Raw Justice

by Martyn J. Pass

  “Shit,” I said. “The scanner doesn't work.”

  I looked at the panel. It displayed controls for the air conditioning units. “A/C on a frozen waste?” I looked closer. When I pressed an icon it changed the display and suddenly the overlay of the building itself appeared with a percentage gauge set at ninety-four. There were two other icons – ACTIVATE was shaded out but DEACTIVATE was lit up.

  “Surely not?” I said aloud.

  “Talk to me Carter, time is running out.”

  I pressed the icon and waited. A code-pad appeared on the screen and I tapped in the numbers Mozzy had given me moments before leaving. Something beneath my feet stopped rumbling and ground to a halt. The lights above us now brightened as if finally running on full power and I smiled.

  “That's it!” cried Mason. “You found it! Now input the data cube Mozzy gave you so that it can't be reactivated.”

  I did. The panel went dim, then vanished altogether.

  “We're in,” I said. Then, looking out through the smouldering doorway I saw aircraft coming in to land just beyond the plateau. Even in the swirling maelstrom outside I could make out units disembarking into formation.

  “Launch the pods,” I said. “We've got company.”

  29

  The first attack came quickly. Once the Hikane had broken free of the platform and begun taking out the planetary defences, all bets were off. Safely in orbit and free from attack for the time being, the first of the pods were launched and on the ground, the troopers of Corano began to realise that the proverbial excrement had hit the fan.

  Baz and I ran to take positions by the doorway as the first units marched up the long sloping road towards us.

  “Grunts,” I said. “Get ready.”

  Without visible armour and carrying solid-shot rifles, the men and women began to slow as they looked upward, now seeing the opening we'd made in the factory. I sighted my weapon and waited.

  “Let them fire first,” I said. “Each second of hesitation gains us more time.”

  We watched. Hesitantly they were ordered by someone at the rear of the line to advance. They did, weapons raised, looking about for cover. There was none. It was a killing field.

  “They look drunk,” said Baz, checking his weapon for the third time. “Are they high?”

  “Either that or were about to get that way,” I replied. “You know the drill, they're targets, switch off that head of yours.”

  “Hard to do that when they look so scared.”

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “I know.”

  We waited. Still they came on very slowly and I wondered how gravity hadn't pulled their sorry looking faces back down the slope.

  “I'm inbound,” said Mason. “ETA two and a half minutes.”

  “Here we go,” said Baz and I saw that they'd found some courage by following one of the grunts in charge. “I've got him in my sights.”

  “Take him. Maybe it'll spook the others.”

  Baz's weapon bucked in his grip and a shimmering line of blue light shot out from the barrel and down the slope. The man leading them was sent reeling backwards as his head vanished in a plume of steam and blue-flame. As his body fell the line of advancing troops stopped, looked up, and bolted back down the way they'd come.

  “Good call,” said Baz.

  “Nice shot,” I replied.

  It bought us the remaining minutes we needed. Before the grunts could reform there was a tearing sound from above, like fabric being ripped apart in one long pull.

  “Brace!” I cried and dropped to one knee, covering my head with my hands. Baz did the same as my HUD blinked out for a moment and the ceiling collapsed inwards. An explosion knocked us off our feet and we slammed into the arch of the doorway, head-first.

  “Mother fu-” cried Baz but began coughing as his helmet-filter struggled to clear the debris from its vents. I felt a stab of pain in my shoulder where it'd connected with the stonework but I was able to get back on my feet.

  “Report,” said Mason and I turned to see the T-105 coming online having deployed with its own internal guidance system. He'd basically ridden the thing down as it was, without a drop pod.

  “Area secure – for now,” I said. “A small force at the southern entrance have withdrawn.”

  The morning light began to seep in through the hole in the ceiling that Mason had made and the dust rolled effortlessly off the massive shoulder launchers of the titanic machine as it readied itself for war.

  “All units, launch immediately. Area secure,” he said over the comms.

  “We should move,” said Baz and I agreed. “Pull back to the vault entrance.”

  “Go!” Together we leapt over the fallen debris and made for the corridor on the north-west side of the structure where the vault doors would be. As we got there, one of Mason's platforms opened fire, tearing apart most of the southern wall.

  “Multiple confirmed kills,” he said. “Armoured units are inbound. Get ready.”

  A drop-craft shot past overhead and as we saw it go the shoulder cannons on the T-105 tracked it automatically and fired. Streaks of vapour snaked after it, turning it into molten fragments in seconds.

  “Thor's going to be pissed,” said Baz.

  “Why's that?”

  “He won't be the biggest, baddest bot in town.”

  “Don't be so sure about that,” I reminded him. Then that ripping sound could be heard again, not as loud perhaps but still enough to make my guts churn.

  “Incoming!” said Baz and we both turned our backs to it. The ground shuddered with the impact and fresh clouds of dust blinded us again. When they'd cleared, three of the pods had landed almost perfectly vertical where the plascrete floor had refused to budge. All three opened up with mechanical precision, sliding outwards into the shape of a defensible position and revealing the cargo inside.

  From one Grant and Fara emerged, spreading out towards the northern end of the building. In the other, Mozzy and Columbine leapt forward and secured the opposite corners of the factory. In the last were our exo-shells and two crates of equipment to take with us down into the vault.

  “Suit up,” said Mason. “Perimeter is secure for now.”

  We did so and we shed the stealth-suits, throwing them into the storage bins of the pods to be returned on our exfil. Then, climbing into our waiting armor, I felt the sudden calm of being wrapped in metal.

  “We're good,” said Baz, taking one of the racked AP40s from the pod and loading it with HE rounds. “Let's rock.”

  “Jo – you're clear to launch,” I said. “Thor – whenever you're ready pal.”

  “Inbound,” replied both of them almost simultaneously.

  I moved towards the vault and took up position, waiting for Jo to arrive with the plasma cutter. The doors looked impossibly thick from where I was standing and I stifled a sudden panic that we wouldn't even get past them, let alone the rest of the facility.

  “Ready up,” said Mason. “Here they come.”

  “Oh great,” said Mozzy. “They've got mechanised units. What happened to those grunts?”

  “Baz demoralised them. They've gone home to get high,” said Grant.

  “Stand to!” cried Mason. Ahead the ripping sound came and this time I didn't need to brace. As Jo landed near to my position, a much larger pod almost landed straight on top of the T-105 and broke open the plascrete floor like it was made of gingerbread.

  “What the actual fu-”

  “IT'S TIME TO ROB A BLOODY BANK, BOYS!” cried Thor so loud it registered on my suit as an offensive attack. What I'd initially thought was a pod was in fact now unfolding itself from the ball it'd come down to the planet in. When it rose onto unsteady feet, Thor's massive frame, grotesquely made from spare parts and pilfered armour plating, roared into life standing over a metre taller than the T-105 and at least two wider at the shoulders. Perhaps the effect might have had more of an impact had the head of the thing not been painted black with white eyeholes and the word SWAG n
ot been stencilled on the bulging weapon holder hanging from its back.

  “Oh shit,” laughed Fara as the first shots came rattling through the walls. “Mason's been outdone by a bot!”

  “Stand to!” he cried again. “Defensive positions. Incoming mechanised units. Carter – do what we came here to do.”

  Jo had emerged from her pod carrying the crates of equipment and together we began unpacking them at the mouth of the vault.

  “Nervous?” I asked her.

  “Shitting myself, Carter. Stay with me, please.”

  “I'm here, Jo. I'm not going anywhere.”

  We began to assemble the cutter, clamping the torch heads onto the rails that would move around the vault door as the cut penetrated. We'd managed to build it in two and a half minutes on the ship but that was without the horrifying orchestra of war playing in the background.

  “Movement!” cried Grant as the comms continued to pour into our ears. “West side!”

  “I see him,” said Baz. “Firing!” The AP40 launched grenades at the rate of bullets and the distinctive thud-thud-thud shook the wall behind me.

  “He's mush,” said Fara.

  “South-east, on your eleven, Mason,” said Columbine. “Three more. Look out – they're-”

  An explosion ripped through the entrance followed by a hail of fire which slammed into Jo's back, rocking her on her feet. She screamed and I stood up, returning fire.

  “Stand back!” cried Mason. “Deploying foam.”

  Jets of the stuff I hadn't seen since Golan IV spurted from one of the T-105's weapon platforms and made a low wall in the space the rocket had made.

  “You're fine, Jo. Keep working,” I said as calmly as I could. She nodded and took a deep breath.

  “This stuff works, right?” she said. “This armour. Didn't feel a thing.”

  “Without it, you'd have been vapour now,” I managed to laugh. “Done?”

  “Done. Let's fit it to the door.”

  Together we lifted the rails into place and the suit she wore kicked in, guiding her hands to precisely where they needed to be. A self-driving rivet gun rotated around onto her shoulder and she reached for it, slamming twenty-five milimetre heads deep into the plascrete around the door.

  “Cutting now!” she said and activated the three blue jets that crackled with energy. In moments the metal was glowing beneath the rails and molten slag began dripping onto the floor.

  “How long?” I asked.

  “Six minutes,” she replied. “I need to monitor its operation from here.”

  “Baz!” I called. “Form up on me. Covering fire.”

  “Aye boss. I'm coming.”

  We moved to flank Jo's position and, taking a foam dispenser from the nearest pod, I made two wide sections of cover with it and reinforced the exposed western wall.

  “Handy shit,” said Baz, kneeling behind one. “Shame we weren't fighting the undead again. They don't fight back as hard.”

  “That's true,” I laughed. Six minutes, I thought. A lot can happen in six minutes.

  Mozzy hadn't exaggerated and neither had the hint been when it was given by Madam Sill. From the moment we'd begun cutting, the strength of the attack trebled and the factory soon began to fall down around our ears. Withering amounts of fire came in from all directions as both human and automated units began to converge on our position.

  From their higher vantage points, Thor and Mason returned devastating quantities of firepower but also exposed themselves to the worst of it. Aircraft made deadly bombing runs overhead, spitting down streams of laser fire whilst trying to avoid the T-105's AA guns or Thor's improvised rocket launchers.

  On the ground, spider-tanks and armoured soldiers crawled up the sides of the plateau, trying desperately to establish a foothold but to no avail. The drop-pods had been loaded with every weapon imaginable and as one ran dry, another was picked up and put to devastating effect. All in six minutes.

  “We're through!” cried Jo as the centre of the vault door slid hissing onto the other side and came to rest at an angle against the wall. “Help me dismantle the cutters.”

  I slung my weapon and went to work. Jo blew out the rivets with another tool from her back and I unfastened the rails, carefully placing the cutters back into the crates from which they'd come. Then, when she was almost finished, we moved on to stage three of the plan.

  “Grant, Fara and Columbine, form up. Mason – we're ready pal. Going inside.”

  “Okay, the clock's still ticking pal,” he said. “Work fast.”

  Grant and Fara stormed through the gap and into the corridor on the other side. I ushered Jo in next, followed by myself and Columbine. The chamber was filled with smoke and dust and my HUD automatically compensated.

  “What do you see?” I asked.

  “Door up ahead. Setting charges,” said Fara. “Stand clear.”

  An explosion. More dust. Then gunfire that rattled inside the narrow confines of the corridor. It lasted less than thirty seconds before “All clear,” came down the pipe.

  “Move, move, move!” I said and together we pushed into the next hallway just as the map had indicated.

  “Columbine, Fara, the security room,”

  “Moving,” she replied.

  “I'm on it,” said Columbine, rushing past me.

  “Stay here,” I said to Grant. “I'll get the cutters.”

  Jo's arm clamped on mine and yanked me back with some force.

  “You said-”

  “I'll go,” said Grant. “You cover her.”

  “Thanks.”

  She vanished back into the haze and I felt Jo's arm relax.

  “It's okay,” I said. “I'm right here.” And it was okay – no one without military experience could be expected not to feel terror in that place, under those circumstances, man or woman. Sometimes specialists were needed from outside and in my years of experience they'd always shown courage and resolve far beyond anything they thought they were capable of. Right there and then Jo was demonstrating an almost inhuman amount of strength under fire and I felt my heart burn with pride.

  “You do this for a living?” she tried to laugh.

  “Sometimes. Other days we just play cards.”

  “Maybe you should consider retirement.”

  “I'd be bored.”

  Grant returned, dragging both crates behind her and turned to go back.

  “More guns,” she said, grinning through her clear visor. “I'll be pissed off if I don't get to fire one of those FARGO lance-rifles on this trip.”

  “They're worth more than your armour,” I laughed as she went.

  “I know!”

  I heard shouting over the comms. When Grant returned with another crate I indicated for her to cover us while I switched to camera mode on my HUD. Dropping to one knee, she raised the lance-rifle to her shoulder and watched the corridor.

  On Columbine's HUD, I saw him outside the security room, returning fire into the doorway which now hung from its hinges where thermite had only done half the job. On the other side, two exo-shell units had bunkered down behind mobile cover, those annoying molanium barricades sometimes used by low-level security forces. Fara was on the opposite side, priming grenades and throwing them into the room to good effect. I hoped they were thermite charges too because nothing else would do harm to those suits.

  “Moving,” said Columbine. “Fara, pull back on my word, we need to draw them out.”

  “Understood. Say the word.”

  I saw him break cover and retreat maybe five or six metres. Then he called to Fara who did the same. The exo-shells, thinking they had the advantage, began to follow. One looked badly damaged and was dragging a leg behind it. The other hadn't taken a scratch.

  Again, the urge to micro-manage them over the comms was strong but I resisted. Instead, I switched to Baz who at that moment had chosen to check his comms unit for social updates, no doubt because of the lack of incoming fire coming in his direction.

&n
bsp; “I don't pay you to tell your fucking public what you're doing right now!” I yelled over the comms. “Watch your corner!”

  His weapon shot up and he returned to sweeping his area, saying nothing. I moved on. Mason's camera was a little disorientating as I suddenly found myself higher up, looking down. My breath caught in my throat as I saw hordes of units moving towards us, swarming the blasted land around the factory like ants. Thankfully they were holding back, kept at bay by the volume of firepower we were throwing their way. Already piles of smouldering wreckage from downed craft and smashed mechanised units were collecting about us.

  “Man down!” came the chilling cry as I switched quickly back to my own HUD.

  “Sound off,” I said.

  “It's Columbine. Direct hit. Suit immobilised.”

  I checked his life-signs at my end and saw that they'd plummeted to dangerous levels. Grant looked at me.

  “Go!” I said and she sprinted away to support Fara. Jo turned to look at me. “Don't think about it,” I said. “Think about that first cut.” She nodded.

  I heard the lance-rifle firing, a kind of hiss followed by a thump as the cyclic compensators kicked in. It fired again and an explosion ripped down the corridor towards us.

  “Tango down,” said Grant.

  “The other is incapacitated,” said Fara. “Moving to terminate.” A single shot. “Tango down.”

  “Okay Jo – let's do this,” I said and picked up one of the crates. We moved into the hallway and towards the site of the first part of the shaft; we would cut directly through the floor, straight down. Once there I opened the crate and began passing her parts for the cutter as she assembled them.

  “Carter,” said Fara. “Sam needs medevac.”

  I flicked my eye over the life-sign indicator and cursed but there was nothing I could do.

  “Understood. Stabilise him as best you can and move to control the security-”

  “Grant here – unable to do that, Carter. The systems were fried in the assault. Nothing we can do here.”