The Iron War: A Xander Cain Novel

by P W Hillard

  Her opponent didn’t take that chance, allowing Meg to break into a sprint. She wasn’t built to take on opposing suits, not really, but the difference in abilities was evening the odds. Still, she kept the pace up, moving as quickly as she could as shots landed behind her. Her mech had much less armour than the others, something that was becoming a concern the way they kept getting into mech-based battles. Meg was more used to hit and runs. The loaders had been too tempting a target when she had seen them, big obviously important vehicles. She had expected to disable one before escaping into the city but had underestimated Xander. She was rapidly learning to do the opposite.

  The enemy followed her with its weapon as she ran, turning its back to its colleagues as they died. A leg panel opened, and it reached inside. Instead of the usual field knife, there was a stubby cylinder on a long steel rod. The Black Rose mech pulled it free, flinging the grenade towards where it thought Meg was going to be.

  The device was essentially a much larger version of a standard grenade, designed to spray shrapnel over a wide area. The mech version was designed to clear out bunkers or to be tossed into a trench like a mortar round. It was no threat to most mechs, but Meg's suit lighter armour meant a lucky piece of shrapnel could pierce a vital component, disabling a leg or slowing her down. Both would be a death sentence.

  Meg was no stranger to grenades, often using them herself in her anti-personnel role. She was also no stranger to the pitch in her spare time, proving herself a fiend on the soccer field more than once. Her mech jumped, her jets aiding her in bringing her leg around. Her foot struck the grenade, flinging it back at the suit that had thrown it.

  The grenade exploded a moment later, its timer spent, shrapnel spraying into the face of the QT. Glass shattered as shards of metal dug into the camera array, blinding it. It staggered backwards as behind it Anya was delivering the killing blow to its comrade.

  Meg came thundering forward, her mech flying into a jet-assisted dive tackle. The force toppled the blind QT and moments later Meg's knife found its target. She stood and scanned around. The infantry had scattered, predictably. She had gotten a decent look at them this time, they had been so close to the mechs as she had jumped. They looked perfectly normal, not like the strange bald rider they had recovered. Meg wondered if maybe whoever was funding the group had provided the infantry, or if they simply had some bizarre requirements for their riders.

  She shrugged it off. It didn’t matter to her, ultimately. Enemies were enemies, strange appearances or not. Meg had long ago learnt not to care about who was trying to shoot at you at any given moment. All that mattered was surviving it.

  A light spluttered to life on her head unit, mounted just beside the main camera. Night had finally fallen, the streetlamps blinking to life around them. She saw the others had done the same, giving their suits an ominous visage, giant towering shadows with a deadly glowing gaze.

  ***

  Xander had a strong stomach. It was a requirement in his line of work, ultimately killing was a necessity, with all the gore and viscera that included. Still, seeing the corpse of someone killed with a field knife was a grizzly experience, enough to make even Xander feel queasy. They had dragged the downed Black Rose mechs back inside the wall, closing the gates this time. The drones had been set to circle the area. They had built-in night vision, allowing the civilians and mercenaries huddled behind the thin concrete wall some form of early warning. The drones had been launched two at a time to allow the others to recharge, docked tightly in their cases, those, in turn, plugged into the loader’s powerful reactor.

  They had decided it was best to wait. Whilst the cover of night might be useful for their purposes, it also meant that being ambushed was a much higher likelihood. They needed time to make repairs and rearm, where they could. The wear and tear was beginning to show. Xander hadn’t discounted the possibility of more attacks, so had ordered the drone patrol just in case. He had considered briefly heading out into the night with the drones leading the way, using their night vision, before remembering that if they crossed paths with any other mercenaries the drones would be shot down near instantly. He wasn’t willing to risk them, not yet, they were a serious advantage against the Black Rose forces.

  Those same forces had been the reason they had opened the salvaged enemy mechs. The bodies had been lain out on the floor of the main studio building, it’s bright reception lights making the blackened singed corpses oddly shiny.

  “This is…disgusting,” Tamara said. She hadn’t turned away, her eyes remaining on the charred corpses. Xander was impressed by her resolve. “What did this to them?”

  “It’s the field knife, the energy that cuts the armour gets hot as hell. If it touches you, well, the pointy bit of the knife is the last of your worries,” Xander said. Despite his words, huge gashes were carved into each body, the field knives finding their targets. “We need to check some things though, some important things. You ready, Sergei?”

  “Give me a minute, it's…it's a bit much for me.” Sergei wasn't wrong. He had spent the last five minutes vomiting into a potted plant in the corner of the room.

  “Well, I need your help. The others are swapping Alexi’s arm, your men are learning to use the drones properly, and Tamara here doesn’t know what we’re looking for.”

  “Yeah…I know. You’ve got to remember, Cain, this isn’t normal for most people. The death, the killing, all this fighting. It’s insane, how do you do it?”

  “How do you sit in a chair all day filling in spreadsheets and ticking boxes, letting your soul drain bit by bit?” Xander said. “Don’t worry, I know the answer. Same as how I cope, it’s your job. You just do it.”

  “So, what are you looking for?” Tamara crouched down, holding her seemingly omnipresent tablet up. A flash went off as she took a picture.

  Xander stepped around the other side of the bodies, kneeling by their heads. “Sergei, come lift these for me.”

  The middle-manager staggered over, muttering beneath his breath. He had found a pair of rubber gloves from somewhere, likely the loader’s first aid kit, and was pulling them onto his hands. They snapped around his wrists as he did. “Ok, fine,” Sergei said as he crouched down. He put his hands beneath the nearest body, lifting it into a seated position, his hands in the small of its back. Sergei closed his eyes and turned his head away, his face twisting into disgust.

  “We’re looking for,” Xander said as he pulled a knife from its hiding place strapped around his ankle, “wetware ports.”

  “Why? I mean, you know they have them, they need them to ride mechs. Also, did you have that knife when you came in here? When we specifically asked for no weapons?” Tamara stared at Xander in a way that reminded him of being at school. It was a stare that could see through your body to shame your soul.

  “Yeah, general rule, when someone says come unarmed, that normally means you’ll definitely need a weapon. We’re not after the normal wetware.” Xander ran the blade across the burnt flesh, peeling it away like the skin of a diseased fruit. “We captured one of the riders alive, the Black Rose ones. He was weird, totally bald with wetware ports all over his head. I want to see if he was a fluke, or if they’re all like that.”

  “What would you need more than one port for?”

  “Excellent question. I have no fucking clue.” There was a clink as Xander pulled another section of skin free. His knife had hit something. “It’s weird though.”

  Tamara shrugged. “To most people having the one wetware port is weird. It…isn't right, mixing yourself with a machine like that. No offence.”

  “None taken. Most civilians think the same. Which is pretty rich considering you’re always doing something on the Web. You’re holding a tablet right now. Just because it isn’t in your body, doesn’t mean it isn’t a part of you.” Xander was slicing with his knife, cutting around the object he had hit. The skin removed, the top of it was clear, a singled melted blob of metal descending into the bone. “See, this g
uy has it as well.”

  “Can I put him down now?” Sergei said. His words were pained, fighting against his instinct to gag.

  “Yes. We need to check the others though, just to be sure.”

  Sergei went white. He let go of the body, letting it hit the ground with a dull thump. He stood up, turned, and headed back to the pot plant.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Xander slipped his tiny plastic fork through the tear in the silver pouch, scraping out a brown sludgy mixture that was supposedly chilli. It tasted better than it looked, having a pleasing warmth and a decent amount of spice. The disgusted look from the others around him told Xander that maybe he was just forgiving of the taste, having consumed more field rations than he had perhaps ordinary meals. The box of silver pouches had been received with happy applause as he had pulled it from the overhead storage within his suit’s control cabin. Those cheers had fallen silent now, sat around the small portable cooker that had been packed in with the rations.

  The cooker was a small metal rectangle, one side of it on hinges that allowed them to be folded outwards and planted into the earth. Within were several packets containing small white blocks. The blocks could be placed under the unfolded platform and lit with a match, providing enough heat to boil the water poured into a small metal pan. The ration packs had been placed one at a time into the water, cooking through the conductive pouch.

  “This is the worst thing I have ever eaten,” Tamara said, lifting her fork. Macaroni was hooked onto it, cheese stretching out from the packet. “How can something be both bland and overpowering at the same time?” She twisted the fork, fished out from the studios break room drawers, cheese twirling around it. “What’s this red shit in the cheese.”

  “Paprika probably,” Xander said. They were sat on the ground by the loader, between it and the wall, an attempt at hiding the meagre light from the cooker. “To add a bit of flavour.”

  “Is that what that is?”

  “Supposedly. They aren’t so bad once you’re used to them.”

  “I kind of hope I never have to get used to these.” Tamara placed the fork into the pouch, defeated for the moment.

  “I quite like it,” Trevor said before shovelling another forkful into his mouth.

  “Yeah, me too.” Mitch nodded as he spoke. His packet was empty, squeezed of any remaining scraps.

  “You two would. I’ve seen you both lurking outside meeting rooms when there’s a buffet. You’ll eat anything,” Tamara said. “Though to be fair, no one in those meetings ever eats that stuff. Last thing you want when making a big pitch is to have mustard or something spill down your shirt.”

  “I want to thank you again, for the drones.” Xander placed another load of chilli into his mouth, chewing happily.

  “Just happy to help, really.” The light from the fire danced across Tamara’s face. Night had fallen totally. The mercenaries had decided to split themselves, half going onto guard whilst the others slept and ate. The night on Hades was short, eighteen hours during the winter, and they planned to move at first light.

  “Helps that it saved our own skin,” Trevor said. In the darkness he looked like a talking mound of curled hair, his face lost in the tangled mass. “Can’t imagine those guys would need us at all.”

  “We still don’t know enough about them,” Xander said. “Way too many unanswered questions.”

  “You stressing about these fuckers again?” Meg said, appearing from the shadows by the loader, slinking out of the darkness. She couldn’t sleep, the adrenaline from the fighting still coursing through her veins. She was sweating, having taken a jog around the courtyard to try and both tire herself and stretch her legs. “So far, they don’t seem like much of a threat to us.”

  “That's because you've only seen them with mechs and infantry. We can deal with that. I've seen snipers, anti-air trucks, tanks, fucking helicopters. We'll struggle if they really want to throw some stuff at us. We need to get off-planet as quickly as we can.”

  Meg shrugged. “Not a lot we can do if they send heavier gear at us. We fight, try and do what we can. Same as always.” She strolled over, taking a seat on the bottom step by the loader’s door. “Beyond that, not our problem. Whoever is funding them, what they fight for, what’s with the weird connectors? None of that matters to us really. Not our circus, not our monkeys. We fight, we do the job, and then we get paid.”

  “I think Xander’s right,” Tamara said. She had finally tossed her pouch aside in disgust. “There’s something here, I can smell it.”

  “Reporters nose or something like that?”

  “Nah.” Tamara leant back, stretching her arms wide, resting her palms against the ground. “More like producers. Where there’s a story, there’s cash.” She turned, picking up her tablet from the ground next to her. Tamara seemed almost physically attached to the thing. “Speaking of which, this seems like the perfect time to get that interview you promised.”

  “She’s got you there, Cain,” Meg said, her smirk illuminated by the low light of the fire. It looked faintly sinister.

  “I suppose so.” Xander stood up, wobbling for a moment as his legs felt numb. He placed one hand on his left knee, stretching his right leg back, trying to wake his muscles. “Let’s make it quick.”

  ***

  Xander felt uncomfortable. He didn’t like talking about himself at the best of times, which meant an interview was a strange kind of formal punishment. An iron maiden filled with a kind of odd uneasiness rather than sharp spikes. Both cut deeply.

  They had retreated inside the loader to conduct the interview, the constant low-level light of the cabin proving better than the dim lamps outside. Tamara had first suggested going back to the main building, but Xander didn’t like that idea, that seemed a bit too much, so they compromised. He was sat on one of the benches that ran along the back of the cabin, Tamara sitting next to him, just far enough away that she could turn her body to face him. One of the drones had been balanced on the railing that separated the control area from the rest of the cabin, Mitch gripping on tightly to it. Xander didn’t like the way the lenses of the makeshift camera looked at him, a giant unblinking glass eye locked onto him like a cyclops.

  “It’s a bit roughshod. We’ll have to use my tablet as a mic. We could go and get the gear from the building, but somehow I think you want to get this over with as soon as possible,” Tamara said. She tugged at her skirt, just as aware of the camera as Xander.

  “You’re right there. Come on, the quicker we get started the quicker it’s over,” Xander said. He adjusted his rider suit, a dull olive-green jumpsuit, his name and guild registration number stitched above his right breast. He had suddenly become aware of how dirty it looked, splashes of grease across it from where he had clambered in and out of his mech.

  “That one of your mercenary sayings?”

  “No, my mothers.”

  “In this case, that’s one and the same isn’t it?”

  “So, the interview has started then?” Xander asked. A sly smile crept across his lips; he couldn’t help it.

  “Not yet. We ready to go, Mitch?”

  “Yep,” the cameraman said with a thumbs up. The digit was wider than his nose. Xander wondered briefly if Mitch had missed his calling, he was big enough to put most mercenaries to shame. “Ok, we’re rolling.”

  Tamara leant forward and tapped the screen on her tablet. There was a small table bolted to the floor before the benches, and the tablet had been propped up onto it with a kickstand on the rear of its thick rubber case.

  “Ok, hello there everyone, this is Tamara Pierce for Hades Hottest News, sitting in for Caitlin Brennan and Markos Stern, who I’m told are currently safe and secure. I’m coming to you today with an exclusive interview with one of the mercenaries involved with the fighting here, a Mr Xander Cain.” Tamara turned away from the camera, her gaze shifting to Xander. “Mr Cain, thank you for joining us.”

  “Oh, well, glad to be here, I think?” Xander s
ounded unsure of himself.

  “Now, Mr Cain, can you elaborate on your role here on Hades as a mercenary?”

  “Well, yes, I’m here on a garrison mission. A simple job really, stand around and look threatening, carry a big gun.”

  “So, how are you escorting the loader we’re sat in?”

  “Well, things went a bit pear-shaped, as you well know. The fighting going on everywhere.”

  “Yes, the fighting. Now through our prior interactions, Mr Cain, we know that several unmarked units are operating on Hades calling themselves, “Black Rose”, is that right?” Tamara crossed her legs, leaning towards Xander as she did.

  “Well, we’re calling them Black Rose, they use that emblem. I couldn’t tell you what they call themselves.”

  Tamara nodded along as he spoke. “Right. This station was able to get a look at some of these Black Rose operatives earlier. They have a very unique and strange appearance, with multiple wetware connections. Would you care to speculate on why, Mr Cain?”

  “I have no idea,” Xander said. He wasn’t sure why Tamara was asking these questions. She already knew the answers.

  “It’s my understanding that these connectors allow a pilot-”

  “Rider,” Xander corrected.

  “Yes, rider. They allow a rider to connect to their mechsuit, correct?”

  “That’s right,” Xander said, nodding in agreement,

  “Would more ports make that easier?”

  “No, it doesn’t work like that.”

  “Are these Black Rose even still human?”

  Xander stuttered. He didn't know how to answer that. He knew that to most people the idea of wetware was reprehensible. Tamara's suggestion felt underhand like she was deliberately tugging at people's primal fears. Xander realised that she must be damn good at her job.

  “Mr Cain?” Tamara said, prodding Xander for an answer.

  “I think so. Yes. I think they’re still human. I think to say otherwise would make it easy to excuse what they’ve done.”