by Isaac Hooke
“The lieutenant colonel says, ‘come right in,’“ Snakeoil announced.
Rade sighed. “How are the rad levels, Jerry?” he asked his AI. Just because TJ could go outside, didn’t mean Rade could. Rade was missing a subdermal, after all.
“Magnetic field emissions from the carriers and geodesic domes are countering much of the radiation,” the AI returned. “If you plan to dismount, you should be safe out there in your jumpsuit for an hour at least.”
“All right,” Rade said. “Luxe and I are going in. Hold the fort, TJ.”
Rade dismounted his Titan and entered the dome with Luxe. The first thing he noticed inside were the repair drones busy plugging the holes. The attack had been recent, then.
The lieutenant colonel sat at the head of a conference table, but he stood up to greet them. Behind the faceplate, his skin seemed wrinkled and his jaw angular, but it was hard to see much more of his features beyond the clouded glass. Rade did see the eyes quite clearly, however: hard, brown, glinting orbs.
Rade introduced himself and Luxe.
“Lieutenant Colonel Harlan at your service.” The LC extended a gloved hand and Rade shook it, as did Luxe. “You’ll have to excuse the poor condition of my office. We only just finished repelling the latest attack. I tell you, we can’t take much more of this. We’re going to have to fall back to the muster point. Probably won’t be the only ones. I bet you half the battalions from wave two are already there.” He sat down behind the long conference table, a spartan polycarbonate affair whose sole purpose was apparently to provide a place for the lieutenant colonel to rest his boots.
“You’ll have to excuse my caution,” Rade said. “You never know who you can trust these days.”
“I would have sent my men in first, too,” the lieutenant colonel said. “So. Your communicator tells me you have a message for me. I hope it’s good news. Reinforcements? Or withdrawal orders perhaps. Both are more than welcome.”
Rade exchanged a look with Luxe. “Neither,” he said. He shared the message.
The lieutenant colonel listened with an ever darkening face. Finally, when Rade finished, the man shook his head behind his faceplate and stood. He paced back and forth at the end of the conference table, at least as much as the cramped inside of the geodesic dome allowed.
Finally, he stopped, then leaned across the table and planted his gloves down on the empty counter. “Can’t do it. Those goddamn bastards all comfy in their ships up there have no idea what it’s like down here. None at all. I can’t send any more men inside. I just can’t. Every platoon I’ve sent down there has never returned.”
“Have you tried HS3s—” Luxe began.
Harlan slammed the table with one of his gloves. “Of course I’ve tried HS3s goddammit! Between the incoming enemy waves I’ve sent loads of HS3s and Centurions into that hell pit. Why do you think we have no Centurions left? I’ve sent mixed teams of HS3s and mechs, too. I even sent a few armored carriers. Without fail, none of them return. I’m not going to risk any more Marine lives to satisfy some ‘hunch’ by a few navy scientists based on conjectural evidence.”
“But the orders were specific,” Rade said. “It is of the highest priority that you take the command and control, by whatever means necessary. And capture or kill the alien sentience running it.”
“I don’t recognize your command authority,” Harlan said.
“These orders don’t come from me.”
Harlan smiled sarcastically behind his faceplate. “Then whose command authority is it?”
“The highest level of senior command, I would presume,” Rade said. “I have the authorization codes to prove it. With your permission...”
“I don’t give a damn about your authorization codes,” the LC said. “You expect me to follow the orders of some random MOTH who comes to me out of nowhere and tells me to send my men to their deaths? What in the hell do you take me for? A madman? You could be infiltration units, far as I know.”
“Just let me send the codes...” Rade said.
Harlan sighed. “Go ahead. I’m waiting.”
Rade sent the codes.
Harlan abruptly took his seat. His faceplate seemed to grow even more cloudy. Rade realized that it was condensation.
The man was sweating.
Abruptly Harlan shook his head. “These codes have to be fake. The aliens have somehow gotten their hands on them. That has to be it. You’ve been duped. Until I can get a secondary corroboration from the fleet that these orders are real, I’ll have to assume alien subterfuge, and I refuse to act upon them. Hell, we’ve already been tricked repeatedly by these aliens. One time, they sent a distress call from the tunnel. We were sure it was UC. I sent men down, and you can guess what happened.”
“You’ll never get secondary corroboration,” Rade said. “Not while this interference is in place.”
The lieutenant colonel crossed his arm assemblies. He didn’t need to say anything. Rade knew he wasn’t going to budge from his stance.
“Someone has to go,” Rade said. “Because if the scientists are right, and a command and control exists in this tunnel, the war could be won or lost right here.”
Harlan’s eyes abruptly narrowed and Rade felt like a rabbit in the gaze of a hawk. “Feel free. Technically, you’re not under my command. Neither is she, though I’d be in my rights to co-opt her units. You’re free agents.”
“You won’t send a few of your men down with us?” Rade said.
“I will not.”
“A few ATLAS mechs?” Rade tried. “A couple of troop carriers?”
“Nope.”
“HS3s, at the least?”
“We have none left,” Harlan said.
“Do you at least have partial maps of the tunnel you can share?”
Harlan stood up, walked to Rade, and stared directly into his faceplate. “As I told you before, no one and nothing I sent down returned. Not men. Not machines. So no, we have no maps. If you want to go, then go. But you’re alone on this.”
“One last thing,” Rade said. “We have a wounded man, suffering from severe radiation poisoning.”
The LC frowned. “Our medical unit doesn’t have the equipment to deal with severe exposure. You’d think, given the radiation levels, we would. But the comfy generals and admirals aboard their ships decided we wouldn’t need such facilities. ‘You’ve got armor!’ they said. In any case, you’re certainly welcome to leave your injured man with our Weavers, for whatever care they can provide, if that’s your prerogative.”
Rade considered. “Yes,” he said. “We’ll do that. Thank you.” He gave a stiff salute.
Harlan’s eyes twinkled, and he saluted back. Then he turned around. “Dismissed.”
Rade left the geodesic dome fast as he could and he reboarded his Titan.
“Well that went well,” Luxe said.
“You all listened in, I assume?” Rade said.
“Unfortunately,” Manic said.
“I believe the message we received is real,” Rade said. “Therefore, it’s my duty to go inside that tunnel. I’m going to complete the mission or die trying. But I can’t order any of you to go with me.”
“Why not?” Bender said. “We’ve all seen the official orders. Just because this coward doesn’t want to go doesn’t mean we’re excused.”
“All the same,” Rade said. “Officially, our only duty was to deliver the missive to the lieutenant colonel.”
“Actually,” Tahoe said. “Officially we have standing orders to exterminate whatever aliens we find down here. I’d say destroying the command and control counts as part of that mission.”
“Well sure,” Rade told him. “But I don’t think anyone ever expected a team of thirteen Titans to take on a command and control embedded deep within an alien homeworld.”
“Maybe it’s better that way,” Manic said. “A small group might have a greater chance. Stealth on our side, and all that.”
“How many do you think they have down t
here?” TJ said. His Titan’s gaze was fixed on the dead bodies piled up outside the tunnel.
“I’d guess, a hell of a lot,” Lui said. He snickered nervously.
“Is this the best idea?” Fret said. “If everyone sent down there has died...”
“As I said, you don’t have to come,” Rade told him.
“We have thirteen Titans,” Fret said. “That’s gotta be an unlucky portent.”
“I think it’s lucky,” Snakeoil said. “LPO Rage, I’m reporting for duty to kick some alien ass.”
Others from Alpha chimed in, so that a chorus of voices volunteered for the mission. The Marines all remained quiet.
“Thank you,” Rade told them. “I appreciate your help. Storming Amazons, you’re free to join the battalion. I’m sure they could use your help securing the outer perimeter of the outpost.”
“You’re not leaving us behind,” Luxe said. “Much as you might want to.”
“Sergeant,” Rade said. “You heard what the lieutenant colonel said, didn’t you?”
“I did. And we’re coming. You think we’re going to sit back and let you take all the credit for winning the war?”
“Fine,” Rade said. “But remember, if you come, you’re under my command.”
“Yeah,” she said. It sounded like she wasn’t entirely certain about that last comment, but Rade let it pass. He would need her Amazons down there.
“Fret,” Rade said. “Clear out of Trace’s cockpit and escort Facehopper’s Titan to the medical unit. Give him to the care of the Weavers, and then take his mech. Meet us at the supply depot.”
“Assuming they have one...” Fret said.
“Check your map,” Rade said. “They have a supply depot.”
“What about your arm?” Tahoe said.
“I’ll get it looked at before we leave,” Rade replied.
“Should we unload our dead?” Lui asked.
Rade hesitated. He didn’t want to give up his men, even in death. But he knew that was entirely irrational. The men were gone. There was nothing he could do for them, not anymore.
“Probably a good idea,” Rade said. “Luxe, supervise the task. See that Grappler, Keelhaul, and your dead are taken to the casualty collection robots. Rendezvous with us at the supply depot.”
“Our dead have names, too, you know,” Luxe said as she jetted down from the passenger seat. In her arms she carried the body of Grappler. “Gibbs. Nabe.”
“Sorry,” Rade said.
“It’s fine,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure their sacrifice was properly respected. And that they’ll be remembered.”
“They will be.”
Luxe turned toward the two Marines clinging to Mauler’s Titan nearby. “Teeson, Paxon, help me out.”
When they had unloaded the dead, Rade addressed the remaining Titans. “The rest of you, with me.”
While Fret and Luxe hurried off to perform their separate tasks, the others made their way to the supply depot. There, they completely refilled their oxygen tanks, replenished their water and meal replacement supplies, and topped up their jumpjet fuel tanks. The outpost didn’t have an actual engineering company, and the few techs present were fully booked, so there would be no repairing of the weapon mounts. The platoon members did grab a few grenades and other explosives for their storage compartments, or in the case of the Marines, for their utility belts and harnesses.
Fret joined them momentarily in Facehopper’s Titan, along with Luxe and her two Marines.
“Thought you were going to the medical unit?” Fret said.
“I’m headed there now,” Rade said. “When you’re done gearing up, meet me at the outpost entrance, people.”
“Wait, you mean we’re leaving right away?” Fret said. “I was expecting a little downtime…”
“Hell with that,” Bender said. “I’m ready.”
“Now’s as good a time as any,” Rade agreed.
Rade reached the medical unit, disembarked from his Titan, and entered the long airlock that had been set up outside.
“Where’s Chief Facehopper of MOTH Team Seven?” Rade asked as the Weaver worked on his arm in the tight confines.
“He has been taken to the ICU for treatment,” the surgical robot replied.
“Can I see him?”
The spider-like robot transmitted a video feed. On it, Rade saw Facehopper lying atop a bed, connected to an IV. A Weaver hovered above him. Satisfied that the chief was in capable hands, Rade dismissed the feed.
“Your arm has been repaired,” the Weaver abruptly announced.
Rade flexed his fingers a few times. His forearm had an ugly scar but at least the pain had completely subsided. “I was hoping you could put in a new subdermal.”
“We have exhausted our supplies,” the Weaver replied. “I am sorry.”
Rade reattached his arm assembly, pulled on the glove, and then returned to his Titan outside. He marched to the outpost egress, where the rest of the platoon was waiting.
“Did you get a new subdermal?” Tahoe asked.
“Apparently they don’t have any more,” Rade replied.
“Let me give you one of mine,” Tahoe said. “I’m sure the Weaver—”
“No,” Rade told him. “I’m good, Cyclone. Let’s not delay any more than we have to.”
Beyond that makeshift fence of armored carriers and geodesic domes, the Titans made their way toward the forbidding black opening in the ground. The Storming Amazons remained aboard each unit, either clinging to the external rungs of the Titans, or staying secure in the passenger seats. Soon the mechs were wading through the grisly corpses of the creatures that surrounded the opening.
An ATLAS mech intercepted them. “Halt. This is a restricted zone.”
Rade’s Implant identified the speaker as Gunnery Sergeant Terry MacKay.
“We’re authorized,” Rade said.
“No, you’re not,” MacKay said slowly. “No one is allowed to pass.”
“Talk to your LC,” Rade said.
“Listen,” MacKay told him. “We’ve sent troops. Combat robots. HS3s. Nothing comes back. You go in there, your men are signing their death sentences.”
“We’re not ordinary men.”
“Let the idiots pass,” the lieutenant colonel’s weary voice came over the line.
“Yes sir,” MacKay replied.
The ATLAS stepped aside.
“I don’t envy you,” the gunnery sergeant said as Rade and the others passed. “Someone really needs to talk to your commander, and convince him not to waste your lives like this. Do you want me to?”
“I’m the commander,” Rade said.
“You’re going with them?” MacKay said. He sounded surprised. “I guess I assumed, as the commander...”
“Well you shouldn’t have assumed,” Rade said.
“You don’t have to do this,” MacKay pressed. “Why not wait until we clear out? Let the fleet launch another digger nuke. Do you really have a death wish?”
“The fleet doesn’t have any more digger nukes.”
“Well, not now, maybe,” the gunnery sergeant said. “But they’ll get more. When the fleet reinforcements arrive.”
“Sure. In a few months.”
“That’s the nature of war,” MacKay said. When it became obvious Rade wasn’t stopping, he added: “Hey, it’s your lives...”
The ATLAS mech trudged off.
Bender, on point, halted near the edge of the dark pit. Instinctively, the others assumed positions beside him, forming a line between the pulse platforms whose turrets were trained inside. Rade joined them and stared into the depths.
The tunnel sloped down into the darkness at a thirty-degree angle. The dead bodies of hornheads and gatorpedes sheathed the floor in knotted masses of limbs and fur.
“Well, on the bright side,” Manic said. “At least there’s enough room for our mechs.”
Fret swiveled his Titan toward Manic. “I thought you were going to say, at least they’r
e all dead.”
“That, too,” Manic said.
Rade stared into the gloom residing beyond the farthest reaches of the pit. He could swear he saw shapes swirling there. He activated his headlamp, partially illuminating it, but saw only more darkness. He switched to the thermal band. Clear.
“Let’s go terminate an alien command and control,” Rade said.
twenty-two
Bender,” Rade said. “Lead the way.”
Bender resumed his position on point and began wading down through the dead creatures. He shuffled and dragged the feet of his mech for most of the way, shoving the corpses of hornheads and gatorpedes aside, along with the occasional robot wreckage.
As the other Titans stepped down into the tunnel, Rade assumed a position near the center of the platoon. The cylindrical walls, interrupted only by the jagged corpses on the floor, seemed far too round to be natural. The stone was gray, interrupted occasionally by different strata and veins of red and white.
Shortly after everyone had descended into the tunnel, lieutenant colonel Harlan came over the line.
“I’ve decided to have pity on you,” the LC transmitted, his voice distorting slightly.
“How’s that?” Rade sent back.
“I’m sending a couple of Centurions your way.”
Rade glanced over his shoulder, and past the three Titans on drag behind him he spotted five Centurions jetting and wading through the dead.
“Generous of him,” Bender said over the group private line. His voice oozed sarcasm.
“I thought you didn’t have any more Centurions left,” Rade said over the main comm.
“Let’s just say I wanted to protect my assets,” Harlan said. “But as I said, I’ve had a change of heart. I didn’t think you boys, and gals, would actually do it.”
“Don’t suppose you can scare up some HS3s, too?” Rade asked.
“We really did lose all our HS3s,” Harlan said. “The Centurions are all you’re going to get.”
Whatever helps assuage your guilt. Or maybe he was just trying to cover his ass for the eventual inquiry into his conduct.