by M. D. Cooper
The gait suggested female, and when the enemy began to walk up the side of the valley, the telltale curve of the chestplate confirmed Rika’s suspicion.
A sidearm—ballistic, from the looks of it—rested in a holster on her right thigh, and a multifunction rifle was strapped to her back.
Rika zoomed her vision in, looking for any logos or markings on the woman’s armor or gear. The armor was entirely void of anything identifiable, but on closer examination, Rika spotted a small crest on the handgun’s grip.
It was a pair of intertwined snakes wrapped around a sword with a shield behind. Rika was certain she had seen it before, but nothing in her records lined up.
Ahead, Rika watched the woman stop at the sensor line and pull a small device out of a pouch on her chest. She waved it over the grid and nodded.
I guess that means Leslie didn’t take out the whole thing, Rika thought.
The woman turned west, walking along the sensor line, waving her device and nodding every so often. The soldier was sloppy; she had walked within ten meters of Rika and hadn’t even glanced toward the ridgeline once.
For all the sentry knew, there could be a whole army waiting over the hilltop.
Rika considered that possibility.
Rika sent the ornery sergeant a condescending smile over the Link and turned her attention back to the woman, who had just stopped at the sensor Leslie had disabled.
This time, she shook her head and then her scanner.
That’s right, lady, Rika rolled her eyes. Sensitive scanning tech loves to be shaken around. Keep up the good work.
Granted, any scan tech put in a soldier’s hands had better be able to handle a few shakes, but that didn’t stop the lowering of Rika’s assessment of the sentry.
Eventually the woman shrugged and moved on.
When she had walked another hundred meters, the mercenary finally looked to the ridgeline, turned left, and walked to the top.
She stood staring out across the kilometers of blowing grass for several minutes before starting toward Rika’s position.
Rika had expected this. She should have moved back when the sentry came out of the farmhouse, but she had remained still, half wanting to be found so she could get this fight underway.
A short data burst came in from Chase. He was thirty meters upstream from the farm’s small bridge. It was as close as he could get.
The K-Strike merc continued to walk along the ridge, finally passing within two meters of Rika, her boot coming down just a few dozen centimeters from the end of Rika’s outstretched GNR-41C.
Rika let out a long breath as the woman moved on. As much as she wanted to get this fight started, Captain Ayer probably wouldn’t be happy if it happened because she’d been sloppy.
The sentry slowly continued her perimeter sweep and, twenty minutes later, reached the bunker. She stopped at the plascrete structure’s door and rapped three times with her fist.
After a minute the door opened, and another merc came out, holding it wide.
This one’s armor looked nothing like the woman’s, but Rika managed to spot the K-Strike logo on his pistol grip. An unlikely coincidence if ever there was one.
Rika sent the intel back to Barne, who signaled his agreement that they were undoubtedly dealing with K-Strike.
They would be somewhat professional, then. Even if the woman’s perimeter sweep was sloppy.
The man who had opened the bunker’s door stood beside it, holding it open as the woman walked in. At least she’s verifying the interior’s security herself, rather than trusting the man to tell her all is well.
However, much to Rika’s surprise, the man did not close the door and stand watch—he continued to hold it open.
Basilisk had their in.
Three minutes later, the woman came out, and the man stepped back into the bunker and closed the door.
Three minutes, probably two to be safe. That’s how long they would have to make their move once the woman reached the bunker on her next round.
Rika formulated the plan and passed it to the team in short EM bursts, fed through her drones—two of which were now positioned a kilometer above the farm.
It surprised Rika that K-Strike didn’t have drones deployed—or maybe they did, and she hadn’t detected them yet.
Unlikely, she decided. The only way my birds wouldn’t have found theirs was if they had already spotted mine…unless they know we’re here, and they’re just playing us.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It’s impossible to consider all the angles, and trying can drive a person nuts. The team would operate as though they had the element of surprise until they didn’t—or until there was something other than Rika’s worry to support the suspicion of its absence.
This would be a lot easier if my team were all mechs. As much as she loved Basilisk—Chase especially—they were fragile. If she had Hammerfall at her back, this would all be over by now.
But she didn’t—her old team from the war was long gone, and no one on Basilisk was volunteering to get their arms sawn off to join Rika in the ranks of the mechanized.
* * * * *
Three hours after Rika formulated their plan for entry, the sun was beginning to set. A figure emerged from the farmhouse once more; Rika worried it was a different sentry at first, but then recognized the woman’s gait.
Rika had since moved and now lay between the sensor web and the top of the ridge. From what she had observed of the merc’s behavior last time, the woman wouldn’t come anywhere near her.
Much to Rika’s relief—and professional annoyance—the sentry followed the exact same pattern as on her first circuit. When she neared the bunker, Rika tensed, ready to spring into action—knowing without checking that her team was, as well.
Time slowed down as Rika watched the woman rap once, twice, three times on the bunker door. After what felt like an eternity, it opened.
The sentry woman walked inside, and a second later, Basilisk struck.
Rika leapt into the air, firing her GNR at one of the automated turrets in the oak tree to the east, before activating a boost from the jets on her calves to take her two dozen meters aloft.
Rounds ricocheted off her armor, and Rika swore softly. Her shots must have missed, or the turrets were more heavily armored than expected.
The two-hundred and seventy degree vision from her helmet gave her a clear view of twin streaks of smoke in the sky, punctuated by a matching pair of explosions in the oak trees.
Rika didn’t have time to see if the turrets were destroyed as she smashed through the roof of the farmhouse.
She came down onto a kitchen table made of plas and shattered it, not pausing as her helmet’s sensors swept the room and registered it as clear.
Rika unslung her JE84 multifunction rifle and considered her route. She could run down the hall to get
to the front room, or she could take the more direct path.
She fired a short burst at the wall and ran through—smashing a san unit—fired another burst, and tore through the next wall, sliding to a stop in the front room; directly behind an armored merc, who had his rifle aimed down the hall.
A trio of rounds erupted from the barrel of Rika’s JE84 and bounced off the enemy’s armor.
Shit. Heavier than I thought.
The merc spun, unloading his rifle’s magazine on full auto. The blast traced a line across the walls as he swung the weapon toward Rika.
She dove back, giving herself enough room to fire a high-velocity round from the GNR-41C rifle attached to her gun-arm. The shot couldn’t miss—it didn’t. It struck the man point-blank in his chest.
The merc’s armor gave a resounding crack as the round bounced off and twisted him to the side. When he straightened, he revealed a blackened patch on his armor, but no damage.
Must be some sort of reactive defense. Sure wish I had something like that…
Before the man could raise his rifle again, Rika dropped her JE84 and rushed him, clamping her left hand on his weapon, attempting to tear it from his grasp.
His armor gave him the strength to resist; in the end, it was the rifle that gave out, bending under their combined strength.
The merc swore and tried to take a step back, which Rika allowed; she could use some maneuvering room. When enough space opened up, she raised a clawed foot, slammed it into his chest, and clamped down.
“Fuck!” the merc yelled and slammed an armored fist down on her leg. At the same moment, Rika brought her GNR up and fired four point-blank rounds into the man’s neck.
The first two rounds were shrugged off by his reactive armor, but the third one penetrated, and the fourth blew half his neck off.
Rika released her foot’s grip on his chest and dropped to a crouch, ready for the other man in the house to come for her.
He didn’t disappoint—bullets tore through one of the walls, slicing through the air where Rika would have been if she hadn’t dropped down.
Rika triangulated the origin of the shots and let fire with another salvo from her GNR. A scream sounded after the barrage, and then she heard a dull thud.
Rather than check to see if her opponent was down for good, Rika tossed a grenade through the hole she’d shot in the wall and rushed out the farmhouse’s front door as the dwelling exploded behind her.
The fight in the farmhouse had only taken thirty seven seconds, and in that time, Leslie had disabled the guard at the bunker entrance and disappeared inside. Chase reached the bunker’s door and delivered a kick to the fallen guard’s head that knocked his helmet off—it must not have been fastened properly—and put two in the man’s head before disappearing into the bunker.
He had moved from his rear overwatch position and was on his way to the ridgeline. Until he arrived, Rika needed to stay in the farmyard to ensure no one else arrived on scene.
She looked for a good vantage point, and opted for the roof of the barn. If she stayed on the east side, she could watch the bunker and stay out of western sight lines.
Rika broke into a loping run, crossed the stream in one leap, dashed across another two-dozen meters, and jumped onto the barn’s roof.
She fired her calf jets—using the last of their limited fuel—and settled down as gently as possible. The roof groaned under her weight, but held.
He wasn’t close enough to see her yet, so she assumed he was watching through the drone network.
She overlaid the surveillance visuals on top of her helmet’s two-seventy view, wishing the new helmet that the techs back on the Romany were making was ready.
I really miss simultaneous three-sixty vision.
The helmet’s cameras weren’t difficult to configure; it was blending the data and feeding it into a human brain that was tricky. Do it wrong and all you got was vomit-inducing nausea.
Rika said.
Rika looked out over the crest of the barn’s roof and surveyed the land to the west. As she did, the roof groaned, and she shifted to stay above the major support beams.
Her augmented vision didn’t show anyone approaching on the farm’s access road. Maybe these K-Strike mercs don’t have any backup. Fine by me. She slid back down from the crest.
Then the roof exploded.
Rika fell through the roof and slammed into a crossbeam on her way down, smashing it to kindling. At first, she thought that the roof had finally collapsed under her weight—but she could see pieces of the wooden structure flying outward. Something had shot at her from inside the barn.
Rika flipped over mid-drop and hit the hard-packed dirt on her hands and knees. Her limbs absorbed the shock while her scan suite surveyed her surroundings.
How did I miss motion below me? The barn’s wood; it has no suppression tech.
Her first suspicion was the truck with the rocket launcher on the back, but it stood vacant, her IR vision revealing no signs of recent use.
Then a heat bloom to her right caught her attention, and Rika flipped into the air as a rocket flew beneath her, her HUD revealing the source of the attack. Rika couldn’t see anyone, but at the apex of her arc, she fired her GNR’s electron beam.
A horse screamed in terror at the back of the barn as the bolt of lightning lit up the interior of the structure like daylight. The shot burned a hole in the rear wheel of the tractor before hitting the ground and discharging its electrons in an arcing spiderweb of electricity.
Not a direct hit, but Rika could see the outline of something moving low to the ground, bolts of energy arcing across it.
Rika didn’t wait for positive ID. She fired a trio of projectile rounds from her GNR at the shadowy figure, with two missing, but one striking true.
Then she was back on the ground with the tractor between her and the enemy.
A new passel of drones flowed from her back, and Rika sent them high into the rafters, running active scan and attempting to locate her target.
The drones alerted her, too late, of another rocket; this one coming from behind. She dove to the side, but was struck in the hip, and the explosion flung her into the wall.
It streaked across the farmyard and hit the north slope of the valley, exploding in a brilliant display.
Rika tossed three grenades through the hole she had just made, and ran from the barn, leaping through the air to land in the stream on the far side of the small bridge. She hunkered down and took sight on the barn.
Rika’s grenades exploded, sending flames and debris shooting out of the holes in the barn’s roof and wall.
The barn was bu
rning now, the wooden structure ripe for ignition in the dry summer. Before long, it would be pushing flames a hundred meters into the sky. Rika felt a moment’s pity for the horses, hoping that somehow the animals would find a way to break free.
Something burst through the hole Rika had made in the wall, and then another something crashed through one of the barn’s doors.
With the soot and ash coating them, Rika could finally make out what she was dealing with.
Aracnidrones.
The little things stayed low, moved on eight limbs—hence the name—and sported both a vicious temperament and a punishing armament.
One rushed toward the bunker, and Rika spotted one of Barne’s shoulder-fired missiles streaking toward the thing.
The aracnidrone fired chaff, and the missile detonated six meters above, the thunder of its detonation echoing through the valley.
Barne said.
Rika realized—with no small amount of concern—that she couldn’t see the other aracnidrone, either. It must have sloughed off the debris. Whatever camo systems they have are exceptional.
Still, it should be hotter than the night air, what with just exiting the burning barn.
Rika scanned the terrain, looking for any signs of movement: bending grass, dust eddies, distortion in the heat rising off the hot ground in the early evening.
She tried to ignore the screams of the terrified horses. The fire hadn’t reached the back of the barn yet, and if she could kill this thing, she might be able to save them.
Then she caught the sound of motion in the water.
With a cry, Rika leapt back as a missile streaked under the bridge, airbursting a meter away and throwing her back against the stream’s dry banks.
Rika scrambled up and raced along the water’s edge, waiting for the thing to emerge from beneath the bridge, a sabot round loaded in her GNR, ready to fire.
The aracnidrone didn’t appear, and Rika knew that it must be trying to flank her.
