by C H Gideon
“Roy out,” Jenkins said before cutting the line. He took another look at the plotter, which now showed the target array at the edge of Roy’s sensors. “Almost there…” He grimaced, knowing that if they encountered even one more ambush en route to their objective, it was unlikely that they could achieve their objective.
As the Metal Legion’s eleven remaining mechs drove toward the array, Jenkins was unable to dismiss the thoughts of the Solar humans he had ordered his people to destroy in service to the mission. He knew with the cold, logical part of his brain that there had been no viable alternative, but that did nothing to alleviate the hot emotional centers of his mind.
He had knowingly ordered the deaths of dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of human warriors whose only crime had been to defend human territory against unannounced invaders who had made no attempt to parlay or negotiate. That Colonel Moon, Colonel Li, Sergeant Major Trapper, and everyone else had signed off on the op didn’t make the slightest bit of difference to Jenkins. He had ordered Operation Antivenom, and he had authorized fire against Solarian targets.
He was a war criminal. Period. If they lost the fight, he would get the firing squad for what he had already done, let alone for what he was about to do.
But the die was cast, and the time for second-guessing long past. They were committed, and to hesitate now would be to dishonor the sacrifices of the men and women who had died in service to this mission. They tried to accomplish the primary mission, which he had to complete or die trying. The future of humanity was at stake since failure meant the end of the human race.
More than anything else, it was that thought that kept Jenkins on the path toward Operation Antivenom’s conclusion.
12
Manufactured Luck
“Bring up three crackers,” Trapper barked, prompting his people to lug three cases of high explosive up from Anaconda’s stern cargo pod. Podsy and Styles shared looks of mutual concern as Trapper’s people set the demo charges on the fourth physical barricade they had already encountered down the tunnel.
The first three had been relatively easy to push past since they had been designed as manned defensive points rather than vehicle-blocking obstructions. They had required demo charges to clear, but this latest obstruction was intended to stop a column like theirs from proceeding deeper into the labyrinthine passages.
“Too slow,” Styles muttered as the clock ticked down to forty minutes remaining until Colonel Jenkins and the surface force were scheduled to overtake the transceiver array. “At this rate, even if they clear this wall with the first charges and we don’t run into any more obstructions, we’ll be twelve minutes behind schedule.”
Podsy shook his head grimly. The original op had called for the surface team to hold the array for no more than ten minutes. Anything past that was considered critically hazardous to the integrity of the mission since it was only a matter of time before the Solarians arrived in force to secure the facility.
Fortunately, none of these barricades appeared to have been erected recently. They seemed to have been tacked onto the tunnel sometime in the last few decades, and they were thankfully unmanned.
“All clear!” Trapper barked after his people had set the charges and scurried back to the safety of the mech column. “All clear,” he repeated. “Fire in the hole!”
The demo charges erupted with a blinding flash. In the confines of the tunnel, a bizarre hint of sound registered on Blink Dog’s sensors as the shockwave rode the rapidly-expanding gases from the demo charges enough to carry a barely audible report.
The dust quickly settled, leaving a hole just large enough to squeeze the column through. Podsy breathed a sigh of relief as Trapper led a team of his people through to secure the far side. A few seconds later, the grizzled veteran reported, “All clear.”
The column proceeded through the narrow gap in the synth-stone wall, a gap that Blink Dog alone comfortably squeezed through. A combination of the mech’s recently-modified design and Blinky’s superior piloting skills saw his vehicle navigate through the cramped hole without touching its crumbling edges.
“Too slow,” Styles muttered again.
“Slow can be good,” Podsy observed dryly, hoping to cut some of the tension.
“’Slow’ isn’t the same as ‘motionless,’” Styles quipped.
Podsy snapped his fingers in mock disappointment. “So that’s where I went wrong!”
“You’re sick, Podsy.” Styles snickered before giving him an approving nod. “So sick, man...”
“No plan survives first contact, Chief,” Podsy fired back. “Our people are the best. We’ll get this done, delays or no.”
“I hope so,” Styles hesitantly agreed. “Because we only get one shot.”
A few minutes later, another barricade came into view. This one was less robust than the last, but just as Trapper was about to move his people forward to make a hole, Blink Dog’s sensor alarms blared.
“Pop-outs!” Styles barked into his headset, prompting Trapper and the rest of the disembarked Legionnaires to dive for cover behind the mechs. Solarian chain guns emerged from concealment within the walls, and even from the ceiling as they spewed death-dealing slugs into the lightly-armored Nutcracker mechs.
Blink Dog’s chain guns roared in reply, adding to the weight of fire as the Nutcrackers methodically scraped pop-outs from the tunnel walls. Four seconds after the first shots were fired, five of the eight turrets were sanctioned by expert Terran counterfire.
Despite the Terrans’ quick reactions, the Solarian ambush proved costly.
Four of Trapper’s infantry were cut down in the opening seconds when they were unable to reach cover. Anaconda’s armored head segment, already battered from previous exchanges, looked close to failure on the all-important edges where the unarmored infantry huddled for protection. And the battered Octopede’s frail legs, two of which were already gone, suffered catastrophic damage as the enemy coil guns focused fire on their weakest points.
From his position at Anaconda’s stern, the sergeant major signaled his people toward new targets. As they loaded fresh grenades into their launchers, Trapper squeezed a shot off at an overhead coil gun busily engaging the battered Octopede. He was rewarded with a shower of sparks before the weapon withdrew into the ceiling.
That left just two of the enemy weapon emplacements, but they were nested behind opposing concrete barricades that protruded from the tunnel’s walls. To Podsy’s surprise, Blinky tried to line up a shot on one by contorting Blink Dog dangerously over to its right, tilting the cabin so severely that Podsy had to grab the overhead “oh shit!” rail to keep from lurching out of his seat. To Podsy’s mind, the quadrupedal mech should have fallen over at least ten degrees earlier, but somehow Blinky kept it upright before unleashing a hail of chem-driven rounds from Blink Dog’s right chain gun.
Most of the rounds hammered into the concrete, spewing chalky dust out in a continuous stream of debris. The enemy coil gun turned toward Blink Dog, boring round after round into the Recon-grade mech’s front as multiple Terran and Solarian rounds collided mid-flight.
Blink Dog tilted even further, defying gravity and causing Podsy’s legs to swing down toward the far bulkhead (which was nearly parallel to the ground at this point). Podsy was about to protest, but Blinky soon proved his mettle, laying his mech all the way over to the deck with a crash while keeping his guns on target. And from that exposed, vulnerable position, Blink Dog sent a killing burst against the dug-in coil gun mere seconds before Trapper’s people neutralized the target on the opposite wall with multiple RPG strikes.
“Way to stick the landing, Blinky,” Styles grumbled as Podsy gingerly picked himself up and stood on the bulkhead, his former seat perpendicular to it. But Styles’ seat was on the mech’s right side, which meant that combined with his harness, Styles was still seated and merely laying against the bulkhead while Podsy had been thrown from his chair entirely.
“It was the only way to take the sh
ot, Chief,” Blinky protested.
“Hey, lay off the kid,” Podsy said dryly as Trapper’s people secured the area, spiking damaged pop-outs with frag grenades. “The way I hear it, he does all his best work from his back.”
“Damn, that’s cold, Podsy,” Styles said with a grin while Corporal Staubach did the right thing: ignored them and worked to right his mech, which he proceeded to attempt without enlisting the aid of another mech.
“Truth hurts.” Podsy shrugged just before Blink Dog lurched upright, nearly launching Podsy face-first into the port bulkhead. He only saved his nose from a crushing impact by sacrificing his forearm to one of the mech’s ten-centimeter steel ribs that formed the cabin’s frame.
“Sorry,” Blinky said with false concern. “Probably should have said something, but you probably wouldn’t have heard me over all your bitching.”
“Is that insubordination I hear, Chief?” Podsy asked, trying and failing to hide a grin at the younger man’s cheek.
“Sounds like it,” Styles deadpanned. “And it seems to me like he just tried to assault a superior officer using a Recon-grade mech. Is that what you think, Lieutenant?”
“Whatever it was,” Podsy grumbled good-naturedly while resuming his seat, “I think a superior officer might assault him if he tries it again. I paid good money for this beak, after all.”
“Fire in the hole!” Sergeant Major Trapper called, and another flash filled the cockpit’s window. When the dust settled, there was a hole large enough for the column to squeeze through.
One by one, the Nutcrackers moved through that hole, save for Octopede. It had been too badly damaged during the attack and was no longer able to keep its profile low enough for that movement to be possible. Its capacitors were discharged, its ordnance transferred, and the mech was abandoned by its crew, who transferred to Anaconda along with most of the salvaged gear.
It took just two minutes to strip the mech of useful supplies, and with that done, the column renewed its forward march.
They continued down the tunnel, sniping the occasional pop-up whenever the column’s interlinked sensors located them from a safe distance. A local jamming field interfered with Terran sensors near the ambush sites, so Styles had sent a few drones down the tunnels in hopes of tripping whatever auto-response systems might await them.
The method worked; the track-driven drones exposed three different ambush points in seemingly nondescript sections of the flat, wide tunnel. This enabled the Legion’s mechs to clear those points with long-range fire, keeping the infantry safe but causing Anaconda to soak up more and more damage to its already-battered head as the coil guns returned fire from the three ambush points.
Then something appeared on the drone feeds, causing Styles to call, “Hold position, Sergeant Major. I’m forwarding a live feed from two kilometers down the tunnel.”
Trapper gestured for the column to halt and the Nutcrackers froze in place as the sergeant major reviewed Styles’ update. Podsy leaned over, checking the details for himself and seeing a full-sized transit node on the drone’s video feeds. That node should not have been there, and according to their best intel, had not been there eighty years ago. But there it was, as plain as the nose on Podsy’s face: a six-way transit intersection that presented danger and opportunity in equal measure.
Using the intersection could possibly cut as much as fifteen minutes off their journey if one of the tunnels intersected with their previous course, as it appeared likely it would. But the intersection was likely to be guarded, and whatever troubles they might have previously had with automated defenses would be multiplied several times over if they went at the intersection head-on.
Even a single Tactical-grade mech operating at maximum spec would be enough to neutralize automated defenses within the intersection. Coil gun rounds could kill a Tactical mech given enough time to concentrate fire, but its armor would buy it the necessary seconds to emerge victorious using its superior armament.
Unfortunately, the Nutcrackers’ mechs lacked both armor and firepower. That meant this unexpected transit nexus was going to be an especially tough nut to crack.
Trapper perused the data for a long, silent moment before his voice filled Blink Dog’s cabin. “We’ve got a choice to make. We either sprint past and continue along our previous route, or we take the hub and restore some of our lost time. Now’s the time for input.”
“We’re behind schedule,” Styles quickly replied, “but the transceiver is surrounded by derelict buildings and other abandoned infrastructure. The surface team can hold long enough for us to arrive via the original route.”
Podsy argued, “If we hang them out while we skirt that nexus ahead, they’ll bleed for every second we lock them down to that position. The odds are high that there’s already a Marine dropship en route to the transceiver.”
“Someone’s going to bleed either way,” Styles retorted. “I’m fine with it being us, but if we don’t protect Jem long enough to reach the uplink node, none of this will have mattered. At this moment, preserving the integrity of the Nutcrackers is a higher tactical priority, and every Terran down here knows it.”
“You’re both right.” Trapper grunted. “We can’t risk Jem, and we can’t hang the surface team out for an extra fifteen minutes. Blink Dog, hold back. Anaconda and Wet Willie, you’re with me. We move in behind the snake, and Willie clears the northern rim with mortars. Blink Dog,” he added harshly, “if you so much as flinch toward that junction before it’s secure, my sidearm will have a fresh holster and sitting down will become a challenge for you from that moment forward. Have I made myself clear, Corporal?”
“As a Solarian’s conscience, Sergeant Major,” Blinky sourly acknowledged.
“Good.” Trapper grunted again. “Nutcrackers, let’s move.”
Their comrades jogged down the tunnel, flanking Anaconda and Wet Willie as the depleted unit moved toward their new objective. Without asking, Podsy knew that both Styles and Staubach shared his frustration at not joining the fight. Terrans were going to die at that nexus, and Blink Dog’s chain guns could save some of their lives.
But Styles’ argument had been sound: protecting Jem was of vital importance to the mission. Still, that didn’t make the reality of sitting on their hands while Metalheads fought and bled to clear a path for them any easier to stomach.
Trapper led the bulk of the Nutcrackers down the gently-curving tunnel, where they disappeared a little over a kilometer from Blink Dog’s position. The tension-filled seconds stretched on in utter silence, and those seconds became minutes. Podsy imagined the preparations Trapper was coordinating among his people, using nothing but hand signals to prepare for the assault. In all his life, Podsy had never thought of himself as a brave man. A realistic man, certainly, and a defiant one, to be sure. Podsy had learned the hard way, much to his relief, that he would not die on his knees begging for mercy.
But Sergeant Major Trapper was not only brave, he was fierce. While Podsy would fight tooth and nail once his back was to the wall, Trapper displayed at least that much resolve every second of every fight Podsy had seen him in. He seemed unconcerned with his own safety in the heat of battle, whereas Podsy could usually think of nothing but safety while taking fire.
Finally, the sergeant major’s voice came over the line, breaking Lieutenant Podsednik from his reverie.
“Crack it!” Trapper barked over the Nutcrackers’ command channel, and the dark tunnel ahead was illuminated by the near-continuous Terran muzzle flashes. Those flashes were punctuated by RPG reports one after another as the Metalheads made their push into the fortified nexus.
The battle raged as strobes of fire filled the curved corridor ahead of Blink Dog, and soon the whirring Terran chain guns fell dark. The entire engagement had lasted thirty-four seconds, and for a time, all three of Blink Dog’s occupants had held their breath in fear of the dreaded order to fall back.
“The junction is secure,” Trapper declared, sending a wave of relief th
roughout Blink Dog’s cabin. “You’re cleared to rejoin the formation, Blink Dog.”
Blinky had already begun to crawl the mech forward, and without other mechs or infantry to consider, he increased the vehicle’s speed to nearly double what it had previously achieved in the low-ceilinged passage.
As they turned the corner, Podsy was equally heartened and dismayed at what he saw.
At least two dozen of Trapper’s infantry had survived the attack, with only three newly-fallen bodies being pulled aside by their comrades. Wet Willie, surprisingly enough, seemed to have sustained only moderate damage. The flat-bodied, track-driven mech’s normally-vertical mortars had been modified pre-drop to allow their use as improvised light artillery, and it seemed that improvisation had proven key to neutralizing the transit hub during the brief but intense siege.
But Anaconda had finally succumbed to the accumulated damage suffered during the insertion. Its head was shorn completely off its body, and the formerly-robust armor plating that had protected the segmented mech from the front now looked like something that belonged in a junkyard rather than a battlefield.
Amazingly, Anaconda’s Jock and Wrench had survived the violent destruction of their mech. The pilot looked to have taken some shrapnel to her left arm, but aside from that, they were fit enough to march and contribute to the operation on foot.
Trapper gestured across the transit hub, which was roughly star-shaped and measured fifty meters on a side. The tunnel the Metalheads had arrived through was identical to the one opposite it, as they had expected, but the other four tunnels were narrower and cylindrical, with tri-railed tracks on their lower surfaces. The rails were like any common mass-transit system one might find near a developed Terran city, or even in a high-volume subway.
“It looks old,” Styles mused. “At least a hundred and fifty years.”
“Weren’t independent inspectors supposed to have cataloged this very tunnel at least three times since then?” Podsy furrowed his brow in confusion.