“Are we going to sit back and watch this happen?” Darant asked, aghast.
“The massacre has already happened,” Fitz answered. “I want to see how this plays out. Don’t forget those people in the trucks left us to die.”
“Not everyone abandoned us,” warned Darant.
Fitzwilliam’s face paled. “You’re right. Sorry. Lily told me about Istrielle.” He straightened up. “And in her name, you and Vetch work around the rear of the vehicle convoy. Enthree, with me. We’re going to take them from the side. Assume the rebels are our friends, and the welcome party are the perpetrators of this outrage. But the situation is fluid. Don’t hold fast to your initial assumptions. Let’s move it, gentle people, because we’re doing it for Istrielle!”
VETCH ARUNSEN
Hugging cover all the way, they crept up on the rebel convoy. The soldiers had unassed the trucks, and were about to spread out and search the village when a lone figure strode out from the storehouses to meet them.
“Returned to the scene of your crime, have you?” It was a Zhoogene dressed in the same Panhandler neckerchief as the two they’d seen disappear into the burning village. He seemed familiar, but Vetch couldn’t place him. “You’ve got a nerve coming back here.”
“This?” The RevRec leader gestured at the devastation. “You think we did this? Are you mad? Explain yourself and you’d better make it fucking good.” He made a show of charging his blaster. “I’m not in a good mood.”
“Keep moving,” Vetch urged Darant.
They filtered along a row of blazing retail stores, keeping low beneath the walled-off loading yards at the back.
“You shot these defenseless civilians,” thundered the Zhoogene, hidden from Vetch and Darants’ view but his voice ringing clear. “Massacred those who looked to you for protection. The people of this world will hold the Revolutionary Forces of Reconciliation responsible, and they will turn upon you and destroy you.”
“Why are you saying that shit?”
Darant had pushed on ahead, making for the end of the shops from which they could drop around behind the convoy.
“Because we have footage of you committing the massacre,” the Zhoogene said.
Under cover of the stunned silence, Vetch checked Fitz and Enthree were in position a short distance behind them. Then he hurried off to join up with Darant who suddenly shouldered his blaster and took aim.
Vetch pulled alongside and saw one of the apparent Panhandlers walk out of the burning store on the end of the row, and get ready to sneak behind the rear of the RevRec rebels. The Pryxian looked disoriented for a moment as he exited the blaze but otherwise unscathed. How did his clothes not even smolder?
“Sorry, Lucerne,” Vetch told his war hammer as he slung her over his back and cradled his light blaster in his hands. “You’ll taste some skulls soon. I promise.”
Once again, he checked Fitz and Enthree. They were holding position, Fitz waving at Vetch to hold fire. When he saw he’d gotten Vetch’s attention, Fitz pointed back at the storehouse trying to convey with gestures what was coming.
Vetch was no good at these party games. But he got the message that what was headed his way was big. And bad.
“Darant,” he whispered. “We’ve got trouble inbound. Eight o’clock.”
“Do I take the shot?”
Vetch sucked in a deep breath, and almost choked on the smoke and stink of overcooked meat. What was he leading the remnants of Raven Company into? Fitz complicated everything. Vetch had wanted to thrash it out when they got downtime, but it couldn’t wait. Soon as this action was over, Fitz would have some talking to do.
Meanwhile, Vetch didn’t feel like taking orders. He felt much more like taking revenge.
“Wait for my signal,” he whispered to Darant. “But, yes. Waste the Pryxian.”
TAVISTOCK FITZWILLIAM
“Hey, you! Skangat! Get your green ass back here!”
Fitz looked on with interest through a gap in the burning buildings as the Zhoogene sauntered away from the RevRec rebels in the direction of the storehouses.
“Kill him!” ordered the rebel leader.
Suddenly struck with fear, the Zhoogene turned and spread out his long arms. “Please, no!” he pleaded. “We’re on the same side.”
The Revolutionary Forces of Reconciliation were not listening. The Zhoogene went down under a fusillade of blaster fire, his screams almost but not quite drowned out by the fury of the bolts ripping through the air.
Then he got up, dusted the soot off him as best he could, and resumed his walk back to the storehouses, apparently without a care in the galaxy.
Desultory blaster fire pursued the Zhoogene who’d passed out of Fitz’s narrow field of vision. He didn’t need to see to know that it wouldn’t penetrate the personal force shield.
It was a smoking hot variant too. He’d never seen one so good. Damn!
Tire squeals announced that the rebels were going to run down the fake Panhandler.
That wouldn’t work either. The Zhoogene who’d dressed himself up like a Panhandler had staged his shooting. No doubt it would be edited to add fake blood later. If his team had taken out the entire village with ease, a handful of rebels wouldn’t present much of a problem.
Azhanti! He’d stumbled into an operation mounted by serious professionals. A false flag action designed to discredit the RevRec rebels.
And we all know who loves false flags…
“Captain Fitz!”
Enthree was pointing along the retail row at Darant and Arunsen who were exchanging fire with another apparent Panhandler, a Pryxian also wearing a shield. This one appeared to be a more conventional model, though, because it flashed ghostly colors under the blaster assault like an aurora.
“Enthree, tell those two buffoons to disengage and withdraw to the GAC-19s.”
“You mean Darant and Sergeant Arunsen?”
“Yes, of course those two buffoons.”
“In future, please be more specific in your instructions,” Enthree corrected him and sprinted off to comply.
Fitz shook his head. “That Muryani’s going to be even more trouble than Lynx,” he murmured, and then broke cover to head the opposite direction, wanting a better look at what they were really facing here.
The command and control issue his team faced needed resolving, and fast, but would have to wait. He’d been waiting until he’d gathered the legionary component of Chimera Company. Now that decision didn’t seem so smart.
Boom! Boom!
Here it came… Enthree had stuck her feelers into the dirt and warned him what was coming, but the sight of it still made Fitz’s heart pound. And the sound of massive metal and ceramalloy feet slamming into the ground sent primal fear coursing through him.
He wanted to flee.
But he had to watch as the nine-foot high mecha stomped out of the cover between the storehouses.
Its armor was painted a deep green, and it had unusually long and rounded arms that ended in miniguns. The cockpit was multifaceted, and its many armor reinforcing joints that stood proud of the hull gave the mecha an insectoid look. In its own way, it was a chimera of sorts, but an ungainly one weighed down by oversized multiple rocket arrays mounted on its shoulders like mad shoulder pads of death.
Out of forty on each shoulder, only three tubes still contained rockets.
I’d bet the Phantom that those rockets were loaded with knockout gas. It’s the only way to explain how they staged the massacre.
The rocket pods also explained why this beast was stomping so much. Its driver must be struggling to keep the mech’s balance under such an ungainly load.
Rebel bolts screamed into the mech, aiming mostly for the weak points at the joints.
The mech replied with both miniguns, unleashing a devastating hail of fire.
Return fire from the rebels swiftly dwindled.
The Zhoogene operative reappeared in Fitz’s view, having armed himself with a blaster. Sheltered in t
he mech’s shadow, he calmly observed the extermination of the rebels. Suddenly, he twisted around, looking straight at Fitz along a barrel he was holding in a c-clamp grip.
“Arrogant,” muttered Fitz.
He jumped out of sight behind the blackened ruin of a wall, hearing the bolts scream overhead.
“And he wants me alive. For now.”
The professional false flag op.
The signature C-clamp grip they loved for some reason.
Neither was unique to the Special Missions Executive, but that’s how Fitz was calling it. He’d lay money on that mech driver smoking a clay pipe inside their canopy.
He could even be facing the same team who’d taken out Nuysp. Department 9, Wei had called them. Whatever. He knew now to take them seriously.
Swingfire armor piercing or shield piercing? Which cartridge to select?
The mech was still stomping destruction through the last of the rebels.
Cursing himself for not stumping that extra twenty thou for the dual magazine option, Fitz went for shield piercers.
His F-Cannon hummed as it reconfigured its loadout. While his pride and joy worked its alien-tech magic, he looked behind to check on the status of his new marines.
He caught a glimpse of insectoid limbs moving into cover and surmised that Darant, Arunsen, and Enthree were falling back on Lily’s position in the trees. They covered each other in their retreat, maintaining almost continuous blaster fire approximately in the direction of the mech. In the middle of a village in flames, he couldn’t see what they were firing on, but their withdrawal was disciplined.
“I want nothing but the best in my marine squad,” he declared to no one in particular, not caring that he didn’t have a ship for them to operate out of at the moment.
Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he stepped out from cover, expecting to snap a shot at the Zhoogene.
But there was no one there.
Head on a swivel, all he could see was a burning village. All he could hear, a mech crashing through the debris of buildings… And it was headed his way.
“There is no escape, Fitzwilliam,” boomed the monster through external speakers. “Or should I say, Lieutenant Commander Zi’Alfu?”
Azhanti! Where’s Izza when I need her?
Fitz ran.
LILY HJON
“Helluva time to learn how to fly!”
Lily pushed forward the gravitic control and simmered with satisfaction as the GAC-19 hover flier rose from its leafy concealment.
She exhilarated in the sense of power flowing through the yoke and vibrating her ass. This wasn’t like the game sims. This was real!
She understood instantly why aviators and space jocks got addicted to this.
Easing back the gravitics slightly, she pushed on the thrust lever and the flier accelerated forward.
Suddenly, tree trunks were flying at her. She turned the yoke, easily slaloming through the forest before bursting out into the open ground in front of the village.
“Oh, yeah!” she screamed. The yoke was just like her old holo-game setup. This was going to be fun.
Kicking the pedal, she yawed right and swept around the open area, headed for the road into the village that the RevRec rebels had driven along.
Stuck up a tree with no radio comms, she’d had to piece together what was going on. But when the miniguns started their furious rattle, she decided it was time to shift from lookout to reserve force.
En route to the road, she saw a Pryxian dressed like a Panhandler step out of a burning building and send bolts her way out of a weirdly stubby blaster.
Fireproof. That’s a neat trick.
She pulled back the throttle and hit the stabilizer control. The flier was a hovering gun platform now, twisting to face its foe.
The Pryxian’s blast fire mostly deflected off the GAC-19’s heavily armored nose, but some bolts were skimming over the top and into the front of the canopy, which darkened under the impact like melting glue.
“Don’t know what you are,” – she flicked the safety caps off the fire buttons on the yoke handles – “but you ain’t no Panhandler.”
Quad heavy blasters spat fat bolts into the target.
The Pryxian held up his hand as if warding off a dazzling light. Around him, the outline of a force shield blazed in a baleful red.
But the shield held.
Bolts caught the Pryxian in his right flank – she guessed that was from her friends – and the shield glow shifted from red to green.
Lily screamed when the flight canopy shattered around her. She ducked low, but kept both thumbs down on the fire buttons, giving the Pryxian everything this war machine had.
“Lily!” someone screamed. “You got him.”
She raised her head and saw it was Fitz yelling at her from within the confusing maze of flaming ruins. “Get out of here. Now!”
In front of her, the Pryxian had been chewed into burned dogmeat beneath a cloud of dust.
The feet pounding through the rubble was the first indication of what was coming next. Then the dust began to clear, and she saw a hulking metal form cutting through a ruined building to get to her.
She was flying. For the first time. Not just that but combat flying.
Getting out of here wasn’t going to be simple. The street was narrow, and the flames all around seemed to lick at her, eager to burn her up.
Hell, she had no experience of running away from tight situations in the sims. It simply wasn’t part of the game mechanics. But she did know the way to beat boss-level opponents was to wear them down while ducking nimbly away from their big guns.
The mech lumbered her way, stopped, and began twisting its body to face her.
If that wasn’t a boss, she didn’t know what was. And if those guns targeted her, she was dead.
She throttled forward and flew at it, head on.
“Get some!” she yelled.
Moments before crashing into its torso, she remembered to fire. Bolts flew into the metal beast but didn’t penetrate.
It’s not over yet, she assured her enemy and pushed the yoke forward to skim over its top and come around for another quick burst before it could get its miniguns into play.
A distant memory surfaced of reversing the yoke control in her game setup.
Instead of flying over the top of the mech, she pitched down toward the ground. She pulled back, but it was too late. The straps bit hard as she was thrown forward when her GAC-19 hit the ground and skimmed along, throwing up a plume of ash. It careered through the mech’s legs, catching a glancing blow against its ankle before coming to a stop in a gap between two houses.
Lily hit the quick release on her harness and scrambled out of the cockpit.
Behind her, the whine and hiss of the mech’s servos put a fresh adrenaline spike into her limbs and she ran faster, trying to lose herself in the smoke and flames.
HINES “BRONZE” ZY PEL
“What the hell are those brutes?” Sybutu pointed at the mecha monsters parked fifty yards ahead in the gap between two long buildings that were the only ones in the little town not on fire. Not even scorched.
“Hunters,” Bronze replied. “Hansen-Hyperb Hunters with seriously large custom rocket pods on the shoulder mounts.”
There were two of the forbidding machines. One appeared to be powered down, the other had its canopy open and looked about ready to go into action.
“The message from Fitzwilliam said to meet him here,” said Sybutu. “He said nothing about mechs, nor this slaughter of civilians. Can’t believe those machines are with Fitzwilliam, and they aren’t painted in REED markings. So who the hell are they?”
“SpecMish,” Bronze growled in response, his voice roughened with shame. “Bears all the hallmarks. Don’t ask me how I know.”
Sybutu gave him a piercing look. “Fine, I won’t. Do you know how to pilot one of those beasts?”
“Drive, Sarge. Yes, I can drive one. They’re designed to terrorize soft target
s. Their mobility is limited. But stand in the way of its miniguns and you’ll be shredded.”
“Let’s not do that then. Zavage will head north and distract the one booting up. Bronze, you get in the other one and shoot it from the rear.”
“No,” said Bronze. “There’s no need, and the situation is too chaotic to split up. Besides, all the rebels returned to us were our sidearms. We go together. Follow me.”
He sprinted across the ground, making for the Hunter on standby.
A man popped his head out of the open mech and looked at him in astonishment.
Bronze fired at him, but missed, so he tossed a puffer grenade inside instead.
But the man jerked his head back in and set the clamshell canopy closing.
The grenade bounced off the canopy’s rim.
Bronze hit the ground and covered his head as the pressure wave blew over. The time wasn’t wasted, though. Using his brain augments, he sent the secret SpecMish backdoor codes to shut down the mech.
Metal fingers the size of hams twitched beneath the miniguns.
“Bad luck, asshole,” roared the mech’s speakers. “That won’t work with us. I’d like to know how you found those codes, but you won’t live long enough to tell me.”
The Hunter’s body hummed with power as its fusion reactor went live. It lifted an enormous leg and stomped out into the open.
“Just one chance,” Bronze muttered and ran at the metal monster.
He must have presented an unlikely sight, a slender man wearing civilian garb charging down a mech that weighed eleven hundred kilos. But he had no choice. He had to close with it before its targeting systems booted up and acquired him.
Twin miniguns cycled and then spat a hail of rounds through the air.
Bronze evaded the crossfire by mere inches, leaping for one of the armor plates over the knees.
The mech tried to flick its leg to shake him off, but mechs were no good at dancing and, despite the name, Hunters were more mobile weapons platforms than the class of mechs intended to engage in close combat. All it succeeded in doing was stumbling and flailing out one arm to avoid falling over.
Chimera Company Season 2 - Deep Cover Page 30
