by Richard Fox
+Sorry.+
“Oh, you’re ‘sorry.’ How about we dial back the corporeal possession and…you know what? Let’s just move on. Because I kind of want you on my side when we go up there and get into a shooting fight.”
+You think I agreed to have the consciousness torn out of my body and shoved into a box because I wanted to mess with whoever I’d be synched with?+
“Aignar, I can’t exactly empathize with you right now. I feel like I’m about to piss myself, but I don’t think I could tell if that happened in all this amniosis. You were Armor for a long time, right? Did you ever feel like this before a fight?”
Aignar appeared, standing on top of the right treads, wearing black fatigues with a skull patch on both shoulders. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with a widow’s peak hairline. He looked down at his hands, both slightly bent but motionless.
+You need the fear,+ Aignar said, though his mouth didn’t move. +You grow to depend on it because it tells you that you’re still alive. Still human enough to know that killing and dying are not how you’re supposed to live. When the fear fades, you need to worry. When anger replaces the fear, when that bit of warmth you get from the hate is all that’s left…you’ll end up in a bad way. I saw it happen.+
“This that Gideon you were talking about—or screaming—with Santos?”
Aignar gave him a sidelong look. +Gideon had a vendetta against the Ibarrans. One humiliation too many pushed him too far. He tried to kill Stacey Ibarra and paid for the attempt with his life. A stupid, wasteful way to go.+
“How did he die?”
+Roland killed him.+ Aignar tapped his hands together. +He was our lance commander, Santos and I. Cha’ril too. Things would have been different if we’d been there, but Gideon had to act alone, protect the Union from retaliation when a lone wolf like him chose to act. It happened on the Breitenfeld.+
“Huh…Hoffman mentioned something like that.”
A flash of tortured sky came over Ely’s vision. Strike Marines leaned over him.
“He doesn’t have any feet, sir!” one shouted.
Aignar shook his head and the vision vanished.
“Can you stop doing that?” Ely drifted to one side and his treads scraped against the tunnel.
+Memories…sorry. Ely, this is war. We can’t be a burden to our lance. Fear can sharpen you, but if you can’t get through it, the emotion will bury you.”
“I’m in an antique suit and I barely know how my weapons work.” Ely poked at Aignar, but his finger went right through the apparition.
+You fought a Geist breach on your own to save civilians. You beat a Commissar. You scored a clean hit with your rail gun on your first shot…I’ll take some credit, but you’re on the right track. Lars seems competent. Just stick with him and put rounds downrange.+
“I’m not feeling like some sort of warrior king, Aignar! Going up to the surface to fight those Rakka monster things was never on my ‘to-do’ list. I’m just a kid…not Armor.” Ely looked away, but Aignar stayed in his vision. Aignar held out a hand and the thumb snapped out. The thumb pressed against Ely’s forehead.
He was back in Phoenix, standing outside Armor Square before the Geist occupation. A circle of statues, each a separate suit of Armor, stood guard around a raised platform.
He felt something tug at his hand. A young boy with sandy-blond hair was there. Aignar squeezed the boy’s fingers, the ghost whole in this memory.
“Daddy, what happened to the big men?”
Wearing the same dark fatigues, the uniform of the Terran Union Rangers, Aignar knelt and put an arm around the boy. “They died to defeat the Xaros.” Aignar pointed to the nearest statue. The nameplate on the pedestal read simply: Elias. “They died to save us.”
The boy nodded slowly, then a series of emotions crossed his face. “But you won’t do that, right?”
“I’m a Ranger, my boy. We don’t do the same things as Armor.” Aignar smiled.
“Are the big metal soldiers braver than Rangers? More better?”
“Every soldier has a job to do.” Aignar ruffled his son’s hair. “Rangers and Armor do different—but equally important—things.”
“I want to be one of the metal soldiers.”
“That’s…that’s a lot to ask for. I’m leaving Earth tomorrow for Cygnus. We’ll talk more about that when I come back, OK?” He stood and tugged at the boy’s hand, who didn’t want to budge.
Tears welled up in his eyes. “Daddy…I don’t want you to die like them. Don’t go.”
Aignar lifted him up into a hug. Ely smelled the dust and scent from his hair.
“I will not die. Wait for me to come back…it won’t be my time so long as you’re waiting.”
“—Ely. Ely?” Lars’s voice jolted Ely out of the memory. The lance was stopped beneath a tunnel that ran straight up. Loose rocks and dust fell from the opening with each rumble of artillery strikes.
“Huh? What’s going on?” Ely looked around for Aignar, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Functions check. Santos is coordinating with whoever’s in charge up top,” Lars said.
“No one’s in charge.” Santos extended his gauss cannon arm and bullets rolled down the ammo line and locked into the barrels. “Officers keep getting killed.”
Lars reached over and tapped Ely’s gauss cannons.
Ely focused on the weapon and a menu appeared over them. He hit the top field and a round counter appeared over the breach. He looked at the rotary gun mounted on his shoulder and the barrels spun back and forth.
“Charge the rail gun?” he asked.
“No!” the other three said as one.
“Locked and loaded.” Lars punched his fists together.
“Ancestors watch over us,” Pulaski said and ran a finger down the row of teeth fastened to his breastplate.
Santos looked to Ely, who gave a thumbs-up
“All right, Steel Sworn, we’ve got our first challenge. Follow me.” Santos reached up and gripped the metal of the shaft wall, crushing it into a handhold. His treads folded back into housings as he pulled himself up.
Lars climbed up the opposite side and Ely followed him. Looking up the shaft, Ely did a double take. The top was a mess of collapsed girders and broken masonry.
“Wait, what happened?” Ely asked. He pulled himself up in Lars’s wake, using the same grips that the other Armor had bent out, though the arms on his suit were a bit shorter than Lars’s.
“We’re in a maintenance shaft for a water-treatment facility outside the walls.” Santos got to the top and poked at the debris. “The facility has seen better days.”
“How’re we supposed to get out of here?” Ely asked.
“We start digging.” Santos punched up and tore out a beam.
Chapter 17
Ely gripped the side of the shaft as Pulaski and Santos bashed away at the wreckage overhead. Lars had one hand on an elevator rail next to Ely, while his other held his MEWS formed into a short axe. Lars hummed a low tone to himself.
A slab of metal broke loose. It spun in the air and caught the bottom of Ely’s leg. He felt the impact and winced within his pod. It didn’t hurt, but if it had hit his flesh-and-bone leg, Ely would be in immediate need of a tourniquet…or he’d be dead.
“Oh ay oh…oh ay oh-oh-i-oh…” Lars continued, not minding the debris that bounced off his head and shoulders.
Ely tightened his hold on the shaft wall and risked a glance down. They were several dozen feet high, not much of a fall for him in Armor.
+Damn Swedish pagans,+ Aignar said.
“I’m not getting tired.” Ely concentrated on his arm within the pod, feeling the tension in his muscles. “But I’ve been climbing for several minutes…”
+You are Armor. At some point, you’re going to get this.+
“Ready, lillebror?” Lars asked. The shaft rumbled as something heavy passed overhead.
Ely switched them to a suit-to-suit link. “Not exactly. It’s just
the four of us, right? And we’re supposed to fight an army?”
“Relax. It’s a raid. Break shit. Kill Geist. Withdraw as soon as the enemy gets their act together. The harder and faster we hit them, the longer that’ll take. More broken shit. More dead Geist. Super easy. Oh ay oh…oh ay oh-oh-i-oh…”
“Is that all?” A shard of fear grew in his chest as Pulaski and Santos kept at their task, ripping away like a badger that had the scent of a rabbit deep in its warren. The fear grew, seizing up in his chest and freezing him in place. He looked down, and the urge to run away felt like a better and better idea.
Ely closed the channel to Lars and his hold on the rail lessened ever so slightly.
+Marshal Shaw sent us to attack the Geist where they’re massing beyond the city walls, you remember that?+
“I do. I still don’t understand—”
+The enemy is at the gates, Ely. They’re gathering strength to overwhelm our lines, and then what will happen? Slaughter, Ely. The Geist will slaughter everyone they find. Soldiers. Civilians. Doesn’t matter. Ibarrans don’t surrender and the Geist have stopped trying to take anyone alive. We’re going to hit them where they aren’t expecting it and buy time for the city. You get it now? There is nowhere to run. Our back is against the wall.+
“You explain this better than Lars.” Ely looked up the shaft and climbed higher.
+War wears you down to the bone, kid. Your lance has been in the thick of it for so long that everything is in bleak terms. It’s that simple, so far as they know.+
Santos punched through the debris and raw sunlight stabbed down the shaft. The captain slammed a hand onto the ground and hauled himself up. The snap of his weapons echoed off the walls around Ely.
Pulaski jumped across the shaft and sprang up through the hole.
“After them! They’ve already got a head start.” Lars hurled his axe at the breach and the blade buried in broken concrete. Lars pushed off the wall and caught the handle to break his fall. He pushed his arms out and pulled his suit into a high leap up and into the battle.
Ely chose to go from secure hand- and foothold to secure hand- and foothold. The seconds it took to follow his lance mates felt like an eternity. Energy bolts ripped through the air over the hole as the crack and snap of gauss weapons clattered above. A bolt struck the broken concrete as he reached out of the shaft.
Ely shrank back, feeling like a scolded puppy.
+I know. I am with you. Get in there and it’ll get easier.+
Ely scrambled out, his shoulders scraping against the remains of a burning road.
Aachen’s sky was a brilliant violet as new columns of black smoke formed low clouds to one side of the road. Thick-wheeled vehicles with metal ramps built into the front were parked in loose rows around him. Small turrets with crude-looking machine guns were unmanned, some already shot out by his lance.
Dead Rakka were strewn about, their bodies torn apart by gauss shells. Green blood splatter against the raw metal dripped toward the ground. Lumps of flesh and bone painted the vehicles’ armored sides.
Ely balked at the carnage. His Armor shook as Lars grabbed him by the back and hauled his smaller suit up. Lars pushed Ely behind him and opened fire with twin gauss cannons. The weapon juddered against his arm until it ran out of ammo, the barrels red-hot and smoking. A magazine popped out of Lars’s back and clattered to the ground.
“Have you not a weapon, lillebror?” Lars cocked his helm at Ely. A Geist troop transport exploded nearby, bathing them both in yellow light from the flames.
“What? What am I supposed to—”
“Keep up with me!” Lars cocked his cannon arm back and punched it forward. Rounds rolled down the ammo belt and bullets locked into the breaches. “Goddamn Stinker didn’t fix my autoloaders.”
Targeting data flashed over Ely’s HUD. Diamonds with pulsing red priority indicators pulsed not far from where he was. Grainy pictures of a massive land hauler with big cubes trailing thick wires sprang out from the indicator. Another diamond blinked farther away, this one with a cluster of smaller vehicles.
Pulaski’s and Santos’ icons closed on the farther target.
“Glory hounds.” Lars slapped Ely on the shoulder and ran into the smoke and flames.
“Wait. Wait for me!” Ely skirted the fire, feeling the barest warmth against his skin, though it was hot enough to boil the paint off nearby vehicles.
A heavy machine gun opened fire. White-hot tracers flashed by Ely’s helm, and he ducked into a crouch. His shoulder slammed into the side of a troop transport, rocking it along its axle.
+Up. Stand up just enough to look over the top.+
“So I can get shot in the face?”
+Do it!+
Ely jerked up, not sure if Aignar had compelled him to move or if he’d done it out of reflex. His rotary cannon snapped over his shoulder and loosed a quick burst. The enemy machine gun in the distance fired again, but none of the bullets were aimed at him.
Through a small window, Ely saw a dead Rakka slumped against a cupola weapon, the barrel angled to the sky, the bullets wasted.
+Get to your lance mate!+
Ely slunk around the front of the vehicle and saw Lars a dozen yards away.
Rakka in deep-blue fatigues and armed with wrenches and welding torches swarmed the Armor. Lars kicked out, punting one into the air. He swiped a hand down and bashed an alien into the side of a parked troop transport, splattering it open like a dropped egg. Lars grabbed one by the knees and used it as a club, whacking one Rakka against the others.
Ely aimed his gauss cannons at one enemy about to strike the back of Lars’s legs with a welder. Lars bent his knee and brought up his foot, the heel catching the alien in the chin, snapping its head back and breaking its neck. The alien flopped to the ground and twitched like a fish at the bottom of a boat.
Ely swung his aim to the top of a nearby transport. A Rakka leapt off the top, jumping toward Lars’s back.
Lars caught the Rakka blind, his hand engulfing the alien’s head and shoulder. Lars held the struggling thing and looked back at Ely, the rest of the Rakka dead at his feet.
“Thanks for the feed.” Lars touched an antenna on one side of his helmet and Ely noticed the suit-to-suit connection. “And thanks for not shooting me.”
Lars crushed the Rakka’s skull and tossed the corpse aside. Blood oozed from his fist.
Ely tried to say something—anything—but the casual carnage was almost too much.
“Now, where was that power station?” Lars said and stepped into a gap between rows of vehicles.
A nearby transport accelerated out of its spot and sped straight for Lars, who turned his head just in time to see the transport as it crashed into his legs. Lars’s suit went spinning over the transport. He hit the rear and then splayed out across the ground.
“Lars!” Ely ran to the fallen suit, the bottom of one leg bent unnaturally at the knee servo.
The Rakka transport hit the brakes on one side and skidded around to face the pair of Armor. A hatch popped open and a Gatling gun rose up.
Ely bent his left arm across his body and a shield unfolded from his forearm. The metal segments snapped together as the Rakka weapon opened up. Bullets hit so hard and so fast that it felt like a fire hose against his shield.
Ely bent behind the shield and glanced back at Lars. Rounds chewed at the dirt near his helm, but Ely had him protected.
+Shoot. Shoot!+
“I can’t see!”
+It’s a big target and it’s probably coming right for us!+
Ely cocked the barrels of his gauss cannons around the edge of his shield and fired. The pressure against his shield shifted to one side and the assault ended. Ely peeked over the edge as his gauss cannons snapped. His rounds had shattered a wheel and chewed up the front armor plating. The transport chugged to a halt, smoke rising from the back.
The ammo counter on his HUD blinked amber. Ely looked down at the gauss cannon and tried to activate
the reload protocols, but his suit didn’t respond.
+What are you doing? You don’t know if—+
There was a clang of metal and Ely looked to the transport. The front assault ramp had fallen open. A Rakka body was thrown from the vehicle, and more of the aliens boiled out, their eyes bright with hatred, their mouths open.
Ely twisted his body to bring his cannon arm in line with the open transport and fired.
The first bullet punched through two Rakka, knocking them back and blocking the exit. The second bullet exploded an alien’s head and hit the inside of the troop compartment. The bullet ricocheted off the wall and rattled down the vehicle.
There was silence for a split second, then the transport burst into flames. Ely ducked behind his shield as fire washed around the edges and licked at his feet.
He lowered his shield. The transport was a blackened husk, flames dancing across the top. A pitiful wail rose from the troop compartment, and a Rakka came crawling out, its flesh scorched, hair flash-burnt away. It fell into the dirt, clawing farther and farther from the charnel house behind it.
+Let him suffer. You know what they do when they capture us?+
Ely stood up, thankful that his suit couldn’t relay scent to him. An empty magazine fell out of a compartment on his back as his autoloader racked new rounds into his ammo lines. He took two steps to the dying Rakka, then killed it with a quick stomp.
“Need your help,” Lars said.
Ely twisted around. Lars was on one knee, his broken leg bent in front of him.
“Come here.” Lars pointed to the ground next to his foot. “Just brace against the servo and don’t move for a second.” Lars slapped a palm hard against his knee joint and it popped back into place. “Just like new.” Lars lurched up, his knee clicking as he bent and straightened it.
“You’re OK?” Ely asked.
“I am Armor.” Lars ran off with a heavy limp, which subsided with each new step.
Ely caught up as they passed cargo containers. Rakka popped out between the rows and took potshots with long rifles, the bullets barely scratching the paint on their suits.
