Killzone, Ascendancy

by Sam Bradbury

  I knew what Rico would be thinking. That the Intruders had the best chance of taking the MAWLR out. I wasn’t sure we had anything at ground level capable of even scratching its paintwork. And, since that MAWLR and its buddies were what lay between us and the space elevators, it had to be stopped.

  I watched Narville carefully as he chewed over his reply, praying he’d make the right decision and wondering what I’d do if he didn’t. I liked the captain. I’d risked my skin for him. And he was one of us. Most importantly, he was still our captain. But how many bad decisions did it take?

  ‘Repeat. Armour Command – what you want to do?’ pressed Rico.

  ‘God help us,’ said Narville, almost to himself, and then into the radio, ‘this is Captain Narville. All units pull back immediately. I repeat, all units disengage and fall back to defensive positions.’

  Shit.

  Over the comlink I heard Rico telling the pilot, ‘Take this down. Now.’

  Great. He was on his way. That’s all I needed. That’s all we needed.

  ‘Sir,’ I said, rounding on Narville, hoping to talk some sense into him before Rico arrived. ‘We’re running out of time. You saw that scout ship going to warp. Forget about trying to get us home. We have to find a way to stop the fleet from launching.’

  ‘This is not the time to question orders, Sergeant,’ snarled Narville.

  I could hear Rico’s Intruder descending outside the bunker, the rush of the engines only just audible over the relentless sonic pummelling of the MAWLR. Any second now he was going to storm in here and all hell was going to break loose. And you know what? A bit of me thought, The hell with it. One of them wasn’t fit to lead boy scouts, let alone command an ISA unit. The other one was a bull-headed liability with the anger-management skills of a frag grenade. What did I care? Let them kick shit out of each other.

  ‘What the fuck you doing?’ Rico was shouting, storming into the bunker and going right up to Narville’s grill. ‘We’re out of time here and you want us to fall back and regroup? For what? So we can try again later when the Helghast invasion is over?’

  ‘My priority is the lives of my men,’ Narville came back, squaring up to Rico. ‘Now, get back in position.’

  Rico pushed his face close to Narville. Even closer.

  ‘Or what?’ he spat. ‘Just order the attack, you fucking coward.’

  Narville took a step back and swung at Rico, catching him full in the mouth and drawing blood. Rico was rocked on his heels then flew at Narville, the two of them about to tear each other to bits, when I rushed in, pulling them apart.

  ‘Hey. Hey. Look, the both of you, just back off.’ I pulled them apart, where they stood glowering at each other. ‘Captain, there are more important things than our men. Billions of lives are at stake. We can’t let the Helghast get to Earth with whatever weapons Stahl’s been making.’

  Narville and Rico still looked as though they wanted to murder each other, but now Narville turned his attention to me, indicating out of the observation slit at the same time. The MAWLR was still visible on the horizon; it was moving round the perimeter of the elevator.

  ‘If we go out there, we can kiss our asses goodbye,’ he insisted. ‘We need to think. There has to be another way.’

  I looked at him. I’d tried with Narville. Lord knows I’d tried. But looking back I couldn’t remember him make a single good call during this entire wretched campaign. I’d thought maybe I could talk some sense into him. I’d thought the threat to Earth would be enough for him to see that withdrawing and regrouping were no longer options. But Narville’s problem was that he was still trying to do everything by the handbook, without realizing that the time for the handbook was gone. I could see that he wanted to protect the men and nobody respected that more than me, but there weren’t just a few lives at stake here, there were billions, and when Earth was overrun nobody was going to say, ‘Well, at least Captain Narville followed established protocol.’ They were going to say, ‘Why didn’t that asshole Narville do something?’

  And then they’d say, ‘And how come Tomas Sevchenko was standing around with his thumb up his ass the whole time, huh? What a loser.’

  So, yeah, I’d tried with Narville. Matter of fact I’d tried with both of them: him and Rico. But now was the time to stop giving a shit about them and start taking some action.

  I reached for my weapon, knowing I was going to have to go it alone and feeling a kind of peace all of a sudden, as though a great weight was being lifted from my shoulders. And my voice was calm as I told them, ‘Fine. I’m going to outflank it.’

  Rico rounded on me. ‘On foot? That’s even worse than his idea,’ pointing at Narville, who looked as though he wasn’t sure whether to praise Rico for his insight or reprimand him for his insubordination.

  ‘You can either help me or get the hell out of my way,’ I told them.

  ‘Sevchenko, stand down,’ ordered Narville, ‘this gung-ho crap is going to get us all killed.’

  ‘No, this …’ I indicated Narville and Rico as I spoke, ‘this is going to get us all killed.’

  I looked hard at them both, wanting to make these two squabbling infants feel ashamed of their behaviour. Neither said anything. I slung my M82 across my shoulder and indicated to the other two grunts.

  ‘You two are with me,’ I told them, and they fell into line behind me as I left in search of the ordnance, hoping I could bag me one of those WASP launchers.

  And I guess my words must have had some effect, because as I stormed out of the bunker and into the trench, I heard Narville over the comlink: ‘Armoured division, this is Captain Narville. We need to draw its fire. Hit that MAWLR with everything you’ve got. Everything, you hear.’ Sounding like a man with a sense of purpose for once.

  And the next voice I heard was Rico: ‘Raiders, this is Raider Command, listen up. We’re going in hard.’

  Well, I guess at least I’d made Rico a happy bunny. Narville? I’d worry about that later. For now I had a MAWLR to catch.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Once again, Pyrrhus had been turned into a vision of hell. Above was the fleet, the boosters roaring as they continued moving off. On the ground was the MAWLR, its honking so loud and constant that it was almost overwhelming. Now there was small-arms fire too, as the guards engaged our troops, who were returning fire. They’d been ordered not to engage the MAWLR, but they sure as hell weren’t going to stand around and be cut down by Hig grunts.

  I let my two sidemen take down any opposition we met as I moved around beneath the MAWLR, searching out weak spots.

  ‘Look,’ called one of my sidemen, ‘it’s venting heat every time it shoots its main guns.’

  That was it. This machine was using so much energy it had to vent, which meant …

  I saw them: orange glowing cooling vents on the underside of the machine. Every now and then they would expose. They were the weak spots. I targeted one with the WASP launcher, squeezing the trigger and watching the missiles fizz to their target.

  ‘Whatever you’re doing, do it again,’ yelled Narville in my earpiece as we all saw the MAWLR rock on its feet, seeming to falter so that for a second – a tiny exquisite moment – I thought it was going to topple over there and then.

  I caught my breath. Hallelujah, I’d hurt it – the first sign that it could even be harmed let alone defeated.

  It was just the encouragement our guys needed, and now our armoured divisions opened up on it, while Rico’s Raiders began making passes, raking it with minigun fire, and suddenly it was as though we were a team again. Just that one hit was enough to do it. I reloaded the WASP cannon and moved around a foot of the MAWLR, hoping that its sensors weren’t sophisticated enough to pick out one grunt on the ground below, because, if they were, I was about to get a petrusite bolt up my ass.

  But no. The cabin continued swivelling, charging up its arc cannon again and blasting at an armoured division trying to make its way through the rubble. Armour Six, I think it w
as. Poor bastards.

  But now, looking up at the MAWLR, I realized I might have injured it – I could see black smoke pouring from the panel I’d damaged with the WASP – but it was nowhere near neutralized and it was still inflicting heavy damage on our troops. Even so, now I felt like, ‘It’s me and you, buddy, me and you,’ and I reloaded the WASP cannon and fired again, at another panel, gratified to see flame flower and smoke pour from it immediately. Next I found myself diving for cover as a huge metallic foot crashed down into the stone by my side and I used the opportunity to catch my breath for a moment or so.

  You might be big, I thought, lying in the rubble and staring up at the huge mech hulking over me, but I’m fast. And you can’t see me.

  I reloaded the WASP cannon and darted to my right, grateful for the covering fire coming from ground troops, finding a vantage point then locating another panel in my sights. The WASP launcher jumped in my arms and the missiles whooshed up, leaving trails behind them and smashing into the hull. Still overhead were the Intruders.

  ‘That’s it, you’ve done major damage,’ screamed Rico, sounding elated. Then adding, ‘you’ve got ground infantry heading your way.’

  That figured. The Higs had finally worked out where the real danger was coming from and they’d sent a tank after me. I let my sidemen deal with the bulk of the unit, still desperately trying to finish off the MAWLR, which had now developed jerky, uncertain movements, like its systems were having difficulty coping. I could see multiple fires along the cabin too. I was starting to believe that this thing could come down. I was starting to realize that I didn’t want to be around when it did.

  Whoosh.

  Another volley of missiles up into the panels. And then Narville was shouting about incoming mortars, the MAWLR’s ground support desperate to protect Big Daddy. I crouched in the shelter of a ruined building and looked up into the sky, past the MAWLR to where the fleet had been.

  It was no longer there. The fleet had left. They were on their way to the space station. And then to Earth.

  Christ.

  I took two more shots at the MAWLR and then, suddenly, Narville was screaming that it was coming down – and it was. As I watched, its legs bent at their knees as though it was a huge defeated animal, and with a monumental screeching of metal it folded to the ground, flames still billowing along its underside where I had targeted the cooling vents.

  And the noise stopped. At last, the unending, deafening blaring of the MAWLR ceased.

  Funny, I thought, looking at it. In the end it had come down almost gracefully.

  Then I had an earful of appreciation. The comlink crackling with troops wanting to thank me, including our illustrious captain, who said, ‘Sev, I don’t know what the hell you were thinking about there, but it worked. Nice job.’

  Yeah, no thanks to you, I thought, but accepted the praise. After all it’s not every day you get to bring down something the size of a …

  Suddenly there was a sound from behind me. It was the honking sound of the MAWLR, and I turned, knowing what I was about to see before I did.

  Now I knew why it had folded so gracefully to the ground. It wasn’t neutralized. It wasn’t even disabled. It was simply reconfiguring. Getting ready to attack again.

  ‘This thing isn’t getting the message,’ screamed Narville over the conmlink. ‘Sev, get the hell out of there. All units. Open fire.’

  He sounded as frantic as I felt, because we were in a world of shit now. Our troops had stood down and were doing all but cracking out the beer in celebration of the MAWLR’s demise. Suddenly it was up and attacking again and they were caught unawares. An RPG unit sent up a volley of missiles, but the MAWLR didn’t even notice. It was now up to full length, the cabin was swivelling to find fresh targets, the cannon charging at the same time – then it discharged towards the main tank column and suddenly Archers were exploding everywhere and I was thrown backwards, my head connecting with rubble.

  I saw white. Then stars. My mind slowed, and I staggered when I got to my feet, doing the check: arms, legs, ears, nose. I could hear nothing but the sound of the MAWLR. I could see nothing because of the dirt and dust swirling around me. My world was reduced to just me and the fighting mech. Where was everybody?

  ‘Narville,’ I shouted groggily into my pick-up, ‘do you copy? This is Sevchenko. Does anybody copy?’

  I got Jammer. Heard the roaring sound of her Intruder thrusters over the comlink. She was flying close to the MAWLR, I could tell, and like the rest of us she was panicking, only just keeping it together.

  ‘Sev, this is Jammer,’ she yelled. ‘We’re still operational. If any Raiders can hear this, follow me in.’

  Still fighting. She was still fighting. Then I heard the shrill screech of WASP missiles from the MAWLR and above me saw an Intruder explode – Jammer’s Intruder, surely?

  No, I thought. Please no.

  The radio went dead. There was no response. Not from Narville or Jammer.

  An ISA guy came jogging out of the smoke and I grabbed him, snatched his radio, barking into it, ‘This is Sevchenko,’ trying to keep the outright panic from my voice, but failing. ‘Jammer? Rico? Do you read? Captain Narville?’

  No answer. All I heard over the radio was static and the sound of screaming from far away – and of course the all-encompassing throb of the MAWLR. I looked around myself, suddenly feeling more alone than I ever had done in my life.

  Then I grabbed the ISA guy.

  ‘Where are we going?’ he yelled.

  ‘To finish what we started.’

  Chapter Thirty-three

  I’d seen a freight elevator. If I could make my way to that, then I could get up high and meet the MAWLR on its own terms.

  I began to fight my way over to it, coming across the odd ISA grunt, most of them reeling around in confusion not knowing what their orders were or where to go. Knowing only that they had to escape the MAWLR.

  I saw a minigun and picked it up. Then began working my way to what had once been some kind of factory. There, Hig infantry threw themselves at me, but I cut them down with the minigun, rushing headlong into battle, hardly concerned for my own safety now. Needing only to get to the freight elevator. When the minigun was empty, I tossed it aside and pulled my M82 from my back, and at last I reached the huge gantry that towered into the sky, a least as tall as the MAWLR was. And there I found a control panel. I called the elevator, watching it come down to meet me while keeping an eye out as the MAWLR made its way round the rear of the space elevator station.

  At some point, I knew, I would need to entice it towards me. But for the time being I got my bearings, reaching the platform at the top of the elevator and running to the railing to look down.

  There I saw a sight that made my heart sink. Below me lay the tank column, burning. Across the landscape were the carcasses of burning tanks, thick black smoke billowing from them, and I saw bodies dotted around too, all of them ISA by the looks of things, and then I saw the flaming wreck of an Intruder and recognized it as a Raider Two. Jammer’s Intruder.

  Suddenly my head seemed too heavy and I found it going down, the air coming out of me. I felt what I hadn’t felt in a long time – I felt defeated, so that I almost didn’t raise my head at the sound of rushing feet, but did, almost wearily. And I turned to see three capture troopers running along the walkway towards me.

  ‘Where do all you guys keep coming from?’ I sighed to myself as I braced myself to meet them.

  They reached the entrance to the elevator platform, and stood there posing for a second so I could get a good look at them. Scare tactics. The red of their eyes glared within their sleek combat helmets; their shielding shone in the dark light at the top of the tower, the wind whipping around us. Their weapons were sword attachments to the right wrist. They would be experienced and highly skilled at using them, experts in hand-to-hand combat. These were the elite and like the guys we’d met in the scrap yard they liked to see the whites of your eyes when they put yo
u down.

  Thing was, they’d made a big mistake.

  Big mistake.

  See, there may well have been three of them, and in any other circumstances they weren’t odds I cared for much, but these guys had a major disadvantage: they weren’t armed with M82 assault rifles. And I was. And you had to be a chump to attack an angry grunt armed with an M82, especially if you were going to come armed with knife-hands.

  So-called elite, I thought, raising my assault rifle. This would be short and sweet.

  But I was wrong. Mistake was mine. Chump was me. They were fast – far more agile than I ever could have imagined. I had the chance to squeeze off just three shots, all of which ricocheted from the shielding of capture trooper one, who bounded across the platform, spun and sliced his sword across the assault rifle, dragging it from my hands.

  It took me a second to comprehend this sudden and unwelcome turn of events. I was the grunt armed with an assault rifle, about to bag myself three capture troopers and laugh at the idea of them ever being considered elite. Suddenly I was the schmuck who had got overconfident and lost his weapon. The schmuck who was about to face three fast, highly trained and experienced elite capture troopers.

  You can bet I was taking them seriously now. I ducked as number one sliced outward with his sword, and I came up lucky because the forward momentum took him towards the railing and I was able to slash back with my elbow and knock him over the railing. He screamed as he fell, a drop of about a hundred feet. Number two came at me, sword swinging, and again I ducked, smashing my fist into the shielding at his stomach, a blow that probably hurt my fist more than it hurt him, but at least it stopped him swinging the sword for a second, and I was able to grab his torso and ram his head into the railing so that he sprawled to the deck, temporarily dazed.

  Number three was coming at me now and I only just had time to dive out of the way as he sliced forward with the knife. It brought me into the centre of the deck where I rolled onto my back just in time to meet him as he sprang at me, catching the side of my face with a swinging fist, then with his blade, about to finish the job.