by Scott Moon
Arthur held back the need to tell them everyone was going to die on this planet. He was forming the words to set them all straight and end the radio chatroom, when they reached the top of a low hill and saw what was beyond it.
Thousands of Nix warriors, more than he had ever seen in one place, had been driven into a low flat area with Burners arrayed on the high ground all around them.
“They are literally forming a defensive square,” Pepper said. “What the actual fuck?”
“Fascinating,” Fartravel said. “Did they take that from Earth history or vice versa? Oh shit, they’re going to be slaughtered. I can’t watch, but I can’t look away.”
Nix warriors formed triple rows of bowmen and fired their javelin-like arrows in disciplined waves. To Arthur’s amazement, many of the Burner mechs retreated with damage. One fell to its knees and winked out.
Ten others replaced it.
“Shut up, Fart,” Whalebait said. “You’re pissing me off.”
“Use my real name. I have a real name, unlike some people in this conversation.”
“Whalebait is my real name, you fucker! I’m gonna punch your teeth out when we get back to camp.”
“That’s enough,” Arthur said. “Pepper, are you ready?”
“I guess.”
Everyone in the squadron groaned.
“We strike hard in their rear and retreat by the numbers,” Arthur said, already moving forward. “Full stealth mode until we get to a hundred meters. Then we burn the Burners.”
A row of Nix wielding swords held the advancing Ignari as their comrades launched thousands of arrows. Arthur watched as more and more of the Nix caught fire but continued to fight.
Arthur increased his speed. “I hate these fucking Burners.”
None of his squadron answered.
All four Cyclopes rushed at the backs of the enemy.
“Switch on reflective exterior and prime energy weapons in five seconds,” Arthur said.
“They don’t have a rear guard, Arthur. I don’t like it,” Pepper said.
“Fuck these bastards!” Fartravel screamed. His voice still sounded too far away.
Arthur saw the trap. “Drive through! Assault, assault, assault!”
The Burners wheeled an entire line of their formation to face Arthur’s squadron.
“Fuck!” Whalebait roared.
Arthur launched rockets to check distance, then primed his plasma generator.
Whalebait’s icon disappeared from Arthur’s HUD.
“Link and advance at full speed,” Arthur said.
“Nice knowing you, asshole,” Pepper said.
Plasma bolts reached from Arthur’s Cyclopes until he was linked with Fartravel on one side and Pepper on the other. “The first part is the hardest,” he said.
Shadows turned as the Burners moved their formations. Clouds fled the sky above them and deepened the effect. He could barely see the next square beyond the blazing fires of their common enemy.
The Burners appeared as machines painted in fire. When they stood motionless, the fire was wilder and reached higher toward the sky. When they rushed forward, it seemed to hug the surface and could almost be invisible.
Pepper and Fartravel slammed into the first row of the enemy. Arthur wondered if they expected to crush the Cyclops units. The Burners were bigger and moved faster. Arthur and his squadron had something the Burners would never admit—the knowledge of certain defeat.
Arthur put his head down and slammed into the knees of the first Burner he encountered. At the last second, he shifted his weight slightly to the left, focusing on one of the mechanical knees. It always surprised him that they felt like machines because they looked like demons of mythology.
His opponent fell. He trod across the Burner’s torso and face without slowing.
The second row of Burners drew closer together.
Arthur looked over his shoulder and saw the line of plasma fire reaching from his Cyclops mech back to Pepper. A half dozen Burners were cut off at mid-thigh by the stream of energy. They went down hard and didn’t get back up. It would’ve been satisfying to watch them squirm and twist and try to right themselves, but Arthur didn’t have time.
Something knocked him off his feet. He didn’t search for his most recent attacker. What had to be the foot of a Burner stomped on his back. The shell of the Cyclops armor took most of the force, dispersing it across the surface of his unit.
The weight relented and he dreaded what had to come next.
A flaming foot, encased in armor made from a strange material, slammed into the visor of his unit. His cameras blinked on and off. When something hot shot through his side, he knew he’d been breached.
“I’m cracked,” Arthur said.
Neither Pepper nor Fartravel answered.
5
Lacy’s Secret
Priest went on patrol as tired and discouraged as he’d ever been. Neither word meant much to him. Recon selection had driven their meaning from his brain and he no longer used them, hadn’t used them for as long as he could remember.
Danzig made regular announcements promising reinforcements.
Everyone wanted to believe it.
Seeing the Navy on the planet’s surface when they were supposed to be in orbit bombing the shit out of the enemy wasn’t a huge morale boost.
“Why are we doing this, Gunney?” McCraw asked.
“Oui patron, pourquoi sommes-nous ici?” Frenchie asked.
McCraw opened her mouth to translate.
“Belay that, McCraw,” Priest said. “Fermez la bouche et regardez votre zone.”
Francis “Frenchie” Waldon looked at him, aghast. “Your French is worse than mine!”
“I learned it with the same half-assed software. Now do your job,” Priest said. “We’re looking for Lieutenant Roosevelt or anyone else on the MIA list. But especially her. Don’t ask me why. I’m too tired for a long discussion.”
He regretted the last statement immediately.
McCraw moved her squad into the darkness with Kims and Nate each leading a fire team.
Frenchie struck out in the other direction with Corporals Elijah Julie and Tyrese Jackson leading his fire teams.
As replacements went, Julie and Jackson were as good as Priest might hope for. Each had five years’ experience in Recon and clean performance evaluations.
Julie grew a regulation-shattering beard when he could, probably to shut people up about his last name. In Priest’s opinion, it only made the hazing worse. Like Jackson, he was bigger than most Recon team members but able to keep up on long runs and marches.
The hills surrounding the UNA and CWF camp were dominated by the Burners and the Siren-nix who served them. A much smaller force, mostly comprised of the rebel Nix, fought in one pitched battle after another. The preoccupation with their destruction was the only thing that kept the Burners from closing the noose around the human Coalition forces.
“Can’t say I’ll miss the Nix when they’re gone. Intel said the reason they rebelled was because they wanted to attack Earth and the Forever Siren wouldn’t let them,” McCraw said over the radio.
“That was then, this is now,” Priest said. “The enemy of my enemy is a friend.”
The long-range reconnaissance proceeded without incident for several hours. Priest slowed the pace and gave his team plenty of rest breaks. There was no need charging after something they couldn’t locate.
In one of the areas they had passed through early in today’s mission, the sounds and sights of a distant battle escalated. Flashing lights and noise warned of a major clash between Cyclopes and Burners.
“McCraw, you’re with me,” he said. “Frenchie, take your team as wide as you can while still maintaining radio contact. Let’s get eyes on this battle and see if it’s something we need to be a part of.”
“I don’t know about you, Gunny, but I don’t want to be involved with Cyclopes or Burners. We get caught in the middle, and they probably won’t eve
n notice our deaths,” McCraw said.
“I don’t disagree.” He led the way toward the explosions. He knew the battle would involve the Cyclops mechs because neither Siren nor Siren-nix started fights at night. He’d been here long enough to understand their habits. Of the Burners, he was less sure.
The landscape rolled deceptively ahead of them. On first glance, it seemed there was no way to hide in this gentle terrain, but gullies and washed-out arroyos cut across their path when least expected. What looked like a small stand of trees from a distance turned out to be a dense oasis around a wide river.
“Mark those trees on your map. We’ll need to come back or send a team to clear them out and make sure Roosevelt or other MIA personnel aren’t hiding there,” Priest said.
“I don’t think anyone’s hiding. That’d be desertion,” McCraw said.
“Which is a capital crime on the field of battle,” Priest said. “But people still do it.”
The frequency and intensity of explosions increased just beyond the horizon. Priest and McCraw moved forward with their weapons ready. Frenchie and his fire team continued to move around the flank.
“Eyes only,” Priest said. “Avoid contact. Whatever’s happening on the other side is too much for us right now.”
“Affirmative,” Frenchie said on a scratchy radio link.
Priest crawled on his belly and looked down on the scene of chaos. Flaming debris stretched across several thousand meters of the recent battle. Their brothers had paid a high price in their conflict against the Cyclops mechs.
Three of the state-of-the-art UNA war machines had fallen. The closest looked as though it had squatted down with one arm ripped off before something smashed open its canopy and removed the pilot. Priest and his people were too far away to see blood or other biological damage. He thought he could make out cooling patterns that might have been blood and guts splashing into the wreckage.
One Cyclops staggered away from a half-dozen Burners, limping on a bad leg and sparking its plasma generators in random directions. “Try to get some identifiers off those mechs,” Priest said.
McCraw shook her head. “We’re too far away. If you want to help that poor schmuck, we need to get our hands dirty… and maybe die.”
Priest placed his fists on his hips and stared at the options before him. The distances were too great, the enemy too strong and existing in too great of numbers, and he had no support. He was a Recon Marine. The mission always came first, yet they were running low on critical personnel and equipment. He wasn’t keen to leave a fellow soldier in the lurch.
“Let’s go down there and rescue someone,” Priest said. “Can’t afford to lose more people or gear.”
McCraw punched one fist into the air. “Hell, yeah! I was hoping you would say that. Are we all going, or is this a couple’s skate?”
Priest laughed. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve been on the ice.”
“Um, I was talking about roller skating at the Skate Plaza down by Huntington and Business Drive.”
Priest sent a text message full of abbreviations to Frenchie, then started forward. McCraw moved on his flank as they searched for enemies and survivors. The battle shifted. He saw a squadron of Burners dart into the opening of a canyon. A short time later, more emerged over a hillside and descended into the chaos.
Priest and McCraw slowed to avoid the wreckage of several UNA mechs, some old and some of the new Cyclops versions.
“No survivors here,” McCraw said as she checked a tangle of wreckage. “We should be getting close to our limping friend. Should have sent a tight-beam message to hold fast and wait for us.”
Priest shook his head. “I’ve never gotten one of them to accept a tight-beam. They either don’t care or can’t interface with our comms.”
Something just at the edge of his vision caught his attention.
“What is it?” McCraw asked, scanning her own area of responsibility.
“Get down. Don’t move.” He dropped flat on his stomach and used his helmet sensors to monitor a new squadron of Burners as they approached. Seven in total, they traveled in a wedge with one in the middle who seemed to be in command.
“Two things,” McCraw said from her own position of concealment. “Their tactics are not much different from ours, and I think they’re going to continue on past us.”
“You’re right. They’re chugging along.” Priest counted and recounted the enemy troops as they moved. His stomach tied itself in knots. Fighting so many of the flaming mechs would be certain death. “We need to do our business and get out of here.”
“I’m down with that,” McCraw said, standing and moving forward.
“We’ll sweep one more grid. If we don’t find him or her, then we’re out of here.” Priest updated the rest of the team, including Lacy, then followed McCraw. He moved to cover her flank on one side and watched their back trail.
“Found her,” McCraw announced. “Not one of Arthur Connelly’s misfits.”
Priest moved to cover her. The fighting here had been hot and heavy. He was surprised to find more than just Cyclopes and Burners. At one time, this place had been an artillery emplacement. UNA and CWF combined infantry had moved in quickly and tried to defend the guns. He recorded the destroyed equipment and scorched bodies with professional detachment.
“Talk to me. What’s your rank? Where’s the rest of your unit?” McCraw asked the olive-skinned woman with dark hair. She had pulled herself free of the Cyclops unit and stripped off her survival suit after being coated with liquid fire. Her instincts saved her during the short term but doomed her for a chance of survival without help.
Priest had his own job to do and couldn’t hear what the woman answered. He waited until McCraw sent him a text message. He covered his zone and looked for enemies.
Msg: CyclopsPilot: Shannon Burhis.
“I don’t know her,” Priest said.
“She doesn’t know us, or much of anything right now. She’s banged up and has burn wounds. We need to get her back to base camp. Or find someone else to get her back.”
Priest considered his options. He turned in a circle and surveyed his surroundings again. “Priest for Lacy, we have a survivor that needs medical attention.”
“Lacy, message received. Platoon, finish your sweeps, then rendezvous at the rally point. Bring any wounded or MIA personnel you find,” Lacy said over the platoon link.
Priest acknowledged the order then turned his attention to his squad. “Frenchie. Converge on my location. We need extra hands to move an injured Cyclops pilot.”
“On the way,” Frenchie said.
“I’m going to expand our perimeter while we wait,” Priest said to McCraw. “Short patrol. Ranging out no more than a hundred meters with you and Julie at the center.”
“Understood,” McCraw said. “Don’t be a stranger.”
Priest moved out. Patrolling without support wasn’t something he did often. The alien sky felt massive. The rolling hills’ distant rock canyons seemed alive and resentful. In a transport or a mech, the broken landscape he’d brought his team through to get here wasn’t far away. Everything, including distances, was bigger and more mysterious while moving alone.
“I think someone has been watching us,” McCraw said.
“I always feel that way,” Priest said. “Especially on planets as strange as Siris.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Sure.” He squatted near an eroded stream bed and studied the path around McCraw and the injured pilot. By following this natural terrain feature, he could scout the area quickly.
He chose an offset route, following the stream bed from a distance.
Nothing.
He returned to McCraw and waited for Lacy and the others.
“Can we move her if we need to?” Priest asked.
McCraw shook her head. “With two dedicated stretcher bearers, we can make the base. I can’t guarantee what kind of condition she’ll be in when we arrive.”
>
Priest and the other team leaders had been given extensive briefings before heading out on this mission. There was no air support without a clear need to the success of the mission, and then it was still unlikely. Aerial insertions and/or extractions were to be considered only as a last resort. He was a ground-pounder at heart. He knew how to charge into battle against impossible odds. It still amazed him that anyone would fly into this kind of chaos. Airships seemed fragile.
“Priest for Lacy.”
“Lacy for Priest, reading you loud and clear.”
“Our survivor is a priority resource needing emergency medevac. Do you copy?” Hissing static covered his words.
“Copy. Is this the principal we were looking for?” Lacy’s helmet filtered out most of the background noise, but it was obvious she was closer to the Burner battle than Priest and his team were.
“Negative on recovery of the principal. I say again, we have a high-value resource in need of medical attention,” Priest said.
Lacy said something unintelligible due to background noise and atmospheric interference.
The sounds of battle advanced.
“Lacy for Priest, we’re moving to your location with the entire platoon and some combat effective units we picked up. I have requested medical airlift.”
“Received and understood,” Priest said. He checked on McCraw and the injured Cyclops pilot, then faced the perimeter he had established. It wasn’t bad for a one-man show.
“Help me,” a raspy voice said from the stream bed.
Priest peered through the minimal scope on top of his combat rifle and toggled through various settings, including forward-looking infrared, night vision, and sonar. A human shape lay curled near the footsteps he had made during his first sweep of the area.
He took his time, checking for weapons as though her obvious human form could be anything but an ally. There were a few Confederation of Worlds troopers left, but he thought they were on the opposite side of the battlefield.
Something about the encounter was wrong. The lighting felt off, even through his gear. The mood was weird. He was on an alien planet where everything seemed like a lie and the plants killed men in their sleep.