Heart of Granite

by James Barclay

  Chapter 12

  I saw a behemoth in the growing tank once. Well, it was more of a growing warehouse, a really big one. It was fully submerged and fed by a single tube into its stomach. It was weird because it was only about twenty metres long and the tank was over a kilometre long so it would fit when it was fully grown. That was going to take a year, apparently. How boring is that?

  Maximus Halloran, age 15

  The bridge of the Heart of Granite (Avery preferred ‘Command and Control Centre’) was as tense as she’d known it in months. The term Bridge just didn’t do it justice at all. It was two hundred metres long, a hundred and eighty metres wide at its base and narrowing to sixty metres wide at the head, just behind the snout. It was full of sound and colour, busy with chatter and the energy of its staff and right now, alongside the tension was the ill-odour a behemoth exuded when it needed a replenishment cycle.

  Avery had walked from the neck walkway through the main bulkhead and it seemed everyone from every department wanted her. Doors had opened from Weapons Control, Radar, Life Systems and even the ERC Systems Integration Unit, and people filled the space around her. She’d brushed them all aside and walked around the top of the brain, which was some sixty metres in diameter and gave her usual shudder at the memories it evoked.

  To aspire to the position of behemoth commander, one of the pre-requisite jobs was that of a movement and functions manipulator. That meant shift after endless shift wired into the sluggish reptile’s synapses with your hands in thin superconducting gloves as you and your five co-manipulators relayed orders through the kneading and probing of the revolting sludgy tissue in the ‘pockets’ architected into the brain. It felt almost nothing like dough, yet bread-heads was the popular slang; had been for years.

  Avery had been told she’d grow to love the touch of the great beast. She had always utterly hated it.

  The world beyond the brain was her domain now. The tactical tables, the ornate meeting table, the operations portals and the wall-to-wall video relays giving a three hundred and sixty degree view of the outside. And if that wasn’t enough, they had a direct feed from the Heart of Granite’s eyes, which gave them light in a slightly different spectrum. It was particularly useful for spotting incoming spyflys and a critical aid at night.

  One of the things she loved best was bringing important dignitaries up here, the ones who assumed commanding a behemoth was a simple task, and watch them gape and shrivel as the confusion of information, of sound and vision, battered them. The mighty were rendered insignificant and all their condescension washed away to be replaced by proper respect.

  The politicians always thought they were in command. They didn’t have a fucking clue. It was a shame that Solomon did, of course she did; she’d been commander of the HoG’s sister behemoth, the Steelback before her astonishing, incomprehensible, appointment to the top of the pyramid.

  ‘Commander?’

  Avery turned from the vast main screen and rubbed a hand down her face.

  ‘Flight Commander Moeller. Good. Come with me.’

  She led Moeller to an unoccupied tactical table for a little relative privacy. The two of them stood side-by-side, Avery punching up data, radar and predicted flight paths.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ she asked. ‘God’s teeth, Gerhard, can you feel it in here? Our elite squad is being ripped up.’

  ‘It’s a mess,’ said Moeller. ‘And Valera has rejected help from other squads.’

  ‘Overrule her.’

  Moeller sucked his top lip. ‘Come on, Nicola, not Valera. She says it isn’t about numbers, that more drakes won’t help and that we may lose more getting Inferno-X home. I trust her judgement.’

  Avery stared at Moeller, searching for doubt. ‘All right, what am I looking at here? This is one screwedup formation.’

  Avery tapped the tactical radar on which the Inferno drakes were represented by bright green blips and the enemy in red . . . well, you had to be traditional sometimes.

  ‘They’re running a distraction and obstruction defence. Those four in a line are the wounded. It seems to be working . .. so far.’

  Avery shook her head. ‘What do you really think?’

  ‘I think I trust Inferno-X.’

  ‘Right . .. and what have we got on these Maf drakes?’

  ‘We’ll have to wait until they’re back and we can upload all the tactical data from the drakes, but we know they are slightly bigger, stronger and faster.’

  ‘Is it an unlocking or a fleshware upgrade?’

  Moeller blew out his cheeks. ‘Mostly fleshware, I’d say. But it’s hard to be certain.’

  ‘All right, what do you need from me?’

  ‘A firing solution, forty cal-based, something I-X can get below. Flight path and entry grid too.’

  ‘No problem. Where’s my chief gunner? She was dogging my footsteps like, well, a dog just now . . . Lieutenant Edney where are you when I need you?’

  ‘Right here, ma’am,’ said Edney.

  Avery spun round. Lisa Edney was just a few feet away, hands behind her back. She was mid-height, with bobbed black hair and wore glasses in defiance of everything technology had to offer. She said her face was too soft and it needed hardening up. Avery understood her point.

  ‘Right. Good. Thought I’d need you, I suppose.’

  ‘It seemed probable,’ she said.

  ‘We have work to do.’ Avery indicated the tactical radar tracking the approach of InfernoX. ‘Inferno-X is being pursued. They have injured. I need a firing solution for a southeasterly approach, rolling round to a north-westerly entry. No missiles. Stick to forty cal and flank guns. I need it in about ten minutes.’

  ‘I’ll have it in five, Commander.’

  ‘Smart arse. In that case I want it in three.’ Edney turned and strode away towards the weapons control room at the back of the command centre. ‘Right, Gerhard, anything else?’

  ‘The ExO and I have medical and ERC emergency teams already on station. But we’ll need to think how to handle the PR.’

  Avery shrugged. ‘PR can wait. Get as many of them home as you can first. I’ll find you in Flight Command if I need you.’

  Avery watched Moeller go before turning back to the tactical screen.

  ‘What the hell are we walking into?’

  ‘Two on appro ach from the west, approximately two-eightzero degrees,’ said Calder.

  ‘Copy, Cal-X,’ said Max. ‘Intercept with Red-X.’ Max watched them move in. Down to his right, Valera and Stepanek were chasing off another. Three more were circling very high above them which left four . . .

  ‘Compass point attacks incoming!’ Nev -X’s voice cut across the com. ‘Steep angle approach.’

  ‘Sal-X, here, I have north,’ said Salewski.

  ‘Gur-X, here, I have south,’ said Gurney.

  ‘Kul-X with me, we’ll sweep east to west,’ said Max. ‘RobX, you have six incoming, four on compass point approaches.’ ‘Top three diving,’ said Pal-X.

  ‘This is the big one,’ said Max. ‘Top cover move to intercept.’

  Max dived, seeing the Maf drakes approach in the clear air. Below, their quartet of wounded made steady progress across the desert floor and at least had sight of the Heart of Granite. The Granite would have them on screen by now, via the hi-res long-lens cameras mounted on her snout. This was probably the enemy’s last chance to make a statement, and in front of the flagship behemoth of the UE fleet would be the best place to make it.

  ‘Kul-X, where are you?’

  ‘Tracking the easterly approach. Sweep west. I’m going low to high to play a game of chicken.’

  ‘Copy that,’ said Max.

  Max trimmed Martha’s wings to still some vibration and heard the whistle and whine across her scales as she gathered yet more speed. He was approaching from the south east and the thrill took him.

  ‘I’ll be coming across your left flank, Schmiddy,’ he said. ‘Be ready.’

  ‘Copy, Hal-X,�
� said Schmidt. His drake, with a burned tail, was in the centre of the quartet and struggling to maintain his line. ‘Don’t blow me off course.’

  ‘I think I can fly high enough to avoid that. Stand by.’

  Max was certain his target had seen him coming. In fact, he was counting on it. Martha’s body rippled with a passing anxiety, something she sensed and couldn’t communicate.

  ‘What is it, princess?’ asked Max.

  He was at close to top speed and his mind was focused. He’d be on the Maf drake in half a minute; he had his trajectory right and assuming the Maf drake intended to take out Schmidt, he was going to get in the way at the perfect moment.

  ‘Show me, Martha. What’s the problem?’ He sent the impulse with his mind, too.

  Martha looked pointedly at the drake coming in from the south, then the one from the north. Max projected their impact points using pure instinct to make the complex calculation.

  ‘Gur-X, Sal-X, this is Hal-X. Which of you is on target first?’

  ‘Gur-X,’ said Gurney.

  ‘Agreed,’ said Salewski.

  ‘Pull away a hundred metres from your target point. Turn hard, don’t look back. They’re setting you a trap.’

  ‘Copy, Hal-X. Thank you.’

  ‘I live to save others,’ said Max.

  Max scorched in, bringing his arms to level. Martha flashed across the desert floor, no more than fifty above the undulating sand and less than ten above the stricken drakes when she reached them. It was all laid out before him. He was behind the enemy drake heading in from the west; it was Kullani’s target. He could see Kullani hammering in from the bright eastern sky, descending hard, ready to test the enemy’s courage. They’d flinch or they’d both die; after all, she was Falling. She didn’t care any more.

  The first Maf drake flew in from the south. Gurney was closing at extreme speed and Max prayedhe’d time it right. In the split second before the potential impact point, both drakes pulled away, the enemy went left and whipped past Max. Gurney went with it. Max’s target had been tasked to take Gurney out but now, without a target, it came straight on.

  ‘Hello, hello,’ said Max.

  He washed over Schmidt, rolled ninety degrees and suggested lances of fire. Martha obliged and her flame raked along the enemy’s left flank and wing. It was there and gone in a blink, but was a strike nonetheless. A beat later, Kullani flew straight into her target, her drake’s claws dragging across its back as it tried to dive aside. He saw a wing tear appear before they separated.

  The final attacker flew in on a collision course with Roberts. Salewski roared by overhead, her drake’s mouth already open, ready to bite and breathe. The Maf drake jerked up, whipped over her head and down again. Max blinked, not sure he believed what he was seeing.

  ‘Schmiddy, roll left!’

  ‘I— Holy shit,’ said Schmidt as he saw the Maf drake rushing for him.

  Max kept Martha’s eyes on him and executed a sharp left turn. The Maf drake drove in. Schmidt, his drake wobbling, attempted to turn aside but he was too slow. The Maf ran fire across his wings and stamped down with its claws, fatally unbalancing him. The burned tail sought vainly for purchase and balance. Schmidt’s left wing tip dipped violently, making a ninety degree turn and slowing far too fast. With no time to react, Jak-X and her drake ploughed straight into Schmidt and the pair of drakes tumbled hard into sand.

  ‘Fuck!’ shouted Max. ‘Jak-X and Schmidt-X down, I repeat both down. InfernoX is eight down.’

  ‘Inferno-X, Flight Com. Firing solution acquired. Immediate drop to fifty on my mark. Forty cal fire imminent. Skirt the HoG along her eastern flank, emergency entry authorised. We’re ready for you. Come on in.’

  ‘Copy, Flight Com,’ said Valera.

  ‘Inferno-X, Flight Com. On our mark. Three, two, one, mark.’

  The remainder of the squadron dropped steeply towards fifty metres. The HoG was close now. Max could see her eyes and the slight rolling movement of her legs at rest was a thing of pure beauty right now.

  Across her spine, scale plates rolled back and the forty calibre cannons spiralled up, swivelled to the south and filled the sky above Inferno-X with a deluge of armour-piercing slugs. Max shuddered to think of those things ripping into Martha’s body. He flew down alongside Roberts.

  ‘You made it, Rob-X,’ he said.

  ‘Only just, buddy.’ Roberts’ voice came in gasps. ‘Gonna need some help getting out of my pouch, I think.’

  ‘Do you need brakes on landing?’ asked Max.

  ‘Could do.’

  ‘Tuck in behind me,’ said Max. ‘I’ll see you in.’

  Max put Martha ahead of Roberts’ drake and turned past the HoG’s snout, dropping immediately down into the lee of her eastern flank. Machine guns bristled from their turrets all the way along while down on the sand, marines were ready to provide further cover fire.

  ‘Some days, you even have to respect the grunts,’ said Max.

  He moved Martha out from the HoG’s shadow, turned a gentle left and lined up on the flight deck. The landing lights were flashing and further in, he could see red pools of light indicating medic teams. It was going to be busy in there.

  ‘On my tail, Rob-X.’

  ‘Copy, Hal-X.’ Roberts’ sounded vague. ‘I’m with you.’

  ‘Stay that way,’ said Max. He brought Martha over the ramp, seeing the lights flaring and the white lines of the runway hurrying beneath him. He flared Martha’s wings and came to a quick stop about three quarters of the way into the hangar.

  ‘Brace yourself, Martha. Take a look, would you?’

  Martha turned her head. Inferno-X drakes were crowding outside where the sound of gunfire had ceased. But seventy metres away and slithering desperately along the bone floor came Roberts, plainly unconscious inside his pouch.

  ‘This is going to hurt,’ said Max.

  Max hunched his shoulders and relaxed his back. Martha hunkered down in response, drawing her wings forward and out of harm’s way. Roberts’ drake careered into her, shunting them along the runway and rattling Max about painfully despite the best efforts of muscle and fluid. Martha jammed her claws against the bone floor, the resultant shrieking sound forcing ground crew to turn away, hands over their ears.

  Max gasped at the impact, keeping his feet pointed down and Martha groaned at the effort, backing her wings on Max’s signal and bringing them to a complete stop. The shrieking ceased and Max slumped forward momentarily, taking in a huge gulp of air and sending Martha a wave of love before triggering the release on his pouch.

  ‘Grim’ll have you now. Be good and get some rest.’

  Martha rumbled something in her throat in response. Max scrambled out of the pouch the lubricant cascading off his suit. He slid quickly down her chest and onto the floor and raced back to help Roberts. The air was full of the sound of orders, the whirring of machinery and the cries of drakes. Dull thumps beneath his feet signalled other drakes landing.

  MedCarts and stretchers hummed in towards every drake. Tweakers with the big ‘ERC’ logo on the backs of their overalls hurried in to assess reptilian damage. Max moved quickly under the neck of Roberts’ drake and patted her at the top of her chest to make her stand up. He scooted back a couple of paces as she complied.

  ‘Where’s Risa? Is she safe?’

  Max flashed Grim a smile while climbing the drake’s chest.

  ‘She’s peak. Flew the best I’ve ever seen her today. Bringing up the rear with the Skipper. Get Martha into her pen and go find her. But first get one of those MedCarts over here. Roberts is hurt.’

  Max climbed up to Roberts’ pod. His eyes were closed and he was slumped forwards.

  ‘Roberts? . .. Johannes, it’s Max. Come on, buddy, time to get out.’

  Max found the manual release and the top of the pouch rolled back and away. He fumbled briefly inside the pouch until he found the manual trigger stud. The pouch eased forwards, lubricant cascading out, and Max scrambled around
to the side.

  ‘Holy Mother, how hard did they hit you?’

  Robert’s left arm was broken at the shoulder. His collarbone had snapped and protruded from his skin. Blood had soaked down his suit. The shoulder was clearly dislocated and yet he had still flown all the way home.

  ‘Shit but you’re a hard bastard,’ said Max. ‘Come on, we need you out.’

  The stricken pilot moved his head and moaned as his collarbone shifted. He mumbled something but Max couldn’t pick it up.

  ‘Easy now, buddy. Help’s here.’

  ‘Hal-X . .. Max?’

  Max looked down. ‘Hey Gordy, got a sick one for you here.’

  The great bald and barrel chested medic with ‘Gordievski’ on his overalls nodded solemnly. ‘He’s not the only one. Get down, we’ll take it from here.’

  Max dropped to the ground and almost fell onto his hands and knees. Gordievski put a hand under his shoulder and helped him back up.

  ‘You need a massage, some anti-inflammatories and a whole lot of rest,’ he said in his gloriously thick eastern European accent. ‘But you’ll ignore me, I know.’

  ‘Until the moment I’ve counted the squad in.’

  ‘Do what you have to do.’

  Max gasped in a breath. ‘Hey did you see Monts? He would have comein with the Nuge in his claws. They’re both all right?’

  Gordievski nodded. ‘Monteith practically laid Nugent on a stretcher before he landed. Top flying. They’re both up in medical. Nugent’s been smacked about pretty hard but nothing that won’t heal.’

  ‘Good.’ Max managed a frail smile. ‘That’s good.’

  Max looked down the length of the flight deck. He could see the Inferno-X drakes cluttering the runway. He could see pilots being helped onto stretchers while others were still in their pouches, being stabilised before they were moved. He walked down the line, seeing the expressions on the faces of ground crew and medics alike. A glance back and he could see the Flight Command balcony was packed with a disbelieving audience.

  Max wanted to walk tall, to show them it wasn’t so bad. Only it was and he couldn’t. But he kept on walking and at last found something to smile about. There were Valera, Kullani and Stepanek, walking towards him and checking the squad one by one. He jogged down to meet them.