping one another make sure they were space worthy. Porter led them out to their ships.
"Cadets: pick a tail number. Log in to the system with that number. We launch in five minutes."
The twelve pilots all randomly selected a bird. Some of the group stayed close together, opting to be nearby one another when they launched into the depths of space.
Porter settled into the cockpit of his Stalker and adjusted the former pilot's configuration, disregarding half of the safety settings.
"Cadets. Launch in two minutes. For those of you who have never experienced a mass driver slingshot, I hope you haven't had a big breakfast because we are about to be hurtled into space at 500 meters per second."
Before any of them could respond, Porter lit up his board green and checked the rest of the cadets on a small screen. "Johnson, Nelson. What's taking so long? We're leaving in thirty seconds, with or without you."
"Ah, sorry, sir," Johnson said. "I'm just having a bit of trouble—"
"Hurry the hell up, Cadet. The Zeal won't give you time to work it out, so you either get it together or sit off my mission." Porter checked again and saw that Nelson was now flight ready. Johnson flicked green a few seconds later.
"All right, Cadets. Get comfortable, because the next twelve hours will be spent in space. You will be refueling, re-arming, and pissing your pants before I let you head home. Now sound off."
One by one they shouted out their understanding. Porter didn't like being so harsh on the cadets, but they were all about to be thrown into hell in two days. There was no point beating around the bush and guiding them gently into the process. They needed to hit training hard and fast.
The launch tech cut into Porter's thoughts. "Board is green. Slingshot in three, two, one. Mark."
Porter's X90 Stalker lurched from zero to 500 meters per second in less time than he could blink, revealing the vast emptiness of space a moment later. His engines powered into action, taking over control as he pushed the beast of a ship hard and fast, throwing it off balance momentarily before its internal dampeners compensated for inertial drift.
"Report in," he yelled over the comm. Each of the cadets reported a safe launch. Some sounded like they had just re-swallowed their breakfast, but all in all, the group seemed okay.
Over the next few hours, Porter pushed the graduates to their limit, taking the time himself to get in some needed training for the coming battle. He knew the Zeal were a superior enemy. The lone Cyclone possibly housed as many Tritons as the fleet had Stalkers across the nine Martian carriers.
"Send out the drones," Porter requested over the comm. The launch tech sent out a dozen drones to the location beyond the fleet Porter had opted to use for training. The MAF drones were smaller versions of Stalkers that contained no human pilots and ran on a system of pre-determined attack maneuvers as well as an AI operating system that learned how to beat its opponent given enough time.
"Smith. Rodriguez. Show them how it's done. Switch to training lasers."
Once the two cadets had been granted enough time to prepare themselves, Porter set the drones to swarm mode, forcing the two pilots to have to take on six targets each as they circled both Stalkers.
"This action is similar to the Triton's moves. They don't fly as individuals making formations. They operate as one mind, cornering and outmaneuvering you with ease. Sure, a Triton is half the size of a Stalker, but it still packs enough punch to do the damage, especially when it has five other buddies helping it out, each firing lasers."
Porter drifted at a distance as he watched Smith and Rodriguez struggle to shake the swarming Tritons spiraling around their ships. The swarm overcame them within minutes, killing each ship according to Porter's training read out.
For the next three hours, he put the cadets through the drones, watching as they all fell to the training system without inflicting any damage on the virtual enemy. Once the squadron had all been through the wringer twice, the complaints rolled in.
"This is impossible, Captain. How are we ever supposed to beat these things? They're rigged."
"Rigged, huh? Unfair, is it?" Porter asked over the comm. "Complaining like this is not going to do much for you when the Zeal shoots you down for real. Do you think they'll go easy on you if you cry about it?"
A collective hush washed over the line until one of the cadets piped up. "Why don't you do it then, Captain? You'll see how hard this bullshit is."
Porter laughed off comm. He pressed the talk button on his panel and said, "Okay. Let's make this interesting. If I can beat six on my own, you guys all have to put in an extra three hours today. If I take enough damage that the computer renders me dead, you can all finish up now."
Chatter broke out over the comm as the cadets all prepared for Porter's defeat.
"Make it all twelve and you’ve got yourself a deal, Captain," Rodriguez said. He had insight on Porter's abilities, seeing them firsthand during the first Cyclone mission.
"Deal."
A few jeers rang out over the comm.
"And no changing the calibration, either. Exactly as they are."
Nodding away, Porter tapped a few commands and gave Rodriguez full access to the drones. "There you go, Cadet. Set both groups to swarm on my heat signature. I'll take them on directly."
Porter swept his Stalker out wide, veering away from the distant group of drones. The automated ships were spread out into two groups, patrolling in a slow-moving arc until Rodriguez redirected them all to cluster on Porter's fighter.
"Here they come, Captain. It was nice knowing you."
A smirk appeared on Porter's lips as he tracked the approaching swarm of twelve drones. A sc
reen to his left attempted to predict their individual incoming paths and soon became overwhelmed with the number of overlapping hostiles. The tracking computer flashed with errors as the pack continued to build speed.
"I'm not dead yet, Rodriguez." Porter made some alterations to the tracking computer and set the swarm to be a single target, calculating its distance to be only a few seconds away. With a quick e-burn, Porter disengaged the inertial dampers and diverted all power to his reverse thrusters after positioning them on enough of angle to allow himself to flip the fighter end-to-end while sweeping down below the swarm. He fired off a long volley of digital gunfire—seeing the rounds superimposed on his canopy. The fake bullets cut through fifty percent of the drones, removing them from the swarm.
A series of overlapping gasps came through the comm. Before any of the cadets had time to process the move Porter had managed to execute without fault, he flicked the ship around and fired a second volley up the back of the remaining pack. Only two drones limped away as the rest became disabled, glowing red to indicate he had defeated them.
The two drones broke out of their swarm and spread apart, attempting to flank Porter from two different angles. Within a few minutes, he countered the attack and killed both drones, completing the challenge.
A groan whaled across the comm.
"Three more hours to your day, Cadets. Settle in."
More moans sang out. Porter laughed off comm. "Now, now. If you all keep your mouths shut, I'll show you all how I pulled that off. Do a good enough job, and you can hit the showers an hour earlier."
A silence resonated. Porter wasn't sure if they understood what he meant until Rodriguez softly said, "Please, sir. We need to know. Our lives depend on it."
Chapter Twelve