by Isaac Hooke
Trace approached the impostor and beckoned toward the weapon. “Sorry Rage. I hate to do this, but I’m going to have to ask you to give me that.”
The clone smiled briefly behind his faceplate, then turned the blaster around and offered the grip.
Trace accepted it and produced a similar pair of cuffs. “Turn around. Hands behind your back.”
The impostor complied and Trace secured him. “Both prisoners are bound.”
“All right mates,” the chief said. “Time to go back. TJ, take us out.”
twenty-eight
The platoon began the return trek to the entrance of the crashed ship. Rade didn’t speak much, nor did the impostor. What could they say?
Bomb of course grumbled the whole time. Rade definitely felt for him. Rade didn’t want to abandon the mission either. But the presence of the clone made it impossible to keep going. Rade knew that returning to the base to let the scientists examine both himself and the impostor was the best option. It was far better for any interrogations to occur in a controlled environment managed by the UC rather than aboard an alien ship—especially with potential enemy reinforcements only a few bulkheads away. Indeed, Rade half expected an enemy rescue party to attempt a retrieval during their flight, or at the very least for the impostor to attempt an escape.
Neither event transpired, and the platoon reached the entrance to the ship without issue. Rade was beginning to think that the enemy truly were on their last legs.
When the platoon members crossed the ramp and descended the berm to their Zeus units, there came the question of who would ride with whom.
“Tahoe, you’ll take Rage number one,” Facehopper instructed.
Rade watched Tahoe load the imposter into the passenger seat on the upper back of his mech, above the jetpack.
“Harlequin, you get Rage number two,” the chief said.
“Come on,” Harlequin led Rade to his mech. The Zeus knelt.
It was tricky for Rade to board the unit with his hands tied behind his back, but he finally managed it. Harlequin jumped into the passenger seat beside him and secured Rade.
“Should I take away his aReal glasses?” Harlequin asked.
“Negative,” the chief replied. “We’re letting the other Rage keep his helmet. May as well let this one keep his aReal. If only to facilitate comms and tracking.”
Harlequin leaped down and boarded the mech.
“Sky,” the chief instructed the unoccupied Zeus that belonged to Rade. “Follow.”
Rade attempted to communicate with the AI shortly thereafter. “Sky, you know my voiceprint. My natural inflections and tonalities. That’s not something easily duplicated, even among clones. Can’t you prove to the chief that it’s me?”
The AI didn’t respond. Obviously Facehopper had instructed it to completely ignore both Rades.
TJ split the platoon into two squads, S1 and S2, and instituted traveling overwatch, just to be on the safe side: there were plenty of hiding places to launch an ambush from those mountains, despite that the HS3s had given the all clear, and that Raptors roamed overhead, providing realtime threat assessments.
Members of S2 led the way in a zig zag pattern, separated by five meters each. S1 followed thirty meters behind them, in a similar formation. The mechs traveled along the shoulder of the mountains, heading toward the southern edge—the fastest route to the city.
As the north-south trending ridge passed by, Rade warily eyed the steep precipices with their plateaued peaks, and searched for any enemies. Several tiny pebbles trickled down from an upper ledge at one point, and Rade was about to warn the platoon, but when he zoomed in he saw a Centurion crouched there, providing further overwatch of the two squads. The combat robot appeared blue on his overhead map, but he double-checked its unique signature anyway. Seemed authentic. His aReal had the latest software patches, so in theory the enemy couldn’t spoof the signals of their robots. Then again, there hadn’t been a patch issued for the infiltration units yet as far as he knew, and those nano-machine infested humans could readily spoof Implants...
He watched the Centurion, distrustful the whole time, but it never made a move against them, and it was soon lost to a bend in the mountain. He exhaled in relief, but only slightly. There was still a lot of mountain range to go yet.
Rade couldn’t see his impostor from where he was located in the formation, since Tahoe’s Zeus walked some ways in front of Harlequin’s unit, and Rade had little ability to swivel his body while strapped down like that. Still, he worried that the clone was up to some mischief.
Watch him well, Tahoe.
He tried tapping in his friend a few times, but the signal was refused. Rade always received the message:
Private calls are not allowed from your ID.
More orders from the chief, no doubt.
After an hour the platoon finally rounded the far southern edge of the range and headed west toward the city, which was located four kilometers away. As those mountains receded, Rade definitely felt the tension lift somewhat. At least for him.
They were headed toward the forward operating base located on the southern tip of the city. A smaller base had been raised near the center of the city, in the downtown core where the high-rises and multi-level roadways resided, but given that victory was imminent, little actual construction had taken place there, nor was any more likely planned.
“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Bomb said. “But this deployment ranks down there with Mongolia in terms of sheer—”
He was cut off by a stentorian crack ten times louder than a thunderclap.
“Look up!” Fret said.
Rade glanced skyward.
Streams of smoke ripped up the sky, arcing down from where various objects reentered from orbit. That smoke expanded, writhing outward like a living beast, blotting out the sun.
“What in tarnation is going on in orbit?” Grappler said.
More earsplitting claps rent the air as the shockwaves from the other reentry objects reached them. Rade yearned for a helmet in that moment, since the noise cancelers built into his aReal goggles weren’t powerful enough to reduce the sound by more than several decibels.
A siren sounded from the distant base. It slowly rose and fell in pitch, reminding Rade of the tornado warnings he used to hear back on Earth. Loud, whiny, spine-tingly things.
“And here we all thought victory was imminent!” Manic said.
“Maybe it is,” Fret said. “But the Brass forgot to mention, they actually meant the aliens’ victory.”
“I just finished talking with the LC,” Facehopper said. “Those aren’t simple meteors. The entire division is evacuating. We’re to rendezvous with the fleet in orbit. What’s left of it, anyway.”
“What do you mean, what’s left of it?” Trace asked.
“Exactly that,” Facehopper said. “It seems the enemy struck back a wee bit stronger than expected. But enough talking... let’s go, mates. Pick up the pace. Double time! I want to make the base before those objects strike!”
As the Zeus units broke into a sprint, Rade calculated the impact time of the incoming objects based upon their current velocities, accelerations, and trajectories. The base was still two kilometers distant, and at the current top speeds of the mechs, the platoon would only attain the one kilometer mark by the time of impact.
Not going to make it.
Overhead, he spotted Dragonflies and other shuttle craft soaring past, evacuating the base in droves. That siren continued to sound.
“Wait for us, you mofos,” Bender said.
“I don’t think they can hear you,” Manic said.
“Shut up and run, bitch,” Bender said.
Near the one point five kilometer mark, Snakeoil said: “Uh, Chief? Have you checked the latest trajectory updates?”
According to the calculations on Rade’s aReal, while several of the meteors would strike the base, the remainder would fall short—if the platoon proceeded on its current vect
or, those objects would crater directly into them.
“Looks like we’re going to have make a little detour,” the chief said. “I’m sending an updated route now.”
A path appeared on the overhead map. It swung to the right, giving the predicted impact zone a wide berth.
The platoon followed the new route immediately. When they reached the one point three kilometer mark from the city, the meteors struck in rapid succession.
The ground shook from the impacts—Rade easily felt the vibrations pass through Harlequin’s mech to the passenger seat. Dirt and debris hurtled into the air. The shockwave passed over them, and some of the mechs almost toppled. Rade’s ears were blasted anew.
His nostrils filled with the smell of dust and grit. He tried to switch to Harlequin’s point of view to observe the impact site from the Artificial’s perspective, but had no access. A quick glance at his overhead map told him everything he needed to know.
The land immediately to the west of the platoon, and all the way to the southern edge of the city was pocked with large craters. As for the forward operating base, there was nothing left but a riddled mass of rubble and collapsed housing units amid more craters. The wind had picked up, and the scent of burned industrial chemicals reached him, mixed with charred flesh.
The siren had stopped, he noticed, replaced instead by a faint yet persistent tone that could only be described as the beeping of hundreds of out-of-sync PASS devices—the Personal Alert Safety Systems connected to the utility belts of those who were now trapped in the rubble, dead or alive.
Suddenly, in full view of Rade’s backward-facing vision, from beyond the mountain range arose a large black dodecahedron. It could only be the crashed alien ship.
For a moment he feared it might attempt some sort of strafing run, but then the ship rose upward, receding, making its way into orbit.
“Anyone else glad we’re not aboard that?” Trace asked.
“I take back everything I said earlier about abandoning the mission,” Bomb transmitted.
“Uh,” Keelhaul said. “It looks like we have a problem. Check out the craters to the west.”
“Oh shit,” Manic said. “Shit shit shit.”
twenty-nine
Rade fought against the passenger seat straps, but couldn’t turn himself in the direction Keelhaul had indicated. He glanced at the overhead map instead: red dots were appearing by the dozen from the blast craters to the west, south of the city.
“Drop, people!” Facehopper said.
Harlequin’s Zeus dropped. Thanks to the slightly new angle of the mech, Rade was finally able to see some of the impact craters to the west.
From the nearest emerged enemy tank units: imposing, hexagonal things equipped with multiple turrets, their black treads grinding coldly into the soil. They were escorted by four-legged, centaur-like robots: in place of a human torso, the centaurs had a single large cannon at the front, either a laser or plasma—Rade couldn’t tell which from the design.
The tanks advanced quickly, as did the galloping centaurs, toward the ruins of the forward operating base. Apparently the enemy hadn’t noticed the platoon, because the machines were set to pass right by.
From another crater a horde of bioengineered creatures streamed forth. These new beasts looked like a cross between hammerheads and krakens, because their bodies possessed the thin T-Rex-like qualities of the former, complete with segmented tails and two gripping arms at the centers of their torsos, but were topped by the squid-like heads of the latter, which exhibited long, thick tentacles and sported maws of glistening, serrated teeth.
“Krakhammers,” Bender said over the comm, christening the beasts.
“Don’t call them that,” Bomb said. “Worst name ever. What am I going to tell my friends: ‘I got me some krakhammers on that there Radiance colony?’ Sheesh.”
“I eat krakhammers for breakfast?” Manic quipped.
“I’m calling them kraks,” Fret said. “Too many syllables in Bender’s version.”
“What about ‘spider-faces?’“ Mauler said.
“Cuddle-kins,” Trace said.
“Cuddle-kins?” Bomb said. “What the eff...?”
“Come on, look at them,” Trace insisted. “They’re kind of cuddly.”
It always filled Rade with pride to serve with these brothers who, no matter how grim the situation, always kept their sense of humor. It spoke volumes about their character.
“I got a name for them,” Skullcracker said.
“Let’s hear it,” Tahoe said.
“Fresh meat,” Skullcracker replied.
The bioengineered creatures raced toward the southern extents of the city, intermixing with the robot ranks.
That is, until one of the creatures paused. It turned toward the nearby platoon, its tentacles seeming to feel out the air just in front of it. Then those appendages suddenly grew stiff and it let out a terrible shriek.
Other creatures began to halt nearby; some tanks and centaurs turned around from their main advance.
“Looks like the gig is up, mates,” Facehopper said. “At this range, our lasers will cause maximum damage. No need to combine weapons. Fire at will.”
Nearly half the beasts from the crater had turned back by then, and were swarming toward the dug-in platoon.
Harlequin activated the shield in his left arm, splaying it out at an angle in front of him so that it formed a ramp between the ground and the exposed portion of his mech. Then the Artificial fired several Hellfires into the swarm. Meanwhile other Zeus units launched rockets toward the incoming tanks and centaurs.
Dozens of kraks—for lack of a better name—exploded near the front lines as the missiles struck. Two of the struck centaurs hurtled into the air, their constituent parts spreading out across the plains.
Several enemy tanks launched a blur of defensive metal—apparently the equivalent of the Trench Coats, because the remaining Hellfires exploded in midair.
Three tanks unleashed return fire. Their shells tore across the plains toward the platoon. Several Zeus mechs launched their own Trench Coat countermeasures, and the shells exploded early. As the air around Rade thundered with booms louder than fireworks, and gunpowder and other chemicals assailed his nostrils, he found himself wishing more and more that he had his helmet. The noise canceler of the aReal goggles helped, but not much.
Two centaurs fired their lasers. Large holes appeared in the shields of the struck Zeus units.
The Alpha Platoon mechs fired lasers over their shields in reply, twelve in total, easily taking out the two centaurs and those around them.
“My shield can’t take another blow like that,” Manic said.
“Neither can mine,” Fret added.
A tank rolled toward the platoon. A krak abruptly leaped in front of it and spewed a thick liquid that quickly solidified into a wall of crystal.
Zeus mechs fired cobras, zodiacs and missiles toward the pair. The crystal deflected the lasers and lightning bolts, while the Trench Coat countermeasure equivalents of the tank and those nearby detonated the incoming missiles well short of the target.
The krak made the mistake of emerging from behind the cover of its wall and the platoon members quickly hewed it down.
Creatures from the swarm began to reach them. Those in the front ranks spewed that quick-hardening substance from their maws, encasing TJ and Manic in impenetrable crystal. Their Zeus units couldn’t break free on their own, and they toppled.
“Uh, could use a little help here,” TJ said.
The other mechs kept the incoming kraks away from the disabled pair, and themselves. Grappler fired lightning bolts into the enemy, rending three of them apart. Keelhaul fired his laser at close range, tearing through another three.
But the swarm kept coming and soon overran the platoon, so that soon the individual members were reduced to bashing and kicking. They formed a defensive circle around the disabled mechs of TJ and Manic.
The fourteen remaining Zeus uni
ts used their shields to deflect any of the immobilizing liquid that gushed their way, and soon all of them were lugging around heavy, crystal-encased shields. The platoon members found that they could break off the crystals when enough had accumulated on the surface by slamming the shields hard into the ground.
It seemed the krak could spew two types of phlegm, similar to the kraken. One that would dissolve metal. The other encase it in crystals. The attacking hordes began to concentrate on using the former type of spit when they realized the latter was having no effect. Shields were beginning to dissolve across the platoon, starting from the edges, which were thinnest.
Some of the Zeus units fired incendiaries. The affected creatures lit up, but fought on while the flames burned their bodies. The fire spread to a few others in the horde, but they too continued to fight. Some of that jellied gasoline rubbed onto the Zeus units themselves, where it burned harmlessly upon the hulls.
“Save your jet fuel,” Facehopper said. “It’s a waste if the flames don’t stop them.”
“Seems to blind them, though,” Bomb said.
“Even so,” Facehopper said. “It doesn’t bring them down. Save your fuel.”
Through it all, Rade merely observed from the passenger seat of Harlequin’s mech. A helpless bystander. He faced the inside of the circle formed by the units, with the encased mechs of TJ and Manic at his feet. The impostor resided opposite him; behind that faceplate, the mouth of his clone was set in a snarl of victory.
Rade realized the enemy tanks and centaurs had stopped firing. Didn’t want to harm their brethren, it seemed. Looking toward the southern extents of the city, Rade saw that the enemy robots had in fact lost interest, and were continuing toward the ruins of the base as if it was a forgone conclusion that Alpha Platoon would meet its demise.
The platoon members began snatching up the bodies of dead kraks and draping them over their shields to shore up the weakening protection. It actually worked, because the krak seemed just as resistant to their own acid as the metal, and when struck by the liquid it took quite some time to dissolve through to their bones, at which point the bodies would be replaced, with the respective Zeus mech snatching up a new one.