Ironshield

by Edward Nile

  A soldier climbed into the control seat of the landship. Metal rattled and clanked, and steam whistled from several pipes to mingle with black smoke from a brass chimney as the machine came to life. The landship positioned its shovel behind the pile of dirt the villagers had just created.

  They just dug that, though! Mayla thought in outrage. Why would they fill it up again? That concern fell away as the landship began pushing against the soil.

  Because the soldiers still weren’t letting the villagers climb free of the hole.

  Mayla’s mother and father tried to scramble out together and were both forced back down. Her mother shrieked in a way Mayla didn’t even know was possible.

  Tears gathered in the corners of Mayla’s eyes as they begged to close, but she couldn’t close them, couldn’t blink.

  The dirt pile pitched over and tumbled down atop every grown-up Mayla had ever known. Her parents, her teachers, wailing as they were buried alive.

  Dusk was spreading its ruddy shroud over Mayla’s village by the time the last Xangese truck faded out of earshot. Still, for several long, silent minutes, she refused to move, listening to the cicadas over the sounds of her own breath, to the rustling of torn paper doors in an occasional balmy breeze.

  The villagers’ screams had risen in pitch to something barely human, in those last seconds before the pile of soil engulfed them, snuffing out their cries forever. Once the hole was filled, the landship rolled over it to flatten the earth, making it seem as though the pit had never been there at all. Dozens of people, erased from existence in seconds.

  With a gesture of his hand, the man with the medals signaled for his troops to leave. They took the children with them.

  Since then, Mayla had stared at the patch of dirt. I can dig them out, she thought. I can dig them out, and everything will be okay. They haven’t been down there long.

  The little girl crawled from under the hut, looking both ways for signs of lingering soldiers. All she saw down the road was one of the village’s herding dogs, hacked to death with machetes, body already buzzing with flies.

  Mayla choked back a sob and knelt by the filled hole. The soldiers had taken all the shovels with them, along with everything else of use or value.

  So, with tiny hands, Mayla began to dig.

  Her tears vanished into the dirt as she scooped her way through. The landship had looked heavy as it flattened the dirt, but it was still freshly turned enough that it came away easy in her hands, at first. Dusk deepened to full night, and Mayla’s newer, tinier pit had only reached about five feet, roughly half a foot above her head.

  By the light of the full moon, she pushed dirt aside when her arms became too tired to keep throwing it.

  Exhausted, mouth dry as sand and hands raw, Mayla collapsed onto the dirt at the bottom of the fresh hole, her sobs finally breaking free as she was forced to accept the truth.

  She was sniffling, half her face in the dirt, when Mayla saw a bit of soil shift. She gasped and reached over to uncover whoever it was.

  A horned beetle burst free and scrambled away. After that, everything was still once more.

  The little girl lay there until the first crack of dawn shined a line of fiery light over the lip of her miniscule excavation. Then, her tears dried, she climbed out, feeling nothing.

  To the music of feasting flies, Mayla Yin walked away from her village. Thirsty, barefoot, and alone…

  Mayla never thought she'd find herself glad she and Aldren hadn't bothered to bash up Genlu's face. Besides the gash on his temple, he didn't have many injuries that the uniform stripped from the Xangese soldier couldn't cover, and even that was overshadowed by the brim of the uniform's khaki hat.

  It hadn't taken Mayla long to decide Genlu should wear the piss-soaked uniform of the man they'd left alive on the mountain. She preferred the blood of someone she'd killed, if only marginally. The uniform she wore was made for a man, but she managed to make it work, at least well enough to fool the sentries at the town's gates.

  So she hoped.

  "Sure Genny's scrap of paper there will get us through?" Aldren asked from the back seat of the truck. The soldiers on the ledge had been kind enough to leave their vehicle parked at the base of the mountain.

  Aldren was playing the role of prisoner, his hands cuffed in front of him, loose enough for him to slip out of without being too obvious.

  A smirk threatened to tug at Mayla's lips. Even now, going into the belly of the beast, the Arkenian spoke in that same practiced carefree manner. She knew Aldren was scared and respected him for agreeing to this anyway. For all the man's talk of not being a soldier, Aldren Mal had proven himself capable in her eyes. He just had to see it, too.

  "I read it over six times," Mayla answered, glancing into the rear-view mirror without turning from the road ahead. "The Dao, or whoever penned the writ on his behalf, made the permissions it grants intentionally vague, in case the plan took an unexpected turn."

  "Well, when a power-crazed despot's right, he's right, eh Gen?"

  Genlu didn't look back, keeping his grip tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white and face coated in sweat. From under her forearm, Mayla kept the pistol trained on him at all times. The bastard seemed to finally understand there'd be no mercy spared for him if he gave them away. What Mayla hadn't told him or Aldren, was that she had no intention of taking Genlu back to Arkenia alive, whether he cooperated or not. Once they reached open water, the fucker was going overboard for the sharks.

  Propped between her legs was a rifle, another gift from the men they'd taken down. An identical weapon sat beneath a blanket at Aldren's feet. Ammunition, as well as a few hand grenades, had been found in the truck as well.

  Mayla hoped they wouldn't need to use any of it. If things came to that here, their already slim chance of survival plummeted to zero.

  And Mayla had scores to settle before she met her end.

  The muddy road wound its way down the bumping slope from the Tonkar Mountains down to the massive town-turned-base that straddled the coast. Mayla passed the few minutes they had before reaching the twelve-foot high razor wire fence counting sentry towers. Ten, that she could see. If things got hairy - was that the term Aldren used?- the town would become a death trap of sniper fire from all directions. That was discounting the no doubt hundreds or even thousands of soldiers on the ground.

  Fear didn't find Mayla easily. She often wondered if her well of the stuff had run dry that day under the hut. But she felt it now, a fear that she'd be cut down while there was still so much left to do. And if she felt that way, Mayla couldn't imagine Aldren's dread.

  "Remember, you're a prisoner. Sit back, look scared, and let us do the talking."

  "I've got one of those down," he replied with a nervous gulp.

  "The Dao's word is more than law here, and we have a writ with his seal on it. If we play our hand right, we can get through this." Being reassuring wasn't among Mayla's best acts, and from the eyebrow Aldren's reflection raised, he knew it.

  Mayla smirked. "Sorry, had to try."

  "You are both insane." Genlu flexed his hands on the wheel. "If you or the gaji had any sense, you'd have had us turn around and find a different port."

  "And leave your people with one of the most dangerous minds in the world under their thumb?" Mayla shook her head. "No, that doesn't sound too sensible to me. Even less sensible than a man with a gun pointed at his nuts antagonizing the woman behind the trigger."

  Genlu's lip trembled as he breathed deep. "Better have that hidden better before we're questioned." The gate was looming closer. Beside it stood a Krieger-style Warsuit. Clearly one of Clint Kaizer's designs.

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

  "Goddamn it, woman, listen! In a minute, soldiers are going to be looking into this vehicle and when they do, you'll want them to be able to see your hands. Uniforms won't do us any good if we come like this."

  “Whereas if we do it your way, you get the perfect chance to warn th
em.”

  “Doubt your own reflexes that much? And here I thought you were willing to die for your little vendetta. I’m painfully aware you can bring me down if I tell them what’s happening.”

  “For the record, I never agreed to any dying,” Aldren chimed in from the back seat.

  “Quiet,” Mayla snapped, her mind racing as four sentries emerged from guardhouses on either side of the closed gate to intercept their vehicle.

  “One wrong word, snake, and I’ll perforate you before they can stop me.” Mayla shoved the pistol into her waistband and covered it with her military jacket.

  Genlu nodded. “Unlike you and your gaji friend, I don’t have a death wish.”

  “Hey, we’re on the same page there, Genny.”

  Mayla spared Aldren an annoyed glare through the mirror as the sentries closed in on either side, their rifles held at their waists, casually pointed at the truck. It seemed like overkill even to Mayla, seeing as the Warsuit already had its forty-millimeter trained on the windshield.

  Genlu rolled the window down with one hand and took the Dao’s writ off the dashboard with the other.

  “Who are you?” one of the sentries demanded in Xangese. “And who’s the white man?”

  “A prisoner we captured in the mountains,” Genlu replied. “A spy.”

  The sentries immediately raised their rifles, pointing into the backseat.

  “Gee, thanks,” Aldren muttered, raising his cuffed hands.

  Mayla itched to take hold of a weapon. She didn’t know what she’d do if Aldren was shot down while executing her plan. She wasn’t too jaded to admit she liked the Arkenian -liked him more than she thought she should, if she were completely honest with herself- but she was surprised to realize how much she wanted Aldren Mal to survive this. Someone like him, someone who could roll with the punches as life screwed him from every angle without losing his soul, was a rare thing in Mayla’s world.

  She kept her hand away from the gun. All she’d manage to do was get them all killed.

  “Spies are to be shot on sight!” The head sentry declared. “Who are you and why do you being this gaji shit here?”

  “Don’t know what he’s saying but you can tell him I’m getting real sick of that word,” said Aldren.

  Genlu passed the writ over through the window. “I have orders to take the white man by boat back to the Dao for questioning,” he explained. “The administration wants to know what his people know.”

  The sentry took the writ and jerked his head to his nearest comrade. Leaving the other armed men where they stood with rifles trained on Aldren, the two sentries looked over the document and talked among themselves.

  “Oh yeah, I’m feeling great about this,” said Aldren. “Thank fuck all their trucks look the same, or all that scrap of paper would be good for is wiping my—"

  “Aldren, will you please shut the fuck up for once.” Mayla was on edge and clearly, so was Genlu. Their treacherous escort let out a shivering breath. He was sweating through the armpits of his stolen uniform, losing composure with each moment. “If you don’t keep it together, you backstabbing swine, you’ll give all of us away,” Mayla muttered out the corner of her mouth in Xangese. The last thing they needed was for one of the guards to scrutinize Genlu too closely. Besides the sweat, he was visibly pale. She and Aldren had done their best to clean the knife wound in Genlu’s shoulder, but he needed more than a bit of field dressing. Infection would set in, if it hadn’t already. “Get angry.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, what?” Aldren chimed in.

  “You’re on official business for the Great Dao, and these low-rank busybodies are delaying you? Put them in their place before they call over a superior.”

  “Crazy whore,” Genlu hissed through gritted teeth. “Ay!” he shouted to the conferring soldiers. “Give me your names and ranks.”

  “Why?” the head sentry demanded.

  “So I know who to report back in Feng for obstructing the Dao’s will,” Genlu barked. “You’ve seen his seal, now let me through if you want to keep your standing.”

  The soldier clearly didn’t appreciate being threatened from the looks of his scowl. Mayla held her breath, wondering if she’d miscalculated.

  “Of course, Sir…” The soldier bowed his head, if only slightly, and returned the writ. He then gave the gatekeepers a circular wave.

  The powered gate hummed to life and rattled aside while the sentries returned to their guardhouses and the Krieger rolled aside on its treads.

  “Don’t suppose we brought along some spare pants,” asked Aldren.

  No one answered him as Genlu drove them into the town.

  Chapter 34

  Yanny must have had gnads of steel, was all Aldren could think as they drove into the town. His brother had lied his way through enemy lines dozens of times. If accounts of his spy work were true, he’d done it all alone. Aldren felt like he was going to have a heart attack.

  “Kaizer,” said Mayla from the front passenger seat.

  “Ay?” Genlu intoned.

  “Clint Kaizer,” she said. “Take us to him. No diversions.” They’d gotten the number of the building he was being kept in from the soldier up on the ledge. Mayla had then searched for it on a map of the town she had, though she admitted the map was years out of date.

  Aldren had to distract himself from counting all the Xangese guns and bayonets surrounding them. He let his gaze wander over the tops of squat buildings, to the massive machine. From this vantage it looked like a smoking, churning wall of pipes, pistons, and interlocking gears. The Taisen, that was what the soldier called it according to Mayla. In Xangese the word meant ‘Demon.’ It fit. The sight of it didn’t do Aldren’s nerves any good, either.

  In fact there was no direction he could look to in which Aldren didn’t see the sparks and smoke of active smelting works or the hulking forms of Warsuits and trucks rumbling to and fro. And everywhere there were soldiers.

  He was just starting to wonder, after a few blocks or so of painfully slow driving, where all the civilians had gone. Then, Aldren began to see them.

  They trudged through muddy gutters along the sides of roads dominated by armed men and machines, dragging wagons of ore and wood and carrying sacks of rice or grain over hunched shoulders. Men and women alike, their eyes downcast, their expressions vacant.

  “They gather the children.”

  “Huh?” Aldren looked over at Mayla. She wasn’t looking back at him, but out her own window at the despondent people toiling along the streets. “The children. The Dao’s army takes them and puts them to work. Those with living families are used as insurance as well, to keep their parents and grandparents cooperating.”

  She wasn’t exaggerating that last bit. A hobbling woman who had to be in her eighties fell under the weight of a bundle of kindling. Two civilian men darted over to help her to her feet. One of them was soon preoccupied trying to placate a furious soldier, putting his hands up and head down as the shouting man waved his rifle.

  “I’m surprised, though,” Mayla continued, her voice casual as they passed the tense scene. “I thought even the Dao’s lackeys had too much decency to do this to their own. I guess my people aren’t all that special.”

  Aldren heard the click of Mayla’s gun as she brought it out to point at Genlu once more. “Aldren, get yourself out of those cuffs. We’re getting close. You,” she said to Genlu. “Make the next right.”

  “Guess it’s a good thing they’re not keeping him over there,” Aldren said, nodding eastward to indicate the gated Lytan section as he slipped free of the handcuffs. He lifted the rifle and placed it beside him, still hidden by the blanket. “Guarantee we couldn’t pull that stunt on them.”

  “No doubt they want their captive mechanic near the equipment he’s designing,” Mayla said. “That, or he’s the Dao’s prisoner, and the Xangese want him under their own guard.”

  The next turn brought the truck through an even busier distr
ict, full of bars and buildings Aldren would recognize as brothels in any country. In front of one such structure, an emaciated woman in a gaudily-colored faux silk robe sat on the stoop smoking from a glass pipe, her eyes glazed over.

  “This place feels like home after all,” Aldren said.

  “Soldiers need their entertainment.”

  Aldren didn’t miss the bitter edge in Mayla’s voice. She unfurled her map of the town. “Not too much farther now. We’re in luck, he’s being kept close to the water.”

  Genlu snarled something in Xangese, then said, “Just how far do you think you’ll be able to take this charade? Even if those guards aren’t contacting the city for confirmation as we speak, and even if no one’s noticed that two scouts we left on the mountain haven’t returned, it will take more than one vaguely-worded letter -no matter whose seal is on it- to convince soldiers to hand over a high-profile asset such as Clint Kaizer without direct orders from their superiors. And you can rest assured they’ll have your gaji mechanic under close guard.”