by Fleet, Ricky
“No, sir.”
“Well thank God for small mercies. ETA?”
“Three minutes.”
“Good,” Bateman growled.
The closer they got to the action, the greater the rush of adrenaline became. Some operators shunned the chemical stimulation in favour of cool heads and self-control. He wasn’t one of them, opting instead to head for the thick of battle irrespective of the possible dangers. Once the fury had been let loose, only the receding fires of a well fought battle could dampen it. Every sense became enhanced; he could hear the slightest change in the Magjet’s propulsion, the smell of the hydraulic fluid in his suit which an engineer had forgotten to wipe away during the last maintenance service.
Glancing around the full panoramic onboard display, Bateman could see the five other Mechs hanging from the suspension clamps of the jets. Pride swelled in his chest at the immense bravery of the men and women within the machines.
“Incoming!”
The yell of the pilot caused Bateman to flinch. Spewing from a wide mouth in the side of a hill were a flock of horrifically mutated crows. Screeching like banshees, they poured forth and took flight. The featherless bodies were coated with razor sharp spines, while thick veins pulsed in the translucent, membranous wings. Although twenty times the size of their pre-mutation ancestors, they posed no real threat to the Mechs. The danger lay in their capability to bring down a Magjet, either through suicidal dives into the chassis and engines, or overwhelming them with sheer numbers.
“Prepare for evasive manoeuvres!”
“Scratch that, Lieutenant. You can’t do shit while we’re dragging you down. Drop us here and get back behind the perimeter defences.”
“But, sir, you’ll be miles from base with no chance of air extraction. It’ll be over an hour before we could get a Paladin tank division to reach you!”
“We can hold them back for an hour! Now do it!”
“Aye, sir. Releasing in three, two, one, go!”
The clamps detached from the arms and gravity started to exert itself on the considerable weight of the Mechs. Thundering towards the ground, the onboard computers calculated the optimum time for the landing gears to fire. Bracing themselves, the legs on each unit ignited the landing rockets, briefly banishing the gloom of nightfall and illuminating the swarming birds. With their descent markedly slowed, the machines dropped the last twenty feet and slammed into the ground, the powerful hydraulics absorbing the impact. Bateman spun around and watched as the six crafts banked hard to port and hammered the throttles. Over a hundred and fifty crows were in close pursuit, half of which were powering upwards on hidden thermals to reach a suitable altitude to suicide themselves in a dive.
“Squad, cover our pilots as best you can with your cannons! Deacon, launch Spitfires to slow the fuckers down and buy our guys some time!”
“Aye, sir!”
Deacon’s shoulder pods twisted on the mounts and rose to angle directly at the rising flock of squalling hellishness. Two of the eight tubes on each side of his hulking suit blazed orange as the missiles erupted. Streaking up into the darkened sky, the projectiles neared the birds and split apart, revealing twenty smaller rockets. Onboard guidance systems instantly picked an individual target and recommenced the pursuit. Though mindless in their destructive nature, the doomed creatures had learned enough to peel away from their companions to minimise their overall losses.
“Clever bastards,” Bateman muttered to himself in disgust.
Screeches of almost human rage burst from the huge, serrated beaks of the crows as they were hit. The rapid explosions carried through the night, startling the others for a split second. Taking advantage of the disarray, the six operators opened up on the pursuing throng. Barrels spat streams of high explosive bullets into the beasts, blowing huge craters in their bodies and shredding the wings. Seeing the indiscriminate destruction of their fellow birds, the remainder of the flock adjusted course to position the aircraft in the firing line.
“Ceasefire! At this angle, we’ll end up hitting our guys.”
Torrents of blood and sundered flesh rained to earth across the horizon, but it wasn’t enough. Any hopes the operators had about their success was swiftly cut off as the two trailing Magjets were set upon. The awful sounds of shattering mutant bodies and the rending of nanofiber shells reached them across the arid plains.
“Sir, shall I launch more Spitfires?”
Bateman considered the option for a split second until the screams of the pilots confirmed the futility. “They’re inside! Oh God, please help…” The transmission ended with a gargled scream of agony. Losing control, the jets faltered and dropped like stones. The whine of the stricken machines grew in intensity until abruptly ending with a huge explosion upon impact. Lacking fuel, the engineers had installed plasma bombs that would only detonate with the absence of onboard human life-signs. Not only did it ensure the destruction of the attacker, but it prevented the pilots from turning.
“It’s done,” Bateman sighed.
“Four got clear, sir.”
“Aye, that’s something.”
“We’ll pay the bastards back!”
“Squad, form up! We’re a mile and a half from target so get ready for a run.”
Through the psy-ware, the operators ordered the machines to switch to maximum responsiveness. Pistons shortened, preparing to increase the length and power of each stride. Forming an arrowhead behind the captain, the six hulks stood ready.
“Move out!”
Taking a step, the feet sunk into the hard-packed dirt before launching them forward. By the eighth pace, the Mechs were bounding along at full tilt, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.
“Captain, where are you?” Begged one of the besieged troops over the radio between gunfire. “We can’t hold out much longer!”
“Hold tight, soldier. We’re coming!”
∞∞∞∞∞∞
Reaching the city limits, Bateman ordered the team to slow. The overhead gantries of the motorway sign had long since collapsed with only the upright support columns left. Crumpled metal, imprinted with the barely discernible city name rested on the cracked tarmac. On the exit road, thousands of cars lay abandoned. Even after over a hundred years, the undisturbed vehicles still bore the damage of the marauding infected. Doors torn from their hinges, roofs gouged by claws wielded with inhuman ferocity and more bones than anyone could ever count. They all winced with each crunch as femurs, ribcages, and skulls were crushed in their passage.
“We’re thirty seconds away, Lieutenant. Status?”
“We’re on the fifth floor, completely surrounded and holding. We’ve managed to secure the staircase and lift shaft. They’re attempting to breach by climbing the walls, but so far we’ve been able to pick them off.”
“Good work, Lieutenant. Has the flow of infected slowed at all?”
“No, sir. They’re using the Parkway entrance of the old subway system. We set a charge in the tunnel but were pushed back before the detonator could be connected. Sorry, sir.”
“No need for apologies, Lieutenant. I’m going to need you to hold out for a few more minutes while we circle around and seal that passage. Make as much noise as possible to mask our approach. By the time they double back to another station we’ll be well out of the city.”
“Understood, sir. We’ll give ‘em hell.”
The towering skyscrapers glowered down on them; the broken windows like a thousand watchful eyes. Sections of the structures had crumbled, revealing the open rooms of long dead occupants. Only the absence of normal rainwater cycles had prevented the whole world from being reclaimed by nature. The consensus on nuclear winter had been wildly inaccurate and even after more than a century the skies remained dark. Sporadic downpours could fall so heavily it was impossible to see five feet in front of your face, while at other times the area could go for years without a single drop of moisture.
“Squad, we’re heading to the Parkway Station. Switch nav
igation to new target using Pearce Street to approach from the north east.”
They acknowledged the order and amended their display maps to skirt the fighting. Flashes of gunfire lit up the opposing buildings half a mile away, but they were on their own for now. Maintaining high responsiveness, the Mech team turned left and forged through the three lanes of vehicles. Using the incredibly powerful arms, the degraded shells were tossed aside, crashing down onto the roofs of the other cars. Leaping over the drainage culvert, the team picked up the pace.
“Once we hit the side roads, switch to standard combat responsiveness. We don’t know if those fuckers will be lying in wait.”
The clamour of reinforced Jajovium alloy striking the concrete reverberated from the buildings that they passed. Once a bustling parade of outlet clothing shops on the outskirts of the city, the untouched, mouldering garments of the stores hung in tatters from the eerie looking mannequins lurking in the shadows. It never failed to give Bateman the willies.
Diverting through the carpark, they crashed through a row of pathetic looking trees. Stunted and twisted, the beleaguered foliage had adapted as best it could to the new world.
“ETA to target one minute. Tish, arm one of your Doombringers.”
“Aye, sir!”
“When we get within sight, fire at will. I’m not going to get us bogged down in a standing fight until we reach the hotel.”
“Copy.”
Their night vision displays illuminated the deserted road as they slowed to a walk. Watchful of the surrounding buildings, the team knew the mutants had been evolving ever since the first shrieking, gibbering monster had torn free of its hospital bed all those years ago. Ambushes were a new tactic they had developed; replacing the uncontrollable rages with a level of deviousness previously unknown. As they neared the crossroads, the din of screaming mutants became deafening. Leaving cover, the five Mechs lined up behind Tish. The pod adjusted for the shell’s trajectory and she leaned forward to counter the impending recoil.
“Firing!”
The shoulder mounted artillery roared, shattering every unbroken window in a hundred-meter radius from the concussive wave. Arcing high, the shell whined as it peaked and commenced dropping towards the target. Impacting just short of the tunnel, which still expelled a stream of infected, it penetrated to a depth of two hundred feet before detonation. Adding the unexploded charge to its power; fire, earth, and scorched flesh erupted into the air like a volcano. As hunks of rocky debris rained down, the blast subsided, leaving a smouldering, sunken crater where the entrance once stood. Dazed by the explosion, the surviving mutants stood up and shrieked their fury.
Bateman raised his cannon. “Cut them down!”
The other operators lined up their own weapons and started firing. Heavy chattering broke the lull after the artillery strike and rows of creatures fell into quivering heaps of torn meat.
“What the fuck are they doing?” Tish called over coms.
Instead of attacking, those able to escape were turning away and heading towards the hotel battle. In under five seconds the street was empty except for the Mechs and the fires raging within the crater.
“Squad, prepare to pursue!” Bateman ordered, then paused. “No… wait.”
Masked by the tremors of subsidence in the subway below was another source of vibration carrying through the ground. The dull rhythm was well known to each of them. As one, their heartrates skyrocketed, and the fear twisted in the pit of their guts.
“They’ve got a beast!” Bateman yelled. “And by the sounds of it, more than one. Move to the centre of the street and form a perimeter!”
The low rumble increased as whatever was charging for them got closer. Creating a circle, the breathless pilots stared around for any signs of their quarry. Clods of earth started to dance on the shivering road and they could finally make out the heavy thuds of the stampeding creatures. Tumultuous sounds of crashing and smashing echoed down the forsaken street.
“Prepare yourselves!”
Like a switch had been flipped, the tremors of movement and wanton destruction came to an abrupt halt. The silence which took its place was far more unnerving.
“Did anyone get a bead on their approach?” Bateman asked, staring at the shadows for signs of covert activity.
“No, sir.”
“Does anyone have anything on their scanner?”
“Only the infected scrambling in the tunnels below. How is that possible?”
“Christ knows. It seems our friends have managed to mutate in a way that throws our sensors off.”
Seconds ticked away, with only the distant sounds of battle disturbing the still night. Bateman knew that whatever was lurking in the darkness was either trying to delay the rescue of the soldiers or wanted to attack when they were least prepared. Time was not on their side.
“Fuck this! Everyone, switch to cluster munitions. Light up the buildings and alleyways. We’ll flush these bastards out.”
Issuing a single thought, the onboard systems adapted the grenades to separate on impact to spread the kill zone. It weakened the overall blast but, depending on their foe, a simple explosion could often just antagonise the creature rather than kill it.
“Fire at will!”
The circle of Mechs began belching the shells through windows and down windswept roads. Dull crumps ejected the miniature explosives. Spreading out, the tiny balls rattled and bounced from every surface before detonation. Night became day as fire roared out from the frontages of derelict buildings before climbing into the sky. The din of shattered masonry was joined by howls of insane fury.
“Wolves!”
Bursting from the conflagration, three massive predators emerged. Their coarse, nigh on impenetrable fur was ablaze, lending them an even greater look of hellish intent. Maintaining the same canine cunning of their forebears, they hunted in packs. The inherited trait was as far as the similarity went. Their huge paws sprouted claws a foot long, powered by lupine legs and bodies which weighed many tonnes. The weight had done nothing to lessen their speed and ferocity. Leaping as one, the operators only had time for a short burst of fire before the monsters were on them. Like bowling pins, the six Mechs were scattered by the force of the impact. Slamming into the ground, the three-foot-long muzzles bit down on the gun arms, tearing and worrying at the metal.
Bateman cursed their luck and looked at his dazed troops. “On your feet! Now!”
“They’ve got me! Aaargghh, my arm!” screamed Deacon who had gained the attention of the creatures. Working as a pair, one of the beasts had him pinned face down while the other chewed above the elbow joint. Teeth so sharp they could penetrate even the thickest armour destroyed the hydraulics and crushed the feeding belts in seconds, disarming the stricken soldier. Clamping down again, the fangs met, severing the lower part of Deacon’s arm which was within the upper section of the metallic limb.
Tish and Clay had regained their footing, but the third wolf charged through before they could bring weapons to bear. Cursing in frustration, the duo tried to lash out with clenched fists. Missing by a wide margin from the agile beast, they tried to fire from a grounded position. Dodging effortlessly out of the way of the bullets, the feral eyes of the creature watched the flailing machines without attacking.
“Captain, help me!” sobbed Deacon. Seized on each foot by a slavering mouth, the mutants tensed their haunches and started to drag him away towards a side street. Their blackened hides steamed and smoked from singed fur and flesh.
Bateman tried to stand and was thwarted again by the crushing weight of the lookout. “Fuck! Do your landing thrusters have any fuel left?”
“I… I think so.”
“Then use it!”
Twin yelps of agony pierced the night as the rockets ignited for a couple of brief seconds. Pawing at their muzzles to try and banish the pain, the searing fire had scorched their mouths and throat. Howling in rage, the uninjured sentry leaped across the distance and swiped at Deacon’s
chest plate. The talon-like claws clanged from the impact, once, twice, three times in a fraction of a second. Deep furrows were scored into the armour with each rapid strike. On the fourth, they pierced the protective shell and sunk as deeply as the phalanges would allow. Impaled through the heart and lungs, Deacon coughed once; a wet, rattling, awful sound, then died.
“Bastards!”
Finally, free of their tormentors, the five living operators stood up and opened fire on the retreating monsters. Missing completely, the bullets traced a pattern across the weakened brick and concrete. A fierce howl cut through the night, promising retribution from the gloom.
“Are they done?” asked Tish.
“Not by a long shot,” replied Clay.
“I can’t believe that Deacon’s dead,” whispered Tish, trying to keep a tight rein on her emotions.
“It’s what we signed up for,” Bateman growled. “System override, code two, two, eight, four, three. Proceed with interior cleanse on Mech designation B eighteen.”
White hot flames burst from the punctures on the chest and arm as the soldier’s body was incinerated within.
“Squad, damage report.”
“My grenade launcher is shot, but the bullet belt is still functional,” said Tish.
“I’ve sustained damage to my tracking system and display,” explained Clay.
“Can you still see through the visor?”
“Aye, sir.”
It wasn’t ideal by any stretch of the imagination. The field of vision awarded by the clear polymer was only around fifty degrees in a forward direction.
“Ok, assume cross formation. Clay get in the middle, so we can cover your blind spots.”
“Understood.”
“Tish and Paddy, you’re on rear-guard.”
“We’ve got no time to waste so we’re going straight through the ground floor of McKenzies. It’ll take us out onto Fraser Street which runs parallel with the road the hotel’s located on.”
Crouching slightly to miss the concrete slab of the upper floor, the team crashed through the revolving glass doors of the foyer. As with much of the construction of the time, the partition walls were thin plasterboard which had already undergone heavy degradation. The aluminium supports snapped and twanged as they pushed on through offices and meetings rooms, knocking ancient computers and crumbling furniture aside.