by M. R. Forbes
He examined the image of Hell. It was a rough planet, pitted with craters from asteroid hits and covered in large peaks and crags from massive volcanoes that had long since burned out. It had been terraformed just enough to allow the military to use it for training. Training that was especially effective due to the very nature of the geography.
"Intel says the main base is there." He moved his hand along the image, turning it. It had taken him a few tries to learn to manipulate the graphic, but he had gotten the hang of it. "We'll drop here, at Station Omega. It's one of the smaller positions on the planet, but it was also the training ground of the Gold Dragons."
"Want to get a look at your rival's digs?" Germaine said.
Mitchell smiled. The Gold Dragons were the Federation's equivalent of Greylock Company.
"I'm more interested in getting a look at any of their equipment that might not have been destroyed."
"So you're jealous because theirs is bigger than yours?"
"Sanders," Mitchell said.
"I'm just joking with you, Colonel. It makes sense. The Dragons have the best equipment, but their base is small. Maybe it didn't get hit that hard by the Tetron."
"Exactly."
"We're still sixteen hours out. You should go crash for a while, you look like you could use it."
"We all look like we could use it," Mitchell said, rubbing absently at the days of growth on his face. It was a necessary evil to forget hygiene during runs like these - there was no way to get fresh anyway, making shaving a waste.
In any case, it was good for improving the camaraderie of the crew. There was no room for modesty or ego when nobody had shaved or showered. In the four-plus days Cormac and Mitchell had been with Tio's team on the Avalon, he had learned every single person's name and spot in the non-ranked hierarchy the Knife had put in place. He had learned about their family, and about their reasons for joining the warlord. He had also gotten the chance to tell them about the Tetron and about Liberty, building rapport and strengthening their resolve for the fight ahead.
Some of them had told him in confidence that they thought Tio's ideas on AI and wirelessly networked communication were eccentric and unfounded. They had joined not because they believed in what he was preaching, but because he offered them a second chance at life when they were destitute or lost, simple as that. He couldn't help but see the parallels with the Riggers.
Of course, they believed now.
He pulled himself from the co-pilot seat and headed out the rear, putting his hand on Germaine's shoulder as he passed. His last interaction with Tio, and learning the truth about what the Knife had done, had gone a long way towards helping him trust the man's crew. He and Germaine had become fast friends, in part because of their shared occupation as pilots, and in part because he reminded Mitchell of those he had known and lost on the Greylock.
There wasn't much living space aboard the Avalon. A short corridor led to the sleep module, where racks were arranged three high along the walls, leaving only a few meters of standing room in the center. There were thirty-three racks in the module. It wasn't enough for everybody, so they had to sleep in shifts. The rest of the crew was on assignment servicing and maintaining the equipment. It didn't take long and wasn't hard work. It left them all a lot of time to sit and wait.
Nobody had ever said being a soldier was always exciting.
Mitchell scanned the racks. His position as the lead officer put him outside the scheduling, allowing him a chance to sleep whenever he wanted or needed. It was his one perk for being in charge, one that he didn't get to take advantage of often enough. He knew it was his responsibility to be the model for the others to follow, which meant seeing and being seen by the crew on both shifts. It didn't leave him much time for sleep. Nothing had since M.
The racks were almost fully occupied. Men and women slept in wrinkled and smelly grays on top of bare gel mattresses that they would wipe down after use. They didn't stir as he crossed the space and climbed up to an empty top rack and laid down.
Five days. He could only hope that Steven would receive his message and send out the warning.
He could only hope that it would be enough.
34
"Welcome to Hell, Colonel," Teal said as the Avalon dropped from hyperspace.
Mitchell experienced the all-too-common moment of tension that always came from dropping into unknown territory in enemy space. It was followed by a breath of semi-relief when scanners didn't pick up any trouble.
"It looks like you were right about the state of the planet," Germaine said.
Hell sat in front of them, spinning slowly in its orbit. A false ring of debris stretched around it, marking the remains of the Federation's defenses of the planet. Dark pits mottled Hell's surface where the Tetron plasma stream had torn into the sediment.
"Get us down to the surface. I'm going to prep the inspection team. Knock me if anything jumps out at us."
"Yes, sir," Germaine said.
Mitchell backed out of the cockpit, passing through the narrow corridor that led to the rear of the ship, with Teal following behind. The inspection team would be the first feet on the planet, a smaller group that would survey the damage, locate salvage, and tag anything that should be brought back to the Avalon. The retrieval teams - the rest of the crew - would then load the Avalon up as quickly as possible.
"Teal," Mitchell said, passing into the first equipment module, where they had secured the mining equipment. "Find Krit and tell him to begin offloading the mining equipment as soon as we've given the all clear. Whether we use the drilling tools or not, we're leaving it behind."
"Yes, sir," Teal said. "We can't mine the Tetron to death, can we?" He broke off through the module's hatch in search of the soldier.
Mitchell continued on, passing through the mech carrier and into the rear cargo area. It had been mostly empty during the trip, converted into an open exercise area by the crew where they could do resistance training, sparring, or just get a little breathing room away from their fellow soldiers. It would be loaded down with salvage soon enough.
In the meantime, the inspection team was using it as a staging area. They waited near the rear hatch of the ship, already hooked into the light exoskeletons and life support systems that would allow them to move quickly on the planet, rifles slung to their backs and equipment laying at their feet. Mitchell still cringed every time he looked at the devices they were forced to carry. A single networked p-rat could do the work of all of the gathered electronics with little more than a thought.
"Colonel," Cormac said with a slight bow. The rest of the team followed his lead. "Your exo is waiting for you over there."
"Thank you, Firedog," Mitchell said. He surveyed the remainder of his team. Tio designated individuals more like machines, with letters and numbers to identify specific people to pass orders to. It worked, but it stole the identity away from people and disconnected them from one another. To Mitchell, it made it seem like their lives were unimportant.
He had done away with that first thing. Instead, the five other members of his squad had been given callsigns, chosen by the team based on stories they had shared with one another or personality traits. Sleepy, Boomer, Socks, Misfire, and Fish. Three men and two women, all of them experienced ex-military, law enforcement, or former mercenaries. He had given them the opportunity to return to their old monikers if they had one. Each of them refused in turn, preferring to make a fresh start.
Teal joined the group as Mitchell was attaching the last pieces of the exo, heading over to his own to put it on while Mitchell took a few tentative steps. The suits weren't standard issue equipment. They had been modified by Digger to be used without a neural interface and the assistance provided by it. The system relied on added tension and flex to the muscles being moved in order to register the motion, rather than the implant picking up the instructions and converting them on the way from the brain. It meant more deliberate actions to get the assistance of the skeleton, and even
after four days of practice he still felt awkward with it.
"Are you sure you don't want to wait here, Colonel?" Misfire said. She was the joker of the bunch, a bald-headed, tattooed ball of energy with a squat, muscular build.
"He's better than I was after four days," Fish said, laughing. He was another bruiser, big and solid. "I actually busted the first exo they gave me."
"Yeah, like that's a surprise," Socks said. She was a pretty, petite blonde who looked completely out of place as a soldier, especially with manicured nails that had somehow managed to stay clean despite the days since any of them had bathed. "You aren't exactly light on your feet."
"It's my head," Fish said. "It's too heavy."
"All of you is too heavy," Boomer said. He was the most typical of the grunts, average height, a bit of muscle and an ordinary face.
"All right, all right," Mitchell said, taking a few more awkward steps. He lowered the visor on his helmet and tapped the side of it. Germaine appeared in the top, left-hand corner. "Germaine, what's our ETA?"
"Three minutes, Colonel. Is your team ready?"
"Affirmative."
"There's a lot of debris covering the original drop point. Do you want me to move out a few klicks to get you on the ground, or would you rather jump?"
"Debris? What kind?"
"Looks like churned up dirt, maybe a crashed orbital. The main structure is down, too, so you might need those tunnelers after all."
"Damn. I was hoping the site would have gotten a little less attention than that."
"Roger. Bad luck, Colonel."
Mitchell considered his options. They had no choice but to shift the drop site for the heavy equipment, and he wasn't relishing the idea of jumping when his control of the exo was still questionable. At the same time, they needed every second they could get.
"We'll jump," he said, loud enough that the rest of the inspection team could hear. "Get us over the site, and then set down as close as you can manage."
"Roger."
"I hate jumping," Fish said when Mitchell returned to them.
"I'm not thrilled either. Gather your gear, we've got three minutes."
"Yes, sir," they said as one.
They formed a line, arranging themselves near the Avalon's hatch. Mitchell took point, fighting to keep his breathing calm. He had jumped hundreds of times in his career, just never without a p-rat to help guide him down.
"Remember, Colonel," Teal said behind him. "Push your shoulders back, blades tight to activate the thrust. It will take three seconds to engage, so don't freak out when you free fall."
"Right." Mitchell flexed his shoulders and wondered if he had made the wrong decision.
A warning light flashed on either side of the hatch, and then it began to open.
35
"Going down," Teal said.
Mitchell watched the hatch descend, the wind pressing against them, the caustic nature of the atmosphere creating a tingle on his gloved hands similar to the detox room on Asimov. He started moving forward, his team following behind.
"Wooooo," he heard Cormac shout behind him. "Riiigg-ahh."
"Riiigg-ahh," the others shouted in reply.
Mitchell reached the edge of the platform and jumped off.
The ground began to rush up towards him, a mixture of sharp, gray rocks, craters, and debris, with a heavy mound on the left where a wide entrance to the underground base was still visible amidst the damage. Mitchell squeezed his shoulder blades back, counting the seconds as he fell. The thrusters kicked in, and he felt the g-forces as his body was jerked to a near stop. Too hard. He had squeezed too hard. He eased off on the thrust as Teal whooshed past him, face calm. Cormac rushed by a moment later, laughing as he fell. He hadn't activated his pack yet.
Mitchell continued to examine the ground below, looking for a place to set down. When he found it, he shifted the tension in his shoulders, steering himself to the left, leaning forward to move ahead. He overshot the position and cursed, leaning back and adding a little more thrust. It was so much easier to manage with an implant. He wondered how today's warfare would look if every military was limited the way he currently was.
Cormac's voice echoed up from below as he reached the ground and shouted, "First!"
Mitchell landed a dozen beats later, the fourth to put feet to the sediment. His legs buckled and he stumbled from the impact, winding up on his knees and feeling embarrassed for his effort.
"It wasn't a bad jump," Sleepy said after landing next to him with catlike grace. The heavy-lidded, heavy-bellied man offered his hand, and Mitchell pulled himself up. "You survived."
"No broken bones, either," Mitchell said. He waved to the others to form up around him while he scanned the area. The tunnel entrance was a hundred meters away, partially obscured by a massive shard of metal that might have come from a transport. The blast doors were partially slagged as well though he could see the dark shadows of a small opening near the northern edge. He turned and scanned the sky, finding the Avalon lowering itself a few kilometers distant.
"No time to waste," he said, motioning the squad forward towards the tunnel.
They picked their way over the terrain, using their jump packs when needed to clear some of the larger pieces of debris. There were no corpses among the wreckage, but he did spy bits of cloth and broken weaponry mixed in with the shattered earth.
It was a scene he remembered from Liberty. He tried not to think about it too much as they approached the tunnel.
He tapped his helmet twice in rapid succession. Major Long appeared in the corner.
"There's a hole big enough for us to get in and start exploring, but we're going to need the drilling rigs," he said.
"Yes, sir," Long replied. Mitchell had placed him in charge of the salvage teams. "I'll get them offloaded asap."
"Thank you, Major." Mitchell tapped the helmet to close the channel.
They continued on, reaching the opening. Headlamps switched on as they moved into the darkness beyond. Mitchell scanned the large space, pausing when he found a downed mech amidst the dirt and debris. "Fish, tag it."
"It's broken, sir," Fish said.
"I can see that. Fortunately, we don't need the salvage to be functional."
"Yes, sir." He headed over to scan it.
"Let's keep moving. We've got a lot of ground to cover."
They hurried through the large chamber, the exo allowing them to move quickly without expending much energy. There was a large freight lift at the rear of the staging area, similar to the one on Asimov.
"Who has the cutter?" Mitchell asked.
"I do." Boomer moved forward, detaching a disc shaped unit from the rear of the exo.
He attached it to the bottom left of the lift door and backed away as a light on it began to flash, and the space below it started to glow with blue-white heat. The cutter climbed its way up the side of the door, and then across and down, creating a secondary doorway. The squad stood around it, waiting while it completed its task.
It exploded when it reached the end of its journey, the force pushing the corner of the freshly cut metal. It moved aside and tumbled into the shaft, the echo of its crash rising up the lift a dozen seconds later.
"Deeper than I thought," Mitchell said. He leaned in and shined his headlamp downwards. He could see the debris nearly three hundred meters below. The Tetron hadn't hit this area hard enough to reach into the depths of the base.
"We'll need to get the lift working to bring anything up," Teal said.
"Yeah, we should have brought Digger," Sleepy said.
"I thought you were a field tech?" Misfire said.
Sleepy nodded. "I can get the backup reactors going. That should be enough to fix the lift, assuming we didn't just bust it by dropping a ton of metal on it."
"Come on," Mitchell said. He jumped into the shaft, using the pack to keep his descent controlled. The others followed him one at a time.
He opened the service hatch at the top of the
lift and dropped into it, wincing when he saw a pair of dead soldiers in the corner. They were wearing simple fatigues with the Gold Dragon patch on the breast and shoulder.
Mitchell knelt down next to them, looking for injuries. There was no blood and no signs of blunt force.
"Who the frig killed them?" Cormac asked when he saw them.
"I don't know," Mitchell replied, grabbing the rifle from his back. "Be ready, just in case anything is alive down here."
"Affirmative," Cormac said, drawing his own rifle. The rest of the squad made its way into the lift. Fortunately, the doors were open, revealing the secondary staging area and the spoils Mitchell had hoped would be waiting inside.
"Jackpot," Teal said.
It was more than Mitchell had dared think they could get. At least twenty mechs, two of them models he had never seen before. They looked like a newer version of the Dominator, the heaviest mech in the Federation's arsenal. An entire squadron of Snakes, the Federation's multipurpose starfighter, rested at the south end of the massive room, lined up and ready to be loaded onto the lift.
He started walking towards it, feeling his heart thumping in excitement. Origin had to be able to make use of the mechs for raw materials, and the fighters would be a huge upgrade to their firepower. If Origin could load amoebics on one or two of them, they'd be able to take out a Tetron without Goliath.
"We'll be lucky just to get the stuff in this room loaded onto the ship," Misfire said.
"We haven't even gotten to the munitions bay yet," Sleepy said. "I bet they have nukes down here."
Mitchell reached the line of mechs, tilting his head to look up at the massive Dominator, rising twenty meters above him. The mood of his squad was infectious, and he couldn't help but smile.
"Colonel," Socks said, her voice nervous. "You need to see this."
36
Mitchell spun quickly, the smile vanishing in an instant. He found Socks standing near the other side of the chamber, her headlamp illuminating a stack of bodies.
