Hellfire: Mechanized Warfare on a Galactic Scale (Metal Legion Book 3)

by CH Gideon

  “Good to know, Colonel,” Trapper replied, hesitating before awkwardly adding, “You’ve put together one hell of a team here, Lee. Keep it together. For me and for all of Terra. Are we clear?”

  “As a Solarian’s conscience,” Jenkins declared with feeling.

  Trapper laughed as heartily as Lee Jenkins had ever heard a man laugh. It was the first time Jenkins could remember the elder Trapper displaying any kind of unreserved emotion other than disgust with his soldiers’ inevitable screw-ups. “My boy was right about you. You’re a good man, Leeroy. Trapper out.”

  The line went dead as the first enemy fighter craft entered firing range. Clover’s mechs unleashed their railguns and sent a staggered volley up to meet the enemy while the Bahamut Zero’s railguns did likewise. A total of twenty-seven railguns lashed out to the northwestern formation, but just seven struck their targets. Xi’s people to the south didn’t fare much better, landing only eight hits on the approaching eleven fighter craft.

  But the Legion’s hits came after the northwestern fighters had launched their final storm of ninety-three missiles.

  It had been a calculated risk to fire at the fighter craft from such long range instead of waiting for them to come closer or even waiting for the missiles to be launched before intercepting them individually, but the chance to drop entire fighters full of missiles was too great to ignore.

  Unfortunately, the Finjou had done the math a little bit better than the Terrans, and any half-smart warrior knew that battles were far too often decided by such margins.

  The Zero sent a swarm of intercepting rockets up to greet the inbound ordnance, and Jenkins’ Clover mechs did likewise. A hundred and eighty-three rockets sped to intercept the enemy missiles, while Clover adopted a defensive stance to receive the vehicular charge that was nearly upon them.

  “Clover,” Jenkins called as he bracketed a pair of enemy vehicles with Warcrafter’s artillery, “engage ground targets at will. Let ‘em have it.”

  Warcrafter’s guns thundered, sending extended-range HE shells ten kilometers downrange as the approaching droid transports surged forward en masse.

  Jenkins’ Razorbacks followed his lead, sending two dozen artillery shells whistling through the thin air. The barrage yielded four direct hits and four near-misses. The Bahamut Zero added its throw weight to the mix by scratching three more and crippling two.

  The Mole Hill sent a wave of missiles out to intercept the inbound enemy ordnance that bore down on their targets with murderous intent. In the last two seconds before impact, every Terran anti-personnel gun fired toward the approaching missile swarm.

  Mech-launched rockets impacted missiles by the dozens, anti-personnel embankments luckily intercepted a pair, and the Mole Hill’s final act of defiance scrubbed dozens more Finjou missiles from the sky. But in spite of the Terrans’ valiant efforts, eight Finjou missiles broke through the shield.

  Three of them nukes.

  In the blinding light of three nuclear strikes, Warcrafter’s sensors automatically shut down to protect them and their Jock from overloading in the intense rad-wash. When they resumed, he was relieved to see the Mole Hill had been spared the nuclear fire. Three SRMs had struck the fortification, but it was possible, given the relatively light damage he saw, that Trapper and his people might have survived.

  He was equally satisfied to see that the dig-site had been spared annihilation. All of the digging equipment was still there and more or less intact, and even the drop-cans bearing the civilians appeared intact. They were awash in radiation, and their inhabitants would require extensive medical intervention to survive the after-effects, but it was almost certain that they had survived.

  Jenkins breathed a sigh of relief as his mech’s comm suite reinitialized. They had protected the primary objectives. In the sky above the trio of distinctive thin-air mushroom clouds, Terran Vipers steadily neutralized their less-maneuverable counterparts. Xi’s mechs, some of which had lower-tech virtual systems that were paradoxically less susceptible to radiation interference, engaged the enemy flyers with railguns and soon the sky was clear of enemy aircraft.

  Warcrafter’s comm suite finally returned to full capability, and Jenkins’ guts tightened when damage reports began streaming across his screen.

  The Bahamut Zero had been just at the edge of one of the nuclear strikes. In fact, it seemed that two of the nukes had been aimed at the peerless war machine, but one must have been knocked off course mid-flight because it touched down two klicks north of the Zero’s position.

  The other, however, might have killed the Legion’s pride and joy…and its legendary leader along with it.

  Filled with sudden wholly unexpected rage, Jenkins keyed up the main Armor Corps frequency. “This is Colonel Jenkins to all Terran Armor Corps personnel on the Brick,” he called as a tsunami of Finjou assault droids bore down on them. “Havoc is down. I say again: Havoc is down. Concentrate fire to protect the flag.”

  “Copy that, Colonel.” Xi was first to respond, a sense of much-appreciated urgency in her voice. “Cave Troll, you’re up. Gut that line.”

  “With pleasure,” Cave Troll replied, his voice conveying every last bit of the anger Jenkins felt at seeing the general’s crippled mech. Smoke rose from a dozen rents in the Zero’s hull, and two-thirds of its weaponry appeared to have been torn completely off by the blast wave.

  Cave Troll popped up above the edge of the lowlands where the rest of Winters’ Company was stationed. Its twin heavy plasma-cannons whined to life, filling with angry white light before sending bolts of blue-white plasma toward the enemy horde.

  The enemy vehicles zigged and zagged, thinking they could escape Cave Troll’s wrath with last-minute evasions, but Cave Troll’s weaponry was purpose-built for environments like the Brick. As soon as the bolts of hellfire struck the ground, they exploded with the force of a kiloton apiece.

  Shrapnel flew outward from the blast points, slashing through five of the enemy vehicles and slowing the entire enemy line.

  Then, to Jenkins’ relief, the Bahamut Zero stirred. Rumbling forward on badly-damaged legs, the lone siege-grade war machine in existence gathered momentum as it moved to intercept the enemy.

  “This is Havoc. We’re reactor-critical…just three survivors…” came Akinouye’s pained, wheezing voice as the Zero continued gaining speed. Fully half of the enemy drones dismounted their vehicles and surged toward the dying mech. “We’re going to…offer these birds…an olive branch. Make the most of it, Metalheads…” the general continued, every desperate gasp between words sounding like it might be his last.

  One of the Zero’s LRMs fired, sending a relatively slow-moving strategic-grade system into the sky. The missile screamed over the enemy droid horde before banking up and making a long, ponderous loop.

  A loop which would touch down on the very vehicle that had launched it: the Bahamut Zero.

  The next words that came across the main Legion channel filled Jenkins with a feeling so profound, so complete, and so perfect that words could never describe it. With his last breath, General Benjamin Akinouye bellowed three words, which Jenkins knew would become the TAC battle cry.

  “Metal never dies!”

  As the Zero reached the line of enemy droids, the missile touched down. The two-hundred-kiloton warhead ignited a short-lived nova which tore the dying Bahamut Zero apart in a fiery conflagration worthy of the only man to have ridden her into battle.

  A more glorious funeral pyre had never been lit for a human warrior, be they Terran or Solarian.

  The mushroom cloud rose from the northern face, kilometers above the Gash’s floor. The rad-wash swept across to the southern slope, kicking up a billowing cloud of ultra-fine dust that swept the ground clean. But by the time it reached Xi’s mechs and the refugee-filled shelter-cans, the device’s energy was too diffuse to be a threat.

  In fact, the Bahamut Zero had been alone on the Gash’s north rim, so the only victims of the general’s last act of v
iolence were the Finjou droids.

  And yet, despite the explosion’s devastating power, half those droids remained active.

  The Finjou had dispersed their forces to prevent such an attack from wiping them out, and they had succeeded in preserving the integrity of their charge. With over four hundred assault droids devouring the ground between their line and the mechs of Clover Battalion, Jenkins knew it would be only a matter of time before he was once again in knife-range of the frighteningly effective machines.

  Then something peculiar happened. The droids stopped their charge in perfect unison and adopted crouching postures. For a moment Jenkins was confused, then he recalled something Captain Guan had said during their approach to the Brick.

  “Only after proving our determination…” Jenkins reiterated under his breath, and the general’s cryptic “olive branch” comment made sense.

  Akinouye had killed himself not just to destroy the enemy droids descending on his position, but to communicate with their masters that the Terrans would dig their heels in and die from friendly fire rather than surrender.

  “Dragon Brigade, hold fire,” Jenkins called urgently as Terran artillery continued to fire to little effect, given the dispersion of the enemy units. “I say again: hold fire!” Clover’s guns fell silent, followed by Dragon’s, and Jenkins raised the Bonhoeffer on P2P. “Bonhoeffer Actual, this is Colonel Jenkins.”

  “Bonhoeffer Actual here,” Colonel Li replied.

  “Hail the Finjou warships and patch them through to me if they reply,” Jenkins told him tightly. “I think they’re ready to negotiate.”

  “I should hope so,” Li said grimly. “Stand by.”

  Several seconds passed before a decidedly reptilian voice greeted him with, “I am Blue Razorbeak Alpha. We are prepared to discuss your withdrawal from our sovereign territory.”

  “I am Colonel Lee Jenkins,” Jenkins replied, hoping he was equal to the task now before him. “We are prepared to receive your emissary.”

  “No emissaries,” hissed the Finjou. “Tell your warships to stand down as I approach.”

  Jenkins knew this could be a ploy to stab his people in the back, but he was out of options. The Finjou had broken their charge and given his people time to bracket them—which they had done. If the bird-brains double-crossed him now, he would annihilate the rest of their ground forces before doing likewise to their warships if they didn’t withdraw.

  So he bit his tongue and replied, “I’m giving the order now. Rendezvous at the following coordinates.”

  The Finjou hissed in apparent disdain, “Very well.”

  20

  Armistice

  Despite their collective objections, Jenkins had assembled his senior officers aboard his former command vehicle, Roy. Chaps had taken good care of the mech, which was one of the only vehicles large enough to fit the Finjou leader.

  It had been nearly three hours since Jenkins had agreed to a ceasefire with the enemy commander, and during that time, his people had managed to unearth a particularly crusty trooper from what might have been his final resting place.

  “There’s ballsy and there’s stupid, Colonel,” Sergeant Major Trapper said, his head wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage. “This is an extra serving of both. Gathering all of us here is just begging for a fight.”

  “It’s a threat display,” Jenkins explained, recalling something Styles had said to him back on Shiva’s Wrath. “We show them our claws, and they show us theirs. And despite your overly ruddy complexion,” he smirked, giving Trapper’s bloody head a pointed look, “you cut a fearsome figure.”

  “I just hope I don’t keel over,” the sergeant major grumbled, drawing a snicker from Xi.

  Chaps turned his pilot’s chair toward the officers. “Finjou primary has touched down. ETA six minutes.”

  Jenkins’ wrist-link chimed, showing a priority message from Styles.

  “Good,” Jenkins said as he made for his cabin. “That gives me time for a quick debriefing.”

  He opened the hatch, behind which Lieutenant Podsednik and Chief Styles awaited. Both men immediately stood upon his arrival, but he gestured for them to resume their seats. They complied, but Podsy was extra careful with the long ruby-red crystalline shaft in his hands.

  “At ease, gentlemen,” he ordered, suspecting that Podsy was holding the technological artifact they had come here to retrieve. “What is it?”

  “Colonel,” Styles gestured to the device in Podsy’s hands, “this thing is… Well, it’s some sort of virtual intelligence.”

  Jenkins’ eyes narrowed dangerously. “Is it secure?”

  “I have no idea.” Styles shook his head firmly. “What I do know is that it thinks it can help with the Finjou.”

  “How?” Jenkins pressed.

  “Up the tunnel,” Podsy explained, “where we found this thing was some kind of tomb. It’s the last resting place of refugees who were the same race as the Jemmin. They were called the Jem’un.”

  Styles nodded eagerly. “This thing calls itself Jem and claims to be a gestalt intelligence built upon the memories and personalities of almost five hundred Jem’un who died fifteen thousand years ago. After we agreed to bring it with us, it told us that the Finjou were manipulated by the Jemmin like we were. It says Finjou society was too fractured and feudalistic for anything like the One Mind network to arise as the Jemmin apparently intended, and as a result, we might be able to do better than just negotiate a peaceful withdrawal from here if we offer the Finjou the same kind of proof we brought back.”

  At that, Styles pulled the blanket off Jenkins’ bunk, revealing a pair of large four-sided cases with tinted transparent panes. One held what looked like an immaculately-preserved human skull and the other had some sort of technological component in it.

  “Jem says,” Podsy continued, “that if you tell the Finjou about the tomb, they’ll not only refuse to follow Jemmin commands but that some of them might actually become Terran allies.”

  “How would this ‘Jem’ be able to predict that?” Jenkins asked skeptically.

  “Apparently,” Styles said heavily, “Jem has been conscious and thinking about this situation nonstop for fifteen thousand years. Its forebears were xenobiologists and students of organic sentience, and they had ample experience studying both the Finjou and humanity. I’m not saying we should trust everything Jem says because that would be stupid, considering we know next to nothing about it,” he explained. “But I thought you should know that it seemed convinced you should use the tomb as leverage.”

  Jenkins considered Styles’ suggestion before nodding. “Good work, Chief.” He turned to Lieutenant Podsednik with a penetrating look. “Mind explaining what you’re doing down here, Lieutenant? This part of the operation was supposed to remain compartmentalized.”

  “General Akinouye assigned me to the excavation team after the drop, Colonel,” Podsy explained.

  “I have copies of the orders, Colonel,” Styles added, and a reverent silence fell over the room as the three men were reminded of Havoc’s passing.

  Jenkins cocked a brow in surprise as he mentally replayed what Podsy had just said. “You rode the Zero planet-side?”

  “Yes, sir,” Podsy replied with a firm nod.

  Jenkins quirked a grin. “How was it?”

  “Every bit as rough as they say,” Podsy replied before grumpily adding, “I missed the landing.”

  Jenkins chuckled. “All right. Good work, gentlemen. Stand by while I go shake this thing’s…claw?” He found what seemed like the appropriate word.

  The men laughed nervously as Jenkins opened the hatch and made his way back to the cabin.

  “Finjou delegate is in the airlock,” Chaps reported. “One minute to decontamination.”

  “Thank you, Chaps.” Jenkins clapped the other man on the shoulder.

  “It’s good to have you back, sir,” Chaps said as Jenkins resumed his position between Xi and Trapper.

  “It’s good to be back, Ch
aps,” Jenkins replied sincerely before turning to Captain Xi. The woman was days away from her twentieth birthday, but she had just orchestrated an engagement with a largely unknown enemy on hostile ground while preserving not just one, but two high-priority objectives.

  The cherry on top of her remarkable achievement was that her overwhelming victory had brought the Finjou down to negotiate face to face. A purely predatory species, the Finjou respected nothing so much as naked force and the leverage it generated. In the end, humans weren’t all that different from the Finjou, but Jenkins thought the token efforts at pre-violence diplomacy were meaningful differences between the two species’ dominant cultures.

  And Xi’s efforts had led the Finjou straight to a negotiating table.

  “You know you’ll make major for this,” he muttered.

  “Colonel?” she asked in confusion.

  “You’re about to become the poster-child for the Metal Legion’s upcoming recruiting drive,” Jenkins explained. “And I mean that literally. I was just in the back going over pin-up layouts with Styles. Don’t worry, it will all be digital art. You won’t have to pose or anything…unless you want to?” he added, taking the opportunity to rib her while he could.

  Xi’s face turned a perfect shade of red, but her honest, unguarded smile made clear she appreciated the sentiment. “Great.” She sighed, schooling her features as Roy’s airlock began its final cycle. “As if those three hundred unsolicited dildos I got in the mail after the DIN report weren’t bad enough. Now Styles is going to ‘shop my face onto everything with two legs and no clothes.”

  “You underestimate him,” Jenkins muttered as the airlock’s inner hatch opened. “He won’t stop at bipeds.”

  Xi half-stifled a snort as the hatch swung open, revealing a bizarre-looking creature that somehow looked nothing like Jenkins expected and yet was exactly as it should be.