Ironshield

by Edward Nile

  Well, this isn’t weird at all. Aldren pulled the roll from his pocket and ate as he watched the spectacle.

  The bare-chested tribesman knelt before the Warsuit and placed his scrap metal effigy on the gravel before it.

  Another tribesman of similar age stepped in from the side with a lit torch made from pieces of engine piping wrapped in cloth.

  Taking the torch, the bare-chested man lowered it to the scrap doll while the singers took up a slower drum beat, switching from their ululating cries to a unified chant.

  “Na’Tet! Na’Tet!”

  The man’s name, or some title? Aldren chewed on his roll while the metal doll caught fire. Na’Tet placed his hands on the ground and bowed low before the Krieger, three times up and down again.

  The drumming increased in speed once more as half the audience chanted in tune with the singing of the others.

  Na’Tet walked past the burning metal effigy and approached the machine. With one more bow, he climbed into the open lower cockpit.

  Not too late to walk out. The discharge papers were in the breast pocket of his uniform, where he intended to keep them close at all times. In case things got crazy. With all Aldren had seen, he wasn’t sure if a bunch of tribesmen drumming, singing and bowing to a Warsuit qualified anymore.

  As the tribe took up a cheer for the newly minted pilot among them, Aldren scooted around to the rear of the machine.

  Kriegers were about fifteen to twenty feet tall. Nothing compared to Kaizers, and nothing Aldren hadn’t seen up close before.

  But he’d never climbed into one.

  Probably missed a demonstration while I was creaming Renalds’ coffee, Aldren thought. Who was he kidding? He wouldn’t put it past the general to let them figure it out themselves, just to watch his underlings scramble.

  Swallowing, Aldren placed his hands on the cool metal rungs and started to climb. The damn thing felt so solid, like a building, a structure rooted in place. It was hard to believe it could come to life, that it could roll around and swing its arms, all controlled by the fragile scraps of sentient meat inside.

  Aldren was just reaching for the lip of the gunner’s compartment, or what he hoped was the gunner’s compartment, when the Krieger’s engine roared to life, causing the previously stationary metal slab beneath him to violently quiver.

  “Fuck!” Aldren just caught himself from falling down, hooking an arm through the topmost rung as his feet slipped over the metal in search of purchase. Does he not know someone else is supposed to go with him?

  Before the Krieger could move any more, Aldren hurried up and lowered himself into the gunner’s compartment. “Bit overzealous on that ignition, eh?”

  The tribesman, Natatu or whatever it was they'd called him, was looking right up at Aldren, serene as could be.

  It struck Aldren then that he'd heard of a tribe like this, one that worshipped Warsuits, looking at them as though they were metal gods. He supposed it was fortunate the man hadn't tried to pray the thing to life.

  Aldren scooted into the gunner's seat. The controls seemed basic enough. A pair of levers and foot pedals, two trigger handles, a periscope. The compartment was composed on the inside of concentric steel rings, no doubt so the whole thing could pivot around. Aldren didn't think it was possible, but the Krieger was uglier inside than it was out.

  "Listen, I'm Aldren." He reached his hand down. "Pleased to meet you."

  "Na’Tet is honored to…" Na’Tet paused, then shook Aldren’s hand. "It is nice to meet you, Aldren."

  "Right." Aldren grabbed hold of the harness and buckled himself in. "You gonna strap up?"

  "If the Iron God wishes Na’Tet to move, Na’Tet will be moved." The tribesman pulled his own periscope down to his face.

  Aldren breathed deep and closed his eyes. It's okay, Al, it's just a training run. He pulled the hatch down, enclosing himself and Na’Tet in a darkness disturbed only by the blinking indicator lights along the machine's terminals and the glowing rims of fuel and pressure gauges.

  Na’Tet’s long tresses and muscular, bare shoulders made a dark silhouette against the dull red lights. One by one, Aldren’s pilot flicked switches along the terminal, changing the lights to green.

  “Is Aldren ready?” Na’Tet asked.

  Aldren is not, he wanted to respond. “Good to go. Just wait for the orders, okay?”

  “Alright novices,” came General Renalds’ voice over the radio. “For starters, I want you all to go forward in a straight line, then pivot to the right.”

  “Slow and steady now pal-fuuck!” Aldren clutched the armrests of his seat as Na’Tet revved the machine forward at full speed.

  *

  Samuel adjusted his collar outside Matthew Kaizer’s door. He’d been steeling himself for this ever since hearing the news about the man’s father. Clint Kaizer’s son was their best mechanic, a brilliant mind key to the war effort to come. Samuel had to make some sort of amends, to establish peace with the man who, for years, had believed his father in Arkenian captivity under the orders of Samuel’s allies.

  Build bridges where you can, Sam. There was little trust to be gained with Edstein and less with the Kolms family. Of the prominent rebels in Gorrad as part of this impromptu base, Matthew Kaizer was the one who'd made the most effort to remain peaceful in the time between the Civil War and now. Making farm equipment, laying low. He was a mechanic, not a soldier, and his family's efforts were the reason Arkenia was free to begin with.

  If no one else, Samuel needed to repair relations with what was left of the Kaizer family. His life and those of his men depended on Redstripe and the other Warsuits working smoothly.

  Okay, here goes. Samuel knocked on the door.

  "What?" Matthew called from inside.

  "It's Samuel Mutton. I was hoping we could talk."

  He thought he heard paper rustling inside. Seconds stretched on, until it became clear the younger Kaizer wasn't going to respond.

  Samuel was about to turn away when Matthew spoke up.

  "Come in."

  “Good afternoon.” Samuel opened the door and poked his head in. “I figured it was time we talked properly…”

  “Close the door,” hissed Matthew Kaizer, hunched over a collection of papers on his desk. Across the walls he’d tacked drawings and letters. Samuel didn’t know if he could read the handwriting even if he tried. They seemed to have no rhyme or reason to them.

  “Matthew?” Samuel closed the door behind him. “What is it you’re working on?”

  “That soldier of yours,” said Matthew. “He show you it? The Taisen?”

  “Pictures, yes.” Samuel nodded. “Once we knew about their betrayal, we had to anticipate the Xangese would build some kind of fleet, Matthew. I trust we’ll handle it—”

  “Your army won’t put a dent in that thing, Mutton,” Matthew practically snarled the words. He still hadn’t turned to Samuel. “I should know, I had a hand in building that army. This thing they created, it was made to mow through our Warsuits like they’re nothing. They had the best mind in the world to design just that.”

  “Your father,” Samuel said. “Sargent Mal mentioned meeting him in his report to me. He seemed to have some sort of message to deliver to you.” He looked around the room. The paperwork was even covering Kaizer’s bed, which didn’t seem to have been slept in. “Did he pay you a visit?”

  “They don’t make sense, none of them do.” Matthew lifted a diagram of some kind of engine and put it down just as fast. “None of this has to do with the Taisen. So why? Why’d my dad want me to have it?” Matthew turned to face Samuel for the first time since he’d entered the room. His eyes were red, the flesh around them puffy and swollen. “What’s he trying to tell me?”

  Matthew Kaizer didn’t seem to be seeing Samuel at all. His gaze didn’t focus on his guest but past him, as though hoping to see Clint Kaizer materialize out of the brick walls.

  “I’m sure he had a reason, Matthew.” Samuel pulled a medal
from his pocket, a Silver Star. “Here, I came to give you this. Your father earned one like it, along with the rank it carries. Doing what you’re doing for your country after everything you’ve lost, I dare say you deserve it every bit as much as he did.”

  Matthew Kaizer didn’t seem to see the medal any more than he seemed to see Samuel. “But what is it?” he muttered to himself. “What order are they in? What’s missing?” He turned back to his desk.

  Samuel frowned. This wasn’t going the way he’d hoped. “Try to keep it together, Matthew.” He placed the Silver Star on Matthew’s nightstand. “Your people need you.”

  Not sure if Kaizer heard him or even realized he was there anymore, Samuel left the room and pulled the door gently closed behind him. If a mind like Kaizer’s could unravel, who else could Arkenia depend on?

  **

  You’re trying to tell me something, Dad, I know it. Matthew paced the room, holding a diagram of what looked like a fairly standard Kaizer Engine. Revolutionary by all other mechanical standards, but nothing Matthew and his father hadn’t built and improved upon hundreds of times. So why would his father make Aldren Mal bring Matthew a case full of mundane diagrams and random notes? Had Clint Kaizer gone mad in captivity?

  Matthew caught sight of something shiny on his nightstand and put the diagram down to pick it up. Dad wore one like this, he thought. Back when he had a reason to be proud of his country. Can any of us say the same now? There’d been so many betrayals, so many ethical compromises, Matthew couldn’t help but wonder, somewhere deep down, if Arkenia wasn’t better off conquered before it could become as corrupt as the Empire. He tossed the medal onto the bed and reached for the diagram he’d just put down. As he did, he saw the hand-drawn lines of his father’s sketch. And saw those same lines continue onto the piece of paper Samuel Mutton had placed the medal on.

  Chapter 38

  One part of war nobody ever asked about was the waiting.

  The hours that stretched into days, your ass getting sore in the seat of some train or transport truck. Watching empty fields or -if you’re lucky- an adjacent vehicle full of equally tired, dreary men.

  Not even this trip, a journey back to the Bay of Rust, formerly Declaration Bay, was immune to the monotony. James was heading back to where everything began, back to where he’d watched his father die. It should have felt important, should have filled him with thrill and dread and about a thousand emotions in between.

  Instead, James was bored. He’d welcome the chance to stretch his legs, take a shower, or climb into Ironshield and march to his death. Anything but sit in this damn truck and watch the endless nothing.

  Tessa had long since given up on staying awake, her head laying against his shoulder as she softly snored. Vehicles rumbled all around them, a massive caravan carrying men, Warsuits, field guns, diesel tanks and ammunition, and likely dozens of other items James couldn’t be bothered to list.

  Ivan sat playing a quiet card game along the opposite bench with Arnold, while ‘Tet sat cross-legged, eyes closed in sleep or contemplation. Per Ivan and Tessa’s insistence, the Helmsburg rebels had been afforded their own transport. James stood with them on that point. They needed all the morale they could get.

  Among the faces James recognized, Roy’s red-haired visage was noticeably absent. James wished he’d gotten to know the young man better.

  He’d almost thought Matthew wouldn’t join them after his disagreements with James and Ivan. But whatever ill temper James’ old friend had borne seemed to evaporate in the face of the new developments unifying the rest of the country. Or at least James hoped that was the case. The mechanic wasn’t keen to talk about it. Or anything else for that matter, except what he muttered to himself. Sitting on the floor by the back of the transport, using the daylight shining through, he perused his huge taped-together sheet of paper.

  “He hasn’t lost it.”

  James turned at Tessa’s whisper. She was awake, looking past James toward their friend.

  “Then he’s had me fooled these past few days,” James replied, matching her volume. “What is he obsessing over?”

  “Whatever it is, it’s got something to do with Clint.” Tessa nestled further into James.

  He squeezed her close. “I guess that makes sense,” he said. “It’s not every day you find out someone you thought you’d lost is alive.”

  Tessa looked up at him. “You okay?”

  He kissed her forehead. “Yeah. Just thinking how bad things could have gone. We came so close, so many times. Back at Quarrystone, at Helmsburg. One detail out of order, a few seconds difference here or there, and neither of us would be here. Shit, had I just stayed in my hotel room, I might never have even found you again.”

  “But you did, and here we are.” Tessa kissed him. “Just cop it to good luck or divine intervention or whatever you want, and hope it stays with us until we’re through this.”

  “Yeah,” James said, leaning his head on hers. Until we get through this. Good luck could only last so long.

  He touched the saber leaned against the bench beside him. To hell with luck.

  “Shit!” Ivan cursed as the truck went over a bump, causing cards to spill out onto the floor. Matthew pulled his eyes from his sheet of paper for the first time during that trip to look over his shoulder with an irritated expression.

  “I’ll be right back.” James slipped away from Tessa and made his way toward Matthew, putting a hand along the roof to steady himself.

  “Hey, Matt.” He squatted next to his friend. “How’re you feeling?”

  Paper crinkled as Matthew lowered the sheet. “Be feeling better if people didn’t keep interrupting me to ask how I’m feeling.” He sighed. Some of the anger visibly left his features as he glanced over at James. “Sorry about your jaw. Back at the hotel, I mean.”

  James waved it off. “I probably deserved it,” he lied. “Besides, you were just looking out for your people.”

  “All of you were and are my people. I just hedged my bets on the ones who wanted to hide like me. It wasn’t right, so take the damn apology.”

  “Alright, Matt, alright. I accept.”

  Matthew nodded with a grunt. “Good, anything else?”

  “Well I…” James scratched his beard. “We’ve all been curious about what you’re working on. You haven’t been yourself lately.” He took a peek at the sheet. It seemed to be a diagram, or a collection of diagrams, broken by patches of indecipherable handwritten text. The lines either represented a highly advanced piece of engineering, or elaborate scribbles. James knew a bit about how engines worked, but really only enough to tell when something was wrong with one. The sheet Matthew held might as well have been in hieroglyphs for all he could understand.

  Matthew folded the piece of paper. “Guess I have been obsessing,” he said, mouth working as he stared off at nothing.

  “Wouldn’t blame you.” James looked out at the road, at the trucks roaring behind them, their beds unusually wide to allow for the Kaizers they carried. Truck twelve was directly to the rear. Under that canvas, Ironshield waited. “Not much else to do here. Those boys can pretend they’re not going stir crazy, but at this point I think they’re just making up card games.”

  “No pretending here,” Ivan grumbled, slapping his cards down atop the rest. “A firefight would be a nice change of pace. Hell, I’d settle for a crash.”

  “Major, don’t jinx us.” Arnold made the sign of the wheel and looked up to the hidden sky.

  A loud ripping noise sounded above, and James poked his head out in time to see a canvas-winged plane dip by. One of the aerial scouts watching the eastern horizon for the Xangese.

  “We’ll see some action soon enough, Ivan,” said James. “We’re getting close.”

  *

  “Oy, wake up.” Someone shoved Aldren’s shoulder.

  “Wha?” He sat up, bleary-eyed and yawning. “Where are we?”

  The soldier who’d woken him grinned in a none-too pleasant
way. Tanner, from Aldren’s rebel hunting crew. He’d been assigned as his gunner since it was determined during training that Aldren was shit at aiming a Krieger’s weapons. In Aldren’s defense, he didn’t think even a master marksman would have been able to focus on accuracy, with Na’Tet behind the controls. The tribesman was a good pilot. Crazy, overzealous, but skilled.

  Tanner’s attitude toward Aldren had only soured more after a couple rounds of dice. Which was unfair, seeing as Aldren had hardly cheated at all. Hadn’t seemed right, when they were all going to die soon.

  “We’re here, shitbrain.”

  Aldren stretched his aching joints. He’d definitely had better sleeps. Then again, he’d had a lot worse, recently. “Now by ‘here’ do you mean a refueling station or…”