Chaos Quarter: Imperial Ambitions

by David Welch

  Rex darted back for the next crate. The process continued for several long minutes, until a line of five-foot-by-five-foot crates blocked the entrance to the cargo bay. On each end were spaces for refuges to get through. When they were done, Cindy walked up to Rex. He opened his helmet so she could see his face.

  “You better get going,” Cindy said and then paused, listening. She had an earwig comm one from his stores, completely unaffected by the EMP. He had handed them out to all the militia commanders, so Helen could keep in contact with everybody. “Keith says he has the militia assembled on Main Street.”

  “Yeah,” Rex said, taking a deep breath. He didn’t know Cindy all that well, but felt a weight all the same. Maybe it was the flirting making him think there was more of a connection than there was. He couldn’t say.

  He turned to leave, only to see Second appear in the corner of his eye. She slowly descended the stairs, dressed for battle, rifle in hand.

  “Europan vessels have entered the planetary atmosphere,” the computer informed.

  He ignored it, tromping over to Second. They met halfway across the bay. She gazed up at him, his head a good foot higher than normal due to the suit.

  “You intend to fight?” he asked.

  She gazed down at the weapon in her hand. It was a Holt M-186, standard rifle of the Terran Army, Marines, and System Guards. It jarred him a little, seeing the feminine form of Second holding the big gun. She seemed small, overpowered by it. He knew this was crazy; he’d seen her shoot and seen her put a shotgun to her former master’s head. But the image struck him all the same.

  “I don’t know,” Second replied. “I want to help them. They were like I was once.”

  Rex nodded, frowning. He wanted to take a few minutes and talk to her, but they didn’t have it. If the Europans were in the atmosphere, it would be mere minutes before drop-pods started showing up and minutes more before the larger transports came.

  “You’re an adult, Second. I can’t tell you what to do. If you want to stay in your cabin—sit this out—nobody would think less of you,” he said.

  She couldn’t meet his eyes, preferring to keep her gaze fixed on the gun.

  “I know you’re doubting yourself a lot right now, so I would understand your holding back,” he continued. “But if you do want to fight, stay on the line here, with Cindy. Obey her orders.”

  Second glanced up and found Cindy, staring at her, but clearly not really seeing her. She turned back, a new look in her eyes. It wasn’t confusion or uncertainty now; it was fear.

  “I do not want you to die, Rex,” she said, her words barely a whisper.

  “Neither do I,” he said. “But you’re the one who needs to live. You got a lot of things left to see, Second, many things. So please, whatever you do, keep your head down. Stay alive.”

  He turned before she could say anything else. It hurt him to do so, but he needed to. Already he could hear a shrill whistling from high above. A booming roar erupted across the valley as landing rockets came to life above them. The sound echoed off the peaks, telling all who listened that the empire had arrived.

  Rex extended his guns into battle position and sprinted from the cargo bay.

  From what I’ve heard since coming here, I’ve learned that during the war Terran soldiers were constantly surprised by how relentless, vicious, and suicidal Europan warriors could be. It astonished them that people treated as second-class citizens, and used as cannon fodder, could be so willing to die for their noble lords. To you the idea of even fighting for such people is preposterous, and deservedly so.

  But to understand the dedication of the warriors, you have to understand that, at age eleven, when they are taken from their caregivers and put into training, all warriors are told that it is possible for them to rise above their station—to go from a half man to a full man, from a servant to a noble. They are told that true greatness is rewarded by God and God’s True Order and that if they achieve it, they will be rewarded. They will be made counts, the lowest level of nobility, but nobility none the less. Warriors are normally rewarded with better accommodations, better food, and better women for their successes. That gives them hope, makes them think if they just do a little more, they will achieve the impossible dream. But no warrior has achieved such greatness that the emperor declared them noble. Yet still they strive. They have nothing else to strive for, so they dedicate themselves to achieving battlefield greatness with an insane single-mindedness. This is why they fight so hard.

  —Logs of the debriefing of Lucius Baliol, taken February to June 2507 Standard Date; Classified; Not for public release

  Kill the fuckers!

  —Unofficial First Law of Warfare of the Commonwealth Marine Corps

  The Reservation, Anglesey, Dominion of the Angleseyu, Anglesey System, Chaos Quarter, Standard Date 9/4/2507

  Longshot

  “You see them?”

  “I see them,” Lucius said. On the spherical radar hologram floating before him, four distinct dots streaked toward Valley Town. Three were large, the fourth small. To Lucius this was clear: three transports and a bomber, rigged to act as close-air support. If the empire followed tactical doctrine, the three freighters would be Austia-class transports, carrying five hundred troops each. The bomber would be a Fuller-class bird. They weren’t terribly maneuverable compared to a fighter, but in this fight they didn’t have to be. Valley Town had no fighters, and no air defenses of their own.

  “You better be ready to put your ‘plan’ into action,” Helen remarked.

  “All is ready,” he said. “And I know we’ve covered this ground already, but if you could refrain from taking your revenge until after we’re done here, it would be appreciated.”

  “I volunteered to tolerate your presence,” Helen said. “Is that not enough to reassure you?”

  “Well, it occurs to me that you could have done that just to be near enough to me to strike. Who knows where else on your person you could have hid a weapon,” Lucius answered and then paused, glancing at the radar screen. “Excellent.”

  “What? What is excellent?” Helen asked.

  “The arrogance of our enemies,” said Lucius.

  Helen brought up the radar hologram by her own station, which would have been the comm station on a fully staffed ship. Small dots had appeared, a dozen of them. They were drop-pods, scattering across the valley as expected. The four main dots, the transports and the bomber, were coming straight for them.

  “You see, because this is a Chaos Quarter world, they assume we have no weapons and no ships that could pose a threat. And if you’re landing a large group of people, the easiest place to do it is…”

  “A spaceport,” Helen figured.

  “And the only one in town is right under our feet,” said Lucius.

  “They’re coming straight for us,” Helen concluded.

  “Indeed,” said Lucius. “Computer, rotate the pylons to face upward. Target the Tanager missiles, one for each transport and the bomber.”

  “Targeting acquired. Radar and Image Recognition locks are operative,” the ship announced.

  Lucius paused and turned to Helen.

  “Should you still doubt that I’ve changed my ways, please consider this as evidence in my favor,” he said.

  He grasped the gunner’s yoke and squeezed the trigger.

  ***

  Four missiles shot up from the spaceport, leaping from Longshot with a flash of light. The scream of engines echoed through the valley as they burned toward their targets. Above the three transports and bomber were slowing, preparing to put down, none expecting much from the single, junk freighter sitting on the landing pad.

  The bomber had no time to react. The Tanager missile drew close and exploded, hurtling a cloud of jagged, fast-moving debris into the vessel, a proximity blast. It shredded the front of the craft, trails of smoke and fire erupting out of the holes it punched through the vessel’s armor. The cockpit dissolved, the two pilots ripped apart by bo
uncing shards of metal and glass. Instantly the ship nosed down, streaking past the spaceport, slamming into the open farmland beyond. A curtain of dirt was thrown up as it gouged into the soft earth.

  Behind the bomber the transports reacted—automated, emergency maneuvering systems jerking the craft away faster than their human pilots would’ve been able to. As the lead ship turned, a missile slammed into its engines. Fused for direct impact due to the greater size of the transport, the warhead erupted inward, a billowing inferno of fire and steel consuming the engine compartment. The volatile components went up in a blaze, bursting the transport from the inside out. It crumbled into wreckage, ship and soldier alike plunging to the ground in a grisly, charred rain.

  The remaining two ships popped flares and chaff bombs. The flares did nothing, since the Tanagers weren’t rigged for infrared. The chaff bombs shot out and exploded, basketball-sized grenades, which filled the air with jagged shards of metal. The two remaining missiles were pelted with shrapnel that punched through the thin casings and exploded the warheads within. The missiles erupted harmlessly over the village, the transports pulling away, burning north quickly.

  The acceleration sent Aetius’s head slamming back against his helmet. Shouts of surprise went up from the warriors around him, none of them privileged enough to have powered armor. They swore and held on to the handles by their seats, fighting the roughly motions of the ship.

  “What in seven hells was that?” Aetius roared.

  “Defensive missiles, lord-sire!” shouted Proeliumira.

  “How did bloody fucking serfs get such missiles?” yelled Aetius.

  “Don’t know, lord-sire,” said Proeliumira, his voice calming as they pulled away.

  “Was anybody hit? Are we clear?” Aetius demanded.

  “Can’t say, lord-sire!” Proeliumira replied.

  A hiss of static filled the chamber.

  “We’re putting down north of the settlement,” came the voice of the pilot. “Prepare to disembark.”

  “You heard him men!” cried Proeliumira. “Prepare for a contested landing! Kill any who resist!”

  “Bloody hell…” Aetius grumbled.

  The roar of the transport’s engines grew louder as it neared the ground. The ship shook gently as its landing struts touched down.

  “Unlatch and prepare for combat!” Proeliumira cried.

  A staccato of clicks filled the chamber, the warriors removing their safety harnesses, but remaining seated. Moments passed, nervous and tense. Then a clunk ran through the ship. Between the long rows of seats, the floors swung away, opening to the ground below, five feet down.

  “Disembark by unit! Aft first, go!” ordered Proeliumira.

  The warriors got to it, leaping down to the ground, group by group. Aetius couldn’t help but be impressed by the precision of it. They went in perfect sequence, like a string on dominos. He, sitting toward the nose, was near the last group. When they went, only he and Proeliumira remained.

  “My lord-sire,” Proeliumira said, gesturing with a respectful bow.

  “Right then,” said Aetius. He unstrapped himself and descended. A soon as his feet hit he crouched, knowing it would be a tight fit. At seven and a half feet, his battle suit was too tall to fit easily under the transport, but he managed. Stepping out from under the transport, he apprised the situation.

  The warriors were moving from the transports, forming a defensive perimeter. It was the only time they would do such a thing. As soon as they were certain the brigade was out, they would begin moving—sprinting, fighting, and creating havoc—doing what they were so famous for.

  Aetius paced forward, facing the serf settlement. A series of one- and two-story buildings, mostly wood, filled his vision. It rose a little shy of a half kilometer away from their current position. Smoke from the wrecked bomber rose above the town, tainting the yellow light of sunset with an ominous note. Behind the town he could see small shapes, the drop-pods, streaking into the valley. Soon they would have the serfs in a vice, with no place to run.

  “Commander, do you see that?” a warrior cried out.

  Proeliumira located the voice and stalked toward the man. Aetius followed, not entirely sure of what to do next. They came to a man near the front of the perimeter. He was pointing toward the town. On one of the streets two men pushed what looked like a motorized cart into the middle of the road. Aetius used the suit’s visor to zoom in, magnifying to where he could make out detail. The two men were heavily armed. Once they finished moving the cart they flipped it on its side.

  “They’re making a barricade,” Aetius said, incredulous. He half-expected there would be no real fight here, that their landing would shock the serfs out of this delusion of freedom, and back into their proper place. They’d see him and the warriors, and meekly return to a submissive state. But as he glanced from street to street he saw that this was not the case. Everything he could think of had been dragged out—tables, chairs, carts, cabinets, dressers, bookcases, stacks of lumber, anything that could form a barrier.

  “They’ve made a barricade,” he said, louder so the warriors could hear him. He glanced up, seeing figures in the windows, armed figures.

  “They mean to fight,” Aetius said, sighing.

  “Cornered animals often do,” Proeliumira remarked and then turned to his men. “Commence assault!”

  ***

  The Valley

  Jake ran, sprinted only the way he could, untiring, not slowing in the slightest. But it wasn’t just his mechanical body pushing him to thirty-five miles an hour; it was his own fear. He could see the drop-pods descending toward the valley, scattering among the fields, pastures, and farms. It was only a matter of minutes before the warriors popped out and began shooting.

  Focus on the mission! Get to the first house!

  He could see it ahead—a one-story building that was part ranch house, part Tudor. Two large barns rose behind it. Two hundred yards separated him from it. That distance vanished swiftly, and he found himself skidding to a stop in front of the home, near the door.

  The family was already out, standing on a plain wooden porch. There were two small children, a boy and a girl, alongside a man and a woman who appeared to be in their early thirties. Both had guns—a rifle in the man’s hand, a pistol in the woman’s. The rifle pointed straight at Jake as he paused, but he paid it no attention.

  “Get to the spaceport! The Europans are invading! Get to the spaceport and get on the damn ship!” he bellowed.

  “Who the hell are you?” the father remarked warily.

  “Somebody who doesn’t have time to explain!” snapped Jake and took off down the road. He took a moment to look out his rear camera to make sure the family was moving. Sure enough, they were starting for the spaceport, the father looking back suspiciously at him as they went. Jake didn’t care about the man’s worries. He dashed 150 yards to the next house.

  Behind him he heard an explosion. From his rear camera, he saw a vessel burning in the pasture, a small one. So Lucius has come through. Excellent. Another loud slam broke his thoughts, refocusing his attention. This hadn’t been an explosion; it had been an impact.

  Two hundred yards west of the house a drop-pod had struck the ground. It was tilted slightly. For a moment Jake hoped the odd landing might’ve scrambled up the people inside, but then a large door popped open on the side of the ship. Five figures jumped out and instantly began sprinting for the house.

  Jake beat them to it, hammering on the front door. Inside was a scared-looking young woman, not even twenty by the looks of her, and what Jake took to be her middle-aged mother.

  “Get to the spaceport! There’s a ship waiting!” he roared.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, he ran around the house, stopping near its edge. The warriors were close now, guns up and ready. But they were sprinting, which meant anything they shot from their rifles was liable to miss wildly.

  Jake shifted a bit, and raised his right arm. The warriors weren�
��t stupid. They’d spread out so one shot, from a grenade or any other type of explosive, couldn’t take them all out. So Jake sighted his fifty cal on the nearest warrior and squeezed off a round.

  His foe lurched backward, the bullet striking his thigh, below the man’s body armor. The leg nearly severed as the big slug tore through. As he collapsed to the ground, his compatriots shifted their attention to Jake, letting loose with a hail of fire.

  Jake responded in kind, squeezing off another two shots as enemy fire peppered the side of the house, sending wood splinters in every direction. Jake’s shots hit true, the large bullets punching through a man’s armor, carving up his chest. The remaining three were close now, yards away.

  So Jake did what all his data of gunfights said you should never do—he sprayed. Flinging his arm in an arc, he sent a dozen rounds at his enemy, feeling a trio of shots strike his metal chest as he did. This close, the tactic worked. Two warriors took shots to their necks and heads, reducing both to mangled ruins. The surviving warrior reached the corner and hurled himself at Jake.

  The warrior’s eyes went wide as he rounded the corner and saw what he was up against. Jake simply stood there and let the man smash into his chest. Bones cracked horrifically as the man’s head crunched into his breastplate. The warrior bounced back and fell to the ground, limp but alive. He groaned pathetically. Jake stomped down hard on the man’s chest, crushing most of his internal organs. The man lay still, a glassy look coming over his still open eyes.

  Jake stepped back, swallowing nervously. It had all happened so quickly…one moment he was warning the residents, the next he was stomping a man to death. The fear had been strangely absent, had been. He felt it rushing to his mind now. He looked about and spotted the young woman behind him. She had a pistol in her hands but looked utterly terrified.