Heart of Granite

by James Barclay

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ came a voice. ‘Weather radar and associated sensors are down. We’re trying to gauge changes in the storm using traditional methods.’

  ‘Like sticking your head out of the door and seeing how much sand you get in your hair?’ said Lieutenant Edney from her tac-table.

  Tired laughter ran around the room.

  ‘Something like that,’ said the forecaster. ‘But also anemometers and a good old hydrometer.’

  ‘What are they telling you?’ asked Avery.

  ‘Honestly? Almost nothing that you couldn’t work out by sticking your head out of the door,’ she replied to more laughter.

  Avery nodded, happy to let the humour break the tension. ‘ExO, Rosenbach, my office, please. Contingencies, contingencies . ..’

  Avery led them into her office, which was a deliberately small affair comprising just a desk with three screens, a couple of chairs in front of it for occasions such as this, and three beautiful shots of the Heart of Granite on the two solid walls. The other two were glass and looked out over the C and C, specifically the tac-tables and front screens.

  Avery sat in her straight-backed swivel chair and waved the others to seats.

  ‘We’re about two hours from dawn, we have no idea how long we’ll be blind and we can assume the Maputo knows our position. What’s our move? ’

  Kirby almost laughed but settled for a half smile, half frown. ‘You think the Maputomight move on us?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘She’s on her last legs, though. More likely the Virunga or the Mombasato give her the chance to escape to the sea.’

  ‘They’re too far away to be a danger with an overnight march. The spyfly was Maputo’s,’ said Avery. ‘And we’re on our last legs too but we’re still intending to attack.’

  Rosenbach shifted in her seat and Avery gestured her to speak.

  ‘I’ve studied the footage of the Maputo’s tail-up from a few days back and there is clear and significant degradation of central; musculature and core strength, hence the vibrations playing into the legs. I find it hard to believe they would choose to advance in a sand storm, even though it’s physically possible.’

  ‘Chimes with my thinking,’ said Kirby ‘Assume they know the HoG’s condition and are planning to attack as a result.’

  ‘The potential for the Maputo to accrue damage is huge, Commander,’ said Rosenbach. She shrugged. ‘We’re all well- versed with the issues of sand versus behemoth. That’s why we seal up when there’s a sand storm and why I advised against launching geckos, even from the emergency port.

  ‘Even with the blowers and vacuums going full blast, a behemoth on the march in a desert storm is taking on sand in massive quantities across its body, all blown in deep at a hundred k an hour. It’ll get into the armour plate joints; the spin-up mechanisms for weapons and solars; retractable joint covers; directional coms linkage; even ammo boxes and missile loaders, autofeed and tracking systems. And let’s not forget the Maputo’s lungs, throat and mouth. Even with debris filtering, you cannot keep it all out.’

  ‘All right . .. let’s focus.’ said Avery. ‘It’s great the Maputo will be itchy if she’s marching. What does it mean in practical terms?’

  ‘Our best case: all sorts of stuff starts grinding, slowing down or seizing up. It could expose weaknesses for attack as well as compromise defence. For me, if they are moving up, they’re taking a huge gamble.’

  Kirby raised his eyebrows. ‘Only one reason why they’d be doing it.’

  Avery locked gaze with him and they both spoke together. ‘Wyverns.’

  Wyverns were short-range, heavy, armour-depleting, burrowing missiles. The sort of ordinance every behemoth carried for the day two of them came into close contact. Missiles that, if fired from long range, would be taken out of the sky on a whim but when fired close and flat, gave the defenders little chance to deploy effective counter measures.

  ‘I’ll wake the crew, put Moeller’s emergency deployment into effect and write the audio and ppalm bulletin,’ said Kirby. ‘Not long till dawn and depending on how close they want to get,they may not wait for the storm to blow out.’

  ‘Thanks, Robert. Eleanor, get hold of Markov, calculate how much you can divert to our EMP net and armour harmonics while keeping the air flowing and the drakes fully prepped. Everything else can pause for thetime being.’

  ‘Yes, Commander.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Across the table, Rosenbach had gone a little pale. ‘Do you really think they’re moving in to attack, hand-to-hand?’

  Avery raised her eyebrows. ‘I would.’

  Chapter 35

  I don’t suppose any drake pilot believes they’re going to Fall. They all have faith the war will end before they do. And that’s fine but when it does, how will we walk away from the biggest high of our lives?

  Maximus Halloran.

  Meyer screamed at the fractionally brightening sky. Ganeef, McCarthy, Reynolds were all gone. He’d heard gunfire, explosions, shouting and screaming from the group converging on the rally point and then nothing. Horvald was surely a victim too. At least Picolet was still alive and was shouting the odds from station three. But Sid had gone quiet, so Meyer was running to station one to find him and trying to ignore the memory of his dismembered platoon members at station two.

  ‘Behemoth still oncoming,’ said Picolet. ‘Approaching station one, speed fifteen klicks.’

  ‘Copy that, Pico,’ said Meyer. ‘I can feel her through the ground.’

  ‘You okay, now, sir?’

  ‘No, and I reserve the right to scream some more until I am.’

  ‘I’ll tweak my volume accordingly.’

  ‘Good call.’ Meyer checked his tracking system, which told him he was four hundred metres from station one. The vibrations through the ground were the familiar rumble of a behemoth on the march though the equally familiar rolling thunder sounds were denied him by the endless, howling gale which showed no signs of abating. ‘Sid! Sid, do you copy? I refuse to believe you’re dead. I need you, man. Come back . ..’ Nothing.

  ‘. . . Sid! Where are you, God-dammit, answer me! Even if you’re dead, respond via spectral coms, you bastard. That is an order.’

  Meyer knew Sid was out there. It was daft but if he’d been dead, the world would have been truly altered and he’d have felt it. He heard what might have been static hiss but might also have been someone shushing him. Meyer raised a grim smile.

  ‘That’s “shh, sir”,’ said Meyer. ‘Where are you?’

  Meyer reached station one and glanced down at the sensor equipment. He could just make out the radar’s outline as it vibrated gently across the sand to the ripple of the advancing behemoth’s march.

  Meyer stared out into the gloom, able to see sand driving east to west in the odd and faint glow of pre-dawn desert. The behemoth was close, probably no more than a klick away now. He moved forwards, sensing the ground rising slightly, imagining what he’d do in Sid’s position then sprinkling it with batshit madness.

  After about fifty metres, having moved nearer the path of the Maputo and up a shallow rise, Meyer dropped prone. He nudged Sidhu in the ribs.

  ‘As clandestine meeting points go this is right up there,’ he said.

  Sidhu turned. This close, Meyer could make out the hollowness of his eyes.

  ‘It’s beautiful isn’t it?’ said Sidhu, his voice flat and empty. ‘Peace and majesty amidst the sand and wind. Makes you realise just how small you are. I would lie here forever if I didn’t have to do some damage to someone. Lots of someones.’

  ‘Got to rein yourself in, Sid. No vengeance shit.’

  Sid looked forwards again. The Maputo was lumbering out of the gloom. She was mostly dark but picked out by the thin heat signatures where her tail dragged and from the warmth of her exhaust.

  The Maputo was enormous. They all were, of course, but Meyer had never seen an enemy this close and it was, well . . . majestic was right. O
ver a kilometre long, a little less than two hundred metres high at the apex of the spine and over two hundred and eighty metres wide, all carried on thirty-four pairs of legs. She was a little squatter than the Heart but that just made her silhouette all the more malevolent. Live exercises outside the Heart were one thing, this was wholly different. No one expected a soldier to get this close to an enemy behemoth and it was an opportunity they couldn’t pass up.

  ‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’ said Sidhu.

  ‘They all are,’ said Meyer.

  ‘Question is; how do we issue some corrective punishment?’

  Meyer chuckled. ‘I’ve got a better idea.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Yeah. Fancy the ride of your life?’

  ‘Are you suggesting . ..?’

  ‘We carry spikes and lines for the specific purpose.’

  ‘Most useless kit ever,’ growled Sid.

  ‘Not today, my friend.’

  Sidhu pushed Meyer hard in the shoulder. Meyer laughed. ‘I like your thinking, boss.’

  ‘Of course. Let’s do it.’

  The Maputo was confirmed inbound. Horvald’s final communication had been cleaned up enough to be understood and the general quarters autocom had sounded before dawn.

  By now, the outer armour would be charged to deliver ECMs by the sack load; the forty-cals would be cleaned, oiled and coiled; the flank guns the same; and the missile batteries and anti-missile systems loaded and tracking. Elsewhere, programmes would be running to simulate the likely effect of successful EMP strikes and the time it would take to bring back critical systems. Every soldier was on standby, every drake pilot was in the locker room and every drake, gecko and basilisk was taking on extra nutrition before being brought to ready.

  Well, nearly every drake pilot. With her squad already on the flight deck and suiting up, Valera had gone to medical, not prepared to miss her early day visits to her recovering pilots – Roberts, Nugent, Holmes and Kane — but more importantly, her first ticket to see her pilot in Landfill. Her demand to have visiting rights breached Landfill protocol but Kirby had agreed readily enough. No doubt the video of their conversation would be scrutinised for clues as to Max’s whereabouts.

  ‘You should go,’ said Kullani.

  The ward was quiet. Every other patient was still asleep, aided by drugs for the most part, and wouldn’t be woken with the HoG under threat of attack. No one wanted to test the effects of a full scale engagement on a patient well into the Fall. It was different for Kullani, so early into the Fall.

  Valera was sitting on the side of her bed and Kullani was propped up with pillows looking comfortable but terminally bored, her mind distracted by thoughts of her drake and the inevitable loss of the beast beginning to consume her, slowly but surely. Valera squeezed her hand, wishing that they could reverse protocol and let her out to fly. Impossible, sadly.

  ‘Bugger that,’ she said. ‘Moeller knows where I am. There’s no rush. Anyway, there’s a gale blowing out there and it’s all very sandy . .. no place for a drake, eh?’

  ‘No, I guess not.’ Kullani gave a deep sigh.

  ‘Yeah, we wish you were with us too. Squad room’s become a hollow place without you and Max. You made it live, you know?’

  A tear rolled down Kullani’s face and she wiped it away quickly.

  ‘Sorry, I’m not helping, am I?’

  Kullani shook her head. ‘No, the reverse. I’ve been desperate for a friendly face. I’ve hardly been here a moment but I feel so . . . removed. It’s hard, Skipper but at least I’ve got drugs to take away the craving for my drake. And the rest of you are out of lockdown so that’s a plus.’

  ‘Yeah, but only so we can fly to our deaths.’

  Kullani grinned. ‘How I would love to be doing that.’

  ‘Flying or dying?’

  ‘Both.’

  There was no hint of humour in Kullani’s voice and Valera was briefly taken aback.

  ‘Maybe—’

  ‘Maybe, what? No one’s going to let me out, Skipper. There’s one path and soon enough I’ll be like Ella J over there, barely ever conscious and when I am, screaming in fear and agony. What a marvellous future lies ahead.’

  ‘There’s always hope,’ said Valera.

  Kullani met her gaze squarely. ‘No there isn’t. Not in here.’

  Valera let her head drop and nodded. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Not your fault.’ It was Kullani’s turn to squeeze her hand and Valera couldn’t help but smile at the irony of it all. ‘Anyway, it’s not all bad. I’ve made some friends and I’ve even been reading a book for the first time in years.’

  ‘Oh yes, what friends exactly?’

  Kullani pointed at two beds. ‘Diana and Dylan. Hard to believe they’re both so young when they look so old and frail. It’s tragic, really. But they look after me in their own way and I try to do the same to them . . . sit with them and talk if they want.’

  ‘And what did they make of Max?’

  Kullani rolled her eyes. ‘Holy Mother, don’t get them started on Max. To hear them you’d think he was some saviour sent from heaven. I had it time after time yesterday . .. they’d be chatting or something and then catch sight of me and then one of them would strike a great theatrical pose and shout: “I’m Max fucking Halloran!” It’s, well, it’s just weird but he did have that effect on people, didn’t he?’

  Valera nodded and glanced up the ward so Kullani wouldn’t see the tears welling up. Her com crackled.

  ‘Valera, we need you on the flight deck.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said.

  She looked back to Kullani who shrugged and the two of them hugged hard. Valera felt Kullani’s heart tripping away and her breath getting shorter as she tried to keep her sobs back.

  ‘Come back and see me.’

  ‘Try and stop me.’

  They pushed back and Valera stood up and brushed herself down.

  ‘How’s Grim?’ asked Risa.

  ‘Remember I told you it was a mistake to fall in love with her?’ said Valera. Kullani nodded. ‘What a sack of shit piece of advicethat was. She’s amazing, she’s there for all of us, she’s buddied up with Paul to look after your drake and we’re pushing hard to get her in to see you.’

  ‘You’d better go. I need to cry now.’

  ‘You got it, Risa. And believe me, there’s always hope.’

  Valera ran for the flight deck, fighting back her own tears but finding herself on the verge of laughter too at the thought of Dylan and Diana’s impersonation of Max. The whole thing had a surreal quality.

  She had almost made it when the attack sirens sounded their haunting flat notes, alternating every few seconds with shipwide orders. Valera sprinted the rest of the way, bursting on to the flight deck to find it teaming with people, ground lizards, drakes and more supply carts than she knew the HoG had on its roster.

  The noise was extraordinary, energising and unnerving. The Hammerclaws were racing from the locker room towards their pens, with Whiteheat and Firestorm hot on their heels. Entire companies of marines were boarding geckos. Basilisks were screeching and swinging their heads, their whole bodies vibrating with the imminence of the hunt. The deck itself was still lowering into position, the HoG’s tail still arcing up and sand was blowing in. Valera wasn’t at all comforted by the shuddering that accompanied the dual movements.

  Moeller was blaring orders over the PA, every com channel she switched to was alive with chatter and she settled on the Flight Com’s as she moved quickly across the busy deck, picking out this and that from the multiple voices on the channel.

  ‘. . . EMP net active for incoming traffic . . . forty-cal firing solution delta-four active. Take-off angles of thirty-four degrees or less. Maputo’s position confirmed at fifty, five-oh, kilometres distance on bearing one-nine-seven . . . multiple missiles inbound . . . ECM full spread launched . . . Hammerclaws, await clearance when you stand on the runway. The air’s a little crowded right now . . . Whitehea
t, too slow, step it up. I need three squadrons sky-high on my go . . . Incoming, incoming . ..’

  Detonations echoed across the flight deck, enemy missiles striking the EMP net or meeting the Heart’s anti-missile system. The Heart of Granite shuddered under the multiple waves of sound and shrapnel rattled against her scales, harmless and spent. Valera pushed open the locker room door and the sounds of chatter had died away before the bone and metal had thunked back into its frame.

  Seventy-five pilots made a whole lot of silence and from every rank of lockers, eyes followed her as she moved to her own and opened it to pull out her suit.

  ‘She’s fine,’ announced Valera loud enough to carry the whole locker room. ‘Or as fine as you can get when you’re a Landfill resident.’

  She began to strip off her fatigues, aware that pilots from all three squadrons were closing in to hear more. She paused and held up her hands.

  ‘Thank you all for your concern. Risa sends her love and there’s nothing left to do but get out there and fight. I’m not doing a “this is for Risa” speech, because it isn’t. This is for the HoGand it’s for United Europa and for all those undeserving rats we serve back in Paris and Berlin and London and wherever the fuck your old cap city is. Now bugger off, I want to talk to my squad in private.’

  While the pilots from Flamehawk and Lavaflow beat a retreat to a respectful distance, Valera carried on suiting up, Redfearn and Gurney jumping into help. She took out her mobile earpiece before pulling her hood over her head and connecting into the suit’s com net. It felt good to be wearing it again, despite the tightness.

  ‘I’m going to make this quick. Risa needs a light. She’s only been there half a second but she’s already desperate. We need to give her hope if we can.’

  ‘You’re talking about Max,’ said Stepanek.

  Valera shrugged. ‘If any of you have any inkling, any sense of him out there . . . anything at all, however small, tell me. If he’s out there, we’re bringing him home.’