by C H Gideon
Chaps didn’t sweat unless he was already balls-out.
“Must be the heat,” Chaps muttered, wiping the runnels away as he reclined in the pilot’s chair.
“I’ll see about adjusting the AC,” Jenkins said with a knowing smirk.
“Thanks, Commander.”
“Sir,” Styles called from his station to Chaps’ left, “only our two Owl drones are capable of subterranean flight. Our Vultures would never be able to maneuver their way through the tunnels that I’m seeing on the early seismic scans. They grow too narrow in too many places.”
Jenkins leaned over Styles’ shoulder, and after a moment’s perusals he agreed with his subordinate’s judgment. The tunnels were wide enough for the vultures, but their sharp twists and turns made it impossible for the all-purpose Vulture-class drones to maneuver at the speeds necessary to stay airborne. Even the Owls were hardly designed as subterranean flyers, but they could serve as advance scouts as the mechs descended into enemy territory.
“All right…run a test flight no more than two hundred meters down,” he decided, “but wait until we’ve formed up before proceeding.”
They finally arrived at the edge of the collapsed cavern, where Captain Murdoch’s 2nd Company mechs had assembled after securing the site of Elvira’s epic stand.
He noted two Monkeys working alongside the corpsmen to secure Xi’s limp body to the undercarriage of one of the Vulture-class drones. The drone was a fixed-wing, long-range, multi-purpose platform that had earned its nickname after use in this precise fashion: shuttling wounded off the line. The reason for the nickname was typical for military monikers: most of the passengers tended to be dead meat by the time the Vultures got through with them.
Of course, that was due more to the circumstances surrounding Vultures being employed in that capacity. Their long-range capabilities, coupled with the fact they were unmanned, made them the top choice for the most dangerous medevac missions.
Fortunately for Xi and Podsednik, there were corpsmen present to stabilize them before loading them onto the Vultures for their trip back to base.
“How are Elvira’s people, Doc?” Jenkins asked over the corpsmen’s dedicated channel.
“Podsednik is already back at base being treated for minor electrical burns,” the corpsman, David ‘Doc’ Summers, replied as Roy descended the treacherous, rubble-strewn slope Elvira had impossibly navigated during the collapse. Even Roy had difficulty maneuvering down the now-stable rockslide.
In Jenkins’ view, Xi’s talents as a pilot, and his faith in her, had just been proven beyond all doubt.
“Slippery slope…” Chaps grunted, wincing as he nearly lost Roy’s footing during the descent.
“How’s our pilot?” Jenkins asked after Chaps finally got through the worst of the slope.
“Physically, she’s stable,” Doc Summers replied, “but she got a wicked e-mag spike that shorted out some of her implants. I’m surprised she’s alive, Commander.”
“Recovery?” Jenkins pressed.
“Too early to tell, sir,” Doc said firmly, and through Roy’s cameras, Jenkins saw the Vulture bearing Xi lift off and hurtle away from the assemblage of war machines. “Biologically, there’s nothing wrong with her. If they can repair the damage to her neural linkage and reset her neurotransmitter levels before any long-term damage sets in to her brain, there’s a chance for full recovery.”
“Good work, Doc,” Jenkins said approvingly. “Stay here and help the recovery teams prep Elvira for transfer back to base. When they’re done, hold this position and wait for further orders.”
“Understood, sir,” Summers acknowledged. Everyone knew what was about to happen: they were preparing to besiege the enemy where they lived. Before this was over, there would be a whole lot of bodies on and under the ground.
Jenkins took a deep breath and raised Captain Murdoch’s direct line, “2nd Company, report.”
A brief but telling delay preceded Murdoch’s reply. “All mechs but Elvira are present and accounted for, Commander. We’re ready to advance on your orders.”
Jenkins’ lip twisted into a faint sneer before clarifying, “Condition of mechs acknowledged. Finish your report, Captain.”
A second delay. “All squads of infantrymen stand ready to advance, Commander Jenkins.”
“I want a count, Captain.”
Yet another delay, this one more pointed than its predecessors. “Twelve squads of sixteen infantrymen, totaling one hundred, ninety-two, present and awaiting orders…sir.”
“One nine two…” Jenkins repeated, adding a deliberate pause of his own, one intended to convey his displeasure at Murdoch’s reassigning Elvira’s infantry detail, leaving her vulnerable. Murdoch’s selfish short-sightedness, pulling Elvira’s troops to protect his Flaming Rose, had ultimately led to Elvira launching a dangerous close pulse missile strike. “Copy that, Captain. Form up on Roy; we’ll lead the column down Bravo Tunnel.” As tunnels were marked on the map, Roy automatically labeled them and updated the information slaved to the mechs. Having readily identified geo-references was critical in combat.
“We’ll have your back, Commander,” Murdoch acknowledged as Roy rolled its way toward the only tunnel large enough for the entire column to move down.
2nd Company’s three roughly-humanoid mechs, Monsoon, Kamehameha, and Paul Harris, would have difficulty moving down the tunnel given the variability in roof height, but the rest of the units would have no problem. Bravo Tunnel, along with five others, was tall enough to permit a vast array of alarmingly large gear to be transported underground. Fleet Command had already relayed the sudden appearance of anti-orbital artillery being set up so quickly they couldn’t coordinate strikes before coming under fire.
Neutralizing those guns was a primary objective of Jenkins’ mission, and he knew that every minute he delayed down here was another potential shot sent Fleet’s way.
“Styles, put our birds five hundred and three hundred meters ahead of Roy,” Jenkins ordered. “Have Silent Fox continuously run its seismic sensors to detect any potential activity adjacent to Bravo Tunnel.”
“Owls deployed, Commander,” Styles acknowledged as the two drones’ icons appeared on the main tactical plotter in Roy’s command center. Speeding ahead of the column, the drones flew down the surprisingly straight tunnel before assuming their respective positions. “Drones in position. Silent Fox reports seismics are online. Continuous data feeds coming in from the rest of the column should cancel out our noise well enough to detect vehicle movement.”
“Understood.” Jenkins nodded. “Roll out.”
Roy moved forward, followed by the recon mech Silent Fox. Murdoch’s Flaming Rose was next, with the rest of 2nd Company in trail. A hundred and forty infantrymen rode the mechs down the dark, foreboding tunnel on a mix of dedicated and improvised seats. The rest brought up the rear of the formation on foot.
“You’re clear, Podsy,” declared the battalion’s chief medical officer, Dr. Nick ‘Strange Bed’ Fellows. He was all right in Podsy’s book, apart from the whole patient molestation thing which had landed him in the clink for a quarter-century. But Fleet reported that he was fully reformed at release time. “We’ll give you another dose of burn gel before wrapping your hands in healing bandages, but you’ll be fit for light duty in another three hours.”
“What about Xi?” Podsednik asked as a corpsman went about administering the gel, which burned ten times worse than the damned wounds themselves!
“She’s not out of the woods yet.” Fellows shook his head grimly. “The neural feedback caused by the pulse missile’s EM spike shorted some key neural link components. Normally that would have shut the whole system down, but the spike locked a few neurotransmitter lines open long enough to put her into a coma.”
“How long will it take to bring her out?” Podsy asked grimly. He didn’t want to lose her, especially not after the rough patch they’d just been through together.
“We’re not a neuro u
nit here, Podsy.” Dr. Fellows shook his head again. “I’ll be happy if she eventually recovers without permanent cognitive deficits. I’m not equipped to try to revive her here, especially not with all the junk that leaked into her cerebrospinal fluid. It’s safer to shut her down and prevent any further damage until we can get her back up to Fleet Medical.”
Podsy gritted his teeth. He knew he was lucky just to make it out of that kind of SNAFU, but it had been Xi’s quick reactions and decisive nature that had saved them. Had he been the one making the call, he would have waited too long to fire on their own position, and they’d both be dead.
He owed her his life, and he needed to make good on that debt.
“Come on, Doc.” Podsy held Fellows’ eyes. “Unlike most of us mooks, you were top-drawer back in the world. I read your file: two dozen research papers focused on neurophysiology, which is why the commander tabbed you for this unit. You can do something.”
Fellows met Podsy’s gaze unyieldingly. “I can, but it goes against the first bit of the Hippocratic Oath. And you’re not in a position to authorize such drastic measures...”
Podsy produced a small polymer card and thrust it into Fellows’ face. “Durable power of attorney, Doc. She gave me total control over what happens to her if she went down and had a questionable recovery timetable, up to and including giving her a dignified death.”
Fellows’ brow lifted in surprise as he examined the card, plucking it into his fingers before flipping it over and examining it for authenticity markers. He nodded after a quick perusal. “Seen enough of these to know it’s genuine.”
“She told me she’d rather take a ten percent chance of a full recovery than a ninety percent chance of coming back a fraction of what she was,” Podsy pressed after Fellows handed the card back. “She also told me if it was a choice between getting back on the line or pulling back for recovery, she’d choose the line every time. So be straight, Doc,” he said, tucking the card back into his pocket, “what can we do?”
Fellows nodded slowly. “We’ll need to keep her under for another two hours, during which time I’m going to need to tap you for some of your spinal fluid.”
Without hesitation, Podsy nodded. “How much?”
Fellows gestured to a nearby medical table. “Pretty much all of it.”
Podsy was concerned, but he didn’t delay in undoing his trousers and lifting his shirt before sitting on the edge of the table. “Don’t I…umm…need to keep at least a little?”
“Not really.” Fellows smirked. “You’ll be fine with a regular saline transfusion, but Xi’s implants require the real thing or they won’t operate. Her current CSF is flooded with neurotransmitter waste products that will lock those implants off for at least a week as they clear her system, assuming I can even revive her with the meager means available to me here. But if she really would want to get back in a mech, this is the only way I can make that happen.” He emphatically wagged a syringe with a particularly long needle attached. “Let me be clear: I’m not guaranteeing anything here. This will be risky for both of you, though obviously more so for her since she might die from anaphylaxis, meningitis, cerebral hemorrhage, serotonin cascade, or a dozen other potentially fatal conditions. The worst you’ll get is a headache and some vertigo. If you really want to go through with this, lie down on your side and pull your knees against your chest. I’m going to need this suite empty when those casualties start coming back, so the sooner we get started the better.”
Podsy complied, and the doctor began swabbing the base of his spine with a cold sterilizing pad. He breathed heavily through gritted teeth and urged, “Let’s do it, Doc.”
2
Lancing a Boil
“Enemy contact,” Styles reported urgently an hour into the column’s descent into the dark, increasingly humid tunnel. Jenkins moved to his side as the Warrant Officer continued, “Owl One was just engaged by enemy infantry.”
The video feeds from Owl One were erratic as the drone juked and spun, all while returning fire to at least six of the rock-biters that had engaged with small arms. A lucky shot managed to hit the pickup, causing the feed to go dark.
“Pull Owl Two back,” Jenkins commanded. “Have it establish contact with 1st Company. And signal the rest of the column: prepare to engage the enemy,” he said with satisfaction. “Infantry to remain with the rear of the formation until we’ve secured the tunnel.”
“All units acknowledge orders,” Styles reported promptly, and the tactical plotter began to fill with deploying infantrymen as they streamed out, or off, of their assigned mechs. Despite their environmental suits, which permitted them to retain secreted bodily fluids for later recycling, the infantry would become dangerously dehydrated after two hours of fighting.
As was so often the case in situations like these, speed was critical.
“Move Silent Fox to the rear of the column,” Jenkins ordered. “Fire lance formation.”
“Fire lance formation, yes, sir.” Styles nodded, and after a few seconds, the column confirmed his orders by adjusting posture behind Roy as it drove deeper into the darkness.
Roy’s headlights stabbed into the slightly foggy tunnel, illuminating the triangular passageway as it bent gently to the right. Owl Two zipped past Roy as it retreated to the relative safety of the rear echelon, and soon the wreckage of the other Owl came into view.
The rock-biters who shot it down were nowhere to be seen.
“Anti-personnel only, Chaps,” Jenkins urged, “but kill anything that moves and keep pressing the advance. The rest of the column can deal with your scraps.”
“Yes, sir.” Chaps grinned fiercely as Roy came to a sharp turn in the tunnel, and immediately came under intense plasma fire.
Chaps unleashed Roy’s forward-facing anti-personnel coilguns, laying four hundred rounds into the enemy infantry squad in just under a second. After the brief-but-hellish firestorm abruptly ceased, the headlights illuminated silica-based gore spattered across the walls and floor of the tunnel.
It took several seconds for Roy’s computer to reconstruct the scene of the crime and feed the data to Styles’ station. “Fifteen rock-biters neutralized, sir,” Styles reported clinically.
Jenkins let a thin smile flash across his lips. “You’re a greedy boy, Chaps.”
“Sorry, sir,” Chaps said with patently false contrition. “I’ll leave some for 2nd Company next time.”
Roy rolled over the mass of rock-biter carcasses, some of which were still twitching when they were crushed beneath the command vehicle’s leg-mounted rollers, and continued down the tunnel.
“Where are their railguns?” Jenkins muttered as they rolled for two kilometers—or in military parlance, two clicks—without seeing a single sign of the enemy. “They should have fortified this position by now. It’s been over an hour since Elvira breached their tunnels.”
“There was no immediate traffic in this tunnel, Commander,” Styles suggested. “It’s possible we went down an empty hole.”
“This tunnel’s the largest artery feeding the surface chamber.” Jenkins shook his head firmly. “Something important is down here.”
“Or was down here,” Styles observed, and Jenkins found himself equally impressed and dismayed by the Warrant Officer’s suggestion. “Contact,” Styles called out.
“I’m not seeing anything,” Chaps snapped.
“I’m picking up radio signals ahead consistent with Arh’Kel comm chatter,” Styles clarified.
“Hold up, Chaps,” Jenkins commanded, and Roy’s pilot complied. “We must be right on top of them,” the commander muttered, subconsciously, and uselessly, quieting his voice. “We lost contact with the surface one click down.”
“And the interference has only gotten worse as we’ve gone deeper,” Styles agreed as he worked to isolate the signal.
“What are we looking at?” Jenkins pressed after several silent moments had passed without an update.
“I can’t be sure, sir,” Styles
said with evident frustration, and the tension in the command mech grew thicker by the second as the mostly-green crew prepared to engage the enemy. “It looks like five or six heavy platforms and a few hundred soldiers.”
Jenkins was ambivalent at hearing that. He had hoped to land on a central nexus and enemy supply depot, which should have been much more heavily-guarded than by what Styles was seeing. “Inform the column we’re about to engage. Make sure the infantry hangs back while we clear a hole. Let’s go, Chaps,” he urged, and Roy resumed its trek down the dark, dank tunnel. “Don’t stop till we’ve hit their teeth.”
As they moved, Styles’ station became increasingly active, and icons popped up one-by-one on the tactical plotter as Roy’s sensors made positive ID on as-yet-unseen enemy targets.
Five distinct heavy weapon platform icons appeared, surrounded by a cluster of four hundred enemy soldier signatures. Those five heavies soon became ten, then fifteen, and by the time they were halfway to the cavern’s entry, there were twenty icons and over a thousand soldiers.
Twenty quickly became thirty, and one thousand enemy troops became four thousand before Roy finally caught a glimpse of a cavern so vast it could have only been artificial. Measuring six kilometers on a side and nearly fifty meters from floor to ceiling, the chamber before them was over ten times the size of the junction Elvira had fallen into.
And it was crawling with rock-biters.
Roy’s coilguns tore into a pair of Arh’Kel formations flanking the cavern’s entrance. Two thousand rounds shredded their rock-hard skins and decorated the cavern walls with rock-biter innards in a handful of seconds, causing their fellows deeper within the cavern to return harmless fire with small arms.
