ATLAS 3 (ATLAS Series Book 3)

by Isaac Hooke

  “I’m going to blow the garage door directly in front of my ATLAS. Prepare to follow tight.” I switched out the Gat in my right hand for a serpent launcher. “Firing in three. Two. One.”

  I crouched behind the shield and launched the serpent.

  The garage door blew off its hinges. The ballistic shield protected my mech (and Giger and Tung) from the brunt of the shockwave the explosion produced.

  The hingeless door curved outward slightly but didn’t fall. Crabs just outside were probably blocking it.

  “Giger, you guys all right?” I said via the external speakers.

  “Yes!” came the response over the passenger comm.

  “Hijak, Skullcracker, on me!”

  I took a running leap at the door and slammed it open, crushing the crabs outside. I vaulted off the ramp formed by the door and crushed bodies, and then released another serpent rocket into the surrounding horde. Crab body parts splattered every which way, cutting a path through the enemy ranks.

  I softened up the rest of them with my Gatling as I advanced. I couldn’t allow the crabs to get close—I had to keep Giger and Tung safe. I heard Giger firing rounds from his sawed-off behind me and I knew he’d be doing his best to protect the boy. My mech pulled slightly to the left as I sprinted, as Giger had promised, so I had to compensate.

  I dispatched serpents toward two enemy ATLAS mechs I spotted to the north. Rockets flew past from behind me, too, aimed at enemy targets, so I knew Skullcracker and Hijak were in tow without even having to look at my HUD map.

  The crab ranks thinned as I ran, allowing me to better evaluate the battle space. The garage lay at the end of a T intersection—three roads led away from it. A host slug blocked the southern avenue. The giant filled the entire concave gap formed by the geronium plastering the buildings there.

  To the north was the domain of the possessed combat robots: ATLAS 5s, Equestrians, Praetors, and Centurions in the hundreds.

  The eastern street seemed clear of horde activity and was the obvious choice for our retreat.

  I continued carving a path through the thinning ranks of crabs with my weaponry, and when I emerged from their midst, the incoming fire from the north began in earnest. My ballistic shield was already in place, allowing me to deflect the Gatling and small-arms fire. I took care to ensure that the shield was positioned properly to protect the passengers perched behind Black Widow’s neck.

  I fired the ATLAS 5’s jumpjets horizontally for an extra speed boost as I sprinted, taking care not to jump overly high and expose my mech to unnecessary fire.

  The incoming missile indicator flashed on my HUD. I launched my Trench Coat, sending seventeen pieces of homing metal into the air. Ordinarily I’d drop when I activated the Trench Coat to increase the probability that the missiles would target the pieces rather than my mech. But I couldn’t do that today, as I’d be overwhelmed by crabs if I dove to the street; and while I might survive such a scenario, Giger and Tung definitely would not. So I ran on, hoping the Trench Coat proved enough.

  The missiles exploded a short way to my left and the alert deactivated. I blinked in relief.

  I reached the side street and the cover of the buildings. As I raced inside, the gunfire faded behind me. I hurried between the geronium-caked apartments toward the next intersection, the mechs of Hijak and Skullcracker following tight. I was glad for the momentary respite from incoming fire.

  It didn’t last long, unfortunately. Up ahead, Equestrians and Centurions poured past the edge of the intersection, attempting to block our path.

  “Rage . . .” Hijak transmitted.

  “Punch through!” I sent back.

  Shield raised, I raced around the robots and into the intersection. Shells went off around me. I glanced down the side street and caught a glimpse of the hundreds of combat robots piling in from the north. They would have easily outflanked us if we’d stayed back there.

  When I reached the encompassing buildings and geronium walls of the next street, I positioned my shield behind me to block the gunfire of the pursuing troops.

  “Giger, are you and Tung okay?” I sent over the external speakers.

  Giger’s voice returned immediately over the passenger comm. “Fine. Just tell them to stop shooting!”

  At the next intersection I turned down a crossing avenue, and passed beyond the line of fire once more. Hijak and Skullcracker were right behind me.

  Streaming the horde along behind us, we made our way in a roundabout fashion back toward the office tower where the Chief and the rest of the squad waited for us.

  The missile alarm went off twice more when the pursuing enemy launched serpents. Since the crabs were far behind, I could afford to drop to the street when I used the Trench Coat, and each time I emerged unscathed from the attacks, turning down a side street to remove myself from the line of fire. Hijak and Skullcracker avoided rocket damage in a similar fashion.

  We arrived at the complex of buildings that led to the thirteen-story tower and the rest of the squad. We approached the area from the southwest, as we had fled from the southeast.

  It appeared that only about twenty percent of the horde had remained behind to besiege the tower. I let off a few rockets, breaking away clumps of crabs from the bases of the surrounding buildings. Portions of the horde immediately broke away toward us, and gunfire erupted from the rooftops.

  I sprinted Black Widow up the geronium that caked the closest building, a three-story warehouse. The geronium ended at the two-story mark and I jetted the final distance to the rooftop.

  The terrace seethed with Centurions. Apparently the enemy had taken the time to spread out among all the rooftops in the vicinity of the tower, probably to prevent my squad brothers from attempting the same escape that Hijak, Skullcracker, and I had achieved earlier.

  I crouched at the edge of the rooftop, positioning my ballistic shield in front of me. Hijak and Skullcracker joined my side and we interlocked shields. We switched our POVs to the vid feeds of the Gatlings, whose barrels we hoisted over the top edges of the shields. This way we formed a single defensive unit and were able to take out our opponents without even having to leave cover. We were like a portable machine gun bunker. The hell we unleashed was so bad that some of the Centurions embedded on the rooftop actually vaulted over the opposite edge of the building to get away.

  Once the roof was clear, we advanced to the opposite edge of the building and hop-jetted to the next rooftop. Thus we proceeded forward, moving from roof to roof, leaping onto the successively higher buildings as we approached the thirteen-story tower. We could’ve jetted directly all the way up to the target tower, but I purposely kept the jumps short to save fuel and to avoid overexposing ourselves to the enemy.

  Each rooftop was crowded with Centurions (and sometimes patrolled by a few ATLAS mechs), and we employed the interlocking shield strategy to sweep each area clear, concentrating fire on any ATLAS 5s we encountered and utilizing serpent missiles when necessary.

  Despite the short jumps, I received incoming gunfire from the streets while leaping between buildings, but that was mostly rectified by judicious positioning of the shield. Unfortunately, I was still exposed to serpent rockets while jetting. So far the Trench Coat had saved me, but when I was making a jump toward the second to last building before our target, the countermeasure only eliminated one of the rockets aimed at me. I was forced to alter my trajectory while launching another Trench Coat.

  The remaining missile exploded beside me. The force hurtled my mech through the air, straight toward the building. Concerned about my passengers, I issued a last-second burst of thrust to pad the impact. I still struck the building’s side rather hard. I slid downward almost immediately, and tried to get a grip with my hands, but merely ended up raking a path through the glass as I fell.

  I was about to shove away from the building and jet the rest of the way to
the rooftop when the missile alarm went off. A serpent had been fired from the streets below.

  I launched the Trench Coat. I was still sliding down the building, so I punched Black Widow’s right hand through a window and wrapped my fingers around a steel girder bordering the glass. That halted my motion, but the steel column moaned and for a moment I wasn’t sure if it would support my weight. Thankfully the girder held.

  I flattened myself against the glass as the incoming rocket screamed past.

  I glanced downward and watched shards of glass descend the dizzying heights. The horde swarmed eagerly far below, waiting for me to fall so that they could rip apart Black Widow and devour me.

  “Giger, Tung, you guys all right?” I said through the external speakers.

  Giger spoke into the passenger comm. “Fine, we’re fine.” He sounded anything but. “Just get us off this shit building, please!”

  “Need some help down there?” Hijak sent.

  “Get on the roof,” I replied. “I’ll be right there. Once we secure the terrace, there’s only one more jump to our destination.”

  That’s right, one more jump to the rest of the squad.

  Well, two for me. First I had to attain the roof.

  I was just about to make my way toward the top of the building when three threads of Gatling fire rained down from above, all focused on me.

  I swiveled my body to the side and brought up my shield to protect Giger and Tung. Tiny impact bumps riddled the inner surface of the shield. It wouldn’t hold out long, not against three simultaneous Gatling attacks. Worse, I couldn’t fire back, not while my other arm gripped the building’s steel girder. And if I tried to jet away now, I’d be completely exposed.

  We were trapped.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Tahoe

  We were deep within the warrens beneath Shangde City, on the far side of the cavern that housed the Queen. A tunnel led out of there toward our target, the Observer Mind, but the way forward was blocked by two tall entities that looked like oversized, cordless crabs.

  Neither of our two parties moved. Both sides merely stared at one another in uncomfortable silence. Actually, we were the ones who stared: the alien entities didn’t appear to have eyes.

  The pair abruptly stood to their full twenty-three-meter heights and unleashed a rapid staccato of clicks and shrieks.

  “Make no aggressive movements,” Facehopper wrote. “We don’t want them to call the horde down on us.”

  One of the entities broke away from the entrance and crabwalked right up to Bomb who, as our point man, stood the closest to them. The alien went on to bombard his mech with a quick sequence of clicks that managed to sound one part accusation and three parts pissed off.

  Bomb remained motionless.

  The giant crab ended its tirade and then proceeded to stalk down our ranks.

  “Apparently our EM emitters still count for something down here,” TJ wrote.

  “For now,” Fret texted back.

  The alien paused beside each mech as if it were searching for something; its front mandibles clashed together loudly every few seconds.

  When the being reached Ghost and me, it halted, towering over us. The thing stood twice as high as Antares, Ghost’s mech.

  I remained stock-still in the passenger seat, worried that the super crab had detected my presence. I resisted the urge to crouch lower, not wanting to make any sounds that might draw its attention.

  The entity abruptly leaned far forward, its slime-covered mandibles hovering a mere handspan from my face. Those long, ant-like jaws could easy tear my jumpsuit in two, or separate my head from my neck. My helmet lamp illuminated a smaller pair of mouth appendages inside the maw, and beyond them a dark orifice whose translucent insides pulsed with the flow of black blood.

  A line of silvery drool issued from the maw and oozed down the front of my faceplate.

  “Guys . . .” I wrote on the common line.

  The supercrab unexpectedly smashed a claw against Antares’s chest piece.

  The ATLAS 5 fell backward.

  The mech crashed into the cavern floor. Situated as I was in the passenger seat, for a moment I thought I was going to be crushed. But the mech ended up balancing on the hump of its jetpack so that from where I resided, strapped in to the seat above the pack, my faceplate was only a handspan from the rock floor. Uncomfortable yes, but alive.

  Ghost had dropped the payload. The device lay upon the ground beside us.

  The supercrab wrapped its pincers around the heavy warhead and hauled it away.

  “No one move,” Facehopper wrote. “Cyclone, are you all right?”

  “Perfect,” I wrote back, wishing there was a way to convey sarcasm in text.

  The supercrab deposited the payload in front of the other entity, and the aliens released a stream of hi-pitched clicks toward the device as if scrutinizing it. Then the two separated, returning toward their original positions on either side of the entrance. The first crab dragged the payload along with it.

  Once both entities were in place, they ignored us. Evidently, now that we had given up the nuclear warhead, we were allowed to pass.

  “Can I move now, Facehopper?” Ghost wrote.

  “Yes. Need help getting up?”

  In answer, Ghost clambered to his feet. He took care to lean Antares forward first, rotating to one side so that when he stood there was no chance he’d accidentally harm me.

  “Thanks for not crushing me,” I wrote to Ghost.

  “You bet,” came his written reply.

  “TJ,” Facehopper wrote, “can you confirm the payload’s wave-canceling tech is still active?”

  “Confirmed,” TJ responded. “I’m reading no signature, nuclear or otherwise, from the payload. The tech is active.”

  “Same thing I’m reading,” Facehopper wrote. “And yet the alien snatched up the warhead anyway.”

  There were a few possible explanations for that. Perhaps our twin squad, Outrigger, had been discovered and the aliens had alerted their brethren on this moon to be on the lookout for similar devices. Or maybe there was some other signature emitted by the nuke, one that humanity couldn’t detect with its current technology, yet these aliens could innately sense. That latter explanation was the most troubling because it meant an alien scouting party might eventually track down our other nuke.

  “Let’s see if these things will really let us pass,” Facehopper wrote. “Bomb, move into the passageway and wait for us.”

  Bomb marched his ATLAS 5 forward.

  Neither of the crabs made a move to intercept him and he strode into the outgoing tunnel without issue. Once there, he turned his mech around and waited.

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” Facehopper wrote. “Everyone, load up your incendiaries and rendezvous with Bomb in the passage. When we’re inside, TJ and Trace, you’ll break off and approach the entity on the left, the one guarding the nuclear payload. Use your incendiaries to force the alien back. Don’t kill it, if possible. Mauler, while the two of them occupy the alien, retrieve the package. The rest of us will watch your backs. If the other alien attacks, then we’ll issue warning flames. We’ll resort to killing only as a last resort. Questions?”

  “I think we should resort to killing from the start,” Bomb texted.

  “You saw how fast that brought the horde down on us the last time,” Facehopper wrote.

  “How do we know the horde won’t come even faster if we leave the two of them alive?” Fret texted.

  “No more rhetorical questions. Let’s make this happen. Good luck, mates.”

  Incendiaries swiveled into weapon mounts squad-wide. The alien entities seemed to stand taller when they heard the noise, but they made no other movements.

  We approached the wide passageway as a unit and rendezvoused with Bomb. Once there
, TJ, Trace, and Mauler split off, going for the leftmost entity.

  The entity detected their approach and stood up on its hindlimbs threateningly, flailing its forelimbs like a rearing horse.

  TJ and Trace released warning flames into its exposed underside.

  The alien recoiled, howling.

  Mauler dashed in with his mech and scooped up the payload.

  The rightmost entity quickly crabwalked toward the rest us, obviously intending to intercede. We turned our flames against the thing and it retreated, screeching loudly.

  “Let’s go!” Facehopper said over the comm, using voice once again. There was no point in trying to hide our conversations any more.

  We hurried down the passageway. The supercrabs pursued, but all it took was a few sprays of jellied gasoline to send the aliens reeling.

  They emitted pain-filled, high-pitched squeals as their outer extremities were charred. Unfortunately, in only a few moments, the entities recovered and continued the chase.

  “Top speed, mates!” Facehopper sent.

  The squad of ATLAS 5s slowly pulled away from the aliens; servomotors and hydraulic gears whirred loudly as the machinery around me upshifted to near capacity.

  Ghost brought up the rear, allowing me to unleash my standard-issue rifle at the two supercrabs. The gunfire didn’t seem to do anything except further enrage the creatures.

  “Fork ahead,” Bomb announced.

  “Launch your ASS,” Facehopper sent. “Right-hand tunnel. See if we can draw off one of them.”

  “Always putting my ass on the line for you guys.” Bomb launched the drone; on my HUD I watched the green dot move into the right-hand fork and pause just inside.

  The rest of us raced down the left-hand branch.

  When the supercrabs reached the fork behind us, the diversionary drone issued a siren whoop and flashed its lights before retreating down the opposite passage.

  Only one of the supercrabs chased after it. The other kept after us.