Wardogs Inc. #3: Metal Monsters (Wardogs Incorporated)

by G. D. Stark

  “Too bad they’re our clients,” Zelag said. “I’d help.”

  “Enough of that,” I said. “Like I said, they’re civvies.”

  “POGs,” Ward said.

  “Fine, POGs—but they’re our guys for now.” I glanced at the enemy position and saw they were balled up behind some rocks. I wondered if they had any heavier artillery with them—and as I had the thought, I heard the THUMP of an RPG or some other incendiary and watched the dots of the friendlies scattering about.

  The enemy targets were almost to our right now and I hoped they didn’t have the same scanning tech we had. They were sitting tight behind cover as we passed.

  “I could use some better topographical data,” Ward said.

  “Agreed,” I said. “We should have tried for access to satellite before coming out.”

  “Eyes and scanners will be fine,” Jones said. “These guys are stone age.”

  We moved around behind the enemy and looked for a good ambush point.

  “Tommy, you think we can hit them with the wide EMP?” Zelag asked.

  “We don’t know if their armor is digital,” I replied. “Or if their guns will toast when the pulse hits.”

  “Just watch out for my arm,” Zelag reminded us.

  “We can move up the bank here,” Ward said, pointing up the rocky embankment. “That big boulder is decent cover and will get us close enough for plasma.”

  “Let’s do it,” I said, and we booked it up the bank and got behind the boulder. Then I saw enemy movement on our direction—a team of four.

  “They must have scanners too,” Jones said.

  “Stay behind cover,” I said.

  “They’re moving around—splitting up,” Zelag said, but I’d already noted the movement in my display.

  “Alright, Ward—hit them with the EMP first,” I said. “Widest angle. Zelag, get behind him just in case.”

  Ward moved up a crack in the boulder and sighted up, then fired with plasma off. There was a zapping sound but no light—it wasn’t something you could see. One of the two guys approaching fell down twitching but the other kept coming.

  “One down,” Ward said. “Dispersion should have hit both.”

  “Probably implants in that guy,” Zelag muttered. “I’m beginning to rethink my prosthetic options at this point.”

  “Take it off and we’ll find you a nice meathook or something,” Jones told him sympathetically.

  We moved into good firing positions around the edges of the boulder, then opened up with plasma on the second guy and took him down.

  At that point, the Sfodrians were engaged in an active firefight with two other Axiosi teams. Their marksmanship was such that neither party appeared to be in much danger of actually hitting the other.

  CRACK! There was a massive explosion, throwing rock and dust around us. Ward came rolling down off the top of the boulder almost on my head.

  “RPG!” Zelag yelled.

  “You think? Take them out!” I yelled, seeing last two enemy dots abandon their cover and move off on a tear towards a nearby ridge. My heart caught in my throat as I looked down at Ward laying on the ground. His suit was coated with dust and debris, but he pulled himself into a sitting position.

  “I’m fine, Tommy,” he said over the com. “Dropped my damn gun on the other side though.”

  “Got one!” Jones announced.

  “And the other is down,” Zelag reported as he lowered his rifle.

  I breathed a sigh of relief and watched as half the Sfodrians charged the enemy position after hurling about ten grenades that didn’t land anywhere near the four Axiosi keeping their heads down behind the rocks. Not that what passed for the suppressive fire being laid down by the other Sfodrian decade was likely to hit them.

  One enterprising Axiosi popped up long enough to take out two charging Sfodrians before I heard a familiar fiss-crack to my left and the guy’s head vanished in a bright plume of plasma, blood, and brains.

  “You nail him, Cyborg?” I asked Zelag.

  “One shot, one kill.”

  “You’ve still got it,” I said.

  “RPG hit about two meters down from my feet” Ward said. “Not going to get me that easily.”

  “It’s just as well,” Jones said. “I forgot to bring a camera for the memorial shot anyhow.”

  We moved around the boulder to rejoin the militia. Ward picked up his rifle and whistled, holding it up. The barrel was bent at a 45-degree angle to one side, with a chunk missing at the bend.

  “Well, you never liked it anyway,” Zelag said. “Maybe we can borrow that PN-60 for you.”

  “Good thing that wasn’t my head,” Ward said as we moved towards the Sfodrians, who were finishing their enthusiastic attempt to emulate a hog butcher with a personal vendetta against all things porcine.

  “You wouldn’t miss it,” Jones said. “Probably costs less than that rifle.”

  Gardoros turned and waved a bloody hand as we approached. “We successfully overran the position, Wardogs,” he announced. “The battle is won!”

  “Good work,” I said.

  “Your assistance was most welcome,” he thanked us. “Your diversion was clever. You kept them distracted for us.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I said, and refrained from pointing out that we’d accounted for five-eighths of the enemy dead, or that they had somehow managed to take three casualties despite a five-to-one numerical advantage in their favor. A win is a win, after all.

  “We should grab their weapons for analysis,” Ward said.

  “You just want a new rifle,” Jones said.

  “No, he’s right,” I said. “We need to know how these guys are taking out their knights.”

  We hunted around and picked up a few plasma rifles and an empty RPG. I didn’t recognize the make on either. The Axiosi had helmets with displays inside, so I grabbed one that looked intact and we headed back to the jeeps.

  “You know,” Zelag said as we rode back to base. “We’d probably get a lot more intel on these guys if we captured a couple of them alive.”

  “An officer, in particular,” Ward said.

  “Yeah,” Jones said, warming to the topic. “That would be fun. I’d love to have a little chat with a few of them.”

  I winced thinking about the mess that Jones’s chats tended to leave behind, but I had to agree with him. Catch an officer, they’d give us a lot more info on whoever these guys were working with. More info was what we desperately needed if we were going to solve this situation.

  “What have we learned already?” I asked the guys, hoping we could work over some of the day’s experiences and maybe synthesize some ideas.

  “That the Sfodrian militia can’t shoot straight,” Jones said.

  “Yes, and?” I asked.

  “The other guys can’t either.”

  “But the knights got taken down fast,” Ward said.

  “Right,” I agreed. “How?”

  “Surprise,” Jones said.

  “Yeah, but these guys we just took out were amateur hour,” Zelag said. “How would they take a couple of guys in sophisticated robotic battlesuits out?”

  “Jammers,” Ward said. “They knocked down a drone before the ambush, right?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “They could at least do that. But a little camera drone is child’s play. Apparently the knights have suits more sophisticated than ours—and they weren’t jamming us at all.”

  “Their mercenary friends must have done it,” Zelag said. “We already know they have serious cloaking.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “They must have jammed them, so the knights rolled into their position blind, then were taken out somehow.”

  “Probably not with these rifles,” Zelag said, gesturing to the pile of weapons rattling about on the floorboard. “These are Popov knock-offs.”

  “Really?” Ward said. “They don’t look like PNs to me.”

  “Trust the gun collector,” Zelag said, picking one of them up. �
�These are modded. Notice the barrel—similar to our normal carry. Older model, though. PN-50. It’s just the stock that’s been changed out. It’s a solid composite instead of being screwed together like the regular model.”

  “Whaddya know,” Jones said, looking at the rifle. “It is! I see the manufacturer’s stamp, then another one underneath.”

  “Probably a special contract,” Ward said. “I read SportCo Re-mod. PN-50, too. I think I will take one for myself.”

  “Maybe you can mount it on an ancient Toymo,” Jones said.

  “Maybe I will.”

  I laughed, then called in to HQ, gave Yost and Squid the sitrep, and explained our intention to grab an officer for interrogation.

  “Good idea,” Yost replied. “But not you guys. Come back to base and write up the AAR. We’ll send out another team.”

  It seemed like a good plan at the time. But then, everyone’s got a plan, right up until the moment they get shot in the face.

  Chapter 6

  By the time we got back to base, I found out Jock, Park, Cole and Ace had already taken off to join two platoons of Sfodrian militia in a hunt for an Axiosi officer of our very own. Yost didn’t play around. “Falkland,” he said as I walked into the cafeteria area looking for coffee. The other guys had headed to the showers but I needed to clear my head a bit. I could have just taking a stimulant hit from my suit, but technically I wasn’t in combat at the moment and a hit would be a 20-credit deduction from the week’s pay. “I’m going to have Morrel and Edgerton help you hunt down some officer material for the militia.”

  “Me?” I said. “Why me?”

  “Because you know more about them than anyone,” Yost shrugged. “Morrel has a background in personnel and Edgerton’s got an AI to help you sort faster. Plus, he’s smart. I’ve gotten you permission to access the Sfodrian military computer archives, though you’ll have to do it through a console they provided.” He sighed. “These people and their secrets. I already gave the console to Edgerton but it’s coded to your retina so he says he can’t do anything with it.”

  “I’m on it, sir,” I said.

  “Good,” he said. “What’s this I hear about Ward already losing his Feemper?”

  “RPG near-miss took it out. Not his fault, sir.”

  “Dammit! Those things are not cheap! Well, that’s why we brought a few spares.”

  “Good thing, sir.”

  “Well, get on with it, Falkland. And try not to lose your damn rifle!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The shower lacked a hot setting. I’ve been a lot of weird places, but a world with this tech level that lacked hot water was a new one. The cold water at least woke me up a bit, as did the chocolate bar I liberated from Ward’s pack. There was a knock at the door. I threw on a shirt and opened it to find Morrel and Edgerton outside. The latter held the locked console.

  “Come in,” I said, waving them in. “You want to work with me at the desk here or find someplace else?”

  “Here is fine with me,” Morrel said. He was a short, dark-haired guy with a single eyebrow. Edgerton handed me the console and I set it on the desk and powered it up, then sat in front of the screen and let it scan my retina. It made a few grinding noises, then unlocked. “Can your AI work with it when it’s open?” I asked Edgerton.

  “We’ll see,” he said, pulling up one of the two hard plastic chairs that came with the room. He blinked a few times, then the screen on the console went black. “Nope.”

  “Great,” I said, cursing the paranoid Sfodrians. I let it scan my retina again and it opened. “You’ll just have to look over my shoulder, I guess. Maybe your AI can help somehow.”

  “It won’t be any faster, Falkland,” he said. “I’ll look, though.”

  “We should have authorized him as well,” Morrel said.

  “That would be abso-freaking-lutely great,” I said. “Who would we talk to?”

  “Pitt would probably know,” Morrel said. “I think he’s down at the hangar.

  I shook my head. This was going to be a pain in the neck.

  Two hours later, the computer was unlocked by somebody in the government, authorizing both Edgerton and Morrel to help out temporarily. We were informed that the permission was only granted for eight hours and would need a manual reset after we submitted another request.

  I decided to try and not take that long, though when I saw the 100,000-plus individual profiles, my heart sank. “This is going to take forever,” I said. “I don’t think there are even this many people in the militia.”

  “No,” Morrel said. “It’s less than half that. Some of these are probably dead or not active.”

  “It’s okay,” Edgerton said. “Babbage can sort it for us.”

  “Have at it,” I said. “Here’s what I want to see: I want guys that have long-term experience, with good records and no serious marks against them.”

  Edgerton and his AI started flying through records faster than I could read. A few minutes passed, then he said, “Down to 16,436 now.”

  “How about weapons certs?” Morrel said. “Experience across multiple platforms would be good. Maybe flight ability plus armored experience as well?”

  “Throw some of that in there,” I said to Edgerton.

  He kept scanning. “3,476 with moderate to high levels of experience serving in different areas.”

  “Is there any intelligence test info?” Morrel asked.

  “You think that’s important?” I asked. “I’ve served under some officers without much going on upstairs.”

  “And how did that work out?”

  “Not great,” I admitted. “Not generally. All right, fair enough. Sarge, can you sort by intelligence?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Babbage is working on it.” He ran his fingers through his hair with one hand while he swished through records with the other. “Yep, okay. We have more background data from their civilian records. Schools here do test for intelligence.”

  “Get rid of the top 15% and the bottom 75%,” Morrel said.

  “Really?” Edgerton replied. “You don’t want the smartest?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Don’t we want the best guys?”

  “No way,” Morrel said. “The smartest guys don’t make the best leaders. You want smart, but not too smart. The rocket scientists won’t listen to anyone or follow orders well. They also can’t communicate effectively with the men.”

  “Makes sense when you put it that way,” I nodded, and silently pointed at Edgerton behind his back. Morrel laughed.

  “All right,” Edgerton said, clueless. “So now we’re down to 521.”

  “At this point, I guess we could just go through them one by one,” Morrel said. “See if anything pops out to us. Or maybe look for the best records, service awards. I don’t know, Tommy. What do you think?”

  I thought for a moment of other things I’d like to see in an officer. Respect, courage under fire, decisiveness, and self-confidence. And, ideally, stone cold ruthlessness where protecting their men was concerned. They were things that were hard to quantify, but we needed info. Then I had a thought.

  “Can we pull up all their faces, just their faces, and see what they look like?”

  “That’s a weird way to pick an officer,” Edgerton said. “Doesn’t make any logical sense.”

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “Maybe. But I’m thinking, there’s sometimes just this look you can see.”

  “Sure,” Morrel said. “I know what you’re talking about. But I don’t know if you can see it in a picture.”

  “Tommy!” Ward said, crashing through the door without an introduction. “We got trouble. Suit up—we need to move, now!”

  “Our squad that went out with the militia got themselves pinned down,” Yost told us, throwing me the keys to a Sfodrian jeep. “Two RPGs are already in the back. Take your team and break them out. I’m also putting you in charge of Privates Jordan, Kopenni, Roq and Ford.” I saw the other guys putting on their helmets and nodded
at them. “Four knights will be joining up with you momentarily. Also, all of you, scan this. It’s Sfodrian GPS access.”

  He pulled out a small data chip and handed it to me. “It’s been sketchy but it may be of some help.”

  “Yes sir,” I replied, scanning the chip and watching as my helmet overlaid the new information on my screen. “We got the knights’ com channel?” I asked.

  “Negative on that,” he replied, to my surprise. “Just don’t let them step on you.”

  “Step on us?” Jones said to me as we got in our jeep.

  “They’re pretty damn big,” I said. “We’ll take point,” I told Ford as he started the second jeep. I handed Jones the chip and pushed the starter on our Toymo. To my surprise, it started smoothly enough. Ward and Zelag climbed in the back and Jones passed the chip to them as I took off onto the dirt road leading in the direction of our unit showing on my visor.

  “I hope these knights fight better than the militia,” Ward said.

  “Expensive doesn’t mean these guys are great, though,” Jones said. “I’ve seen some expensive vehicles wrapped around bridge columns.”

  “Truth,” Ward said.

  We were only a few kilos away from the action when the ground started to shake and a roaring noise filled the air. At first I thought the jeep was breaking apart, then I realized something was approaching fast from behind.

  “We’ve got airborne bogeys coming in behind us,” Ford said over the com.

  “DUDE!” Ward yelled. “Will you look at that?”

  “I’m driving!” I yelled back. “What is it?”

  “It’s our escort!” Zelag laughed. “It’s the knights! They’re gigantic flying robots!”

  As he said it, four gigantic figures like massive statues rocketed over our heads and I saw what the guys had seen. Imagine a 20-foot tall robotic man spouting gouts of rocket fire and flying like a metallic vulture over your head at near Mach 1 and you’ll get the idea of what I was feeling. It was crazy. I couldn’t help but gawk. I’ve seen a lot of ships and weapons and all that, but these guys were something else.

  “I want a suit like that,” Jones announced. “In red. With giant glowing plasma horns.”