The exium prototype wasn’t constrained by the limitations of heart and lungs and, controlled by RL Moseley, it flashed silently ahead of the pack and raced directly for the left-hand Gundik. Vance didn’t know how long the interface and kickstart would require, but he didn’t slow down even though his body demanded a rest.
“Somebody left the doors open,” said Gantry, indicating the lowered forward and rear access ramps on the Gundik.
“Remotely activated,” said Vance, finally slowing.
He cast his gaze across the Gundik’s hull – at 120 metres in length, sixty wide and fifty high, it was the heaviest, best-armoured land vehicle in the alliance and was a collaborative effort between humans and the Daklan.
Angled plates of armour gave the vehicle a polygonal shape that was vaguely rectangular, but with plenty of projectile-deflecting faces. Multiple chain guns protruded from low-profile turrets, and the Gundik was also equipped with offensive and defensive missiles. Capping it off were twin main armaments, each barrel being eighty metres in length and capable of independent fire.
A Gundik was designed to punch through anything on the ground and return to base needing little more than a reload and a new paint job at the end of two weeks in a combat zone. Naturally, given the pre-eminence of lightspeed capable warships, there wasn’t much need for vehicles like the Gundik, but the military liked to keep its options open. And here in the research facility compound, Vance was exceptionally glad they did so.
“Squads A and B inside!” he shouted, dashing for the forward ramp. He could have waited outside for the engines to start, but he gave RL Moseley the benefit of the doubt. “Sergeant Tagra, Corporal Charnos, you’re up front with me. Squad C, wait outside with the prototype and listen for my orders. Once we get moving, hold tight - it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
“Sir, we’re instructed to remain here and let you go on ahead,” said an unfamiliar soldier, standing twenty metres from Vance’s platoon.
Vance belatedly remembered the soldiers who’d followed him for much of the way here. He’d hardly turned back to look and here they were, still with him.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said, catching sight of the woman’s insignia. “Thank you for the escort.”
“No problem.”
Vance got back to business. Whoever had activated the forward ramp had done him a favour, since that was the fastest way to the cockpit. Meanwhile, the rear entrance gave access to the tank’s compact cargo bay, which was the only place into which the exium prototype would fit.
When Vance was halfway up the steep steps to the forward entrance, Fleet Admiral Recker opened a new channel. “RL Moseley has made the interface and he’s promised to get the tank running. Head to the cockpit and keep your fingers crossed he’s successful.”
“I almost hate to say it, sir, but RL Moseley is one of the few people I’d trust to make it work.”
“Me too,” said Recker. “Some of us can fly, some of us can shoot, and some of us can look at a bunch of numbers and use them to create weapons capable of destroying worlds.”
“And then hand those weapons over to the ones who can fly and shoot,” said Vance without rancour.
He stooped into the low forward entrance tunnel and the first thing he noticed was the significant and merciful reduction in the sound volume from the Lost Boy’s propulsion. The tank’s interior was illuminated in the pale red of its emergency lighting and the passage continued through fifteen metres of armour to the inner door, which was also open.
Vance’s muscles were tired and they complained at the low stance he adopted to make it to the far end of the tunnel. On the plus side, his heart rate was falling and his breathing was no longer quite so laboured.
Emerging into one of the tank’s passenger bays, Vance was struck anew by how little space there was. Five rows of four bucket seats faced forward, with just about enough room for a Daklan in a full loadout. Nobody ever accused a tank of being comfortable, though few complained about the protection of its armour.
To Vance’s right, another passage led up steep steps to the cockpit. The stairwell was strictly single-file and he turned his shoulders to fit.
“Take your seats, folks,” he said on the comms, before any wiseass could ask where the ballroom was located.
The Gundik’s cockpit wasn’t any more generous than the passenger bay, being a small, trapezoidal room that tapered towards the front. The ceiling sloped downwards too, ensuring that a fully-grown Daklan wouldn’t have any more than six inches of spare headroom.
Sourly, Vance wondered if the weapons designers were playing some kind of game where they purposely tried to make their vehicles as shit as possible for any passengers. There was no way that allowing a half-metre of internal space here and there would impact the tank’s battlefield performance. Or they could have just built the damned hull two metres wider.
By the time Vance’s irritation had played out in his head, he’d scrambled into the centre of the three seats. A wraparound console was covered in screens, all of them offline. Experimentally, Vance poked one of the many buttons on the top panel. Nothing happened.
“Without engines, we’re going nowhere,” said Sergeant Tagra, squeezing into the weapons control seat to Vance’s left.
Corporal Charnos was last and it was touch-and-go as to whether he would fit without the application of external force.
“Come on,” muttered Vance, waiting expectantly for a comms channel to form. It didn’t happen, so he got on to Sergeant Gantry. “Any sign things are about to start up?” he asked.
“No, sir. The prototype is just floating near the tank’s ass.”
“The tank’s ass, huh?” asked Vance.
“It’s the technical term, sir.”
Without warning, the lights in the cockpit turned from red to cold blue and the Gundik’s propulsion gave a shuddering heave. For three or four seconds, the engines grumbled worse than Private Drawl on guard duty and then they steadied.
Better than steady, thought Vance.
The last time he’d been on a Gundik, it had possessed a smoothness, like its propulsion was so capable it required hardly any effort to lift the vehicle off the ground. Here, the engines were loaded with metallic anger, as if they could fly the tank into orbit and then hurl it into lightspeed.
As soon as the propulsion settled, every screen on the console lit up and lines of text indicated the onboard processing unit was going through a series of power-on tests. A file appeared in Vance’s suit computer. He opened it and new data was saved to his map files, which generated an orange route line directly through the facility building to the airlifts.
“Sensors coming up,” said Corporal Charnos.
“Weapons online,” said Sergeant Tagra.
“Feeling good, Sergeant?” asked Vance, detecting an eagerness in the Daklan’s voice.
“Not good. Ready.”
Same difference when it comes to the Daklan.
“Sir, the Lost Boy’s railers started firing again, sir,” said Gantry. “And it’s launching hellburners at something I can’t see from here.”
“What’s the exium prototype doing?”
“It’s just started again moving, sir - it’s heading up the loading ramp.”
“Get inside with it,” said Vance. No sooner had he cut the channel to Gantry, than a new one opened. It was Captain Montero.
“The situation out here may be about to change, Lieutenant,” she said. “My engine officer is picking up some readings from that Gundik’s hull, which makes him think you’re online.”
“We’re about ready to move, Captain. Will you be leaving us soon?”
“I don’t know. The Kostralias is going to blow open the facility wall. Whatever happens, I’ll cover you until you get inside.”
“Good to know you’re watching out for us.” Vance seized the twin sticks that operated the Gundik.
“We’ll catch up later,” said Montero.
“It’ll be a pleasure,
” said Vance.
The comms channel went dead and he gave the control panel his full attention. A green light appeared on the rear bay door to indicate it was closed and then the sensor feeds came up on the screens. Immediately, Corporal Charnos began altering their focus and direction, to allow Vance the best possible view of what lay outside.
“Friendly missiles incoming,” said Tagra, his green eyes watching the tactical screen.
A moment later, the facing wall of the research facility was torn apart by multiple hellburner detonations. In true Daklan style, the captain of the Kostralias didn’t hold back and erred on the side of excess force. When the blasts faded, Vance stared into a 200-metre opening in the structure wall. Inside, he saw shapes and forms which had been bent and broken by the explosions.
It was time. Hesitating no longer, Vance gave the Gundik three-quarters power and threw the joysticks forward. With engines howling and accelerating far more rapidly than was normal, the tank sped across the compound towards the opening.
Chapter Seventeen
The surge of acceleration brought a tight smile to Vance’s lips. “We’re about to enter the facility,” he said on the internal comms. “I’d suggest, you all sit back, catch your breaths and enjoy the ride.”
The tank was travelling fast when it plunged into the heat-rimmed opening and it entered an open area which had likely once been filled with bespoke equipment of incalculable value, now reduced to irrecoverable scrap. Vance guided the tank directly through the middle of the room, the vehicle’s two-metre hover height allowing it to pass above much of the wreckage. The larger pieces of equipment were simply batted aside like they weighed nothing.
“First wall coming up,” said Vance. The wall looked solid, but there again, at an average thirty tons per metre cubed of volume, the Gundik came up at a cool seven million tons on the scales.
The tank’s front section was angled and with a slight point. It struck the wall head-on and Vance braced himself for a sensation of impact. Instead, the vehicle punched clean through the barrier without slowing even a fraction.
Almost at once, it struck a second wall and then a third. These two impacts produced a faint shaking in the Gundik’s hull and the velocity gauge dropped by a couple of kilometres per hour. Picked up by the hull sensors, the sound of it happening was a terrible squealing and shrieking that set Vance’s teeth on edge.
“Impacts registered on our main armaments,” said Sergeant Tagra. “I expect we will lose both guns before we arrive.”
“Tank repairs are cheaper than losing this entire base, Sergeant,” said Vance, altering course to follow the orange route line.
The tank tore through a fourth wall like it was paper, and entered another room, this time with a ceiling that was lower than the vehicle’s maximum height. Consequently, Vance was treated to the sensor sight of the Gundik ploughing straight through several dozen computer cabinets on the ground floor, while one of the upper sensor feeds was of a wave of buckling alloy, with consoles and other pieces of equipment being knocked in all directions.
The added resistance made itself known on Vance’s console and the velocity gauge fell from its maximum. Requesting yet more power from the engines, he was surprised to see the output gauge climb past one hundred percent and for the electronic needle to reach the end of its available travel. Howling at a noticeably increased volume, the Gundik surged and the velocity gauge climbed steadily.
“So this is what it feels like to pilot an overstressed tank,” said Vance in wonder.
“Support pillars ahead,” said Charnos.
Those vertical pillars were immense, positioned in the corner of the upper room and hidden by walls in the lower level. Vance didn’t want to test if they or the Gundik were the stronger and he turned sharply to avoid them.
Tearing through another series of closely spaced walls, the tank began picking up speed rather than slowing down, and the boy Vance had long ago been urged him to find out exactly how fast the Gundik would go before its thrust and mass were matched by the walls of the facility.
“This is excellent,” said Sergeant Tagra, the tone of his voice suggesting he was talking about something entirely mundane. “I should not enjoy the destruction, yet I do.”
Onward went the tank, entering a huge hangarlike space within the facility. The orange line went directly across the middle, straight through what looked suspiciously like one of the ingar-ternium reactors which had detonated on Tibulon. Visible beyond that was a solid-looking cube of hardened metal with a heat-scarred surface that suggested it was used for testing new energy weapons. The cube was at least as big as the tank and with a greater mass.
“I don’t think we need to run into either of those,” said Vance diverging from the route line enough so the tank would avoid the reactor and the cube.
“Our sensors have detected movement,” said Tagra. “Here, on the feed.”
Incredibly, some of the facility personnel had ignored the local evacuation order and a cluster of humans and Daklan stared dumbly at the tank from about a hundred metres west, as if they’d been expecting an evening visit from the snack replicator bot, but instead found a seven-million-ton tank smashing its way through their invaluable equipment and research stations.
“Our chain guns have acquired a stupidity lock on the technicians,” said Tagra, grinning behind his visor. “It is tempting to give them a few hundred warning shots.”
“Perhaps if we stopped to ask directions it would double their confusion,” said Charnos with equal glee.
Vance appreciated the suggestions, but decided against both. He gave the reactor a wide berth, in case any debris thrown up by the Gundik struck its housing and produced an unwanted outcome. The energy weapon test block wasn’t so delicate and he skimmed past before aiming the tank into the exit wall.
The vehicle smashed through this wall as easily as it had all the others, but this time an amber warning light appeared on one of the main armaments. The gun barrels were tough, but they were exposed and weren’t intended to be used as battering rams. It wasn’t likely to matter and Vance ignored the light. Having seen the technicians in the previous test area, he was more concerned about inflicting accidental fatalities on his own side. Corporal Charnos was busy trying to find a way to tap into the facility internal comms, but any warning he issued was likely to come too late for anyone who’d chosen to ignore the initial evacuation order.
“Three thousand metres to target,” said Vance. “Halfway there.”
Captain Montero linked directly to his suit comms. “The shit is flying out here, Lieutenant. The Lost Boy is still over your heads, but a few enemy troops have landed at the entrance.”
“They won’t catch us,” said Vance. He glanced at the instrumentation. “Not unless they’ve suddenly figured out how to run at sixty klicks per hour.”
“Understood,” said Montero. “Stay safe, Lieutenant.”
“You too.”
The Gundik continued along its destructive path and, far from slowing when it crunched through a series of walls which divided offices and corridors, the tank’s velocity gauge kept on climbing. The instrumentation was programmed to show outputs and readings within the vehicle’s design limits and couldn’t cope now the Gundik was operating outside those bounds. Consequently, most of the needles were stuck on a hundred percent, though Vance was certain the true readings were far higher.
“Whatever the exium prototype did to kickstart this vehicle’s engines, it is continuing,” said Sergeant Tagra. “We may not appreciate where it finishes, though we should enjoy the journey.”
“I’m not convinced about the enjoyment part, Sergeant,” said Vance.
The Gundik burst out of the offices and corridors, entering another of the huge internal test areas - this one about fifteen hundred metres square. Once more, equipment in every shape and size was placed in a disorganized fashion, filling much of the available floorspace.
By now, Vance was becoming inured to the des
truction and he made no effort to guess at which pieces of kit were more valuable than the others. Instead, he held the tank straight and it ploughed on through, causing untold damage and probably setting back the affected projects by many months.
Some outcomes were more important than others, and getting the exium prototype to the Firestorm was as important as it came. By the time the tank ruptured the far wall, it was travelling at ninety kilometres per hour and Vance was certain it had plenty more to give, since he’d been steadily bringing the control sticks back in order to keep its velocity to a level he was comfortable with.
“Captain Flint, we’ll reach our destination in about sixty seconds,” said Vance on the comms.
“We’re ready to go,” Flint confirmed. “As soon as you give the word.”
Vance closed out of the channel and focused on the road he was making. A glance at the HUD map told him the destination wasn’t one of the personnel lifts – rather, the route Fleet Admiral Recker had provided was for the cargo lift. Having never visited the subterranean bay, Vance suddenly realised that if he’d used the personnel lift, there’d likely have been another extended run at the bottom before his platoon arrived at the Firestorm.
Several seconds later, and having caused a few billion additional feds’ worth of damage, the Gundik came near the end of the orange line and Vance slowed it to forty kilometres per hour, intending to puncture the final two walls and then bring it to a halt while he got his bearings on the cargo lift.
Vance’s plan didn’t work out.
“Incoming,” said Captain Montero on the comms. This time, the pressure of combat was evident in her voice.
“What’ve we got?” asked Vance. He didn’t know what was coming or from where, but he threw the tank off course anyway. A moment later, the Gundik’s external feeds erupted in stark white that made Vance narrow his eyes instinctively.
“Enemy missile,” said Tagra. “This tank is not designed to withstand a direct hit from a large-payload warhead.”
“No shit,” said Vance, increasing the Gundik’s speed once again.
Dark of the Void (Forged Alliance Book 1) Page 18
