DIRE : TIME (The Dire Saga Book 3)

by Andrew Seiple

  The muzzle flashes had stopped. Then as I searched the night to the north of me, they resumed. Dirt sprayed up not too far from me, and I realized that they were aiming at me now. Whoops! I dove behind the wagon with Dottie and checked the dials I’d attached to my capacitor belt. Yeah, it’d be a few minutes before I could fire the gun again.

  I had to admit that the Nazis knew their business. Unstoppable in the middle of them, the dark of night shadowing everything, and nigh-on a thousand feet of distance, and they were still good enough to put bullets near me. I’d faced home-grown terrorists, brutal gangers, mafioso hitmen, but the difference between them and this lot was huge.

  A thud on the wagon, and I whipped around, relaxed as Bryson hurtled it and dropped down in a crouch just outside of my deflector’s field. “Come on!” he hissed. “We need to move up! There’s at least two squads up there, and even Unstoppable will have trouble with that.”

  “Henri’s hurt!” Dottie said, crawling up next to me. Bryson’s eyes went wide, and he looked around into the darkness, searching for the Frenchman’s body.

  “What? No!”

  “She’ll get him,” I said, and before he could object I darted past him and toward Henri’s crumpled form. Half a minute later I was regretting my decision, as I struggled to lift him, but couldn’t. Despite the exercise Bunny had insisted I do, I just didn’t have the upper body strength for this sort of thing. I settled for dragging him back. On the upside, the Germans didn’t seem to be firing at me anymore, though guns still chattered in the distance.

  I got him back to cover. There was a lot of blood, and I was smeared with it, arms and calves and feet. I backed away as Bryson knelt by him, hugging Henri close, and in the cold glare of the nightvision I could see him crying, choking back sobs as he listened to Henri’s chest.

  “A pulse!” he said, voice wobbling with relief. “Come on Lecourt, stay with us for a few minutes yet!” He rummaged in his vest, pulled out something I couldn’t quite make out, and pressed it between Henri’s lips. “Come on. Swallow, swallow...”

  Henri coughed, spluttered, and shifted. “Lie still, you’ve lost a lot of blood.” Bryson advised. Henri’s eyes opened, stared around, took in the dim shape of Bryson leaning over him, face a few inches away...

  And Henri reached up, gathered him close, and gave him the most passionate kiss I’d ever seen.

  I blinked, and felt my face grow warm. “Oh my...” Dottie whispered next to me. She didn’t have the benefit of my nightvision, but her eyes had adapted well-enough by now to get the gist of what was going on.

  Bryson tugged himself free after what must have been only a few seconds. “Go on ahead,” he said. “Get around on their flank. Henri’s weak, it’ll take a moment for the elixir to get around to restoring his lost blood. I’ll stay with him until we’re ready to catch up. Don’t start the attack until we’re all back together again.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, and Dottie grabbed my arm. Tried to, anyway. My deflector hummed and she stumbled back as her gun tried to tear loose from her grip. “Sorry,” I said. “Yes, let’s go then, Dottie. Keep a distance, hm?” I turned away as Henri reached up for another embrace, and started jogging. I was bruised, scraped, somewhat excited by the unexpected up-close romance, riding the remnants of an adrenaline rush, and overall so out-of-control of the situation that everything felt surreal to me.

  But no one had died, that was the important part. None of our team, traitors excluded, had died. So far we were ahead, if only we could seal the deal and beat the Nazis.

  “I knew about them being confirmed bachelors,” Dottie whispered, as she ran next to me, shorter legs scrambling to keep up. “They tried to keep it a secret and all. Hid it from the others. But half the time they ignore me, and I see how they look at each other. I think it’s romantic and all. Doomed love, what?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I mean, it sort of casts a shadow over his partnership with Mister Tesla. I mean, I don’t think they’re together and all, and Mister Tesla’s a queer sort but not a queer sort, as far as I can tell he just doesn’t think about it. Though my insight tells me it’s maybe an unrequited love on Mister Bryson’s part.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And well, it’s not like it’s an unknown thing in England, so I really don’t have any room to disapprove, it’s just rather funny and all, and sweet, and a bit fun to watch everyone else oblivious to it so I suppose I’m happy you’re in on the secret too. What do you think?”

  “She thinks there are at least two squads of Nazis remaining, around eight to eleven men per Group. So right now she’s trying to figure out how to kill the hell out of them before they do that to us.”

  Dottie shut up for a bit. We reached the treeline, and started picking through it. I was expecting booby traps or barbed wire or something here, but I found nothing. True, we were off the road, approaching from a different angle than they’d expected, but I’d expected more precautions than sheer numbers. They knew we had Unstoppable with us, so how had they expected to take him out or incapacitate him?

  We got to the edge of the treeline, got a clear view of the farmhouse and outbuildings beyond, and I caught my breath.

  Bodies lay strewn across the fields and the farmyard, with patches of jellied petroleum burning merrily on the ground where flamethrowers had wrought their destruction. The smell of charred flesh filled the air, and I fought to hold my gorge down. The farmhouse beyond the field stood with searchlights glaring out of its upper windows, fixed upon the tableau below, next to the barn and a battered corral.

  A four-legged, low-slung mechanical walker crouched there. But this was no iron giant like the Eisenjötun had been. This was much smaller, perhaps the size of a medium sedan, and far, far more graceful than the stompy walking tanks that I’d battled with in Zagreb square. It looked to all the world like a giant cat, with backwards-bending legs, a multi-jointed body, exhaust pipes on the neck that gave a suggestion of ears, and an honest-to-god segmented tail that quivered as it crouched, engine literally purring.

  Another one waited in the doorway of the barn, head turning side to side, sweeping the concave dishes that made up its eyes, hunting for more prey. Video? No, couldn’t be. The technology wasn’t possible, not yet. Those had to be audio sensors of some sort, probably basic amplifiers. They were probably having a hell of a time given the fires and the other things going on in the barnyard. Soldiers ran to take up positions, setting up a perimeter, calling back and forth to report. And from the farmhouse, four men emerged, manhandling something like a metal coffin between them. It was heavy, I could tell by the way they moved.

  Movement, by the crouching mecha’s paws. I gasped, as I saw a figure squirm, fighting to get out from under the machine’s front paws. There had to be at least two tons of steel structure pressing down on that person— Unstoppable, I realized. That was how they’d planned to take him. And that metal coffin they were wrestling over had to be for him, to secure him for transport. For all that he could heal any wound instantly, he was still a man when it came to physical limitations. He could push himself harder, ignore exhaustion, use strength that would result in torn muscles from anyone else, but he was still at human limits. Sealed away inside a box of that weight? He’d be helpless.

  I looked to Dottie, tapped her on the shoulder. “Change of plans. Unstoppable’s going to be out of play if we wait for Bryson. We need a distraction, and we need to get him back into play.”

  She nodded, but her face was twisted with worry. “How?” she asked, and I shushed her as the scanning mecha’s ‘eyes’ turned our way. Once they rotated away, I leaned in, and whispered. “Keep your voice low. Big cat-thing over there.” I looked around, trying to think. I had the sonic rifle, which would do to disable one of the mecha if I got closer. It had audio amplifiers, and a shot with the rifle through those would turn the listening pilot inside into chutney. But I’d have to get closer to do that, and there were an awful lot of soldiers setting u
p, at least a dozen with more in the farmhouse. Open fields there, even with the flickering flames, smoke, and overall abundance of shadows I wouldn’t fare too well.

  And the problem was one of numbers. The sonic rifle took a minute and a half or so to recharge. I’d take down one of the mecha, and the other one would be on me. Those things were built for mobility, emphasizing leaping and speed. Not to mention what looked to be machine guns and rocket mounts on the shoulders overlooking the ‘head’ of the cat.

  What else did I have? The rocket boots, which had been useless so far. The deflector, which could save my ass from perhaps three, maybe four bullets before the belt of batteries powering it conked out. A wrist-radio, which was great for listening in on codes that I didn’t understand. And a nightvision monocle, which had given me an edge so far, but was going to be diminished the second I went out onto that field full of fires and that farmyard full of spotlights.

  I gnawed my lip, looked around. Bodies were strewn around here, tangled in the woods where they fell. Either Unstoppable had mowed them down with a borrowed submachine gun as he came, or they’d succumbed to friendly fire; the outcome was the same.

  Bodies. Some about my size. Most of them with guns, ammunition, grenades, and the rest of their kit at hand.

  I could work with that.

  I measured the progress of the soldiers with the coffin. They were slow. I had a few minutes. A plan snapped into my mind, fully-formed. I leaned in, grabbed Dottie’s shoulder again, and started whispering directions. She nodded, and as soon as I let go she scampered around to the west.

  A minute and ten seconds later, the scanning mecha oriented in my direction, and bounded out of the barn, heading my way. The tail swung left and right as it came, I noticed, helping to counterbalance the thing, acting as a crude gyroscope. I was honestly enjoying its aesthetic. I would have enjoyed it even more if it hadn’t been coming to kill me. But I was done with my preparations, and with a grin, I patted the cheek of the dead Nazi I’d manhandled into my rocket boots. “Go get’em, Fritzy!” I whispered, pulling two long wooden handles from his belt before I triggered the rocket boots.

  WHOOSH!

  Off went Fritz, spiraling into the air, arcing over the Nazis in a glorious blast of fizzling fire and white smoke. I’d put him on a fallen log to try to aim him, but I was under no illusions as to his accuracy. The dead man’s legs would be whipping around in every direction, rocket boots shifting with every movement. Sure enough, his rough vector broke as he started spiraling through the sky, twisting toward the side of the farm.

  But the Nazis couldn’t tell that there was no one in control. To them it looked like one of us trying to escape. The cat-like mecha loping toward me paused, and I held perfectly still as it turned, covers sliding over its audio receptors as it shifted, scooted around, and began to lope after Fritz. Then machine guns stuttered,as muzzle flares lit up the farmyard, the soldiers wasting bullets on a dead man.

  More importantly, they were wasting attention. I charged across the fields, deflector up, sonic rifle over one shoulder and a salvaged Panzerfaust on the other shoulder, wincing as my socked feet came down on hard ground. I was carrying more weight than I was comfortable with, and wishing I’d humored Bunny and indulged in her morning training regimen more often.

  And then Fritz blew up, raining fire, shrapnel, and gore down on the Nazis below. I grinned, as they shouted and scrambled for cover. Totally worth arming the grenades on his belt before I’d sent him on his little trip.

  The rocket boots went in two different directions, crashing down in separate areas, one beyond the farmhouse, the other off near the road. The mecha paused, and my wrist-radio chattered. The pilot was awaiting orders. I slowed, crouched low halfway across the field. If he heard me now, I was dead.

  He moved on, and I breathed a sigh of relief as he moved off towards the road, checking on one possible crash site. The Nazi troopers started to come out from behind cover... and my streak of luck broke, as one pointed in my general direction, and shouted.

  Too late.

  I skidded to a halt a couple of hundred feet from the first mecha, aimed the sonic rifle— and as bullets started to patter near me I flipped the toggle switches on one by one. The bulbs flared to life on the side of the gun, making me more of a target, and I winced as the deflector flared up once, twice, three times—

  But now the gun was charged and I smiled as I squeezed the trigger.

  BOOM!

  Every searchlight in the farmhouse blew, plunging the scene into darkness. But my nightvision monocle let me see clearly. It let me see the five or so Nazis I’d caught in the cone as well, be blown backward and hit the farmhouse wall with bone-snapping force. It let me see the farmhouse wall cave in and bow. The structure started to collapse inward, shingles preceding the main fall, hitting the ground like raindrops.

  The mecha, however, was well-balanced. It staggered backwards a few steps, rather than fall. But it merely stood there, in the seconds that followed, liquid oozing and dripping down from the main part of its ‘belly’. The pilot, I presumed. Trapped inside that metal shell, with a sensory apparatus designed to funnel sound built into his vehicle, he wouldn’t have a chance in hell. The results would be horrific.

  But more importantly I saw Unstoppable scramble up, pull himself together, and give a thumbs up before he started toward the nearest shouting Nazi. Unlike them, his ears had healed. He could hear them, they couldn’t hear him, and everyone was equally blind. This would be a curbstomp. Well, save for one more little factor, and that was the second mecha, completely undamaged, racing back towards my lit-up sonic gun with implacable leaps and bounds.

  I discarded the sonic gun, scrambled and ran across the field, before the remaining troopers could gather their wits and return fire. The deflector was out or so drained it would be useless. One mecha left, and if it survived it could mop the floor with us.

  No matter. I got clear into the darkness as the cat-mecha pounced on the sonic gun, shattering it to bits. It stopped, scanned around into the darkness, covers opening up to reveal the dishes of its ‘eyes.’ Listening for me.

  I stopped, knelt down, and took the Panzerfaust off my shoulder.

  One of the earliest of all rocket launchers, it was fairly simple. A metal rod, with a firing trigger and a flip-up stock, with a cup on the end. The rocket was already loaded, snug inside the cup.

  It held a single shot. One shot was all I needed, the armor on this mecha had to be light by necessity— it wasn’t built to handle this sort of weapon. Tanks with ten times its weight weren’t built to handle this sort of weapon.

  The mecha scanned, looked in my general direction, and I flipped the firing sight up—

  And with a gentle ‘clink’, the sight broke off from the stock.

  That single bit of metallic noise was all the mecha needed. The ‘eyes’ snapped shut, and it charged toward me, and it was getting way too close, way too fast.

  I took the shot blind.

  The rocket sailed well over it, off into the night, taking my hopes, my dreams, and my chances of survival with it.

  I tried to stand, tried to scramble away, but that bit of motion must have drawn the pilot’s eyes, because he swerved mid-pounce to adjust, and two tons of mecha clipped my side, sent me spinning off and down into the field, hard. I felt bones give, and cried out, as my world turned into pain. Off in the distance I heard the rocket explode, and almost laughed in disbelief. My luck, my shitty, shitty luck had finally revealed itself. But I was too busy choking to scream, choking on blood from somewhere deep inside, as the bones in my chest ground and my arms wouldn’t work. My back? Maybe.

  And then, as I lay there with my head face-down into the dirt, I heard the mecha skid to a stop, turn with a fussy clanking noise, and stomp toward me.

  I struggled to breathe, couldn’t. I tried again, and pain lanced through me, but I got air down my throat. One more breath, one more second.

  The stomping feet clatter
ed against the wartorn field.

  Was this it? Had Timetripper won? The Nazis were about to do his dirty work for him. The thought distracted me, and I felt anger building. I was Dire, damn it! Doctor Dire! Damned if I’d die lying in the mud like this!

  Things inside me broke, ribs ground, and I coughed up more blood, but somehow I managed to haul myself to a half-sitting, half-slumping position. I couldn’t tell what part of the mess on my face was mud, and what part was blood, but I glared at the mecha as it stomped forward, loomed over me. The pilot had a vision port, I could see. I was well-backlit from the fires behind me, but it was a moot point now. I tried to glare into the port as I sneered, and cursed in German.

  “Go on you wanker. Don’t just sit there like a virgin with your first mouthful of cock.”

  That’s what I tried to say. Midway through I started coughing up blood, but I think he got the gist of it.

  A metal leg raised a metal ‘paw’, and I blinked as steel razors clicked into alignment. Of course it had claws!

  And then gunfire in the distance. Small arms, not machine guns. “Hey!” Over here!” I heard Dottie shout. Bullets glanced off the mecha, and it turned, seeking its assailant. And as it turned, I saw motion in the darkness behind it. A figure leaped up, caught the tail, swung around, and landed on its back.

  Bryson!

  “Look at me when I’m killing you!” he snarled, and his voice echoed through my mind. I knew that voice. I knew that shout. How could this be?

  The mecha bucked like a bull, trying to dislodge him, but he clung on with a mixture of unlikely strength and supreme skill. I knew that wrestling hold, had experienced something like it myself. Certainty built in my mind, and I welcomed it. It distracted from the pain.

  With one hand Bryson held on, with the other he jammed his cane through an air duct on the thing’s back, and gave it a twist. Electricity sparked and flared, lightning grounding through the mecha as it jittered and shook.

  Bryson was on the back, and unharmed. He was not in the path of the current.