Tearing Down The Statues

by Brian Bennudriti

  He frowned at what she’d said, letting her go. “A suicide run?”

  “But I need distractions. I need chaos. There has to be an absolute mess out there for us to get anywhere close to driving on top of that thing. Find me something I can use!”

  Like nothing he’d tried to avoid before, Amelin sadly took on what she’d asked. He dragged a search algorithm from the toolbar ring that had appeared when he stepped closer and dropped it onto the popping and bubbling datastream. No doubt, he was trying to think of ways to talk her out of leading the charge and knowing how that would turn. Anyone there would have seen him testing in his mind what he might say as he helped his Commander find something to help her die.

  Thessany

  “Who’s spooked now?” Thessany patted the old fellow’s shoulder with pride. He took a long sip from a coffee mug, nodding slowly as he watched the Alson vessels jostling to draw back from his arsenal ship but smashing into his waiting ramships and cannons. Then he punched the air in frustration at what he saw on the screen when a small group of his quicktanks was swallowed up in an Alson Black Fire barrage. Three speeding ramships crashed directly into the swelling mass with all hands apparently lost before the blooms shrank back. Thessany was winning overall, but didn’t act like it.

  He spread the image to see closer up as two light battlesuit squads climbed up a ramp of fallen Alson tanks to finish them, their mechanical heads popping up and down as they rambled up, “Cobweb, I know you think I’m a loose wheel that never cracked a book or chatted up a Recorder; but I’ve been around tanks and guns a bit. I’ll tell you one thing I know about them.” He paused to watch their acoustic cannons pulverize the drivers and internals with enough energy to set them afire. “They’re awesome.”

  “What are you going to look for to know it’s her?”

  Thessany thought about it, then, “Progress.”

  “Slade Watch has pierced through to the war engines!” A second sensors officer shouted, a little louder than was needed. “They’re pounding them now.”

  Thessany threw his coffee mug into the wall, shattering it into three jagged chunks and splattering what remained of its contents, “There you go, rammers! Somebody showed up for work today!”

  A chaotic swirl of silver and red ramships massed like bees against the war engine cluster, speeding and crashing into hulls against a hail of fireballs, mortar and streams of Black Fire and leaving behind smoking craters and tears as they sped back to withdraw. Their Alson counterparts were veering back to aid; but the battlefield was a mess and cluttered with wreckage, impeding them. One of the war engines tottered on its tracks, puffs of charcoal-black smoke drifting from its undercarriage; and men were jumping from it to abandon their machines.

  “You have a bit of a strategy here.” Cobweb acknowledged.

  Thessany’s brow rose as if this was inappropriate to say, “That’s a bit uppity, Cobweb. Know your place.” He addressed his coordinator again, the one he called, ‘Bubbles’, “Tell the long range mortarboys, target those holes where my rammers have ripped them. Get some Black Fire inside. If they cluster to shield each other, they’ll catch and start a reaction. That will be hilarious. Man, I’d hate to be her!”

  Cobweb leaned to get the attention of Tubs, “How much longer?”

  Nervously, stuttering, “They’re good. Really better than I’ve seen. I should know who they have over there working against me if they’re this good; but I don’t. Hard to see what they’re approach is; and it keeps changing.”

  Thessany avoided the conversation, having made his point already to the poor fellow and being assured of his enthusiasm for the job. Instead, he watched the ramships pounding and pounding, ripping graphite hulls like wounded animals. Another war engine took a battering that knocked it on its side off the tracks. There was little Alson’s forces could do to react to this; and many of the quicktanks and battlesuits were indeed drifting inside Thessany’s wide and long net as he’d predicted.

  “Keep Big Daddy out where you can see him, Bubbles. She’ll be out after him any time now.”

  Peri

  “Found it!!” Peri’s voice was incredibly excited, like a little girl who’d found in her yard a treasure. Anyone beside her just then would have only seen an aged lady commander pointing at a cacophony of swirling data. Amelin squinted as he interpreted that to which she was directing him.

  “What are they doing? They’re wearing Tanith colors.”

  “Who cares. Publish this now, in clear data. No encryption. Blast it as loud as you can with coordinates so they can confirm.”

  Amelin rushed to his console and ran his fingers across to do as he’d been instructed, “How did you know that was happening?”

  “Didn’t. But I’m thrilled. Blast it wide, Amelin. I mean it. Send this everywhere. I want it on the news back home. I want it fed to spies. I want it everywhere, now. A freaking miracle; and we’re not letting it go!”

  Shaking his head, “How is this a miracle?”

  Ignoring his question, she grabbed a cracked and faded leather satchel and slung it across her shoulder preparing to leave, “Tell the geeks to pull the twister up when the mogs come out.”

  “What?!”

  Peri hesitated in front of him, eye to eye perhaps for the last time and looking to instill some calm into the one who would be her stand-in, “Amelin. Listen to me. Stay calm. You know what I’d do up here. Send the orders just like I was still here. Tell the geeks to pull the twister up as soon as you see the mogs. Pull it up into the sky and leave it there. I respect you; and I need you here. I really don’t have time to baby this or coddle you. Just make it happen, okay? Stop asking me questions and do what I tell you.”

  “Commander, you can’t lead this mission personally. Send them in without you. It’s irresponsible.”

  She frowned at him, cocking her head to one side to evaluate what he’d said, “It’s just the opposite.”

  25

  MYSTIQUE

  Deep inside the buzzing and smoking cauldron of the two fleets at Spenecia, Cyprian Talgo let loose a horrible fury from an open-cabin quicktank. Maneuvering with unorthodox speeds and angles and cackling ferociously like a psychopathic emperor, firing balls of lightning from the carbine in his right arm and Black Fire mortar rounds with the triggers in his left, he was havoc. The swirl and fire of combat was all around him, burning men and squadrons being driven apart in blank confusion. He’d seen a day of horrors with perfected weapons and tactics, the War Recorders and battlefield algorithms making certain the experiences of centuries of conflict folded into what happened here. He’d heard battle cries that swelled in men’s throats as they charged into hopeless collisions that were expertly crafted and psychologically tuned to best inspire them to ultimate war. Here in Cyprian Talgo was another perfection, and one most unwelcome.

  “Talgo!!” An unearthly nightmare shout came from behind him, just before his quicktank started sparking and popping. Turning fiercely, quicker than even well seasoned and leather men who’d helmed such tanks their entire fighting lives could do, Cyprian at once faced his attacker with mortar and carbine aimed at a dead-stop. It was a troop tank with an acoustic cannon, a rolling tower of the kind lying in ruin beyond the tent city; and four Red Witch men climbed from it, carbines drawn. Cyprian’s vessel was sputtering and dying in billowing clouds; and, choking, he jumped over its gunwale to the charred Spenecia ground onto crushed crops. They were just now on the perimeter of the conflict; and perhaps the Red Witch had waited until that had been so.

  Cyprian clenched his teeth as his eyes slitted, observing the Tanith markings on their ship yet their attack upon him. The four of them were towering black demons, grinning phosphorescent red teeth flaring in the morning light. Wildcat stalking, they stepped apart from one another to spread against him.

  Nodding, “Revenge. Cassian’s bodyguard. ” Cyprian smiled maliciously and held his arms out like a man crucified. “Is that right?”

  Watching their da
y-glow eyes and carbine arms carefully, with serenity and utter command, “He screamed, boys. Oh yeah. Offered me all kinds of things…unnatural things… if I’d just… stop…hurting him.”

  The disembodied staccato whispers from the Red Witch men broke through the chaotic battlefield din in pieces; and they were each repeating, “Kill us an eensie Talgo” “Kill us an eensie Talgo” This sight, advancing Red Witch fighters massive and stalking, eerie demonic whispers and carbines drawn, this was the image of nightmares. He was outnumbered and outgunned by men who’d surrendered their humanity to be death and madness. He had backed up such that they couldn’t form a circle; but their arc was wide. Only incredible confidence and recklessness would drive him to have his arms out and away from his carbine’s armature shield with four guns drawn on him and coming from multiple directions. It was a Talgo move and suspicious, and probably did much to delay their firing upon him.

  One of the central Red Witch took a step, with a long ugly face and ears that stuck out far from it, with lips that jutted out over buck teeth. The blackening could hide much; but an awkward boy who’d been pushed down and laughed at, who’d been left cold and alone with his books and had snowballs shoved deep into his shirt amid giggles and horsecalls could sometimes be seen peering back now and snapping his monster jaws.

  “Kill us an eensie Talgo.”

  Cyprian flinched as the leftmost man glanced at the smoldering quicktank, discerning whether the young Talgo had left something aimed at them as a trap yet seeing only the Black Fire cannon sideways on its swivel, the mortar tube directed to the tank’s broadsides and upwards. The first of them to think of it, he was the shortest; and his long coat was threadbare and patched. Seeing him flare his arms from his sides as if used to trying to look tougher than he was, it was easy to see in this one an angry boy, a survivor, cross-legged on wet concrete streets crouched over hiding whatever potatoes and fish he’d pulled from the dumpsters behind late evening restaurants.

  Louder, “Kill us an eensie Talgo!”

  One of the remaining two tensed his shoulder, readying his strike. He and the Red Witch beside him resembled each other – the shape of their heads and eyes, the way they stood…brothers, likely. Their coats and body armor were new and unsoiled, perfectly aligned with Red Witch standards. Fists clenched hard enough to shake, the two stared at him with blind religion, bringing to this showdown the hate and tyranny that perhaps had been explained to them years before as they sat wide-eyed hearing what vengeance was needed in the world. Here they stood facing one who’d been cradled by the most vicious Warmaster of history; and they well knew their part.

  “You might as well have labeled yourselves.” Cyprian’s demeanor was amusement, squinting in the orange morning light, as if he’d just heard a good pun that was sneaking back up on him as funnier now than when he’d first heard it. He licked his lips and turned his carbine into the shield position, bracing his right leg back. He slid his longknife from its sheath and gripped it, blade upside down parallel to his left wrist and forearm. Incredibly, he sniffed the battlefield smoke and char, stealing glances at the collisions and smashes, the flames and madness of Spenecia in total war like he was sampling a holiday candle, savoring and pleased.

  “Kill us an eensie Talgo!” They began shooting, in the manner of an execution.

  Cyprian fired distraction shots into their faces and rushed one of the brothers first, the one who’d tensed his gun arm, and with such speed that he was up streetfight-close to the Red Witch man before he could react to it. A bright splatter of blood spewed; and bursts of light hissed and popped inside their tight conflict. The brother couldn’t get his arm extended and tried to kick out with his knee to push Cyprian back; but he still couldn’t break away and wound up being turned with Cyprian so his back was to the others. Then Cyprian’s two quick blasts burned off both the Red Witch man’s arms at the shoulders. It was sudden enough to cause the others to hold their fire, shocking in its violence and finality. Cyprian hugged his victim, resting his cheek on his armor as if cuddling a stuffed bear. The screaming was chilling as the maimed man twisted and contorted in agony. Cyprian opened his eyes and looked directly at the remaining brother who shook with fury.

  “Sounds like it hurts.”

  The Red Witch men knelt as they recommenced firing, trying to lower their target profiles. They were trained to block return fire with shots rather than shifting to defensive positions for shielding, which was economical in motion but took much of the attacking fire out of play. Cyprian used this to advantage, staying behind and firing around the injured brother as he shoved him forward to rush his counterpart. The kneeling brother was not holding back his fire now and held his teeth clenched, gripping the carbine with both hands and firing as quickly as he could. Yet he bowled backwards as Cyprian came upon him, dumping the armless and burning man onto the barrel. Too quickly to see, Cyprian drove his blade upwards into the second brother’s groin inside the thigh and was away before the fountain of blood hit the ground. The brothers burned together and went still.

  “That was really fast!” Cyprian danced a bit, shifting from left foot to right and back in excitement and smiling, his eyes shining. “You guys can tell I’m messing with you, right?”

  He pointed his carbine forward, gesturing, “You. You’re the streetsmart guy. The survivor. I’ll make you a deal – you stand still while I kill him; and I’ll let you go.” The black face was hard to read; but he was still and only watching. It was unprecedented, a lone man defeating Red Witch every time he faced them.

  Cyprian pointed at the other, the donkey-eared one, with his knife, “You look stupid and probably have always looked stupid. An absolute moron who thinks he found a place for himself. I’m going to do something entirely awful to you; and honestly, he’s just going to watch.” The Red Witch man understood; and he registered this. Here he was after his blackening, the most horrible of men and with the face of a night goblin; and there was still laughing. It was wearing on him.

  Cyprian rushed the donkey-eared Red Witch, firing as he charged. The two of them dueled fiercely, sizzling lightning exploding like fireworks, though Cyprian was not slowed in his advance. Blocking and parrying, ultimately devolving into close-in combat, the Red Witch was hopelessly outclassed and came to panic. His red eyes swelled when he saw Cyprian’s blade shoved deep into his now useless carbine forearm as he found he couldn’t clench his fingers. Then Cyprian drove the white-hot barrel of his carbine like a spear into the Red Witch’s stomach and ripped out a gooey mass. It was his intestines…Cyprian was gripping the man’s intestines and disemboweling him where he stood, ripping them out like a ribbon as he stepped back. The Red Witch glanced pleadingly to his motionless comrade, then dropped weakly to his knees and fell. His eyes were lingering on the parts of him when he went still.

  Cyprian looked then at the remaining man who’d sought to execute him, the one who now held out his armored hands in surrender and who wore a cancerous fear in his red eyes. Cyprian was walking forward, like he wasn’t planning to honor the deal he’d suggested. The look of him was bloody mess and black char with fierce exhiliration, in every way the avenging fury the Red Witch people tried to be. He stood threateningly staring up into the Red Witch’s dark face, then at last smiled.

  “Go tell your friends.”

  26 CLASH OF THE FLEETS PART 2

  Thessany

  “Talk to me, Cobweb! What are you seeing out there?” Thessany leaned over Cobweb, uncomfortably close and impatient.

  The sensors officer pushed him back gently, “Nothing advancing to the arsenal ship that looks coordinated. I don’t see any patterns at all yet. Slade Watch is being engaged by Alson rammers now; but we outnumber them three to one there.”

  “Okay.” He looked around himself idly, thinking. “Okay.”

  An acoustic cannonade was firing blurry hypersonic pulses into the smoking sky to burn droptroopers alive inside their ballistic spheres, like it was a turkey shoot and almost
mechanical. The underbellies of the high altitude dirigibles were barely visible, but dotted the clouds in a manner not seen since the Rupture. Thessany only nodded, waiting on Peri’s move. He glanced at Tubs briefly to see him still hard at work combating Peri’s hackers with no victory as yet, then back to Cobweb.

  “What about Spenecia’s fleet - have we heard from those guys? Which freaking side are they on?”

  When Cobweb shrugged, the second sensors officer spoke up, “They’re condemning both sides, staying neutral. Warning us off their sovereign territory.”

  “Remind me of that later.” Then as if strolling, Thessany stepped up to stand beside Tubs, again uncomfortably close. “I’m gonna need you to add a second command screen to that console…need to be able to work it from two sides.”