Nemesis (The MechaVerse Trilogy Book 2)

by Jeremy Cunkle

  The capacity of their devastation was a long believed, but still an altogether theoretical principal that had never been tested… until now. In the 1/3rd Earth gravity of Mars, combined with a near total lack of atmosphere, there was no comparable amount of friction and thereby massive heat buildup as a by-product of that friction, as the tungsten rods fell from upper orbit. Without those factors to reduce their speed of descent, the impact and subsequent shockwave from the tungsten rods impacting against the surface created a horrifying level of truly unmitigated devastation in the midst of his army, utterly decimating what little remained.

  Within minutes after their landfall, the majority of markers had winked out of existence, utterly incapable of altering the unfairness of their fate. As the cascade of darkness continued to swell, ever expanding, claiming for its own an ever-greater region amidst the plain, closely following in its wake was the comprehensive loss of hope in their once seemingly inevitable victory.

  After realizing the full implications of how the introduction and subsequent use of the tungsten rods had irrevocably changed the nature of the battle, General Akari spared no consideration for the moments before, having lost control in front of his subordinates. Now that he had lost EVERYTHING, he was no longer concerned about proper decorum and behavior. The only thing left were the StormCrows, and trying to figure out how to take them with him if he was going down in flames. If his immediate future was to be cut down, cast aside and be sacrificed by the party elite, relegated to endure the perpetual agony of Hell, then his path to those black gates would be carpeted with the bodies of his foes.

  Failure in the PDF ranks was unforgiveable, the ledge of safety becoming smaller, less secure, the higher one climbed. As a General of High Command who oversaw the complete loss of two Mech Corps, the certainty of his end was already a forgone conclusion; not even his friend General Baknon, or his commanding officer General Hafnos, Commander Special Operations, could shield him now.

  The Party elite were utterly ruthless in the fulfillment of their duties. The Mars Industries bureaucrats would move quickly, ordering their pawns to correct their misplaced confidence by eliminating him, erasing his existence, and along with it, his mistakes. The Corporate Congress of Mars Industries only allowed one story to be told, the one that told of their success, and they would brook no failure, and no dissent, towards achieving that goal.

  General Akari knew that he had only minutes left before everything was taken from him. He had to act... now, while he still could. Inspiration borne from desperation spurred him on, testament to the depths of his character before the fates had betrayed him. He turned, addressing SGM. Anderson with the certainty of a zealot surrounded by foes, refusing to admit defeat, ready to take as many as he could with him. “The mercenaries from Earth have been held in reserve! Order them to mobilize at once. The Centurions are to reinforce what remains of our army and storm the mountain. Those Centurions should be more than capable of ensuring that we eliminate the StormCrows!”

  Loyal to the end, knowing that his General was a victim of overwhelming proportion, SGM. Anderson immediately began barking orders to the station operators. “You heard the General. Contact Commander Kjell. Get those Centurions moving!” He then turned to the station operators overseeing the shattered remnants of their once mighty army. “Re-organize the army. Survivors are to begin assembling into cohesive formations. Have them spread out but remain close enough with one another to provide fire-support. There is no radiation from those impacts, so as soon as we can, re-organize the army. They are to attack at once. We need to move quickly, while the terrorists still have their backs to the wall. That was the last, desperate act of a faction about to be eliminated. So help me, but we will see those terrorist bastards burn, with us, for their treachery.”

  Hesitance and fear forgotten, the station operators bent to the task, grateful for the immediacy of purpose, ignoring the inevitable outcome of the still unfolding disaster. The buzz of activity in the C & C returned as the station operators relayed a steady stream of commands, ordering, cajoling, begging, pleading, and threatening the various survivors into motion.

  The results of their efforts began appearing on the main display. Within minutes, the survivors of the tungsten rod attack were in motion. The outline of allied mechanized formations began emerging, a pale reflection of their former glory.

  All of the forces within the theater of operations identified as friendly began moving towards their newly designated locations, with one notable exception. The blue markers indicating the mercenary Centurion units from Earth remained in position, unmoving.

  “SGM. Anderson!” A lead station operator responsible for monitoring and overseeing the mercenaries urgently called out, earning the SGM’s attention despite the level of activity surrounding him.

  Recognizing the stations’ purpose, SGM. Anderson quickly approached, sensing the undercurrent of tension in the air as he did so. “Why aren’t those Centurions moving, technician?!” He barked gruffly, making it sound as if it were the station operators fault for the mercenaries remaining at a standstill when his gut informed him there was a much more ominous explanation for what he was seeing.

  “Commander Kjell is requesting assurances that his forces won’t share a fate similar to our own. That was a direct quote, Sir.” The station operator said quietly once SGM. Anderson approached closely enough, face filled with fearful trepidation as he did. “He said he refuses to move until he knows there won’t be any more tungsten rods dropped from orbit.”

  “Something’s not right.” SGM. Anderson muttered as he scanned the display banks monitoring the mercenary units. “If the rebels had more tungsten rods or any other tricks in their bag, they would be using them right now. That means there is another reason why he isn’t obeying orders.”

  “I realize this is above my pay grade, and this is just a guess Sir, but it feels as if he’s stalling. Commander Kjell is a veteran of many years and the mercenaries always abide by their contracts. Their reputations demand it. He would recognize the advantage of acting while we still have momentum,” said the station operator, continuing to speak quietly so that no one else realized there was a problem until they had some semblance of a solution in place, or at the very least found out what was wrong.

  “Is he waiting for us to eliminate the black Mech armor or something… else?” SGM. Anderson said as he gently pushed aside the station operator and sat in his seat. He was distracted enough that he did not realize that he was thinking aloud as he began manipulating the controls at the station. He did not know what he was searching for, only that he would recognize it when he found it.

  Just then, a station operator several seats down turned to him, an expression of complete horror on his face. “Sir! You need to hear this!” He said as he began playing a closed loop video feed that he had intercepted between Commander Kjell and a second, unidentified party.

  * * * * *

  “Commander Kjell, this is Odysseus on a secure connection. Do you copy?”

  “Allo there Odysseus. I’ve been wondering how much longer it would be until I got this call,” replied the mercenary commander, his tone dry and sardonic.

  “We have now fulfilled all parts of our contract. First, we ensured your forces safely arrived on Mars. Secondly, we have fought the greatest PDF army every assembled to a standstill. Third, we ensured the survival of your forces, their placement on the battlefield, and giving you the ideal location for a surprise attack on the battered remnants of the PDF army from behind. Now that those matters have been seen to, a balance of eight billion credits has been wired to your accounts as agreed per contract. As a token of our consideration, for your abilities, an extra seventy million credits has been wired directly to your personal account.”

  The video feed on the other end of Commander Kjell was a morass of shifting greys, full of static. The voice speaking used a program to create an electronic representation of itself that could have been anyone amidst the interfer
ence, male or female.

  The anonymous voice continued after a brief pause, giving the mercenary commander enough time to appreciate its generosity. “You and your men will be given access to the funds upon the initialization of your attack. As stated in the contract, we expect to be able to count on your full support.”

  “Aye, Aye. Betrayal is a tasteless business, but we know it well. We’ll be seeing you shortly I suspect,” said Commander Kjell, but the video feed had already cut out.

  * * * * *

  “It’s done. The mercenaries are in motion,” Alyona announced over the Omnos frequency.

  “What kind of code name is Odysseus,” Kiryl rumbled, unable to restrain his curiosity.

  “Odysseus was given the credit for envisioning the Trojan horse.” Kurtis answered. “The Trojans hidden away inside the horse waited for nightfall before exiting and opening the gates for the rest of their army, knowing that by then the Greeks would be mostly defenseless, having spent the evening feasting and drinking themselves into a stupor. Once the gates were open, the rest of the Trojan army poured into the now undefended city and then proceeded to slaughter the hapless defenders.”

  Vera’s and Kiryl’s dark laughter echoed through the frequency. The moniker was indeed a fitting tribute.

  * * * * *

  Eve remained silent as she listened to the other members of the Omnos squad, astounded by these revelations. Although Mikkhael had accepted her as pilot of Starkindler, by default making her a member of the Omnos squad, she realized that she would never be one with the Earther’s. Not only had they effectively accomplished the impossible by blunting the PDF armies with a miniscule force by comparison, but they continued to show that they were constantly thinking far, far ahead of everyone else. Combining their actions with the surprise of the tungsten rods falling from orbit only served to show their prowess as a team. They worked perfectly in concert with one another, able to anticipate the actions of each other without needing to communicate.

  As she considered the turn of events, she was amazed by the growing ramifications of what they had accomplished. Her mind struggled to accept the fact that the Earthers had contracted with the mercenary, Commander Kjell, before his forces had even arrived on Mars. They had anticipated this moment at a minimum of six months previously, and likely more, but had only arrived planet side three months ago. Unable to transport the Mercenaries to Mars themselves, the Omnos squad had arranged for the PDF to employ the mercenary Commander and his powerful Centurion units, ensuring they were held in reserve until this moment.

  Not only were the members of the Omnos squad individually brilliant pilot’s, each commanding a unit with the capability of at least a battalion of standard Mech armor, but they were powerfully talented strategists as well. While they may not have known exactly how this day would turn out, or even that a battle for Mount Olympus would take place, they had moved incredibly difficult pieces into place, months beforehand, on the premise that they could, and would, be called upon when needed.

  Now she truly understood how the other Earthers could consider themselves peers to Mikkhael, the greatest pilot and strategist the rebellion had ever seen. She found herself overwhelmingly grateful that they were on the same side of the battle. If the situation had been reversed, she knew that the only way the members of the Omnos squad could be defeated was in their sleep, and even then, she found herself doubting the outcome.

  * * * * *

  Nemesis floated in the air, miles above the chaos happening on the plain below. Through the cockpit speakers, the AI cackled maniacally with unadulterated glee at the sheer level of destruction the tungsten rods had wrought upon their foes.

  But the death and destruction was not enough. It would never be enough for Nemesis, the demon incarnate.

  It was not enough for Mikkhael either. He had committed unspeakable atrocities in his efforts to free the enslaved miners of Mars, personally responsible for destroying more PDF than nearly the combined efforts of entire factions outside of the mighty WinterSong, but his role was not yet over.

  Mikkhael examined the culmination of years of effort depicted in ultra-high clarity across the HUD. Theoretically, tungsten rods dropped from upper orbit had always been as capable as nuclear weapons, although without the side effects of the radiation. However, no one had ever tested their use in actual combat, until now, and the results were appallingly lethal.

  The charred and smoking remains of what had moments before been thousands of new model Mech armor, drones, and armored vehicles of all kinds were scattered across the plain. In the distance, the still expanding shockwave raced across the plain, sending dust and ash skyward in a growing plume that seemed to serve as the planet’s death knell.

  Above it all, Nemesis rotated slowly, hovering solitarily above the peak of Mount Olympus. Seeing the damage analysis to the massed PDF army on the plain below only served to steel Mikkhael’s resolve. He quickly ran simulations on how to finish off the still-lethal survivors, thereby ensuring the safety of his friends and the StormCrows.

  He tsk’ed in frustration at what he saw. Although his battles, up until now, had mostly relied on the katana to cut down his foes, his supplies of rockets and sub munitions had been used up in the process due to the sheer number of foes he had faced, leaving him vulnerable unless he could resupply. However, returning to the mountain was not an option.

  The PDF survivors were already moving. They were beginning to re-group and the outlines of formations were starting to take shape. Soon, they would renew their attack against the mountain, and even their depleted numbers might be enough to carry the day in their favor.

  Defeat could not be allowed at any cost, not when he was so close to finally delivering a resounding enough rebel victory, so conclusive that it would fatally weaken the PDF stranglehold over the entire planet.

  It was time to finish this.

  The demonic looking Mech armor reeked of death. Nemesis’ death mask turned in a perpetual scream of torment, wind whistling through the channels in the horns, emitting a sound as if the ghastly form were keening the Siren’s song of perpetual despair.

  A quick command instantly snapped the dark wings open. They spread wide, like a hawk flying unseen through the sky that had singled out its prey, about to spring forth and unleash overwhelming devastation upon its target. The massive sword hung loosely in one hand, begging to be unleashed. More importantly however, it was if the entire being of Nemesis exuded a feral sense of violence, ready to continue meting out ultimate punishment to its PDF enemies.

  Mikkhael began keying commands as Nemesis strained against the leash of gravity, audibly yearning to return to the fight. A blue/black nimbus took shape, glowing around the frame of the demonic Mech armor, growing in intensity. The energy shields waxed with unrivaled power as the redirected reactor output surged into them. Supercharged, the energy shields took on an entirely new dimension, bathing the demon in blue flames gathered directly from the deepest depths of hell.

  Nemesis completed one final, slow, spin as its upward momentum completely stalled high above the mountain peak. Upon completing its turn, the ghastly form then dipped slowly, wings spread wide, falling headfirst towards the shattered plain, katana leading the way.

  Mikkhael kicked the throttle output to full and the afterburners screamed a deafening roar as columns of black flame belched violently from the engines, billowing behind the plummeting Mech armor as if death’s impermeable cape wrapped its immortal champion, gracing it with its fell blessing as it descended upon its unsuspecting prey.

  The rocket assist units joined the cacophony, screaming in tandem with the engines, afterburners, and the horns. Mikkhael felt his body pressed firmly into the pilot’s seat that reflexively molded around him, protecting him from the lethal g-forces. His mind was pumped full of cognitive boosters as Nemesis nose-dived from the heavens, returning once again to the abyss where men wantonly slaughtered one another with reckless abandon in the name of unmitigated greed an
d absolute power.

  Nemesis became a missile hurtling towards its final destination, speeding with singular, deadly intent. The katana led the way, casting a frightening hybrid of blue/black light before it, mimicking the rest of the demonic war machine. The flow of air through the horns atop its head morphed from a keening wail into the ethereal howl of Hell-hounds as it announced the unleashed Reaper himself; coming to claim the souls of all who foolishly dared look upon Death itself.

  * * * * *

  The armies of Rebel and PDF alike watched in awe-struck wonder as the ball of blue/black darkness that was Nemesis cratered amidst the wasteland of the eastern plain. A new wall of dust, ash, and debris fountained forth from the point of impact, obscuring their collective view. Radar and sensors were rendered useless by the possessed Mech armor that effortlessly shrugged off the efforts of insignificants.

  No one on either side made the foolish assumption that the sudden descent had ended in suicide.

  The dark figure of Nemesis emerged from the debris and choking dust, descending ever so slowly around it, appearing as if the entire world had been reduced to cinders and ash in its wake.

  The wraithlike creature moved almost nonchalantly, unhurried, and in complete control.

  Nemesis glowed with an expanding ball of blackness that seemed to swallow the light around it. Blue lightning crackled and discharged from its shields at random, mindlessly racing away to vaporize any bit of shrapnel or debris approaching too close.

  Every screen, battlefield monitor, and viewport captured the same transfixing view. Both sides watched, mesmerized, catatonic with fear, as Nemesis braced its feet shoulder width apart, taking the giant katana into both hands and raised it to the pitch-black heavens.

  Like Thor calling forth lightning with his hammer, a massive white-hot bolt of pure energy pierced the clouds, striking the katana on its tip. For a single brief moment the katana, and even Nemesis, glowed white hot with the power of lightning at their disposal before the entire battlefield was whitewashed in glowing white brilliance. The blinding light faded when Nemesis swung the katana, redirecting the lightning bolt into the ranks of PDF facing off against it.