by P W Hillard
“Up the stairs,” Xander said. “Right side.” He normally wouldn’t coddle the mercs fighting with him, trusting their experience and skills to tell them when to follow. He knew that the shock from the effect of his weapon would be settling in. He didn’t have time for gawping.
“You heard the man, move, move. We can marvel at this shit later. For now, be thankful it’s on our side.” Sandhu followed first, his men falling in behind him. He kept behind Xander, letting the imposing ancient suit stride confidently up the stairs. Everything about it seemed off. Not just the weapons, or the strange backwards legs, but the way it moved, how it carried itself. The thing seemed almost alive, pulsing with breath, a monster wearing a metal shell.
Sandhu couldn’t help but turn his head as they climbed the stairs. On either side of the hole in the walkway, two more mechsuits lay on the ground. A small hole, still glowing from heat, was marked in each of the machines’ torsos. The missiles had gone straight through the armour. The damage reminded Sandhu of a cut made by a field knife.
“That mech was not on our recon footage. Enemy forces appear to have reinforced their positions.” It almost sounded like Matthias was making an excuse. “Shall I update our projections?”
“No,” Xander said. He didn’t care about the odds. Not that they didn’t matter, not weighing up your chances before an operation was just stupid. No, it was because he was committed, knowing how difficult things would be was just a distraction at this point.
The Paladin stumbled, staggering backwards a step as something rung off its front plate. A round had hit it, a powerful one. The armour had held, for now. Xander turned his head, the camera taking in everything before him, looking for the source of the shot.
“Sniper. Top left of the building,” one of Sandhu’s men said. A name painted on the shoulder of his suit identified him as Briggs.
The plaza before them was an open round space, built in a ring around the impressive fountain. At the far side was a building, its front built in a sweeping curve that followed the edge of the plaza, arms of glass and steel embracing the stone before it. Briggs was right, there was a suit on the top left of the building, crouching behind what looked like the roof access doorway, rifle resting on the concrete box.
The sniper wasn’t the only problem. The plaza was covered in staggered layers of sandbags, a warren of defensive lines filled with infantry. Behind them, at the far side, was four QTs, already breaking into a run to intercept Xander’s team. There was no cover in the plaza, at least not for a mechsuit. The infantry behind the sandbags was going to be a problem.
“I got him,” Xander said. He fired this time from the left cannon, a conscious attempt to keep his ammo balanced between the two. Xander was surprised by how many shots each carried. The darts must be much smaller than he thought. This particular one had destroyed the doorway and the sniper hid behind it totally. A much easier, and cheaper, answer to a sniper than Xander’s previous attempt. He turned his attention to the closing QTs. “Deal with the infantry, I’ve got the mechs.”
Xander shifted sideways, trying to at least get the fountain between him and the oncoming machines. He fired off a burst of plasma fire anyway, spraying the ranks of infantry as he did. The Paladin’s anti-infantry weapon looked impressive, it had certainly done the job of intimidating pirates, but as far as Xander was concerned his usual lasers were just better. Sure, he had no doubt the plasma weaponry was more damaging, but the projectiles had travel time. A laser was instant, a beam of light that incinerated anyone it touched. The time advantage was so important that lasers were still the weapon of choice for starships, the distances involved making anything else impractical. It made Xander oddly proud, that for once modern society had invented something better than pre-collapse civilisation.
“Missile teams!” Sandhu was firing his lasers, raking the sandbags with energy, liquid glass pouring from the gashes that formed. The infantry returned fire, a missile slamming into Sandhu. He stumbled, but remained upright, a scorch mark across his front plate. He righted himself, continuing his withering fire.
“Fucking Mikal, these fuckers aren’t supposed to be-” Xander cut himself off to fire another shot from his underarm cannons. It hit his target on its side as it advanced around the fountain, tearing away the front plate and ripping open the cabin. As it hit the ground, the mangled remains of the rider bounced free. It was bald, its head covered with extra wetware, just like the others. In fact, at this distance it was exactly like the others, the dead man could easily be the twin of the one they had captured. The total lack of hair and pale complexion made it hard to tell the corpse apart.
The enemy QTs responded with their own fire, though they went wide, rounds punching through the water cascading from the fountain, their vision blocked by the constant torrent. The fountain had an elaborate statue at the centre, concentric rings of horses that spewed water from their mouths.
“Fucking pirates. Can’t trust them,” Xander said, finishing his thought.
“Pirates? Right, that makes sense. Where else would all these off the books infantry come from.” Sandhu fired his autocannon, causing a sandbag line to explode into the air. His men fired moments after, punishing the infantry that had scattered to avoid the explosion. The unspoken teamwork was a testament to proper training.
“Keep pushing. We need to go through this building to get to the control centre.”
“Briggs, Merton, you heard the man. We can’t stay here forever.”
“Yes, commander,” Briggs said. His voice was rough like sandpaper.
“Got it,” said Merton. She had a soft, surprisingly gentle voice. Xander had long ago learnt that the people who didn’t need to sound aggressive were the most dangerous.
“Right, fuck this.” Xander stepped forward, directly towards the statue spitting water into the pool around it. He broke into a run, stepping up onto the stone, crushing carved horses beneath his feet. The statue toppled forward, not designed to hold the weight of a three-story war machine. As it collapsed, Xander fired, cannons blazing as he stood astride it.
Two more QTs fell, shattering like the stone of the statue as it hit the pool, dust beneath the Paladin’s feet. The glass of the building behind them shattered, the shots piercing through the other side of the building, a hole punched into the delicate structure.
The last Black Rose machine fell to the advancing Viper Legion team, the three of them focusing their fire into it, buckling armour and bending limbs. It stopped moving, the upper torso hanging limp. It was a tell-tale sign that the rider was either dead from spalling on unconscious from being rattled around within the cabin. Sandhu stepped forward, a missile smashing through the glass where he had been standing, exploding as it impacted a check-in desk. He moved behind the stricken QT, using it as cover as he snatched his field knife from the compartment in his leg, plunging it into his shield in one slick motion.
“Leave the infantry, we need to keep moving,” Xander said, even as he fired a burst of plasma fire at the cluster of men that had fired the missile. They dropped the weapon as they attempted to flee but were too close. The effect of the plasma was horrific, melting flesh as it struck. Several of the pirates were still alive, rolling around on the ground screaming as they clutched at seared faces or liquid torsos.
A quick flash of laser fire from Merton put those men out of their misery.
Glass smashed as the four of them barged straight through the walls of the building. Shards fell around them, the already damaged front of the structure beginning to give out. Cracks were stretching across the entire front, rippling like a wave.
The inside of the building had a row of small structures, each filled with desks designed to check-in passengers and guests. Long lines of rope barriers had been erected to channel crowds into orderly queues, black nylon acting as social glue. Scattered around the lines were sets of scales, each with a metal box affixed atop them. Signs behind them warned passengers to check the size and weight of their lugg
age before they reached the desks.
Beyond the check-in, the building opened up into a bewildering array of shops and restaurants. They were layered atop one another like a warren, escalators leading up between the three floors that were arranged around a large food court on the ground level.
Xander led the way, crashing through a check-in desk, the thin structure no resistance to his machine. One of the barriers became tangled on his ankle, pulling the entire cordon along until it snapped, caught on the rubble of the desk. He stomped into the food court, crushing tables beneath his feet.
“Which way now?” Sandhu said, following behind him.
“We go straight through,” Xander said. He pointed, the far wall was made of glass, designed to give shoppers a close view of the tether. It wasn’t particularly exciting. “There, we hook a left, the control building is on the inner ring around the climber, about a click up.”
“We’ve got mechs incoming,” Briggs said. He snapped off a shot at a QT picking their way over the rubble. “I count three at least.”
Xander didn’t turn to fight. They needed to keep going, to push ahead. If they didn’t reach the control centre it was all pointless anyway. He barrelled forward, right arm raised in front of the fragile camera unit as he slammed through the concrete walkway of the first level of the shopping area and out through the glass behind it.
He fell. Beyond the building was an immediate drop, at least four stories. The mech hit the ground, legs bending as its colossal weight struck the concrete below. Xander could feel himself sinking slightly into the stone as it cracked around him.
“Impact absorption successful,” Matthias said. “Please do warn me before you do that again, the Paladin is a heavy unit, it really isn’t designed for such theatrics.”
“Noted,” Xander said. There was another series of loud clangs as the Viper Legion mechs landed around him. The defenders they rode were noticeably lighter, landing with ease, though they too still cracked the ground beneath them.
Then Briggs fell, his mech toppling forward as its rear armour tore open. A series of shots had slammed into the weaker panelling. Smoke poured from the fallen defender, a thick cloud with a slight blue tinge, a tell-tale sign of a breached neutrite reactor.
Xander turned ninety degrees, raising his left arm towards the opening he had smashed through the side of the building. A QT was standing there, weapon still smoking, taking advantage of its elevated position. Xander fired, and the Black Rose mech toppled forward, the top half of its torso missing. It crashed at the feet of the Viper mech it had destroyed.
“Keep going,” Sandhu said. His words were spoken through gritted teeth. Every mercenary knew they could die, that their friends could die, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. “But let’s kill any of these fuckers who get in the way.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The loader crept forward, its impressive headlights lighting the road ahead. The tunnel was lit, but the overhead lamps were dull, kept low to save money. Keeping the headlights on high was a risk, one that gave away the fact the convoy was oncoming, but it outweighed the danger of a lone infantryman hiding in the darkness, missile launcher held ready. This whole plan was like that, a calculation of bad odds, poor options weighed against each other.
Meg had taken the rear, her lighter mech standing behind the loader. She didn’t like it. Meg felt like she was cowering behind her comrades, using the much bigger mechs as a shield. Meg realised that just a day earlier she had been trying to disable this same loader, acting per her contract. She regretted it now, she should have turned it down when she saw the information was redacted. That extra money had been just too tempting. Jump jet equipped mechs were rare amongst freelancers for a reason, they were fragile and expensive to run. She wondered if the other freelancers would have done the same. Alexi wouldn't, she had known the man for only a day and already she could tell he was as straight as an arrow. A redacted contract would be more trouble than he was willing to cope, much too grey for his black and white sensibilities. Anya though, she might. That massive beast of a machine she drove must be costing her a fortune in ammunition.
It had been Anya who had sent Meg to the rear. When Xander had been there, he had fallen naturally into a leadership role, ordering the others around. Normally corralling freelancers was a daunting task, but the man had made it look easy. It just seemed right for him to be in command, like Xander was born to it. When he had left, Anya had slipped into that open spot effortlessly. She seemed to lead with a style that wasn't quite iron-fisted. It was more of a knuckle duster beneath a boxing glove. You knew there was something to back up Anya’s words, even if it wasn’t obvious.
The harsh truth was that Meg’s mech was simply faster than the rest. If things went south, then she had the best chance of escaping. The first rule of mercenary work was minimising the risk, mercenaries who didn’t had very short careers.
“Tunnel up ahead looks clear," Anya said. She sounded odd, her voice distorted by the walls around them. They were grey dull concrete, boring workmanlike stone that contrasted the gleaming palace above. “There's a turn in about two hundred metres, so be ready.”
Meg checked her ammunition, her mental request answered by a response transposed onto her vision. She had about half her magazine left. The compartments in her legs were empty, her smaller mech having less spare space for storage. Once she was out that was it. Meg was glad they hadn’t been engaged so far. Knife fighting her way onto the climber seemed like a nightmare.
“This feels wrong. We should have seen someone. Anyone.” Alexi had his weapon ready at his shoulder. He had a feeling in his stomach, a churning nervous feeling. Alexi was a veteran of nearly a dozen contracts, he had long ago learnt to trust his gut.
“Alexi is right,” Meg said, adding her weight behind her comrade’s words. “I don’t like this either.”
“Yeah. You’re both right, I think. The turn up ahead is sharp enough to be blind.” Anya’s left arm, now free of its cannon stroked the bottom of her head unit, the unconscious habit working its way through her wetware connection. “Alexi, I want you to scout ahead, see if you can get a look around there. Without exposing yourself too much. No wait, belay that. Tamara you on the line?”
“Sure am.” Tamara had acted as a liaison when they were using the drones. When they had put them away, ready to descend into the tunnel, Tamara had simply kept doing it. It felt oddly close to her own job, Tamara was used to watching the action from afar and giving instruction through a microphone.
“Can we get a drone launched in here? To scout that corner. Or is the tunnel too tight?”
“This is nothing. These things are designed to be able to get inside a celebrity’s house if needs be. You never know when you’re going to get the perfect shot. I was actually going to launch them, anyway, maybe get some footage of the mechs seeing as things are so quiet.”
“Not sure I like the idea of you filming us, but we could use the extra eyes. Ok, launch them.”
“Sure thing,” Tamara said. There was a moments silence, then the door of the loader swung open. Two drones came hovering out, settling before the windscreen of the loader. There was a crackle as the radio of the great orange vehicle switched back on. “Ok, Mitch says they won’t have much range in the tunnel, there’s some interference from the walls.”
“We just need one to peek the corner, think they could do that?” Anya could hear that same interference in Tamara's voice. Worry began to creep over her. “Ah, fuck.”
“Problem?” Meg said.
“Get that pirate on the radio, see if he can raise his men, deliver his side of the bargain. I have a real sinking feeling about that.”
***
“You heard the lady,” Sergei said, gesturing to Mikal with the tip of his pistol. Sergei looked comically out of place with it, his ineptitude with the weapon showing. It was like being threatened by a child.
“Not a problem, ‘appy to do my part an all that.” The pirate
stood up, his wrists still bound together before him. He rolled his shoulders, stretching the muscles as best he could. “If you could just lead me to the relevant apparatus. Once we get this over with, we can all start being mates.”
Sergei nodded to one of his men, who nodded back. It had been a tough few days for them, to have gone from warehouse workers to armed guards. Sergei knew he had sounded callous about the deaths of his employees. He cared, but he also cared about the survivors, and leaving them with no job, stranded in a warzone, wasn’t an option. Sergei had time to grieve when this was done.
“Down the steps, radio is next to the lady. Nice and slowly,” Sergei said.
“What do you think I could possibly do? Your boys did a bang-up job with these zip ties. You know, if you have a bit of carbon fibre thread you can cut through these. Normally you have it tied to one end of your boot and you pop the loose end in your mouth.” Mikal smiled, revealing a gap filled grin.
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, neat little party trick. That said, who the hell carries carbon fibre tied to their boots. No-one. That’s who. That’s one of them little survival titbits touted by people who think they’re ‘ard, but ain’t never been in a real fight.”
“You want to maybe use the radio?” Sergei was losing patience with the pirate. The man had a strange sinister friendliness to him.
“Right, yeah, of course,” Mikal said. He turned to Tamara. “You wanna plug in this frequency, love? I would, but well, no hands.”
“Fine.” Tamara placed one hand on the dial, whilst the other rested on her rifle which hung on its strap from her shoulder.
“It’s forty-six-hundred to four-eight-two-five. Nice wide band, but well, pirates aren’t the best with more exacting numbers.”
Tamara flicked the radio to an unused channel, turning the dial so it sat within the range Mikal had given. It whined as she turned, the radio adjusting its frequency to match. There was silence. Nothing poured from the speakers, no barked orders or chatter between men. No-one inside the loader was a soldier, but even they knew it should be a near-constant bustle.