Alien War Trilogy 2: Zeus

by Isaac Hooke

  “Ryerson,” he sent. “Could you ask the company to lay down some suppressive fire again?” He transmitted his new intended course.

  “Roger that,” Bravo’s chief returned. “Major Rao says you’re a go!”

  Rade hurried across the street as Centurions once more unleashed hell in all directions. It wasn’t good enough: he sensed movement from a nearby window, and dove to the asphalt as a laser tore into the air above him. He rolled, scrambled to his feet, and continued his run. He fired off two Hellfires at the window and didn’t wait to see if the rockets struck.

  He heard the explosions behind him. The detonations sounded too near, and he knew the Hellfires had detonated prematurely—probably shot down by the hidden robot.

  He quickly jetted atop the house that had brought him to that area in the first place. He immediately dropped to the roof tiles and sent Bravo’s chief: “I’m through.”

  He crawled from the edge, eventually rising to a crouch. He paused to scan his surroundings; he spotted two of the giant robots positioned on the edges of different rooftops ahead, aiming down into the streets. Rade terminated the first with his laser, sending the beam clean through its chest region. He sent the second flying from the roof with a burst of lightning.

  He crossed the five rooftops to the adjacent street, where Alpha Platoon was holed up. He dropped to the roof tiles and crawled to the edge, joining the two Zeus mechs prostrate there: Trace and Snakeoil. The latter was guarding the rear while Trace aimed out into the streets.

  “There you are, boss,” Snakeoil said. “We were just about to send a couple of people to get you...”

  “Sit-rep?” Rade sent.

  Trace answered. The sniper kept both arms of his Zeus pointed over the edge, obviously sighting a target. “Tangos have pinned Cyclone’s fire team in one of the houses. The tangos are dug in deep. Haven’t been able to get a bead.”

  Rade surveyed the battle below. Trace targeted a house with a columned portico. Rade didn’t see any of the enemies on the thermal band, but according to the dots on the overhead map, four of them resided behind those columns. Directly across from that house, to Rade’s right, was the smaller home where Tahoe and the fire team were pinned.

  “Why not shoot a laser clean through those columns?” Rade asked.

  “We tried that,” Trace said. “You see the bodies of those creatures in front of the portico?”

  Rade gazed at the tentacled beasts. “The krakens?”

  “Sure. They were working with the robots. Spat up some kind of white liquid. It hardened instantly, coating the columns with a thin, crystalline substance. Our cobras and zodiacs can’t penetrate it. Definitely some kind of insulator, and its thermal dissipation properties must be through the roof.”

  “They can spew two types of phlegm, then,” Rade said. “Because one of them attacked me with acid earlier.”

  “We’ve seen that behavior, too,” Trace said. “Sometimes from the same creature.”

  “Did the krakens coat any of the robots with those crystals?” Rade asked.

  “No,” Trace said. “I think it would immobilize the machines if they did that. But it’s why the two fight in concert. When you find a robot, there’s usually a kraken nearby.”

  “I hate to ask the obvious,” Rade said. “But did you try concentrating your cobra fire onto a single one of those crystallized columns?”

  “Yup.”

  “What about a missile?” Rade asked.

  “They’ve got Trench Coats of some kind.”

  Rade frowned. “No Trench Coat will protect against multiple missiles fired in rapid succession, not at this range.”

  “Yeah well, take a look at this then.” Trace transmitted footage from an attack attempt.

  In the video, the platoon launched ten Hellfires from different directions and at the same time toward the portico. From behind the columns emerged a blur of metal, and all ten missiles detonated in midair before reaching the target.

  “Well that’s no good,” Rade commented. He understood then why the Hellfires he’d launched at robots in the adjacent street had proved ineffective.

  “Kind of wish these mechs had grenade launchers,” Snakeoil said.

  “Wouldn’t help,” Trace replied. “Not against countermeasures like that.”

  “If their Trench Coats are anything like our own,” Rade said. “Eventually they’re going to run out of homing charges.”

  “It’s possible,” Trace said. “Feel free to waste your rockets to find out for us.”

  Rade decided he didn’t particularly want to do that.

  He switched to the point of view of Mauler, who was a member of Cyclone’s fire team. He was crouched beneath one of the windows, the arms of his Zeus positioned over the windowsill above him and ready to fire on any enemies that might present themselves.

  Rade accessed Mauler’s rearview camera to study the interior of the house. He spotted the dismembered remains of a kraken that had erupted from the middle of the floor and attacked them, but otherwise saw nothing of interest. He did notice that the entire rear wall had collapsed inward, preventing any exit from that vector. They could probably dig their way out, or drill through with their cobras, but attempting either while the enemy had them in its sights across the street wasn’t the best idea.

  Rade switched back to his own viewpoint and glanced at the overhead map. On the far side of the street, Facehopper and the remainder of the platoon were occupied by other tangos. Dead kraken littered the roads, and Rade could see the telltale signs of crystalline reinforcement on some of the buildings.

  Every one of the brothers was taking cover: some Zeus mechs had burrowed into the rubble on the streets; others were crouched in alleyways; the rest were dispersed inside houses and on rooftops. Always they resided in pairs at a minimum. They didn’t have the luxury of impenetrable cover, like their opponents, and had to constantly watch for the tangos to reveal themselves, and pray that they were able to shoot them down before the enemy let off a shot first.

  The new camouflage tech present in the Zeus II models seemed to help: it made the mechs hard to discern even on the thermal band, and in theory each unit only readily appeared when it fired.

  Rade returned his attention to the portico where the tangos that pinned Tahoe and his team were hidden. His eyes drifted to the street below.

  “What about that channel?” Rade said.

  seven

  Rade was staring at a runnel that had been carved into the road beside the target building. It ran along the entire length of the street, and wound in behind the portico. It looked big enough for a man in a jumpsuit to crawl through inconspicuously; it was probably caused by some stray laser fire, perhaps from an orbital defense platform or something of similar firepower during the initial invasion.

  “What channel?” Snakeoil said.

  Via his HUD, Rade placed a green highlight over the runnel. “If we can send someone in there, we’d be able to take the tangos completely by surprise.”

  “It’s possible,” Snakeoil said. “But whoever goes will have to leave their mech behind. Only a jumpsuit will fit in there.”

  “I know.”

  Snakeoil took a moment to respond. “I don’t like it. If the targets spot him, we’ll have another pinned brother. And the volunteer will be completely exposed to any other tangos that decide to join the fray on the nearby rooftops.”

  “We’ll provide the necessary covering fire to distract the enemy,” Rade said. “And if any newcomers arrive on the rooftops, we’ll take them out.” With the HS3s hovering overhead, and other aerial surveillance units transmitting the positions of any enemies to them, it was highly unlikely Rade or anyone else would miss a new arrival.

  “Still a risk...” Snakeoil said.

  Rade glanced at the bearded, expressionless face of Snakeoil’s mech. “Everything is a risk in this life, Snakeoil.” He hesitated a moment longer and then made up his mind. He retracted his shield to free up his cobra. “C
hief, I’d like to borrow Harlequin if you don’t mind.”

  A few minutes later Harlequin was crawling through that long groove hewn into the street. The Artificial was clad only in a T-shirt and cargo pants. Rade had overestimated the depth of the runnel—the jumpsuit had proven too bulky, so Harlequin had removed it. The Artificial was completely vulnerable out there. But it was a robot, Rade reminded himself, and even without an exoskeleton Harlequin possessed superhuman strength.

  Rade and Trace had laid down a stream of covering fire with Tahoe’s fire team, alternating between lasers and electrolaser bursts, allowing Harlequin to enter the runnel unnoticed. They kept up that suppressive fire, timing the blasts so that someone was always firing while the others recharged: Rade wanted to keep the tangos in the portico sufficiently distracted.

  Over one shoulder Harlequin carried four rifles looped together into a thick bundle. The Artificial had taken the liberty of borrowing the weapons from the storage compartments of other mechs. Once in position, the plan was for Harlequin to switch between rifles in rapid succession, allowing the Artificial to surmount the weapon recharge interval and eliminate all four enemies hiding behind the portico at once.

  The tense moments ticked past. No other tangos appeared on the rooftops around them. Rade kept an eye on the overhead map. So far, the various companies and platoons in the area had kept other enemies at bay.

  Harlequin followed the groove around the portico, and advanced until he was crawling alongside the enemy—according to the overhead map.

  “I’m in position,” Harlequin said over the comm. “Tangos are in sight. They haven’t noticed me.”

  “Proceed with takedown,” Rade said. He and the others ramped up their covering fire, unleashing a few missiles to further distract the enemy.

  The entrenched tangos launched countermeasures; the missiles detonated in the middle of the street.

  Rade was about to tell the Artificial to hurry up when all four red dots vanished from the map.

  “Targets terminated,” Harlequin said.

  Rade, Trace and Mauler remained in position, providing overwatch while Tahoe emerged from the building with his fire team.

  “Escort Harlequin back to the chief,” Rade instructed.

  “You got it.” Tahoe led Harlequin and the other members of his fire team at a crouch through the street.

  Staying low, Rade, Trace and Mauler moved forward on the intact rooftops, mirroring the movements of the fire team. They had to leap down to circumvent a pile of rubble at one point, and then clamber back up onto an adjacent rooftop. When they neared the remainder of the platoon, they dropped to the roof tiles and crawled to the edge of the current building.

  At that precise instant, the chief was in the process of performing an outflanking maneuver against his own enemies, judging from the layout of the red and blue dots on the overhead map.

  “Now!” the chief transmitted.

  The red dots winked out at nearly the same time.

  “That looks like the last of them,” the chief sent. “For now.”

  Harlequin loaded into his waiting mech.

  “Good job, Harlequin,” Facehopper said.

  “Thank you, Chief,” Harlequin replied.

  Facehopper turned toward the other Zeus units. “I believe it’s time we lent a hand to D Company.”

  On cue the voice of Major Walters came over the comm.

  “Alpha Platoon, help open up a path on our six,” she said. “We’ve got orders to pull back.”

  “You got it,” the chief returned. The irony of her timing wasn’t lost on the chief, judging from the slight amusement in his tone. “Mates, prepare to clear a path to D Company. Rage, take us out.”

  “Bounding overwatch, people!” Rade said. He divided the team into two squads, S1 and S2. Members of the latter provided overwatch while S1 advanced at a crouch behind their shields. S1 took cover after fifty meters, and its members in turn offered overwatch to S2 as the latter leapfrogged them.

  On the overhead map, red dots indicated where enemy units blocked the retreat of D Company up ahead. There were about thirty tangos distributed across various homes and ruins. Rade hoped those tangos would prove incompetent, leaving their rear unguarded. But when incoming laser fire forced S2 to take cover, that hope was quickly dashed.

  S1 joined them shortly, taking cover behind different collapsed structures along the outer perimeter.

  “Snakeoil, Mauler, watch our rear,” the chief ordered. After a moment, he transmitted: “Major, they’re dug in pretty tight. But I think if we coordinate—”

  “Never mind,” Major Walters interrupted. “Our airstrike finally got approved. Clear the casualty zone immediately!”

  Rade glanced at his overhead map. A big red circle had appeared on the map, centered on the enemy units. While none of the members of D Company were within the confines of that circle, the edges clearly overlapped Alpha Platoon by several meters.

  “Bloody hell!” Facehopper said. “Move back, mates! Go go go!”

  Rade launched two missiles at the enemy to provide some covering fire, then he spun around to flee. His Implant overlaid the casualty zone directly onto his vision, and colored the street below him a bright red. The boundary of that death circle terminated fifteen meters in front of him.

  He could hear the craft roaring past far overhead.

  He wasn’t going to make it.

  Rade activated his jumpjets. He wasn’t the only one.

  A high-pitched keening filled the air.

  He thrust with everything he had.

  He was right on the perimeter of that circle when the massive explosion sent his mech hurtling forward.

  He crashed into the street and slid forward several meters along the asphalt, striking smaller, loose objects along the way. His vision turned black as a debris cloud filled the air.

  When he finally ground to a halt, he lifted his head and switched to the thermal band. He spotted other members of the platoon distributed randomly around him. Like him, they were all prostrate.

  He glanced at the left side of his HUD, where the vitals of his platoon members were arrayed. He was relieved to find every last one of the indicators colored green, with a ping time of one millisecond indicating that the updates were the latest.

  He turned his torso around to scan the remains of the street for any surviving tangos, but he saw nothing on the thermal band. “Stay down, and keep your eyes on the target zone, people.”

  After a moment Fred said: “And the pilots brag that their airstrikes are capable of surgical precision.”

  “Surgical precision, my ass,” Bender said. “That strike had the precision of a poorly-aimed sledgehammer.”

  “Well, on the bright side, at least the impact didn’t generate enough G forces to liquify us in our suits,” Manic said. “Hey, it’s happened.”

  “If it struck a little closer to the left, we would have been liquefied all right,” Fret said. “Mechs and all. Though incinerated is probably the better term.”

  “Goddamn that Major,” Grappler said.

  “Consider this,” Facehopper said. “When she called in the airstrike, we hadn’t yet moved into position. The bombers were using the coordinates she had relayed. When the Brass approved it, we likely still resided outside the casualty zone.”

  “But the pilots would have seen our friendly dots move into the casualty zone before they dropped the bomb,” Grappler said.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Facehopper said. “Even so, the approval was already there. And the pilot might have thought the friendly dots were an enemy trick. I’ve heard reports of the same over the comm.”

  “What, you mean enemy units are spoofing our signals?” Lui said.

  “Some of them, apparently,” Facehopper said.

  “That’s not good,” Bomb said.

  “No,” Facehopper agreed. “It’s not good at all.”

  Though the vitality indicators were all green, Rade performed a roll call anyway
, as required by regulations. When he got to Keelhaul’s name, the MOTH didn’t answer.

  “Keelhaul?” Rade repeated.

  “I’m fine,” Keelhaul finally replied. “That blast just knocked the wind out of me, is all.”

  “Alpha Platoon, sit-rep?” the voice of Major Walters came over the comm.

  “Oh look at that,” Bomb said over the private line. “She finally remembers to check in on us.”

  “We experienced a near-miss,” the chief replied over the main. “A bit shaken up, but otherwise we’re fine.”

  “Good to hear it,” the major replied. “Looks like the enemy tangos on our six have been eliminated. We’ll meet you on the far side of the blast crater and then continue our retrograde. Headquarters company is waiting for us.”

  “Rage, you know what to do,” the chief said.

  “S1, proceed to the blast crater,” Rade said. “The rest of us will stay here and provide overwatch.”

  The members of S1 began to carefully make their way through the murk. They soon reached the huge blaster crater—all that was left of the street.

  “What a mess,” Bomb said.

  D Company arrived. Enemy units were harassing them from the rear, and Alpha Platoon helped provide covering fire, utilizing a bounding overwatch retreat pattern with the troop carriers.

  When the dust cleared, or they moved beyond the perimeter of the cloud—Rade wasn’t sure which—he switched back to the visual band. Plumes of smoke billowed skyward everywhere around him. Above, the sun was hued a blood red.

  That was when he spotted it, coming in from the northern horizon.

  If doom had a corporeal form, Rade was looking at it.

  eight

  Got some kind of incoming ship!” Rade said.

  Other platoon members paused to follow the gaze of his mech.

  “Where the hell did that come from?” TJ said.

  “Did anyone else notice one of the mountains is missing from the northern landscape?” Manic said.

  “Damn it,” Bomb said. “Damn enemy ships masquerading as damn ordinary mountains.”