by Andy Remic
‘We have to try, Mongrel.’ Carter saw the fear lurking in Mongrel’s eyes, and he felt strangely calm. This was it, he thought. This felt like his last day on earth ... and, weird though it sounded, he was ready. Ready to accept the inevitable. ‘We have to destroy Durell’s plans. We have to give Constanza the time she needs to launch that Warhead. Because, if we don’t... well, the consequences are unimaginable.’
‘This the eve of the end of the world,’ said Mongrel slowly. ‘Death coming for us all.’
‘Well,’ said Carter, a nasty glint in his eyes, ‘let’s break his fucking nose, eh, lad? Let’s go out fighting. Because no fucking skeleton is taking me by force—not without me snapping his fucking spine. Good luck, Mongrel.’
‘And you, Carter. Good luck!’
‘And Mongrel?’
‘Aye, lad?’
‘The foot pedals control the turret’s sideways movement. I know what a technology disaster area you can be—watch where you’re going and don’t you fucking crash into me, all right?’
‘I try best, Carter lad.’ Mongrel ran to his gun. Motors and hydraulics whirred and thumped, enclosing Mongrel in an exoskeleton of alloy while behind the turret coils of ammunition were hoisted high into place. Carter, glancing over, frowned. There were rockets.
Carter tapped the comm. ‘You hear me, Mongrel?’
‘I hear you, laddie.’
‘You’ve got a rocket store behind you. Have I?’
A pause. ‘Confirmed. How we access them? Ahh—it on your console. It labelled BFG.’
‘BFG? I’ve never heard that one before. I’m sure I would have picked it up from the lecture theatre.’
‘Ha ha, comedy labelling, Carter. It stand for Big Fucking Gun. Simmo used to run them in the TankSquads. Before he ... yes, well.’ Mongrel stumbled into silence.
‘Ten seconds, and they’ll be in range,’ said Carter.
‘Let’s fuck them, compadre. Let’s fuck them hard.’
Both men watched, sweat trickling down their brows and into their clothing. Inside the turrets it was suddenly warm and both men had dry mouths. In front of them, the army swept forward, a vast seething mass of infantry mixed with tanks and thousands of machine guns ... I have never seen anything like it, thought Carter. Never stood against anything like this.
‘You are going to die,’ whispered Kade.
Carter nodded to himself. ‘So be it,’ he said.
Constanza’s fingers were a blur over the keyboard. On the screen before her, digits flashed and whirled, and numbers flickered in an upward scroll.
She halted, attached Mongrel’s ECube and watched the two computers connect. Lights flickered, and again data rolled up the screen—and into the core of the Warhead’s targeting database.
¬ data transfer: do not interrupt data supply or this may instigate a system crash. If this occurs then some of your data may be lost or permanently damaged.
¬ transferring
¬ transferring >>>>
¬ complete
The cursor blinked at Constanza and again her fingers danced over the keyboard. Behind her, the plates fell away from the EC Warhead and she half turned in her chair to stare at the glowing, swirling missile: a sentient machine with which she had the most basic of computer communications. I feel like Dr Frankenstein, she thought, suddenly chilled. I have created a monster.
Motors whirred, and high above the chamber cranes clanked and more powerful engines coughed into life. And the Warhead suddenly lifted, without any explosion of fuel, without any noise or fire or heat or exhaust—it simply and silently lifted from its pedestal and hung there in the air, rotating gently, its surface awash with a fluid golden fire.
It is alive, Constanza thought, and goose bumps prickled across her flesh. She felt suddenly sick, down to her very core. Nausea swamped her and filled her throat with bile but she choked back the feeling, licked at her dry lips, took a deep breath—and turned back to the gloss black keyboard. Distantly, she heard a roar of heavy machine-gun fire, the sustained blasting of thousands and thousands of rounds.
It has begun, she thought. It has begun—but it isn’t over yet.
Her eyes gleaming, she began to type.
‘Where the fuck are we?’ snarled Jam.
Fenny looked back, face half-hidden by the HIDSS of the Comanche. But what could be seen of his expression said it all, and Jam stared in disbelief at the pilot and his bobbing curls.
‘You mean we’re lost? said Sonia.
‘It’s the navigation systems,’ whined Fenny. ‘There’s something nearby causing incredible, and I mean fucking incredible, magnetic discharges. The nav computers have lost their bearings.’
‘How can a bloody navigation computer lose its bearings? It’s a damned navigation computer!’ growled Jam. It had been a long, long haul across the world, stopping several times to refuel. They had missed Carter in Tibet by no more than an hour, and had followed the distant stragglers of a massive Nex war-host heading south ... heading for Carter. But the assembled Nex machinery had been far superior and could put down more speed. Their Comanche, once the pinnacle of modern military aviation development, had fallen gradually and woefully behind. The distant Nex army—a huge swarm of choppers numbering nearly a thousand, and several hundred Lockheed K56 Hercules Transport and Special Mission aircraft sporting eight wing-mounted Allison (R-R) T56-J-27 turboprops apiece and the ability to carry everything from infantry to tanks and FukTrucks—had eventually disappeared over the distant digital horizon of Fenny’s scanners.
‘Has The Priest replied yet?’
‘Not yet,’ said Fenny, turning again to survey his crew.
‘I did not think he would let us down,’ said Jam softly, shifting his bulk. He gazed out over the cold seas of the South Atlantic. ‘He said they would patch us coordinates and we would meet up with the stragglers of the remaining DemolSquads—those who had finished their respective missions.’
‘Maybe he hasn’t had time,’ said Sonia softly.
‘Yes.’ Jam nodded, his huge armoured head gazing out over the churning seas. There was an edge of bitterness to his voice. ‘He’s probably too damned busy to save the world.’
‘There!’ said Fenny suddenly, pointing ahead with excited animation. ‘We’ve found it! We’ve found it!’
‘Don’t get too thrilled,’ snapped Jam. ‘Antarctica is a big fucking place. What exactly have you found?’
‘You don’t understand!’ Fenny ripped his HIDSS free and stared back, eyes gleaming. ‘The DemolSquads—they’re here! We’ve found the guys!’
‘Now all we have to do is find Carter—and the Warhead,’ said Sonia quietly.
‘If we still have time,’ said Jam. The Comanche swept down towards the rough serrated coastline of Norwegian Antarctica, towards the jagged walls of snow cliff, the churning ice-filled seas. And the shattered remains of the oldest gathering of veteran Spiral DemolSquads.
The triggers were firm under both Carter’s index fingers and he sighted carefully at a huge swathe of Nex infantry. Then, having selected his targets, he squeezed the two short metal strips.
The huge guns yammered and bucked and pounded. Carter watched entranced as hundreds of bullets shot out across the ice, flickering green with tracer rounds, and smashed into the advancing line of Nex—cutting them down like a line of toy soldiers. Bullets came blasting back, pummelling the Spiral base.
Mongrel opened fire. Carter glanced right and saw the big twin machine guns spitting a hail of hot metal from glowing muzzles. The ice fields before them erupted with return gunfire and the Nex surged forward, sprinting as tanks revved and exhaust smoke plumed. The whole army increased its pace and charged towards the two lonely defenders on the Spiral base walls.
Carter scythed down another squad of Nex. Then another. Then another. Bullets struck the armoured turret, a thousand of them glancing off with ricochet sparks. Carter could smell acrid smoke, scorched metal, gun oil—and his own fear, which tasted bad.
<
br /> Mongrel was screaming down the comm, unintelligible shouts in a variety of different languages. Carter could sense his comrade’s excitement, his fear. They were the same feelings that ran through Carter’s veins. He targeted a tank, his bullets smashing at the heavily armoured flanks—but to no effect. Carter relaxed pressure on the triggers, switched to rockets, targeted and, in the same fluid movement, launched.
From behind the turret two metal arms swung up. Rockets were aimed and ignited—all within the blink of an eye. They flashed out and down, leaving trails of smoke and slamming into the heavy TK79. Fire blossomed and the tank was plucked from the world’s game-board and sent rolling and howling backwards, spilling thick black smoke, to crush a hundred Nex infantry.
Carter fired more rockets, watching as they pounded the tanks, sending pulverised armour tumbling backwards to grind Nex troops in a horrifying melding of metal and insect-human flesh ...
‘Why tanks not returning fire?’ Mongrel yelled down the comm.
‘They don’t want to destroy the Warhead.’
‘Why not? ECW will take out their bases. Why not halt it?’
‘It’s more valuable to Durell as a weapon, as technology, than as a piece of melted scrap,’ said Carter. ‘That’s the way the diseased bastard thinks.’ He sent more bullets howling across the void. Watched another hundred Nex smashed into purple pulp, to lie in a huge arc of crimson staining the snow with their insect-blend blood.
Carter swept his scanners across the battlefield.
‘Incoming!’ screamed Mongrel as a line of rockets suddenly surged from the lines of charging infantry. Twenty smoke trails filled the sky and Carter watched in horror as they raced towards him. He slammed at the pedals and the gun turret glided along its rails. The rockets passed by to his right and detonated behind him. The whole base shook. Mongrel’s turret, which had momentarily stuttered to a halt, began to fire once more.
‘They’re breaking up,’ snarled Carter. ‘Splitting their forces.’
Two huge groups of tanks swung out over the snow, their tracks kicking up sprays of ice, giving protective armoured cover to their squads of Nex. Their intentions were obvious. They were going to encircle the base and attack from all sides.
‘They not expecting resistance,’ said Mongrel, calmer now. Again he fired, and again; more rockets shot towards their targets.
The Spiral base shook once more under the impact of the explosions. But it was holding up well—it was built to withstand a sustained artillery attack. Its designers had anticipated war.
‘We need more men,’ growled Carter. ‘We’ve got all this awesome fucking weaponry, and nobody to man it!’ Frustration gnawed at him. He tracked one of the circling columns of tanks with his BFG but most of his bullets were deflected in huge showers of sparks. Carter then sent two more rockets towards the columns—but anti-missile fire surged up from the Nex ranks, taking them out. Fire blossomed low over the ice, melting huge craters to reveal a base of molten rock which glowed like lazy solar after-images on a nuked and abused retina.
‘I could go get Constanza,’ said Mongrel.
‘She has her own battle to fight,’ snapped Carter. More Nex rockets flew towards him and sudden realisation dawned: his turret had become jammed. With a yelp, he threw himself backwards as two rockets converged on his gun turret. He was already moving as the missiles struck. But the blast picked him up and sent him flailing across the roof of the base. He hit the ground hard and then lay terribly still.
Stars were flashing in Carter’s head and there was a ringing in his ears. The sky above him was blue, and he breathed deeply and smiled as Mongrel filled his vision, looming over him.
‘You OK?’
‘Get back to the fucking guns!’ screamed Carter.
‘Thank God! You OK.’ Mongrel grinned and disappeared.
Carter groaned, rolling to his knees and pulling the dented helmet from his head.
Cursing, he reached down and pulled a two-inch sliver of shrapnel from his thigh. Pain seared through him, and with snaking fingers he dug out a tiny medical stapler from his combats and fired three thick sterile staples into his flesh, joining the wound.
Carter groaned again. Panting, he staggered to his feet and glanced back to see the twisted wreckage of his gun turret. It was an abomination against the skyline, a twisted, pounded, torn and sculpted monstrosity of sheared metal. But more importantly, the rocket blast had wrenched the rails from their housings, effectively disabling another two guns.
‘Son of a bitch,’ Carter spat. He glanced around. The thundering tanks had nearly encircled the base and Nex were starting to flood from behind the protecting armoured flanks.
‘We are fucked,’ snarled Carter. Then he yelled ‘Mongrel! Get your fucking arse over here!’
Mongrel sent a stream of rockets plummeting onto the battlefield. Without looking to see if they met their targets, he leapt from the turret and ran over to Carter.
‘We’re compromised. Let’s go to Constanza. She needs to launch the fucking Warhead, right now,’ said Carter.
But Mongrel wasn’t listening. He was staring at something behind Carter, his mouth open, his eyes bright.
‘What is it?’ Carter asked.
He was nearly deaf from the explosion that had torn him from his gun turret but as he started to turn he felt the down draught of armoured rotors and heard their whump whump whump. He swung his sub-machine gun up, finger tightened on the trigger out of reflex. But Mongrel was there, grabbing the stock of the weapon as the Comanche howled overhead.
‘Whoa, Big Man! It Jam—look!’
Carter’s eyes focused as the Comanche banked tightly around and dropped towards the roof. Jam and Sonia leapt free, then Fenny lifted the war machine back into the skies and flew towards the tanks. Hellfire anti-tank missiles detached and slammed down onto their targets.
Carter stared hard at Jam. ‘Man, am I glad to see your ScorpNex arse!’
Jam scowled. ‘What the fuck happened to you? You look like ... well, like you’ve been fighting a war!’
‘Long story. You got the EDEN targets?’
Sonia showed him a small silver cube. Carter grinned all over his blackened, bruised face. ‘Fucking magic. Let’s get it down to Constanza—we’re sure to be overrun in the next couple of minutes—’
‘Wait.’ Jam pointed.
Carter swung around to see a huge fleet of helicopters swarming down from the sky. There were RAH Comanches, EH101 Merlins, AS668 Tigers, Russian Mil Mi-14s and Mil Mi-28 Havocs; there were SS532 Cougars, Denel Ah-2A Rooivalks, a whole army of AH-64 Apaches with J2 armaments, NH90s, Sikorsky Black Hawks, and about ten Italian Agusta A180 Mangusta war copters thumping through the skies on huge V-twin Ducati turboshaft engines. They roared overhead, nearly two hundred combat aircraft in total, and spread out in vast swarms as their guns rained down death on the Nex army below.
‘How? What? When?’ muttered Mongrel, tufty, smoking hair swaying in the breeze of pounding rotors.
‘May I present to you your back-up, gentlemen,’ said Jam, his voice a low rumble. ‘Now, you wanted to upload this Warhead? Please be so kind as to show me the way.’
The group jogged across the roof of the Spiral base. Below tanks fired shells skywards and heavy machine guns opened up. Choppers were plucked from the air and sent screaming to their deaths, crumpling into the ice with rotors shearing free, and exploding in blasts of fire and smoke. Carter and the others reached the portal, which hissed open.
Mongrel entered first, followed by Sonia and then Jam.
Carter stood for a moment, surveying the insanity of the carnage around him. He licked his scorched lips and ran a hand through his sweat-drenched hair. Then he limped into the Spiral base, trailing droplets of blood and sweat, and dark honey tears, and was swallowed by the perfectly engineered metal portal.
‘You have the data?’
Sonia held out the silver cube and Angel Constanza attached it to a tiny cable. Lights flickered, and
data streamed up the screen in a blur of white on black. Constanza’s fingers raced across the keyboard. Her stare was fixed to the screen, moving quickly over text and numbers and her mouth worked silently as her concentration focused totally.
The group stood around her in silence and Sonia glanced over her shoulder at the hovering Warhead. Its surface was a rolling, molten wonder, a golden, swirling display of an infinity of possibilities.
Jam pointed towards the vid screens, which displayed the churning warfare outside; the chaos of battle.
‘It savage,’ observed Mongrel.
‘The world is savage,’ said Carter, softly.
‘Despite their firepower, DemolSquads being given damned good fight.’
‘Nobody ever said the Nex were cowards.’
‘Maybe we not win this one. Maybe Spiral and REB boys just buying us time?’
‘At the moment, Mongrel, time is all that we need.’
‘Look,’ said Sonia. She had moved over to the EC Warhead and was peering into its molten surface with her head tilted on one side. ‘It’s doing something.’
The surface swirls had started to accelerate, spinning and gyrating in billions of wild patterns. Then, suddenly, there was a tiny click and the Warhead went black, a deep and endless black; the negation of a colour that lurks in deep eternity.
Sonia took a tentative step back.
Far above them, a tiny portal opened, showing a bright circle of crystal-blue sky.
And, in the blink of an eye, the Warhead was gone.
‘Fuck,’ hissed Carter.
‘Fuck me,’ echoed Mongrel.
‘Where did it go?’ rumbled Jam.
Constanza swung around on her chair, her face weary, her golden eyes staring sadly at the ground. Then she looked up at the rest of the group, and they could see that horror was etched into her features as if by acid. She spat on the floor, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she smiled, a hollow smile under deep-sunken eyes.
‘It is done,’ she said. ‘The Warhead is launched. God save us all.’