Descent into Mayhem (Capicua Chronicles Book 1)

by Bruno Goncalves

  A captain who had been overseeing the operation approached him and saluted, proving to be yet another EWAC captain whom Tora wasn’t familiar with.

  “Sir, Captain Van Dyke, Sir. I command the Fortification Section, sir.”

  “FORTSEC, right. That’s the name of your Hammerhead section, isn’t it?”

  “Yessir. I’m overseeing the preparation of the charges, sir.”

  “Drop the sirs, alright Captain? You don’t want you to tire yourself out before the fighting begins. But I would like you to give me an idea of how these charges work, if you don’t mind.”

  Momentarily miffed at the colonel’s comment, the captain nevertheless showed the frog-swallowing talent needed in an officer and guided the colonel to the nearest table.

  “DIMEs. Short for Dense Inert Metal Explosives. We’re taking sacks filled with a granular explosive charge of octogen and fitting them into these travel packs –”

  “Who did the travel packs originally belong to?” The colonel interrupted, throwing the captain off his explanation.

  “Uh, we had to commandeer them from all EWAC personnel, sir.” He replied, and then grimaced at having once again sirred his superior.

  Some men simply failed to realize how much they entertained others with their antics. The colonel kept a serious face and shook his head in concern.

  “That must have caused some serious problems, didn’t it, captain?”

  “Oh yes, it did.” The captain replied, wincing again, “Even had some trouble convincing a few of the older corporals to hand them over.”

  “Horrible indeed. And what did you do with all those personal effects?”

  “Well, sir. Um, we sort of overturned the packs onto a flatbed and sealed it.”

  “Ahuh. I wouldn’t want to be nearby when they try and sort out what belongs to whom afterwards. What do you think?”

  The captain’s face was dead-serious.

  “Neither would I. There’ll be blood for sure.”

  Try as he might, the colonel was unable to keep the smile off his face. Clapping the soldier on his shoulder, he continued with the matter at hand.

  “Alright then, what’s a DIME?”

  “They’re explosive charges filled with very fine tungsten powder. Doing that gives the charge less brisance but more pushing power per square-centimeter of surface area. Also good for seriously damaging any ocular devices within its range.”

  “Are all the charges made that way?”

  “No, sir. We’re rigging about half of the packs with DIMEs and lacing a blue cord to the fusing system to distinguish them from the more conventional charges.”

  “Conventional as in conventional explosives?”

  “Yessir. The remainder have only octogen as its main charge. Their cord is red, sir.”

  “Where’d you get the cords?”

  “They are actually armbands, our boys like to carry them to recognize each other in combat. Blue is for the Mobility Company and red for the Counter-mobility boys.”

  “Understood. Just give me a moment to observe.” He finally told the captain.

  After a few minutes the colonel began to understand their methodology. The travel packs were fitted with a first sack consisting of 10 kilo-mass of explosives at its base. A hand-grenade, which a separate team had modified by almost entirely cutting away its handling lever, was then placed upon the sack and a length of nanowire snapped onto its grenade-pin. The nanowire was then threaded through two more sacks as they were also fitted into the pack, before finally being clipped to an armband of the appropriate color on the opposite side. The pack’s cover was then closed and carefully sealed with duct-tape, with the armband sticking out of the orifice meant for its water tube. The end result was an explosive device of about 34 kilo-mass for a redcord and 56 kilo-mass for a bluecord.

  “You think the travel packs will stand up to a Suit’s handling?”

  “Easily, Colonel. They’re tough, they were designed to provide some protection against flack. That’s why we wanted them so bad.” The captain replied.

  And the fusing system is reliable?”

  “We tested it with a partially-deactivated grenade and sacks of soil. We finally got a fuse to pop after a good yank. The Suits are easily strong enough to pull the grenade-pin right out of the pack, but the damage to the sacks isn’t going to affect their reliability to detonate. The tests also made us realize the only way to get it to pull reliably was to tighten the sacks inside their pack as much as possible. That way the grenade’s length is perpendicular to the pull’s direction because it’s being pressed between them. Hence the duct-tape, sir.”

  “Nice. How many charges?”

  “Depends, sir. Depends on when the Unmil arrives, mostly. The completed charges are soon going to be stacked outside along the deposit’s wall. We expect at least fifty within the next hour.”

  “If that doesn’t get the job done, nothing will ...” the colonel thought aloud.

  The captain remained quiet for a moment, before the need to speak overcame him.

  “Sir, what are the chances of these charges being effective against the Unmil?”

  “Sincerely? I’m a little upset that our travel packs aren’t a bit more spacious.”

  The captain looked discouraged. Sighing, Tora decided to throw him a bone.

  “Listen, Captain. On their way to where your drivers are based, are two MEWAC cadets who survived the debacle at the mines. They’ve both had personal experience regarding what’s coming our way, and if you want more information regarding your enemy, then Miura’s the one to talk to. You’re also going to be their commanding officer for the coming engagement. They volunteered to drive your two unoccupied Suits. Understood?”

  “Understood, sir.” The captain quietly answered.

  Van Dyke kept the colonel company for the following five minutes as they inspected the weapons’ assembly until, hurriedly excusing himself, the captain left for the dirt road. The colonel had a suspicion the officer was on a mission to find the cadets.

  Abandoning the deposit, the old colonel made his way back to his bunker, where he found a sulking Dale staring at a map.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” He said without lifting his head.

  “Good. I don’t want to hear about it.” The colonel cheerfully answered.

  “Your major’s back from the frontline. He decided to pull your entire complement of praetorians and pile them on the northern and southern shoulders of the Dogspine.”

  “Good. I told him to.”

  “He also decided to remark the map using your user-profile.”

  “Good. I told him to.”

  “You might have been kind enough to tell me to do so!” He suddenly barked.

  “And I would have,” Tora calmly replied, “had you not shown greater interest in arguing with your niece. Do you understand the reason for my orders?”

  Dale rubbed his eyes tiredly.

  “Yes. I guess you pulled the bots so they would be out of FORTSEC’s way, but left them in a position where they can still harass the Unmil to their hearts’ desire.”

  “Correct. And the maps will shortly be uploaded to FORTSEC and redirected to their Suits, thus allowing them to know the minefield’s location, as well as their ideal defensive positions based on terrain curvature. Dennis, how is our minefield?”

  “Up but not yet running,” Haven replied from his bench outside the commander’s compartment, rubbing his knees as he spoke, “They’re unrolling and camouflaging the lead-wires back here to Command. Pienaar apparently wants to use our bunker as his base-of-fire.”

  “And he’s welcome to it.” Tora replied, “It’ll save us the trouble of comm. difficulties and lag-time.”

  “It also puts both EWAC and ROWAC commanders in the same spot of a combat theatre, in plain violation of Army doctrine.” Dale interjected, forcing the colonel to do a moment’s thought.

  “I’ll allow it.” Tora finally decided, “Doctrine is not absolute,
and it is certainly better to have two commanders in a hardened bunker than one outside of it, especially if the mission’s chances of success increase as a result.”

  Tora took advantage of the time to inform them of the deposit’s state of preparations, and of Toni’s and Hannah’s recruitment to FORTSEC. The lieutenant-colonel simply shook his head when he heard the development, and prudently refrained from voicing his opinion on the matter.

  Over the course of the following hour, the diverse elements of their plan began to click into place. Exceeding their initial expectations, a hundred pack charges had been improvised and transported to their expected locations of use via flatbed trucks. Aside from the four Hammerheads that had remained at the frontline to assist in mine emplacement, the remainder had, after unexplained delay, finally settled into their initial positions along the entire front. More than a hundred lead-wires had been laid and camouflaged, converging on the carefully disguised Command bunker and feeding into an EWAC control console, where a simple switching system would allow remote-detonation of any of the hundred and three improvised landmines at a moment’s notice.

  From the ROWAC side of things, all preparations had also been completed. After careful consideration, the old colonel had decided to remove from combat all bots not tasked to the anti-armor role and elected to evacuate them on foot to Lograin. This left the cramped heights that flanked their chosen frontline bristling with bot anti-armor teams, their rockets having proven to be ineffective, yet still hopefully capable of providing a lethal distraction to their enemy. Also nestled into the mountain face and expertly camouflaged were two remote camera sensors, providing secure video and audio feed via electronically shielded cables. Those cameras were ROWAC’s eyes in the field and their location provided ideal overwatch over the entire frontline.

  All that remained was to wait as all systems were checked and rechecked, and the colonel took advantage of the time to send an Update to Lograin, taking care to detail how the MEWAC cadets had been debriefed and recycled into FORTSEC. He tried not to overdo the report, conscious that to do so would be to take a departure from impartiality that could later bite him in the ass.

  “Colonel, Lograin reports one of its drones has been destroyed over Fido. Our guest’s apparently not far off.”

  Tora ceased to write his report and entered the war room, pausing to take a good, long look at the video streaming in before taking his seat at the head of the table. To his right sat Colonel Pienaar, who was junior to him, and to his left was Dale. The only other sitter was Pienaar’s vice-commander, a lieutenant-colonel with a name so complicated that he’d decided on calling him “comrade” for the time being. The remaining officers and aides mostly stood to accommodate their number in the cramped quarters, Dennis having barely managed to commandeer a spot of land to place his stool.

  “Has there been anything of note on our images?” He asked no one in particular.

  “Nothing, sir.” A captain answered.

  “Contact Lograin and get the precise hour their bird got shot down. Then check our infrared feed at that hour –”

  “That won’t be necessary, sir ...” the captain interrupted.

  There was something strange about the way he said it, and the colonel quickly followed his gaze to the live feed displayed on a separate screen. There in color, in the forefront of a grove of trees reaching to spaulder level, stood an armored Suit, as static as a statue and as great as a god. At first he thought it was his imagination, but as the moment passed he became certain. Its helm was swiveling slowly, slowly, as it surveyed the terrain before it.

  “Transmit the feed to Lograin.” The colonel whispered, as if the Suit would somehow hear him if he spoke loudly enough. The image was pixelated and the screen’s palette of colour was somewhat pastel, but he still noticed something resting upon its breastplate, and it –

  “It suspects something ...” the major quipped from his stool, causing the entire room to wince at his loudness.

  The Suit continued to slowly observe its surroundings and Tora’s anxiety rose, knowing full well that the nearest mines were only tens of meters away. He leaned towards Pienaar.

  “What’s the nearest mine?”

  “A17. We’re already ahead of you. It needs only take a few steps forward and we’ll send the fucker back into orbit.”

  The Suit continued to slowly turn its helm until it finally faced forwards and ceased to move entirely. A full minute passed, and Tora slowly began to realize that the Unmil would not be easy prey.

  The ground before it suddenly bloomed up and outwards, and filled the entire screen, the vision quickly followed by a tremendous shudder that shook the bunker violently enough to rattle the logs against one other.

  “Sir. Mines A16, A17 and A18 have detonated simultaneously!” He heard an EWAC captain shout.

  “What’s the meaning of this?! Pull the image out! Get a fix on that Suit!” Tora ordered, shouting to make himself heard above the noise.

  “Tora ...” Pienaar stated simply, showing him the pen-key he still held in his hand, the one that he had been about to insert into the com-con to initiate the nearest mine.

  “If it wasn’t you ...” the colonel breathed. He turned to his comms officer, and the lieutenant answered his question before he had a chance to ask it.

  “Strong electromagnetic interference emanating from the contact since the first moment of detonation, sir. It sent out a pulse –”

  “– and the inducing effect was enough to force a current through the nearest lead-wires and into their detonators!” Pienaar exclaimed.

  The cameras had zoomed out, but the dust cloud was gigantic and filled their screens. Turning once more to his comms officer, he ordered the man to contact FORTSEC. The lieutenant turned to his EWAC counterpart, who simply shook his head.

  “Comms disabled due to enemy interference, sir.”

  “INCOMING!” Someone suddenly shouted.

  The missile shot through the dust cloud and streaked off-screen in a fraction of a second. A moment later the bunker ceiling partly caved in as a tremendous shockwave struck the fortification. Barbed wire snaked and coiled along the logs, making tearing sounds Tora’s concussed mind could barely register, until a loud snapping sound suddenly punctuated the abrupt end of his life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Base Fido, Nature’s Night, 21st of June, 2771

  Toni gave the Hammerhead a long, hard look, the problem before him having finally presented itself. There was no orifice for opening the titan’s breastplate, and its large and heavy frame made plain to him what he hadn’t considered when accepting the colonel’s proposal; the Hammerhead was an entirely different species from the Moca Suit, and he simply hadn’t the training or experience to operate it. He didn’t, in fact, even know how to access its interface cavity.

  “You gonna keep screwing it with your eyes? Get in, rook.” Jonah ordered as she stowed her gear in a plastic duffel bag, her travel pack’s fate having already been tragically sealed.

  “There’s just one problem, corporal. How do I get inside?”

  She paused in the midst of her activities and remained there for a while, taking the remark in and slowly realizing what it implied. She had been on the juice for a while, and her jaw bulged before it met her ears in a very masculine way, a trait in stark contrast to her full lips and feminine pose.

  “How in the hell wouldn’t you know?” She asked bitingly.

  “I’ve only ever been trained in the Moca. Never drove a Hammerhead before.”

  “So the Suit you faced the Unmil with ...”

  “... Was a Moca, yes.”

  “Fucking rooks!” She exclaimed angrily as she shook her shaved skull, “You’re missing an arm and haven’t the slightest idea of how to get into a Hammerhead, much less dri–”

  “He has a very good idea how to drive a hammer ...” Park interrupted, oblivious to the drama, “That’s what the Moca’s for, don’t you remember?”

  The man had en
ough muscle on him to make Jonah look scrawny, but Toni had quickly realized that he possessed the more moderate disposition between the two EWAC corporals. Toni had also become conscious of the fact that his being a sergeant-cadet carried absolutely no weight with either, his unofficial rank of “rook” having promptly relegated him to a category below human.

  “You need the appropriate pen-key, rook, yours just won’t do.” Park informed the cadet levelly. There was something about the man, probably the wide lion-like interval between his Korean eyes, that made Toni want to turn away. But he didn’t, giving him a firm nod instead.

  “How do I get one?”

  The corporal smiled.

  “You simply use the one your predecessor left behind when he stroked out.” He replied, tossing the device to a surprised Toni.

  “Sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t know he was dead.”

  “Dead? Oh no, the dickhead’s alive enough, but he’s probably not going to have it easy for a while. You better learn from his mistake. If you tighten your straps too much and keep hard at it for long enough without rest, once you loosen them again you might be sending a blood clot on its way to your thinker. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. Where do I insert it?”

  “Up its ass, of course. No, no, I’m just kidding, cadet, leave that alone. There’s no insert for your pen-key; you just touch the stick against one of its oculars and infrared comms will do the rest. The user-manual’s in a compartment in the cavity’s left flank. Give it a quick read-through, but focus on the customizable settings, ‘cause you’re probably going to have to make some in-stride adjustments.”