Pursuit of Valor (The Tarvaax War Book 1)

by Tripp Ellis

  They were a sight to behold. Zack gazed at them in awe. "I thought I was supposed to be going to Fort Knispel for the Mechanized Infantry Pilot Program?”

  "I need pilots now, not in nine weeks. Besides, a trained monkey could pilot one of these things—provided that monkey has the right brain structure."

  Zack looked perplexed. "So I'm not going to Mech School?”

  “Oh, you're going to school all right. You're going to get on-the-job training."

  Zack's eyes went wide like saucers. “I’ve had a couple of classes in basic, and logged a few hours in the simulator, but that's it,” he protested.

  “More than enough."

  Zack couldn't believe Willoughby was so cavalier about his lack of training.

  “I’ll introduce you to the guys," Willoughby said as they entered the barracks. It was a far cry from the squad bay at Omaha Island. This thing looked more like a college dorm room. Pictures of scantily clad women hung on the walls next to the racks. None of the men conformed to the grooming standard. Some had beards, mustaches, or long hair. They looked more like Special Warfare Operators than Marines. There were a few women in the platoon as well.

  “That's Nails, Cosmo, Bugs, Apex, Diesel, Specter, Hollywood, Knuckles, Venom, Magnum, Caboose, Ozone, Sidewinder, T-Bone, Big Poppa, Mad Dog, Diablo, and Surge,” Willoughby Said. "This is Lance Corporal Salvator.

  They seemed less than impressed, and continued about their business, giving little more than a passing acknowledgment to the new member of the platoon.

  “He doesn't have a callsign yet, but I'm sure you'll appoint him with one soon enough." Willoughby patted Zack on the shoulder and muttered in his ear. "A couple rules about call signs… You don't get to pick your own. You won't like the one they give you. And if you complain about it, you'll get something worse."

  Zack hesitated for a moment. "What's your callsign, Staff Sergeant?"

  Willoughby grinned and proudly said, “Bad Ass. Diesel, show him the ropes."

  Diesel’s pretty face scrunched up. She was a tough brunette with ice blue eyes and sumptuous lips. Her olive drab tank top hugged her perfect form and ample endowments. Her shirt was cut off, exposing her sculpted midriff. She was a fierce, athletic beauty. “No. Sarge! Come on… I trained the last FNG,” she whined.

  “Yeah, and that turned out well,” Nails said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

  “Eat me, nails." Her eyes blazed into him.

  “Name the time and place.”

  “Keep dreaming.”

  "That's an order, Corporal,” Willoughby snapped.

  “Aye, Sergeant,” Diesel muttered.

  Willoughby flashed an exaggerated smile at Zack. "Welcome to Crusher platoon!”

  Zack forced a smile and hauled his gear to his new rack. He wasn't particularly fond of the bottom rack, but that was the only thing available. He stowed his gear and attempted to introduce himself to his bunkmate. "You’re Magnum, right?"

  He was laying atop his bunk, reading on his PDU. "Don't even try to talk to me, new guy. I don't want to know you."

  Zack shrugged. "Well, it was nice to meet you."

  "Don't mind him," Bugs said. "He's just an angry little man." She measured out an inch between her thumb and forefinger. She was a creamy skinned redhead with short hair and green eyes. She held out her hand. "I'm Bugs. It's nice to meet you."

  "Zack."

  The two shook hands.

  “Might want to wash your hand, new guy,” Magnum said. "No telling where hers has been."

  Bugs sneered at him. "Not anywhere near you."

  Magnum ignored her.

  “Don't let first impressions fool you," Bugs said. "Every platoon has their undesirables, but overall, Crusher Platoon is not a bad unit."

  "Have you seen a lot of action?"

  “She’s seen a lot of action,” Magnum said dryly.

  Bugs glared at him. "The platoon has seen quite a bit. We've been back on base for a few weeks for maintenance and upgrades.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Zeplovia.”

  "What was it like?"

  Bugs frowned and shook her head. "We took heavy losses. Second and third platoon were devastated. They merged us all together. We’re the only platoon left in the company. That is, until we get more replacements. And don't be offended by guys like Magnum. Statistically, new pilots are more likely to get killed early on."

  "That's reassuring."

  “Hang around long enough, and I'm sure the guys will warm up to you.”

  “I won’t count on it. But I appreciate your kindness.”

  She smiled, innocently. “No problem. I figure you're probably going to die soon, so I might as will be nice to you."

  39

  "You have any actual time in one of these things?" Diesel asked.

  “Not exactly," Zack replied.

  Diesel shook her head. "All right, let's start with the basics.”

  They stood on the tarmac in front of one of the MAVs. There were rows and rows of them. At the far end of the formation was a lone unit that looked unlike any of the others.

  “Is that a Tarvaax mech?” Zack asked, pointing at the strange vehicle.

  Diesel glanced over her shoulder at it. “Yeah. It was captured during a battle on Zeplovia. Nobody's been able to pilot it though. About the only thing we've been able to do is power it on. But interfacing with the unit is another story.”

  "I'd like to try.”

  Diesel laughed. "Why don't you worry about getting proficient in one of these first?” She pointed to a Maverick. “Operating one of these vehicles is a physically demanding endeavor. You must keep yourself in excellent physical fitness, and daily PT is a must.”

  “No problem there.”

  “Some of these struts weigh 150 pounds. Something breaks in the field and needs replacing, you need to be able to handle that kind of weight. She looked over his physique. “Bulking up a little wouldn't be a bad idea."

  Zack looked at her, incredulous. He had put on a good 10 pounds of muscle since entering boot camp. But it wasn't enough.

  “I want you to spend every free moment studying the manual. Your life, and the lives of the platoon, may depend on your technical ability. You understand me?"

  “Yes, Corporal.”

  “When you're working on that thing, no jewelry, no watches, no electronic devices on your person. There are high-voltage electrical currents under the hood that will sizzle your insides. Smoke will be coming out of your ears. I've seen it happen, and it's not a pretty sight.”

  “I've worked on loaders before."

  Diesel's eyes narrowed at him. "This isn't a loader. It's much more complex. That thing is 72 tons. It's not a toy. You screw up, people can die.”

  “Not a toy. Got it."

  Diesel scowled at him. “Let's get one thing straight, Lance Corporal. Since I got stuck with the shit job of training you, you've got to play by my rules. You will do what I say, when I say it. As far as your training is concerned I am God, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Corporal."

  “I’ll teach you how to drive. I'll teach you the weapons systems. I'll teach you how to load, and how to do PMCS (preventive maintenance, checks and services). It's your responsibility to keep your unit in tip top shape. You'll need to check fluids and lubricants. You’ll need to make sure everything is tightened down, and recognize when parts are missing or malfunctioning. You can't always rely on the self diagnostics to accurately troubleshoot a problem. Sometimes a faulty chip reports a malfunction when there isn't one. Sometimes a good part reads as bad, and sometimes a bad part reads as good. Are you starting to get the picture?”

  “Yes, Corporal.”

  “You need to take care of the MAV, cause it’s going to take care of you in combat. It is your new best friend and you will be loyal to it.”

  “Yes, Corporal.”

  “Do you know your left from your right?”

  Zack's brow crinkled. "Yes, Corporal."<
br />
  “You'd be surprised how many come through here that get those two mixed up. When I talk about the left or right side of the Maverick, I mean as if you were sitting in the cockpit.” She surveyed Zack for a moment. Point to the Maverick’s left arm.”

  The MAV's left arm was on Zack's right side. He pointed to it.

  “Excellent. You’re smarter than you look.”

  Diesel wore a smart watch that acted as a remote for the Maverick. She tabbed through a few screens on the display and pressed the button. Moments later, the interior cockpit illuminated, and the engine spun up. An increasingly high pitched whine emanated from the thoracic cavity until it reached full idle. Intake vents near the shoulder sucked in air, blowing it out the back exhaust ports, leaving a wake of rippled heat distortion.

  Diesel pressed another button, and a small hatch opened on the side of the torso. "Here's a small storage compartment. Comes in handy for gear. There's one on the other side as well." She pressed another button, and the massive assault vehicle squatted down. She grabbed onto the small metal rungs on the side of the torso, and climbed up to the cockpit. It was a tandem seat training unit with the pilot up front, and the gunner in the rear. "What are you waiting for? Get up here."

  Zack climb the rungs after her.

  Diesel crawled into the gunner's position. Zack hopped into the pilot position. He strapped into the harness that affixed around his waist and shoulders. He put on his helmet and prepared to interface with the vehicle.

  The helmets were state-of-the-art vectron fiber, with multiple neuro-sensors. They cost upwards of 500,000 credits each and weighed less than a pound. Small cameras embedded in the exterior armor of the Maverick fed into the helmet, giving the pilot a 360° view. Without the cameras, vision was limited to the narrow viewports of the canopy.

  The cockpit had just enough room for Zack to move his arms and legs in every conceivable position. But you wouldn't call it spacious, by any stretch of the imagination. It felt like being in a cramped elevator, and Zack hated cramped elevators.

  Diesel pressed a button and the canopy slid shut with a solid seal. The interior compartment pressurized. It was a precaution in case exterior environmental conditions changed. The Mavericks were rated up to depths of 300 meters. It gave a whole new meaning to amphibious landings.

  “When you're strapped in and ready, activate the merge button to sync with the unit."

  Zack felt his stomach flutter, and his skin mist over, slick with nervous sweat.

  “Just relax and go with it. You're going to feel a bit of a rush when you sync with the device."

  “Thanks for the warning.” Zack pressed a button and activated the sync. A rush of sensory input overwhelmed him. It was similar to when he had first been tested for compatibility. His skin tingled, and he felt a rush of adrenaline.

  The exterior of the maverick had thousands of transducers embedded into the composite armor. They were the equivalent of nerve endings, and they transmitted electrical signals back to the pilot that registered as sensory input. Zack had a tactile sense of feeling. It was as if he and the Maverick were one.

  Zack lifted his arms, and so did the Maverick. He opened his hands, then clenched into a fist. The Maverick responded without any delay. They were in perfect sync.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I feel amazing.”

  "Really?"

  “Never better.”

  “Most newbies experience dizziness and a sensation of vertigo. Be careful on your first step. The device has Gyro stabilizers that will assist in keeping us from toppling over, but it's not impossible to lay one of these things down. And I'd rather not hit the ground."

  “I'll be gentle, I promise," Zack said.

  “I’ve heard that one before.”

  Zack took a step and the Maverick stepped with him. Its massive right foot lifted into the air, then slammed down on the tarmac.

  Zack took another step. Then another.

  “Easy there, cowboy.”

  “What? I got this.” He had a wide grin on his face. He was like a kid playing with a giant toy. He hadn't had this much fun since before he left for boot camp.

  He took several more steps, growing more confident with each one.

  “Look out,” Diesel screeched. Her face washed with panic.

  “I see it.” Zack maneuvered the Maverick, narrowly missing a supply truck that was racing across the tarmac.

  Diesel exhaled. But she was holding on, white knuckled. She was a pilot herself. She wasn't used to being a gunner. It was easy to see she didn't like being out of control. "Okay, why don't you slow down. Let's start going over some fundamentals."

  I thought that’s what we’re doing?” Zack didn't slow down. He picked up the pace and began to jog. The giant armored beast plowed across the tarmac. It's heavy feet slammed against the asphalt with thunderous booms. The ground shook with each impact, and you could feel the vibrations all the way in the barracks.

  Diesel looked almost queasy as she bounced around in the gunner’s chair.

  “How fast will this thing go?”

  "It tops out around 100 clicks an hour. But let's not push it today. It's easy to get this thing moving fast, it's quite another to stop it on a dime.”

  Zack sped up to a full sprint, then tried his luck at stopping.

  Diesel looked terrified.

  Within a few steps, Zack brought the Maverick to a halt. Diesel had barely caught her breath when Zack changed directions and started sprinting again.

  It was clear Zack had a gift. He had taken to the device quicker than anyone Diesel had ever seen.

  Zack's face lit up with glee. “When do we hit the weapons range?"

  Diesel rolled her eyes.

  40

  "Let's wrap this up. You don't want to stay synced for too long your first time.”

  “Why not? I feel great."

  “Come talk to me in an hour when you have a splitting headache. Sometimes the sensory input can be too much. It's enough to kill most people.”

  "I'm fine. I'm totally psyched. I'm ready to blow stuff up."

  Diesel paused for a long moment. "All right, hot shot. Head to the weapons range."

  Zack marched toward the east end of the base. The range was several miles from the main compound. The area was fenced off with a red containment beam. There was a big red and white sign that said restricted area, authorized personnel only.

  Zack stopped at the guard gate.

  Diesel spoke into the comm line and identified herself. "Corporal Dawson. I'm taking a newbie out to the weapons range."

  A few moments later, the guard's voice crackled back. "Go ahead, Corporal. I've got you slotted for sector A 23.”

  "Copy that."

  The containment beam deactivated at the gate, and Zack marched through.

  “Take a left here and follow the path north.”

  "Aye, Corporal.” Zack pulled up a map of the weapons range on his heads-up display. He could hear the low rumble of heavy weapons fire in the distance. The display indicated that a tank unit was in section C9.

  "Where are you from, Lance Corporal?"

  “Crylos 9.”

  Diesel frowned. "Sorry." Her voice was solemn.

  "I'm itching for a little payback."

  “I’m sure you’ll get your chance."

  “If you don't mind my asking, how did you get the name Diesel?”

  She shrugged. "Because I’m built tough."

  There was no doubt about that. She had the physical conditioning of a high-level athlete. And at the end of the day, that's what these mech pilots were—athletes. Superstar gladiators, without the exorbitant paycheck.

  Zack marched the Maverick along the path and navigated to his assigned sector. In the center of the area was a mockup of an urban setting, made with primitive concrete structures. The dummy buildings were pocked with blast marks. What was left of them, anyway. They had taken plenty of abuse. The entire sector was rimmed by a high ridge-l
ine to contain any stray munitions.

  "The typical scenario that we encounter is an urban warfare setting. You'll need to maneuver and fight within a confined space. Situational awareness is critical. You’ll be facing enemies from within structures, on rooftops, and in alleyways. It's easy to find yourself in a situation where you are cut off, with no escape route."

  There was a rusty tank in the field near the dilapidated buildings. It was peppered with holes. Weeds were growing up from its undercarriage, sprouting around its tread.

  "Before we get to the more complicated stuff, let's start with the basics. You have two, 50 caliber machine guns. They are capable of a thousand rounds a minute."

  “Nice,” Zack said.

  “In the tandem units, both you and your gunner will have access to your weapons systems. Just make sure you're on the same page so you don't step on each other's toes. Not an issue in the single seaters, obviously.”

  The Command-Tech™ helmet had a context aware optical targeting system. The system monitored eye movement along with brain impulses. A pilot could select a weapons system by either looking at the selector icon in the heads up display and mentally choosing to select the weapons system, or by audible command. Targets were selected and fired upon in the same manner. It was truly a hands-free environment.

  “Go ahead and make your weapon selection," Diesel said.

  Zack made the selection mentally, and the 50 cal icon in his heads-up display illuminated.

  “Great. Now target the tank."

  Zack's eyes scanned downrange. The reticle in his HUD lined up over the rust bucket.

  "Fire when ready."

  Zack fired the 50 cal. A dozen rounds ripped out of each barrel. Sparks and muzzle flash spit from the barrel. The sharp rattle rumbled through the cockpit, and Zack could feel the vibration in his chest. Plumes of blue smoke wafted in front of the view ports. Bullets the size of bananas streaked downrange, pelting the dilapidated tank.