Scorpion’s Fury

by C H Gideon

  “We collapse the tunnel in five seconds,” Bao called out, though Podsy knew that to successfully blow the tunnel, or even to have a realistic chance to do so, they would need both guns to fire at least twice.

  Arh’Kel infantry continued swarming toward Devil Crab, with the mech’s machine guns flashing overheating alarms while ammo stores fell to dangerously low levels. They were less than five hundred meters from the target tunnel, which meant they could shoot more-or-less straight down its throat and hit the bend a hundred and fifty meters from the cavern.

  “Five,” she declared while Podsy worked to reinitialize the right gun’s reload mechanism.

  “Four.”

  He completed a quick diagnostic of the system, finding the problem to be with the same hydraulic feed that had been acting up on the drive assembly.

  “Three.”

  Podsy barely managed to shunt enough pressure from the left gun’s hydraulic feeders over to the right gun without compromising the system.

  “Two.”

  The reload cycle initiated, with the spent casing ejecting and a fresh one moving up into the breach.

  “One.”

  The breach snapped shut with a clang, and the gun’s sensors showed green across the board.

  “Fire!”

  Podsy gave the tunnel both barrels. Devil’s Crab bounced from the recoil.

  The muffled explosions down the tunnel were far from climactic, but he saw that he had scrubbed at least one railgun platform while damaging the tunnel itself.

  The guns’ loading mechanisms cycled in three seconds, during which time two of Devil Crab’s three remaining machine guns shut down due to critical overheating. They were nearly out of ammo anyway, but their sudden silence left open lines of attack, lines which the Arh’Kel flooded into with murderous ferocity.

  Rock-biter infantry slammed into the hull, carving deep gouges into Devil Crab’s armor with their plasma torch sidearms. In the three seconds it took for the mech’s fifteen-kilo guns to reload, twenty rock-biters began slicing into every sensitive point on the mech’s hull.

  “Fire!” Bao commanded, her voice filled with every bit as much desperation as Podsy felt.

  Devil Crab’s guns cleared again, with both rounds striking home. A low rumble shook the entire cavern. The mech was tossed and the rock-biters were thrown off. The tunnel moaned in its death throes as the walls caved in, cutting off the Arh’Kel reinforcements.

  Bao swept Devil Crab left and right, while Podsy tried, and failed, to reinitialize their offline machine guns.

  There were at least three hundred rock-biters returning to swarm the hull, with a few dozen standing atop its broad, heavy chassis where they began to cut into the big guns themselves.

  Bao bucked, pitched, yawed, and did everything in her power to dislodge them, but she had little effect on their progress. The torches cut deep rents into Devil Crab, but the mech defiantly continued to struggle against them, even managing to dislodge and crush a handful with expert stomps of the six-legged mech’s limbs.

  Then small arms fire slammed against her hull in rapid-succession, far too rapid to be rock-biter sidearms.

  “It’s Roy!” Podsy declared, seeing the command vehicle’s icon appear on his screen. Not only was Commander Jenkins’ mech moving to support them by scraping Arh’Kel from Devil Crab’s hull, but nearly a hundred FGF Pounders were doing likewise, while their nested fellows sent a barrage into the rock-biter horde.

  Finally, and for the first time since Terran forces had engaged the Arh’Kel on this hellhole of a planet, the rock-biters made a human decision.

  They turned as one and retreated.

  “Fall back to Bravo Tunnel, Elvira,” Commander Jenkins’ voice came over the line. “We’re headed back to the barn.”

  “Copy that,” Bao acknowledged. “Devil Crab withdrawing.”

  “Negative. Devil Crab isn’t on this battalion’s active rolls,” Jenkins said, his voice filled with mixed approval and consternation, “but as of this moment, Elvira is, and she’s going to stay that way…at least until I figure out how to discipline her for the most bone-headed stunt I’ve ever seen.”

  “Understood,” Bao said, though some of the nuance was lost on Podsy as he worked the restore the mech’s drive systems. It looked like they would be able to limp out of there, but full-speed charges were out of the question until they’d had at least a few days’ wrench time to patch her back up again.

  Ten minutes later, the FGF spent the rest of their demo charges on sealing Bravo Tunnel. An hour after that, the battered column emerged from the hole in the ground and squinted from the daylight.

  7

  Barn & Its Beasts

  Two hours after reaching the surface, the last of the battalion’s mechs fell into their mobile HQ. Situated atop a granite outcropping forty meters tall and six hundred meters long, the plateau was the only spot within a hundred clicks which provided safety from a subterranean ambush. Seismic sensors lined the perimeter, and mobile weapon emplacements skirted the edge of the plateau.

  A half-dozen APCs formed the HQ’s essential facilities. Two served as hospitals, which were soon filled with wounded FGF and mech crews, while the rest housed the battalion’s ammunition perishables.

  The first thing Bao did after parking Elvira in its assigned slot and powering it down was look for Ensign Ford.

  Serendipity put their mechs in adjacent parking slots.

  She saw the olive-skinned Ford clamber down Forktail’s ladder, and she clenched her fists in eager anticipation of the beatdown she was about to administer to the insubordinate ensign.

  Judging by the set of Ford’s jaw, he was every bit as ready for a fistfight as she was. Bao barely noticed Podsy at her flank, but she silently appreciated him having her back in case Forktail’s crew decided to intervene.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing...” Ford began furiously before, seemingly out of nowhere, Podsy cracked a right hand across the ensign’s face.

  Ford’s eyes rolled back into his head as he staggered, never quite hitting the deck thanks to his Wrench’s steadying hands.

  “You’re up on charges, Podsednik!” Ford’s Wrench, a woman named Vasquez, seethed. “Striking a superior officer in a combat zone is...”

  “Is exactly what that fuck-stain deserves,” Podsy retorted hotly as Ford’s eyes focused on him. “And I’ll take whatever punishment the commander sees fit, up to and including summary execution! But I wonder—” He raised his voice as a small crowd began to gather around the affair. “—what’s the punishment for cycling your rockets on a superior officer in the middle of an active engagement?”

  “You’ll hang for this, Podsednik,” Ford growled, gripping his profusely-bleeding nose to slow the flow. “I’ll tie the rope myself...”

  “Can it, Ensign,” Bao barked, the primal fire suddenly gone from her after Podsy had gotten in an admittedly good shot in on the haughty ensign. “I’m willing to leave what happened down there out of my report if you man up and admit, right here and right now, that you threatened to open fire on my mech when I assumed command of 1st Company as the superior officer. Otherwise, I’m taking this straight to Commander Jenkins and we’ll see whose side he comes down on!”

  The truth was that Bao had no idea how Jenkins would react. She had only spent the last year and a half in the military, so most of the finer points of the system were still opaque to her. But Podsy had been in for over a decade, so she decided to trust his judgment on the matter.

  Ford’s eyes smoldered with rage. “I never threatened to open fire on you...”

  “Stuff that mealy-mouth horseshit up your ass where it squirted from,” Podsy snarled. “Everyone on the high-side of Bravo saw exactly what you did, and their sensor logs will confirm it.” At that, Ford’s face twisted into the very definition of bitter impotence, which only served to bolster Podsy as he lifted his voice again. “If you won’t admit it, you don’t belong anywhere but the stockade be
side me. Say it—” he set his jaw, balling his badly-burned hands into fists at his sides, “—and let’s all move on to more important things, like patching up these rigs and reloading our mags for when those sand-fuckers counterattack!”

  By now, Captain Murdoch had made his way out of Flaming Rose on the opposite side of the parking lot and was within earshot of the exchange. He raised his booming voice to demand, “What in the name of Barack Hussein Obama the Fourth is going on here?!”

  All eyes snapped back and forth between Ensign Ford and Lieutenant Xi, and when silence was the captain’s only reply, he stomped to the center of the gathering and glared at the assemblage.

  “Do I need to ask again?” Murdoch growled in a low, dangerous voice.

  “It’s an engineering dispute, sir,” Vasquez replied sourly.

  Murdoch turned his fiery gaze on the stocky Wrench. “A what?” he asked deliberately.

  “An engineering dispute, sir,” Podsy confirmed. “The ensign experienced a weapon system malfunction down in Bravo Tunnel and I offered a solution to the problem. We were just in the process of finalizing repair plans when he fell, nose-first, onto the deck.”

  Murdoch gave Podsy a withering gaze, “Do I look stupid to you, Podsednik?”

  Podsy recoiled for the briefest instant, a delay and gesture that gave lie to the next words to pass his lips. “No, sir, definitely not.”

  Murdoch set his jaw and turned to Ensign Ford. “Well, Ensign? I’m waiting for the truth.”

  Ford glanced nervously around before nodding grudgingly. “It is, sir. I had a weapon system malfunction down in Bravo and the chief warrant was making suggestions how to avoid future recurrences.”

  Murdoch sneered at the ensign. “And how did you find his ‘suggestions’?”

  Ford shot a resentful look at Podsednik, then at Xi, before relenting. “They were…appropriate, sir.”

  Murdoch was no fool. He knew exactly what had happened, but somewhat surprisingly, he nodded. “Very well. Then I suggest you all report to the hydro-can to drop off your H2O for recycle and then get your asses back to work fixing your gear.”

  For a moment, nobody moved. They were either too exhausted from the fight or too stunned by Murdoch’s uncharacteristic decision to ignore the breakdown in discipline, but whatever the reason, nobody moved.

  “That was an order!” Murdoch barked.

  At that, the various crews scrambled away, but before Murdoch did likewise. He met and held Xi’s gaze for a long while before shaking his head and walking off.

  After he had gone, Xi rounded on Podsy. “You asshole, I was going to break his nose!”

  “And a finer job you’d have done of it,” Podsy said, wincing as he cradled his burnt hands in front of his chest. “But I couldn’t let you do it, LT.”

  “Why the hell not?!” she demanded, her anger rising at being denied the chance to put Ford on his ass, where he belonged.

  “Because I know the score.” Podsy shrugged. “After Murdoch, Jenkins doesn’t have anyone with the brains, guts, and tactical know-how to assume command of anything more than an individual mech. You’re young, and you lack confidence in dealing with subordinates, but you’re the clear-cut choice for platoon command.”

  Xi wrinkled her nose in disgust, “What is this? You’re trying to white knight for me so that I’ll let you into my pants?”

  Podsy chuckled. “You’re not my type, remember? Too warm and animated. I like my lays like I like my sushi: cold and smelly.”

  “I’m serious, Chief,” she snapped. “Why the sudden concern for my career? Have I ever once done anything to make you think I care about that at all?”

  “Nope,” Podsy allowed, “but unlike you, I do care about getting off this rock alive. Which means the battalion needs someone like you, not that festering pustule.” Podsy pointed at the ensign. “Which means its best officers need to be in command. You’re not perfect, but you’re obviously better than a nepotistic shit-stain like Ford who got into Fleet Academy by having the right last name. So rather than have us come under his command, or even staying under Murdoch’s,” he added pointedly, “our best chance to survive is by pushing you up the ladder. And once you’re there, you’ll need to command the respect of your subordinates. That means no fisticuffs with anyone lower-ranked than you.”

  “You think they won’t respect me even if I rearrange their dental work?”

  “I think they’ll fear and despise you, and that won’t be good for anyone,” Podsy said, meeting and holding her gaze before finishing. “I know a thing or two about this, LT, remember?”

  Xi wanted to argue, but the unusual severity of his expression and tone deflated her. “Fine,” she allowed, “but next time, expect friendly fire if you step between me and someone who deserves a beatdown.”

  “Will do.” He nodded, wincing again as he cradled his hands.

  “Let’s get you to medical,” she urged.

  “Agreed.” They had already emptied their moisture-retention suits during their brief stop at HQ a few hours earlier, and since nobody liked visiting the so-called ‘hydro-can,’ they made their way to the hospital so that Podsy could get his hands looked at.

  “What’s the damage, Koch?” Jenkins asked after exiting Roy and making his way to the repair crew chief.

  “Of the mechs you dragged back here—” Koch gestured to the five vehicles so badly damaged they couldn’t move under their own power. “—none of them can be repaired down here. And of the rest—” He gestured to the parking lot. “—at least two need to be taken off the line immediately.”

  “I need better than that,” Jenkins said, but the truth was he knew Koch was probably right.

  “It’s all we’ve got.” Koch shrugged. “As it is, I’m pressing three of those damaged units back up against my better judgment, including Devil Crab...”

  “Elvira,” Jenkins interrupted with a lopsided grin. “Xi’s earned her ‘sign on this rock twice over.”

  “She’s feisty,” Koch allowed. “Maybe too feisty.”

  “Maybe,” Jenkins admitted. “She saved all our lives down there, twice. I’m pinning the biggest and baddest medal on her even though she doesn’t want it. And besides, she’s all we’ve got.”

  “Touché,” Koch snorted. “But seriously, we’ve barely got a full-strength company left here, even after we put everything we can back onto the line. A couple mechs can be used as stationary platforms to defend HQ, but they won’t roll or walk again until they’ve been to a proper repair yard.”

  It wasn’t what Jenkins wanted to hear, but it was what he had expected.

  “How long to get everything else back online?” Jenkins pressed.

  “Three days,” Koch replied firmly. When Jenkins went to open his mouth, the repair chief added, “And not one minute less. I can’t do much for most of the battered armor plates, but we can get the rest of the primary systems back online before them.”

  “Then I’d better let you get to work,” Jenkins said with a nod, turning to leave but pausing to add, “Oh, and good work transplanting Elvira’s neural interface systems on short notice.”

  “Xi didn’t have an NI in Devil Crab, Commander,” Koch said with a knowing look.

  “Really?” Jenkins’ brow rose in surprise. “You transplanted the auto-pilot system? I thought the onboard computers were incompatible between Elvira and Devil Crab.”

  “They are,” Koch said matter-of-factly.

  Jenkins cocked his head in confusion, and his eyes bulged slightly as the gravity of Koch’s suggestion sank in. “Wait… You’re saying she manually walked a hexapedal mech down there at top speed, fought it without an NI, and made it back here without a single trip-up?”

  “She’s got skills, you said as much when you gave her first pick of the rigs,” Koch said dryly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

  Jenkins was stunned. He knew Xi was good, it was why he’d pushed for her field commission to lieutenant JG prior to d
eployment, but it was becoming painfully clear just how good she really was.

  He shook his head to clear it as he made his way to the water reclamation facility, aka the ‘hydro-can.’

  The hydro-can was a heavily modified APC, which had been equipped with the best water-reclamation systems the Terran Republic could cram into its eight-meter-long chassis. Storage tanks sat on the ground beside the foul-smelling vehicle, which was unfortunately situated in the center of the camp. FGF Pounders and mech crews queued before these tanks, into which they emptied their environmentally-contained suits’ combined urine and sweat stores into the first set of tanks.

  Pumps cycled those first tanks’ contents, not-so-affectionately referred to as ‘clear water’ by the men and women stationed here, through the filters inside the hydro-can APC until they were potable. The potable water tanks were situated on the opposite side of the hydro-can, and after emptying their ‘clear water’ bags into the tanks, the soldiers filled their reservoirs from the potable tanks.

  This part of the system was fast, capable of processing two thousand gallons per hour with minimal power consumption. Jenkins had difficulty telling the difference between the hydro-can’s product and the stuff they drank while aboard the Fleet carrier which had borne them here.

  Unfortunately, sweat and piss weren’t the only fluids the hydro-can extracted from the men and women of Jenkins’ battalion.

  The so-called ‘dark water’ tanks, situated fifty meters from the hydro-can, were where the battalion’s bodily waste was deposited. Nobody liked the dark water tanks. Nobody liked what they represented, and nobody liked the possibility that they might come into play during this deployment. So people were understandably frugal with their water usage, even while rinsing their backsides after making routine deposits to the dark water supply.

  Even Jenkins shuddered at the thought of drinking the stuff. No amount of technobabble or gobbledygook could ever convince a thinking human that drinking the water extracted from his own ass-faucet was a good idea. It wasn’t. It was a bad idea, a stupid idea, but the dark water tanks’ very existence suggested that someone was stupid for daring to think that the whole concept of drinking butt-water was anything but stupid.