Point of Origin (War Eternal Book 4)

by M. R. Forbes

  She began running down another corridor, pulling to a stop when she heard footsteps up ahead. She held her spear ready for whatever was coming.

  The figure crossed the intersection in front of her. The lighting was dim, and it was impossible to make the identity out from the distance. She ran to the end of the corridor, turning left to chase after them. She felt a pull as the Goliath dropped out of hyperspace.

  She felt something else immediately after. It was large and heavy, and it slammed into the side of the head.

  48

  Mitchell adjusted his position in the cockpit of the mech, one of Digger's Franks, checking one of the series of wires that extended out from the exoskeleton he was wearing and plugged into a custom-made board that had been jury-rigged to the CAP-N behind his head. He pressed against it, feeling it click into place. Then he reached forward and picked up the helmet that would deliver the systems updates the CAP-N normally sent through the neural implant to the back of his eyes.

  They were ten minutes out of the first drop point on their journey to FD-09. It was step one of the plan Mitchell had devised with the help of his most trusted people: Aiko, Major Long, Teal, Digger, Ming, and Lieutenants Lewis and Atakan. He had wished more than once that Steven was present during the planning meetings, along with Millie, Calvin Hohn and even Captain Alvarez and Singh. His experience at strategizing a large-scale assault was limited to simulation and speculation, and he could have used their combined wealth of knowledge.

  As it was, he was hoping the Rigger's superior numbers would be enough to win the day, and maybe even garner a surrender before too much damage had been done. They had reviewed the readings from the Carver's first drop near FD-09. While the planet was surprisingly well-defended considering the size of its population, the Rigger's fleet outnumbered the Federation nearly four to one.

  It gave him hope, but it was also a cause for trepidation. The fleet was intended to be used against the Tetron, the enemy, not to attack and kill other humans. They had tried to design a strategy that would minimize casualties on both sides, and they had failed to come up with anything that didn't leave too much to chance. They were only going to have one opportunity to capture Pulin, a single shot at securing a possible end to a war that had never seen one before.

  If the Federation forces refused to surrender, it was going to get bloody on both sides.

  Ming had told him to expect the worst.

  Mitchell leaned forward in the suspension rig that kept him somewhat secured and upright in the mech's cockpit, reaching out and flipping the switch that would start the mech's reactor. A loud hum followed immediately after, shrinking back to a nearly inaudible pulsing a moment later. The HUD embedded in the helmet lit up, showing him the internal status of the Frank. This particular unit had been outfitted with a heavy laser on both forearms, as well as a group of four separate missile batteries, with two on the upper chest and two climbing off the shoulders. A pair of heavy, fixed chain guns sat in the abdomen while a large, disposable railgun was strapped to the large mech's back. Inside the mech, Mitchell had grips at the end of each hand that contained the triggers for each weapon. It was up to him to remember which one fired what.

  The mech itself was tall and chunky, thickly armored and slower than Mitchell would have preferred. The Rigger's insignia - a skull in a ring of fire - had been hastily painted to the top of its left leg.

  "Ares online," Mitchell said, opening a channel to the rest of the team.

  They would be dropping a full squad of five mechs, along with one-hundred-fifty ground-pounders in SCE exosuits to the surface of FD-09 while the fleet worked to keep the rest of the planet's defenses occupied. It would be up to the ground team to reach the research facility, break through the defenses, and get inside to search for Pulin.

  "Alpha squad, report."

  "Ghost online," a woman's voice said from the cockpit of a Dominator they had taken from Hell.

  "Psycho online," a man said, piloting the second of their Franks.

  "Shogun online," a second man reported from one of the other Dominators.

  "Raptor online," the final pilot, a female, said from the seat of a Knight they had transferred from one of Tio's other ships.

  Mitchell had spoken to all of the commanders in Tio's fleet, and these four had been picked out as the best mech jockeys they had. He had been sure to meet each one as they had been transferred over to the Carver, getting to know them before they went into battle together. Each had their own story to tell, but the unifying commonality was that they were damn good manual pilots with a lot of experience in drop and retrieve missions like this one.

  "Exo platoon leaders, report," Mitchell said.

  "First platoon, ready."

  "Second platoon, ready."

  "Third platoon, ready."

  "Fourth platoon, ready."

  "Fifth platoon, ready."

  Like the mech pilots, the soldiers had been selected by their starship commanders. Platoons one and two were both full contingents from a single ship, while three, four, and five were made up of smaller squads from multiple ships. Each of them had spent the time in hyperspace getting to know one another and going through a few basic drills.

  "Major Long, status," Mitchell said.

  "Corleone is fully loaded and ready to go, sir," Long replied. "You have the pills I gave you?"

  Mitchell reached into the front pocket of his flight suit. If what Digger called the 'mimic system' were active, the mech would have made the same motion. He found the two pills Long had provided, the drugs that helped with combat focus. Long had given most of the remainder of his stash to each of the mech pilots, saving the last two for himself. Mitchell had considered taking them before the drop, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't want to meet Liun Pulin with his inhibitions compromised.

  "Lieutenant Lewis, what's our ETA?" he asked, opening a channel to the Carver's bridge.

  "Six minutes, Colonel," Lewis replied.

  "Roger."

  Mitchell leaned back in the rig, letting it support him. He knew he was crazy to be going down in the mech when he should have been flying the S-17. It was stupid to keep their most powerful weapon out of the fight, and he was the only one who could operate it. At the same time, he needed to be on the ground. He needed to be the one to meet the Knife's brother. They had gone through too much to get to this point for him to be chasing Federation starfighters around. Not to mention, for all the experience the other mech jockeys had he was still a former member of Greylock company. He was the most combat-tested soldier in the fleet.

  He breathed in slowly, feeling his heart thumping in anticipation. He held the breath for a few seconds before letting it go, pausing at the exhale before breathing in again. The last time he had done this had been on Liberty, and that had gone as poorly as anyone might have imagined. He fought to quell his fears that the same thing would happen again. He told himself they had the superior numbers and the element of surprise.

  The minutes passed in a hurry. Mitchell felt the change as the Carver dropped from hyperspace.

  "Lewis, open a channel to the fleet and pass me through," he said. "Send an EMS with the Carver's timestamp to ensure the clocks are synchronized."

  "Channel open, sir," Lewis replied. "Sending EMS."

  "Attention Riggers," Mitchell said. "This is Colonel Williams. Your Commanding Officer should have gone over the details of our mission with you by now. Hopefully, they also explained how important this attack is to the survival of not only the fleet but the rest of the human race. Somewhere on FD-09 is a man who may hold the key to stopping the Tetron invasion cold and ending this war before billions more lives are ruined. Each of you holds a key to making this mission a success. You know your role. Do it with courage. Do it with conviction. Do it with strength and determination. Riiiggg-ahh."

  Mitchell paused to allow the crews of the ships to respond in kind. He couldn't hear them, but he could imagine each of them returning the call, or
stomping their feet in the fashion of Tio's militia.

  "Major Long?"

  "Corleone is ready for departure, sir."

  "Lewis, open the hangar."

  "Roger."

  Mitchell couldn't see anything that was happening outside of the jumpship. He couldn't see anything but the metal catwalks and service equipment that ran around the sides of the drop module. Unlike the insertion on Liberty, the mechs would be going down together in a single container as if they were nothing more than massive grunts.

  "Here we go, Colonel," Long said.

  Mitchell felt the slightest shudder as the Corleone released from the docking clamps, the escaping atmosphere pulling the ship towards the vacuum beyond. He could imagine the scene as if he were watching it from outside the Carver. The Corleone clearing the hangar in the midst of the large fleet, Major Long adding thrust and getting them up and away from the others.

  "We're in position, Colonel," Long said a minute later. "Coordinates are set."

  "Clocks are synchronized, sir," Lewis said. "Coordinates are set."

  "Let's get him," Mitchell said, imagining the scene in his mind as he felt the Corleone move into hyperspace.

  49

  The jump lasted all of ten minutes. The only reason they had stopped was so the Corleone could exit the Carver and head to a slightly separate spot in the universe.

  Mitchell felt the Corleone drop back into the universe.

  "Scanning the surface," Major Long said, his voice calm despite the hyperdeath.

  Their entire plan would never be more vulnerable to failure than it was at this moment when every ship in their fleet was frozen in place.

  "There's only one structure on FD-09," Long said. "That has to be it." He paused a moment. "Picking up incoming two minutes out."

  Two minutes. The Federation force was too far away to stop the Corleone before it reached the atmosphere.

  "This is Teal. We've made contact with a Federation battlegroup. They're firing on us. All starships, return fire at will and launch starfighters."

  "Beginning descent, full power," Long said.

  Mitchell couldn't feel the added velocity as Long sent the Corleone diving towards the planet's surface. Even though he knew there was a battle in progress on the other side of the planet from where the jumpship had appeared, everything was calm and quiet in the mech module.

  For now.

  "Firefly, you're out of position, clear the firing lane," Lieutenant Lewis said over the comm. "Pogacha, watch your six. Squadron One is clear."

  "How are we doing out there, Valkyrie?" Mitchell asked.

  "Two minutes to drop, sir."

  "Teal, sitrep."

  "They're coming on strong, Colonel. Skylark is dark, so is the Bounty. We've taken out three smaller patrollers, but one of their battleships is equal to twenty of our motley starships."

  "We knew this wouldn't be easy unless they surrendered."

  "No response to hails, sir. I don't think that's going to happen."

  Mitchell closed his eyes, picturing the chaos on the flip side of FD-09. There would be ships everywhere, mixed in a field of projectiles and laser fire, quick flashes of burning air and lightning strikes of blue from the shields. There was no way the people on the surface wouldn't see or know about the attack. Would they try to escape the planet?

  "Hold on tight," Long said. "Taking evasive. Here comes the atmosphere."

  The Corleone began to shake for real as it continued its descent, the sudden addition of the atmospheric pressure adding the motion. Major Long was bringing them down hard and fast.

  "One minute," Major Long said. "Opening drop doors."

  Mitchell heard the clang as the door locks were released. A moment later the screaming of outer gasses passing through the interior of the jumpship drowned out any other possible sound. Even the fleet reports coming in through the helmet were lost in the whine.

  "We're on target," Long shouted, knowing it would be loud in the rear of the ship. "Dropping in twenty. Picking up ground response. Be ready for a hot exit."

  Mitchell shifted his thumb, flipping the switch that activated the mimic system. Then he adjusted his hands, being sure to keep them at his sides while placing them in the joystick grips and resting a finger on each of the weapon activation triggers.

  "Ten seconds," Long said. "Still on target. Atmospheric fighters incoming."

  The jumpship jostled as Long made adjustments to their course, taking moderate evasive maneuvers as they closed in on the drop point.

  "Releasing modules," Long said.

  Mitchell heard the pop of the holding clamps, and then the roar of the thrusters as the modules were pushed away from the jumpship, blasted towards the ground. He felt his stomach drop as the module fell, yawing left and right as the stabilizing rockets worked to even the load and keep them steady during the fall.

  "Wooooooo," Ghost yelled over the channel. "Been a while since I got a ride as rough as this one."

  Mitchell tensed against the suspension rig, ready to move as soon as the module door opened. He rested a finger on the release mechanism, lost in the moment, the rest of the battle in orbit forgotten.

  The module hit the earth hard, shaking violently and sending him bouncing forward in his rig. He resisted the urge to reach out with his hands, blinking as the hatch began to open and reveal a bright orange sky. Ahead of them was nothing but reddish dust and rock, though he could see the facility rising in the distance, a large exhaust tower and excavation rig meant to persuade orbital scans into believing this really was a mining facility.

  He also saw the streak of missiles headed toward the module from incoming Federation mechs.

  "Alpha squad is down," Mitchell said, hitting the release. The clamps holding the mech in place slid away, and he started walking inside the cockpit, the mech matching this stride. "Platoons, report."

  "First platoon is down."

  "Second platoon is down."

  "Third platoon is down."

  "Fourth platoon is down."

  "Fifth platoon is down."

  "Stay close to the modules while we clear off the heavy artillery," Mitchell said.

  His HUD was showing him the position of the friendlies, including the other mechs clearing the clamps behind him. The first round of missiles slammed into the shell of the drop module, scorching and denting the metal. Canisters launched from the sides of the module, hitting the ground a hundred meters away and casting a dense fog between them and the enemy, buying them the time they needed to clear the modules and gain some ground.

  "Come on you bastards," Psycho said, getting his mech to the front of the line with Mitchell.

  Mitchell's HUD was showing the estimated position of the enemy targets, thrown off by the same electromagnetic screen they were using to protect themselves as they moved into position. One squad of mechs had gone active the moment the Corleone had been picked up. The second was in motion now further back. The first responders were lighter mechs, agile but less armored compared to the Franks or the Dominators.

  Mitchell reached around his back, gripping the fake hand rifle strapped there and bringing it around, cradling it against his body. He hit the trigger on his left grip, sending a stream of missiles through the fog towards the enemy's position. It was doubtful he would hit anything, but he wanted to keep them on their toes.

  "Raptor, go over," he said. The Knight had a jump pack, and in the less-than-Earth gravity would be able to go high and get a solid view of the enemy's formation.

  "Roger."

  He heard the Knight's jets fire and then saw it arc up toward the sky, railgun in hand. Muzzle flashes followed as she fired down at the mechs on the other side of the screen while a bank of missiles headed her way. Her missile defense systems fired, cutting down the projectiles as the reached the top of her arc and skipped laterally, avoiding a stream of rifle fire.

  Mitchell drove the Frank into the smoke screen and through, beginning to get a better feel for the manua
l controls now that he was in motion. He came out only two hundred meters from a lighter Cyclops, firing with the handheld railgun and the chain guns on the abdomen. The Cyclops fired back at him, but he dug his heels into the floor and moved the Frank into a quick backstep that forced the Cyclop's fire to run short. Mitchell's slugs tore into the mech, blowing off an arm and a leg before the pilot could recover. The Cyclops toppled over, out of the fight.

  "Nice shooting, Ares," Shogun said, his Dominator clearing through the mist. He fired on a second Cyclops to the left that was using an outcropping for cover. Rock exploded in front of them, forcing the pilot out into the open.

  "Clearly not the cream of their crop," Psycho said, helping Shogun down the mech in a hail of missiles and rifle fire.

  "Ares, this is Valkyrie. Uh." Major Long paused, his voice wavering. "We've got trouble upstairs." He paused again, giving Mitchell time to look up for himself.

  Goliath was impossible to miss in orbit above them.

  So was the Tetron floating next to her.

  50

  Kathy hit the wall and bounced off, her ears ringing and her vision blurry. She didn't have time to wonder what had barreled into her because she sensed it was coming in again. She threw her arms up defensively, getting her hand on the surface of the weapon and letting the momentum move her out of harm's way. She let go, allowing herself to tumble down the opposite corridor, rolling to a stop five meters away.

  She gripped the spear, forcing herself up. She got her eyes on her attacker, causing her to gasp. It was a strange aggregation of human and machine, a monster of metal and flesh. Part of its face had once belonged to Private Klein while the eyes and hair were the blue and red of Sergeant Grimes. A layer of liquid metal ran between both.

  The odd combination of skin and alloy continued downward, to the shimmering shapes of female breasts with large, pink, erect nipples floating on a small patch of areolae, to the half-machine penis hanging between its legs. The only thing that was wholly inhuman were the hands. They were oversized and solid, made to beat her to a pulp.