The Sentinel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 3)

by Walt Robillard

  Backing away from the front of the Shield Chamber, the Grand Marshal was the picture of worry.

  The second vehicle recovered its footing, searching for the pest responsible for throwing roadblocks across their path to victory. Marco crouched at the end of the crater from the exploding tank. He held his lance out, aiming at the remaining vehicle like a rhinosaur's horn right before the charge. The white glow of his armor's eye slits and the red brush crest were all that was visible behind the lion marked shield.

  “Oh, that's not good,” Marco whispered.

  The Scorpion blazed its laser directly at the shield, striking the force field half a meter to its front. Scintillating hex patterns flared, dissipating the energy away from the weapon. Marco had funneled cosmic amounts of power to defeat the first vehicle. Each heaving breath was an indictment that he wasn't accustomed to a marshal's life anymore. He needed a minute he didn't have. In the Crucible, he could feel the lion cub near the truck firing at the mech, trying to divert its attention. The pilot wasn't concerned about a rifle piercing its heavy duradium plate armor.

  “Jax!” Marco called through the comms.

  The mech spun up its guns, decimating the avenue in a shower of slugs. A symphony of broken street patted against Marco's shield. He felt Marshal Brand deflecting some of the incoming fire, although he wasn't getting all of it. The pilot had been smart. Use the laser to overload the force field, then use the main guns. A good plan Marco should have seen coming. When you spend all of your time with lions, you forget that not all predators hunt the same. Some favor cunning to brute force. To a lion, everyone is prey, until they're not. This pilot was aiming for the 'not' column.

  His concentration lagged, missing one of the incoming rounds in the Crucible. It struck the shield hard enough to blow Marco from his feet onto his back. He breathed a sigh of relief at being knocked into the depression where the first tank was, even if his ears were ringing from the clang made by the impact of the shell against the shield. He'd have to find someone to complain to about tuning up the sound dampeners in his helmet. They'd also have to knock some of the dents out, assuming he lived that long.

  Shrill, popping, screeches echoed off of the nearby buildings, becoming a steady thrumming at a higher pitch and much faster rate of fire than the ZX-33's. Risking a peak over the lip of the berm, he felt like he did the first time he got Nahvo to hunt on his own. The sight of several tons of mechanical death steed storming toward him with guns blazing was every bit as good. Astride its back were twin vortex cannons that were spitting fist sized blaster bolts faster than he could track. The old warhorse's armored seams glowed with a fiery hue similar to molten metal. Breaks in the chassis belched black smoke that mixed with his mane, giving the impression that the bot was constructed of burning steel. Soot tinged flame seethed from his mouth, which appeared more skeletal than a normal horse. Its crimson eyes locked onto the enemy tank, that of a reaper come for harvest.

  “Get off your tail, old man! Get your war face on!” Ajax shouted into the com.

  “You're not the boss of me! Who put you in charge?”

  “Up and at ’em, Brother. You kicked the hornets' nest!” Ajax took an angle on the tank, ducking into one of the buildings to evade the fusillade shredding the environment around him. The twin mounted cannons sparked from a small explosive charge under his armored skin, blowing them off to go spinning into the base of the building. The Scorpion tried to reorient to the new attacker, knocking into walls and street lamps all impeding its ability to angle. A hard ram backwards knocked the offending pole, giving it free reign to bring its rotary cannons to bear.

  Marco launched several stories into the air, his armor turning into super-heated plates, smoking as if freshly taken from the heat of the forge. The seams bellowed smoke in the same way that Ajax was, turning the devilish warrior into a veritable demon of the pit. At the apex of the jump, Marco drew the sword from his shield. It roared to life to mimic the action of the lance he carried, an angry banshee demanding its due of souls from the monster who carried it. He landed on the top of the tank, ramming the weapon into the front sensor eye. Rolling across the roof as the vehicle tried hectic maneuvers to toss him free, he dug his blade into one of the flanking sensors, ripping it free from the armor and blinding it to where Ajax was.

  The destrier continued its brimstone soaked charge into the side of the Scorpion. Exiting the building, he dipped his head, rolling over his back. Huge slams echoed in the alley as plates shifted. Sub-dermal rods changed the shape of the mech, shifting into compartments that pulled the old configuration under the armor. Front hooves became mailed gauntlets reaching for a weapon emerging from the rapidly changing architecture of the creature. What stood was a man beast hybrid wrapped in a technological, smoke billowing nightmare rocketing into the underside of his target. He shouted a battle cry, accented by a belch of smoke from behind its teeth. A thunder twang of sound and force blew the tank into the building behind it, toppling all three stories of rock in a makeshift grave.

  Marco lay on the ground, panting furiously. “Nice hit.”

  “You, too. You okay?”

  “Need a nap, and my fuzzy slippers.”

  “No time, brother.” Ajax demanded. “When you hit those tanks, seems you shot us to the top of the list.”

  “What list?”

  Ajax held out a gigantic hammer pointing toward the other end of the avenue. Local militia, supported by a groups of mercs, ran toward them in double time. Running in front of them were K-21 shield mechs. Similar to the CR-1141s used by Elysian lancers, the ones closing in were smaller, but kept the basic shape. An armored, disc-shaped body surrounded by four legs with heavy duradium plating. Enemy forces could use them as mobile cover, or place crew served weaponry on top to enhance the bot's combat effectiveness. Unlike the 1141s the K-21s were true drones with limited control range, which meant that somewhere in the tangle of approaching enemy forces, someone was piloting it.

  “Oh. That list,” Marco groaned. “For once, can't you just show up and say something nice?”

  Twin streams of smoke jetted from Ajax’s nose. “You are surprisingly combat effective despite your age.”

  “You really don't like me, do you?” Marco asked through a coughing chuckle.

  “If that was true, I would have stayed home. Let's get back to the defensive position”

  Marco tapped his deactivated sword on the side of the buried tank. “What about this thing?”

  “I punched it full of holes and hit it with a Pulse Hammer. If there's anyone inside, the contents of their skulls is probably liquid by now.” Ajax's armor cooled, returning him to a combination of black and gold. He pulled a section of red cloth from near his shoulder, Forming a cape similar to the one Marco wore.

  “That looks nice.”

  “Are you trying to teach me how to be more complimentary?”

  “Couldn't hurt.” Marco said flatly.

  “I will be sure to say nice things when I ram my Pulse Hammer into our enemies.” Ajax hoisted his friend back to his feet, steadying him when he nearly lost his footing. “Are you sure you are well?”

  “No, I'm not well. I'm eighty-four years old and I need to have a movement.”

  “Move back to the perimeter?”

  “A bowel movement.” Marco answered.

  Ajax's eyes squinted in an accusatory glare at his comrade. “I told you to go before we left the ship.”

  “You're not the boss of me.”

  Nine

  Marco and Ajax ran back to the truck, finding Corporal Corvin working on her soldier. The minuscule marshal was next to her while Brand was coordinating the remaining two squads into the unit.

  “I thought you said you didn't want the job?” Brand said, offering a hand.

  “I don’t. I’m not here for you.” He gripped his wrist, patting the much younger marshal on the shoulder.

  “Marco? Can you help him?” Beth asked.

  The Zelezni soldier was badl
y hurt. SLAP patches were covering the wounds, sealing what they could, but the kid needed a doctor or he wouldn’t live through it. As tough as the beastly aliens were, they weren’t invulnerable to explosives or blaster fire.

  “Hold him for a moment longer. Help is on the way.” Marco said.

  Ajax pushed the ruined truck back into place, seating it into the building to use for cover. He knelt down beside them, looking over the broken trooper. There was a slight bob of the mech’s shoulders, giving the impression he was having a chuckle at someone’s expense. “You look as though you’ve never seen someone like me before, child.”

  Latisha closed her mouth. “Sorry, sir. Do I call you, sir?”

  “Sir is fine for a gelding.” Marco quipped.

  Ajax pivoted on his haunches, nearly knocking Marco over. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Corporal Corvin. Allow me to help.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Your name and rank are printed on your armor. You may call me Ajax.”

  Corvin laughed, tapping the name tape on her armor. “Great to meet you too, Ajax. Yes, please, help my friend.”

  A series of plates shifted on his leg to expel a slender metallic case. “This is a RAT kit. Do you know what that is?”

  “Sure do! I thought only lancers got those.”

  “Welcome to the club,” Ajax said, handing the kit to the corporal who immediately set to work on her friend.

  “I wish. No females in the lancers.”

  “Who told you that?” Marco had his helmet off. He was pouring water over his head from a bottle Brand had given him. Three parallel scars ran across his eye, running into his cheek. The scar was thickest above his teeth. He was panting. It wasn't the breathing of total exhaustion, more than it was a professional athlete who had just finished competing, and won. Shaking the moisture from his salt and pepper hair, he focused his good eye on her, waiting for an answer.

  “There's never been women in the regiment, sir.” Latisha said, looking apologetic for saying it.

  Marco shook his head disapprovingly. “That's a lie. Either that or someone didn't do their homework. Hey, Jax. What was the name of that Lady Lancer we met way back that fought off a squad of Scorpion mechs?”

  Ajax didn't look back. He had his attention somewhere down the street. “Corvin, Latisha Corvin.”

  “When was that?” Marco asked.

  “Five minutes ago,” Ajax noted. “Impressive how she formed a shield and sword technique with a deputy marshal she just met. Both were amazing in their defense.”

  Beth beamed with pride, hiding the color rising in her face. She looked to Brand, her heart thumping with joy at his nod to her. That nod was everything. Approval, family, and honor from one of the most decorated marshals in the service.

  She had lost everything when her parents died. She'd found hope when Orin Lashra had come along to her planet and plucked her from those dire straits. Being partnered with Marshal Brand, those little tips of his chin had been the building blocks of who she could become. So small a motion had yielded so great an impact.

  “The shield is the canvas. The sword is the brush. We did it together,” Beth said, nudging Latisha.

  The corporal harrumphed. “That's very kind of you, but judging by your friend scanning the street, it doesn't matter. They have more soldiers than we do. Thousands more. Ajax can sense them coming. All we did was hold them off, so they could beat on us later.”

  Marco turned her away from Seikon now that the RAT kit was working. He brought her eye to eye, staring hard. “That's not what you did. You held them off, buying your friends time, the time they needed to regroup. Now your trooper here,” Marco pointed to the Zelezni, “he's going to live. You have four marshals that you didn't have before and we have you. So stand up, lioness. Time to get to work.”

  “But, marshal, I'm not...”

  Marco whirled on her, his imposing height and weathered appearance made for a powerful presence. “You're right. You're not. You're not some basic soldier who ran at the first sign of trouble. You're not someone who said, 'this ain't my job' or 'it's too hard.' You're the one who stepped up to lead the defense. You held this corner when the entire world was condensed into a wave so big it was going to slam you into the beach. You and her. You became the rock that broke the wave. Now, you're going to do it again. Because that's who you are, Lancer.”

  Reaching behind, Marco pulled out his retracted lance. “That's how they got their name, you know. This weapon. This was all they had back in the day. A single lance to board a starship so they could rescue Athalon pilgrims taken by pirates. It's called an Accelerator Lance. The blade for their enemies, a magnetic acceleration generator at the end to blow open airlocks. Hordes of armored fury focused to the point of a spear, decimating anything in their path. You say you're not a lioness. Not a lancer. Why, because someone told you it wasn't allowed?”

  “Everyone,” Latisha said, her voice small.

  “Nonsense,” Marco hissed, his voice garnering power as he spoke. Everyone who had pulled away from the defensive position inched forward. They were hungry for leadership. They were hungry for hope. “You think a lion asks to be what it is? No one wills themselves to grow a mane or sharp teeth. No one asks for the power to stalk and kill. That's just the way it is. And when it's time to do lion stuff, they don't shirk the responsibility of being what they are. They just roar and go! I came halfway around the planet because you called me. None of them could have done it, because I'm deaf to them. But a lioness, I could have heard that roar galaxies away. I heard you rage against your enemies to protect your soldier, your friend. So the way I see it, you have two options. You can stay here, proud of what you've done as a regular army security corporal who saved her friends. We have the corner. It's yours, paid for by your friend's blood. They'd probably even give you a medal.”

  Marco swung his lance, aiming it at the small crowd gathering behind them. They were tired, wounded, and practically spent, but every word rushing out of Marco's mouth was like mother's milk, revitalizing them. “Or you can stay in the fight and do what you were meant to do. We’re not staying. We’re taking this street, then the block, followed by the entire city! My prey is there and I'm going to bleed anything in my way. But I can't do it alone. Which is why I need you to stand up, showing everyone hiding behind these walls that freedom comes from devouring fear. I can’t promise it’ll be easy or safe, but if you step past this point, you become the hunter. Their numbers mean nothing because we’re the pride! We’re the nightmare come to snatch them from whatever safe place they think they’ve made for themselves. Follow me if you want to find your voice, your real voice to roar as lions, fight as lancers, and live as legends.” He thrust the lance into the ground in front of her.

  “Wow.” LaCroix said, his voice barely registering to the group.

  Marco walked away with Brand to map out what was coming next. Corvin just stared at it. It looked heavy. The canister-shaped counter balance at the end was a strange touch, but she'd seen what he'd done with it. It was an old weapon, that came with old methods of fighting. Face to face and teeth to throat. That's what he meant. Bring the fight close. Bring the fight to them.

  The remains of her squad were staring. Even the two sergeants left alive from Toda's squad were waiting to see what she did. Beth hovered close by, too. She had tears in her eyes.

  “What?” Latisha grunted

  The diminutive marsahl said nothing, her hands covering her mouth were barely able to contain the smile beneath them. She stepped close to the spear, careful not to disturb it so she could whisper something in Latisha's ear. “Lioness.”

  The corporal took the handle, pulling it from the ground. It surprised her how heavy it was for something so thin. Looking beyond the blade, Beth was standing with her arm across her chest, her fist over her heart. Daniella was next, clasping her hand the same way. One by one the remnants of Third Platoon rendered a lancer's salute.

  Marco didn't
wait for the reality of Latisha's new life to sink in. “Lioness. Your first mission is to get that gun running. Things are going to go from bad to brutal and we need that PPC. Get them moving, Sergeant.”

  Latisha looked confused.

  “Oh, for the love of...” Marco leaned forward, reaching down to the mud thick with Private Seikon's blood. He traced along the chevrons on her armor, making two stripes become three. “Get me that gun, Sergeant.”

  “That was nice. It appears you have not lost your touch, brother.” Ajax said.

  “Thanks, Jax. Let's hope, because here they come.”

  Marco’s gauntlet chimed. A hologram appeared over his wrist. “We’re in position, Father Lion. Athena is deploying now. Time on target, sixty seconds.”

  “Thank you Hera. Sorrin, out.”

  “Who was that?” Brand asked.

  Ajax stepped up from behind, setting down the spent PPC. Lifting Seikon, he said, “I’ll run him back to the medics. I’ll be right back with our friends.”

  “Wait. You brought friends?” Brand asked.

  Marco replaced his helmet, resuming the role of the devil lion. “Your family ignored the call, so I brought mine.” He gestured behind the squad.

  Everyone took a step back in surprise when they saw an armored woman standing quietly. The armor she wore was reminiscent of the light combat type used by the lancers. Military style fatigues under segmented hard plates covered her from head to toe. The helmet’s face plate had a T-shaped visor with two glowing eye slits watching the reactions of the startled soldiers. She lifted up a case, tossing it to Latisha. Turning on her heel, she greeted Marco by clasping his wrist. With her arm extended, the assembled troop focused on the symbol on her shoulder plate. It was a set of stylized wings set over the face of an owl above three vertical lines.