Deathangel

by Kevin Ikenberry

  A Human male’s voice came over the frequency. That Hogshead had left the speaker on so she could hear was considerate but disconcerting. She wanted to be there with them, and that want was enough to keep her clinging to consciousness.

  “Hawg Six, head for the water plant. There’s open area to the north that should be wide enough for extraction on the move.”

  Vannix looked at the CASPer’s faceless cockpit. She said, “No! That’s where the Cochkala are headed.”

  Hogshead couldn’t hear her over the exterior sounds. “Copy, One Three. Headed that direction.”

  Vannix raised a hand and waved it in front of the cockpit. “No! Stop!”

  “Hang on, Peacemaker. We’ll be there in twenty seconds. Uppa we go!” He leapt again, jostling Vannix. The pain took her breath away. Vannix saw the water plant appear as they descended. In the distance, the bounding CASPers continued to chase the lander, and a dropship flew toward them at an impossibly low altitude.

  All this for me.

  For the first time she could remember, emotion welled up, and a sob threatened to escape her throat. Eyes glistening with tears, Vannix wrapped her arms around her chest, then absently reached down with her left paw to the holster on her hip. Her sidearm was still there, loaded and ready.

  The feel of it was enough to steel her resolve. She would have time for tears later, gods willing. If not, she would be in death’s pleasant meadow, surrounded by her friends. She could imagine no greater feeling of love. Movement caught her eye, and Vannix tensed.

  Across the plant, beyond the four empty, rectangular basins used to catch and filter water for consumption, Vannix saw four large pipes leading out of the raised berm at the spaceport’s eastern end. The pipes were spaced about a meter apart with lush green grass between them. Out of the far-left pipe, six Cochkala infantry emerged. Another six followed. Vannix rolled her head toward the CASPer’s cockpit and pointed.

  “Got ‘em,” Hogshead replied. She heard him on the radio. “All stations, this is Hawg Six. I’ve got Cochkala infantry in the tunnels at the water plant.”

  The Cochkala sighted them as they descended toward the outer fence line of the plant, and small arms fire arced up at them. Rounds whizzed past Vannix’s head, and a few ricocheted off the CASPer’s frame. Hogshead braced for impact and moved quickly once the CASPer’s feet touched down on a spot of ground lower than the surrounding terrain. He knelt and set Vannix gingerly on the turf.

  “Stay low, Peacemaker.” Hogshead stood up, and the volume of fire from the pipes increased tenfold. He stepped over her and brought up both of the Mk 7’s hand cannons. Vannix looked to her right and saw the dropship approaching, its nose pitched down low, and its engine wash creating a cloud of dust and debris that curled up behind it like an angel’s wings.

  She heard Hogshead calling the dropship on the radio. “Mako One Three, Hawg Six. In position. The LZ is hot.”

  She couldn’t make out the muted response from the dropship’s pilot, but it sounded suspiciously like, “No shit.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Aboard Mako 13

  Victoria Bravo

  Carter swung the dropship from side to side, presenting the enemy forces with a moving target that was, in theory, harder to hit than one flying straight and true. The controls felt light in his hands. His connection with his aircraft was strong enough to allay the pain in his limbs and the fatigue trying to settle into his body and mind. At one with the controls, Carter kept his focus on the hovering enemy lander and the forces spilling from the tunnels at the water plant. The lander had the advantages of a higher position and a tactically superior angle. They could hit Mako 13s fuselage from the side and above rather than the armored underside. Carter knew his only advantage was speed. Maneuverability at low altitude didn’t matter. He needed to carry as much speed as possible into the extraction and get in and out of the landing zone as quickly as possible.

  “Eyes on the target. Left thirty degrees,” Mata called. Carter glanced to the left and immediately saw the Mk 7 CASPer protecting the Peacemaker’s position.

  “Got it,” Carter said and mashed the radio transmit button under his left thumb. “Hawg Six, Mako One Three, moving to intercept.”

  “Taking heavy fire,” Hogshead replied. The transmission was static-filled and sporadic. Carter knew they’d both taken fire to their communications platforms. Nothing about the extraction was going to be easy.

  That’s why they pay us the big bucks. Carter snorted. Let’s do this.

  “Copy, Hawg Six,” Carter said. “We’re taking fire from the lander at your three o’clock.”

  “I see that fucker.” Hogshead replied. Carter watched the CASPer turn. A flurry of MAC rounds pulsed from the CASPer’s shoulder mounted weapon. “He’s starting to descend.”

  The closer the lander got to the ground, the closer he was to retrieving the infantry forces pinned down by Hogshead and to bringing his weapons to bear on the lone CASPer. Without so much as a sidearm aboard Mako 13, there was nothing Carter could do to provide firepower.

  He shook off the thought. “Doc? Twenty seconds. Standby to open the door.”

  “On it,” the young medic replied. Carter realized he didn’t know the kid’s name. He slowed the dropship, brought up the nose, and started to pivot when Mata yelped into the intercom.

  “Friendlies! Friendlies incoming from our eight o’clock.”

  There was a quick burst of static. “One Three, this is Lightning Six inbound. Over.”

  Carter looked and saw three older tanks speeding toward the spaceport’s fence line. A battle-damaged Mk 6 CASPer bounded along behind them. He recognized the vehicles instantly.

  Who brought out the hangar queens? Can they fight?

  “Lightning Six, take some heat off us,” Carter called. “We’re going in.”

  “Breaching the field now, Mako One Three. Here we come!”

  * * *

  Drew Morris drove the tank into the perimeter fence and broke through the three-meter-tall barricade. Meant to stop native fauna from running into the spaceport and disrupting operations, the fence was no match for an eighty-ton vehicle moving at fifty kilometers per hour. As they passed through the fence, the ground sloped steeply down toward the waste water plant. The gun tube rested at a thirty-degree angle to the right and was centered on the enemy in the exhaust pipes. Within a heartbeat, Morris heard the distinct high-pitched sounds of small arms fire hitting the tank’s armor.

  “Contact, front right!” he called.

  Herrera responded instantly. “Identified!”

  “Fire!”

  “On the way!” Herrera squeezed the trigger, and the tank rocked with the powerful thump of the electromagnetic rail gun. The sabot round impacted the slope near the pipes but did little damage.

  “Shit!” Morris slapped Herrera’s helmet from behind. “Hit them again!”

  “Loading,” Herrera said. The standard response time for the autoloader, according to the maintenance documentation, was three seconds. Morris looked at the machine gun controls for a split second. They didn’t appear to have a whole lot of rounds available. He looked outside again and froze. The Cochkala clustered in a small group as they erected a tripod. Atop the tripod was a missile launcher.

  “Evasive action!” Morris called. “Going right!”

  He didn’t look behind them as Reece snapped the tank into a forty-five degree turn to the right and continued charging across the face of the embankment at high speed. The Cochkala fired a missile. He watched it track through the space behind him. Morris spun in his seat and saw the missile impact Lightning 8 at the junction between the hull and the turret. The explosion tore the turret loose and flung it into the sky.

  Dewberry. Morris blinked back sudden tears. One of his friends from basic training and two of the greenest kids in the Victoria Forces were dead.

  Because of me.

  This was a stupid idea, Drew.

 
The radio crackled. “Lightning Six, Lightning Seven, turning in.”

  Morris looked back at the other tank which was charging into the teeth of the Cochkala attack. What are you doing, Rachel?

  No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, then Morris understood. The Cochkala might have an anti-armor missile system, but it was large and cumbersome, and took time to load. By the time they reloaded the weapon, Rachel Edwards and her crew would be on top of them.

  Morris saw Mako 13 making its final approach to the downed Peacemaker. “Reece, catch up to the others. Give it everything you can.”

  “On it!”

  “Manny, keep firing. Keep their heads down long enough for Mako Thirteen to get clear.”

  “Steel on target, boss.”

  Morris looked at Corporal Kim. Her eyes were wide and scared. “Kim? Get me Deathangel Two Five on private.”

  The young man didn’t move.

  “Kim!” The kid blinked which Morris thought was a good sign. “Get me Deathangel Two Five on a private circuit.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Morris wanted to say he wasn’t a sir. He’d never thought about becoming an officer. He was perfectly happy to be a—

  The Cochkala fired another missile. For a second, he thought it might be headed for his tank. Then he realized it was aimed at Mako 13.

  * * *

  Hogshead backed up slowly, using his rear cameras to ensure he didn’t inadvertently step on the injured Peacemaker. A Cochkala missile tore into the front armor of one of the tanks and its turret flew off. The tank ground to a halt on the embankment, its right side facing the Cochkala position. The second tank continued forward, firing. There was little incoming fire at his position, and there wasn’t going to be a better time.

  “Now, Mako One Three!” He spun, picked up Vannix as gingerly as he could, and walked forward. The dropship’s rear door was open, and Hogshead saw one of the young medics crouching behind a personnel shield built into the vehicle’s frame. He raised Vannix up high on the CASPer’s chest and jumped two quick steps forward as the dropship hovered.

  “Stay behind me,” he called over the speakers to the medic. The kid with glasses flashed him a thumbs-up in response. As Hogshead approached the deck, the medic ran out to meet him. There was nothing he could do as the kid pulled the Peacemaker to his chest, extricating her from his arms. Hogshead watched the kid carry Vannix into the rear bay. Once they were clear of the hatchway, he pressed his radio button.

  “Mako One Three, angel is aboard. Secure your rear door!”

  The dropship’s door slammed shut. He could feel the vibration of its engines as it accelerated away. Hogshead turned around and saw smoke pouring from the barely moving Lightning tank. Beyond it, the Cochkala fired another missile.

  There was no mistaking its path. Hogshead estimated the trajectory as best he could and took two steps before leaping into the missile’s path. Using his jumpjets to hover for a fraction of a second, he brought up his hand cannons and targeted the supersonic white flash screaming toward him.

  Within seconds, both weapons displayed barrel temperature warnings. He kept firing, laying down a wall of ammunition across the oncoming missile’s path, with the silly hope he could take it out before the inevitable. It wasn’t going to work.

  Low ammunition warnings sounded. Hogshead kept firing.

  Ain’t gonna matter anyway.

  Eyes on the missile, Hogshead stopped firing and vented his MAC’s heat sink with the touch of a button. The missile jerked as it locked onto the hottest thing in the sky, other than Victoria’s sun. Hogshead grinned and screamed, “Stand Victoria, assholes!”

  A half second later, the missile impacted the cockpit section of the Mk 7 CASPer and tore it—and its pilot—into microscopic debris that rained down on the rear deck of the dropship and the waste water treatment plant.

  * * *

  Deathangel 25

  Victoria Bravo

  Tara clenched her jaw as she watched Hogshead’s sacrifice. Mako One Three, with Vannix aboard, raced away from the battle. The enemy fired sporadically at it. She and Rains were two hundred meters away from the stalled vehicle of Lightning Six.

  “Deathangel Two Five, Lightning Nine.”

  Tara saw the icon appear on her display. An old Mk 6 CASPer that had clearly seen better days was preparing to charge the enemy lander from a brilliant position.

  “Lightning Nine, I’ve got visual on you. Stay there,” Tara responded. She switched frequencies. “Jackson, you okay over there?”

  “Yeah,” he replied. She heard him cough immediately after responding and frowned.

  “Lucille? Tap Rains’ vitals.”

  <>

  “Can you cool him down?”

  <>

  No shit.

  “Deathangel Two Five, I have a clear lane,” Lightning Nine called. She sounded young. Really young.

  “Stay there until I tell you to move, is that clear?”

  The pilot replied with two microphone clicks. Tara decided that was good enough. The young pilot was pissed off, full of fight, and didn’t want to say anything else. She was exactly the kind of person Tara had been years before.

  “Tara?” Rains asked. His voice was little more than a whisper. “I can’t make it. I’m sick.”

  Another voice cut in. “Deathangel Two Five, Lightning Six. We’re evacuating now. The Cochkala have entered another tunnel. I think they’re going to surface under the lander.”

  “Copy, Lightning Six. Get your people together and get back to the hangar,” Tara replied. “Strong work today.”

  “Copy Deathangel Two Five. Lightning Six, off the net.”

  Tara wanted to smile. She wanted to give them a compliment for being much better than a group of mechanics should have. They’d harassed the Cochkala long enough to get Vannix off the field. She glanced at her icons and saw that Mako One Three had almost reached the hangar. She also saw indications that the Cochkala ship the enemy had used as a beachhead was preparing to launch. There was nothing she could do about it.

  The enemy lander wasn’t hovering. It was continuing down the slope toward the pipes, firing at the wounded tanks. Enraged, she ran forward. “You bastards!”

  “Tara...”

  <>

  She knew he hadn’t taken fire. He was simply too ill to move. “Is he stable and behind cover?”

  <>

  That was good enough. Tara kept running forward as the lander dropped to the level of the waste water treatment plant. They were going to scoop up the Cochkala and return them to their ship as it launched.

  “Lucille, is the mothership’s cargo hold open?”

  <>

  “Thought so,” Tara said. “Standby to override my jumpjets. I want as much thrust as they’re rated for plus ten percent.”

  <>

  Tara pressed forward, running faster than she ever had in the Mk 8. As the enemy lander started to rise, she saw Lucille’s jumpjet indicator flash rapidly in green. “Max jump!”

  She leapt into the air with more thrust than she’d ever used. As quickly as the acceleration came, it was gone, and the CASPer arced silently through the air toward a landing point atop the enemy lander’s fuselage. There, the lander’s weapons pylons would be useless for self-defense. She would have the tactical advantage and could damage or destroy them before they reached the mothership.

  I’m not letting you bastards have whatever you want so badly!

  Tara watched the ship turn toward the east and begin to climb. Her landing point shifted quickly toward the rear of the lander. Four seconds. Three seconds. Two seconds.

  As she fell rapidly toward the lander, Tara holstered her cannons and reached up w
ith the mighty hands of the mecha. Catching the starboard main engine, she quickly levered the mecha up onto the rear deck. She stood slowly. The lander picked up speed. The Cochkala mother ship was already airborne and heading over the eastern escarpment at high speed. Bracing against the rising wind, Tara studied the top of the vehicle. Like most tactical craft, it was armored more on the bottom, sides, and front than it was on the top. The top was a soft target. She quickly found the communications antenna complex and tore it away with a couple of MAC rounds.

  “Lucille, deploy ECM package.”

  <> Lucille replied. <>

  It’s not destroy what I can. It’s bring them down.

  Tara walked toward the main engines. “Analyze the target, Lucille. Full penetration of the fuel cells.”

  A targeting reticle appeared three meters away. Tara braced against the wind and moved closer, aiming the MAC at the indicated spot. “Got it.”

  Tara took aim as her instrumentation failed. There was a burst of static in her ears. The optical systems continued to operate, but her communications, radar, and countermeasures systems were gone. “Lucille?”

  There was no response.

  Aside from the cameras, the only thing operating on the CASPer’s instrument panel was a radiation meter. She saw the indicator move upward.

  They’re jamming me. As long as she kept the cockpit closed, the CASPer’s armor would protect her from harm. The power of the interference, though, was enough to completely short out her fire control system. Tara adjusted the placement of her hand in the CASPer’s right arm and fingered the manual firing switch. In a traditional tank, a secondary firing system often generated some type of electrical charge to ignite the round and propel it out of the chamber. For a rail gun, even a small one like a MAC, there had to be a power source for the thing to work. The suit had power, but there was too much interference. Tara looked at the engines and stomped toward one. As she unholstered her hand cannons, she picked a spot near one of the bell-shaped nozzles that indicated a reaction control system. If the vehicle had RCS, it was capable of orbital operations. The engineering side of her brain took over. Reaction control systems typically used smaller quantities of hypergolic fuels—two separate fuels that reacted when introduced to each other. Tara aimed her cannons at the nozzle and let loose a long, sustained burst.