The True Measure (Terran Armor Corps Book 3)

by Richard Fox

  Bullets ripped through the Rakka, slaughtering them by the dozens each second. Tongea fired his gauss cannons into a Sanheel screaming at his uncontrolled soldiers and blew its chest open.

  Tongea pointed over the Rakka at the shaman still on top of the bus.

  “Ka mate!” Tongea charged toward the shaman, and Rakka scrambled out of the way. The shaman dropped the head and shrank toward the edge of the bus. Tongea grabbed him by the leg, hoisted the alien into the air, and slammed it into the ground, cracking its bones. Then Tongea slammed his heel against the shaman’s head and ground it into paste.

  The Rakka faltered, their battle rage suddenly gone.

  The armor did not falter. They spread into a circle around the aliens and killed them with bursts from their rotary cannons, and with their fists and feet until they met each other in the center.

  Purple blood stained Tongea from his knees to his boots, elbows to fingertips.

  Martel looked across the field of dead, then pounded a fist against his breastplate in salute to Tongea. Tongea nodded, then looked to the east.

  “More…there are more to fight,” Tongea said.

  “Let’s find them,” Martel said.

  Chapter 27

  Lettow waited as his artillery ships maneuvered between his ships and the oncoming Kesaht armada. The Kesaht battleships spread out in reaction, but not as fast as they had the last few times Lettow had feinted with his long-range ships.

  “You think she’s setting us up?” Ericson asked.

  “Funny thing about our artillery ships,” he said. “They can range Makarov’s Crucible as well as the Kesaht. If she doesn’t deliver, they’ll destroy her gate before it’s even finished. Self-repair or not, if she hangs us out to dry, she’ll get to deal with everything that gets through us.”

  “You didn’t tell her this.”

  “Some things are best left implied. Ready fleet maneuver in five…four…” Lettow felt the Ardennes shift ever so slightly as their fleet turned, sending them on a course that would cross ahead of the Kesaht armada.

  “Makarov sent the first signal,” Ericson said, looking away from her screen. “Activity on the moon’s surface detected.”

  “Gunnery, engage fire plan Alpha-nine,” Lettow ordered.

  The artillery ships reoriented, and the long rail cannon vanes pointed toward a Kesaht battleship at the front of the formation.

  Hypervelocity rounds shot out. Lettow tracked their course through the holo tank…and more rail cannon shots rose up from the moon. Dozens of rail shots converged in the Kesaht formation. Smaller enemy ships tried to set themselves between the incoming threats, but the sheer volume of fire and the close-packed formation gave the Kesaht few chances.

  Two battleships broke apart along with another dozen escort ships. Lettow allowed himself a smile as two cruisers collided.

  “Enemy strength decreased by eleven percent,” Paxton said. She frowned as more rail cannon rounds tracked up from the moon.

  “They have more batteries?” Lettow asked.

  “Negative, sir,” Paxton said. “Same point of origin. Their rate of fire is a hell of a lot better than our surface emplacements.”

  A chill went down Lettow’s back. The Ibarras had significant defenses around their colony, far more guns that could put up a significant weight of fire than intelligence anticipated.

  “Artillery ships, keep to the firing order, target priority on the leading ships,” Lettow said.

  Claw ships at the fore of the armada accelerated, reaching toward the human ships. He reached into the tank to redirect a frigate squadron, but Ericson beat him to the punch.

  “Come on.” Lettow tapped a finger against the edge of his holo tank. Three Kesaht battleships broke off from the main formation and changed course toward the moon. Even with the Kesaht breaking off to deal with the threat behind them, they outnumbered his two fleets by more than four-to-one.

  Makarov’s portrait flashed, and he touched the edge.

  “Admiral, we’ve a slight complication,” she said. “The arrival of so many fleets upset the graviton field around the planets. I’ve had to rework the firing solution.”

  “Now you realize this?” Lettow asked.

  “I need you to hold them for nine minutes.” Makarov swallowed hard. “That’s more—twice what we planned—time under fire, but that’s the only way this will work.”

  “Your mistake will cost lives,” Lettow said. “My sailors’ lives.”

  “If we don’t do this right, we’ll all die,” Makarov said. “Trust me.”

  A timer appeared over her picture.

  “Kesaht fighters breaking for the artillery ships,” Paxton said.

  “My fleet will fight, Makarov.” Lettow cut the line to the Ibarran admiral. “XO, have the artillery squadrons complete their next fire mission and burn back to our formation.” He watched as his ships continued their intercept course toward the Kesaht advance.

  At their current speeds, the Kesaht would cross the T in front of his ships, exposing the Terran ships to full broadsides from the aliens. He was bumbling into a beating, and the Kesaht commander had to see it.

  “Ardennes,” Ericson said, “I ever tell you what the older Makarov did with the Breitenfeld during the Toth incursion?”

  “I’ve studied the battle,” Lettow said. “She used the Breitenfeld’s jump drives to drop you inside their formation, then Valdar let loose laser-guided torps that tore the heart out of the Toth fleet.”

  “And Makarov sent her 8th Fleet into the Toth guns to hold them in place. This new one thinks and acts like her ‘mother,’” Ericson said. “I just don’t see how it’s possible she can be who she says she is. The math is wrong.”

  “We’ll connect the dots later,” Lettow said. The Ardennes shuddered as her rail batteries opened fire. “We’ve got to sell this attack or nothing else matters.”

  Chapter 28

  Roland loaded another heavy gauss round into his Mauser and fired from the hip on a Kesaht tank as its turret slewed toward him. The round tore through the shields and hit the thin armor covering the fuel cells. The tank exploded, tossing the turret straight up like a flipped coin.

  He charged forward, slipping another round off the side of the large rifle and into the chamber. Around a church, the Kesaht had a built hasty barricade of electrified wires running between shield emitters. Rakka and Sanheel scrambled behind the shields, the sudden destruction of the tank outside the perimeter goading them into action like a kicked hive.

  “We’re here for leadership,” Nicodemus said. “Second emitter from the left of the tank.”

  Roland hefted his rifle to his shoulder and took aim, still running forward.

  “Fire!”

  The three Mausers let off a ripple of shots that overwhelmed the emitter. Electricity looped back through the wires, stabbing out and frying Rakka that were too close. The emitter exploded as the armor charged through the breach.

  Roland locked his rifle onto his back and lowered his shoulder at a Sanheel that burst through the church doors. He crushed the alien against the stone façade, earning a crack of bones and a wet grunt as the Kesaht officer died.

  A group of Rakka jumped on him, stabbing at the joints of his armor with serrated knives. Roland backhanded one off his leg, sending it on a quick but brief flight into the side of the church. He heard the whirl of a rotary cannon from Nicodemus or Morrigan and felt a tug as a Rakka on his back was shot off.

  “Rook! Rook!” an alien yelled as it pulled the pin on two grenades and charged at Roland.

  He kicked the Rakka and sent it barreling into another group of their infantry as they came around the corner. The grenades exploded and saved Roland the trouble of dealing with them.

  “In! Go!” Nicodemus charged through a stained-glass window.

  Roland heard gauss fire as he bashed down the main doors.

  The inside of the church angled down and pews had been broken and pushed against the entrance. The
main floor now held Kesaht equipment and holo projectors. A Sanheel in deep-purple armor stood where the pulpit had been, in front of a pile of dead human bodies that lay behind him.

  The officer held an Ibarran soldier against his chest, shielding himself. The man bled from a gash down one side of his face and his chest. He was still breathing, but on the verge of bleeding to death.

  Dead Rakka and a lithe Ixion were strewn among the command center. Roland crushed the broken pews like they were dried twigs as he and the rest of his new lance advanced into the church. He aimed his gauss cannons at the Sanheel’s face, but one hit to the alien’s shields would probably kill the soldier.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said the purple-clad alien. “All your kind will die. What matters is whether any will serve, reduce the stain on your species by toiling for our great truth.”

  “I’ve dealt with this before,” Roland said, lessening the magnetic hold of the sword locked to his left hip.

  “Witness the future.” The Sanheel wrapped a hand around his human shield’s head and snapped his neck.

  Nicodemus and Morrigan opened fire instantly, shredding the Sanheel and the dead man into a bloody mess. That neither of them attempted to spare the dead man’s form told Roland just how ruthless the Ibarran armor had become.

  “Don’t wreck the equipment,” Nicodemus said, going to a blood-splattered holo tank and holding up a hand. His wrist opened and a scanner node extended out. “They’re communicating through their own interference. Maybe we can learn how.”

  “Perimeter.” Morrigan pointed at the other side of the church and Roland stepped around the equipment. The church walls had been pierced by bullets, and most of the stained-glass windows along the sides were shattered. The sound of the raging battle filtered through. The muffled crump of explosions, snap of Rakka weapons, and roar of fighters locked in combat made him feel like they would never leave the city.

  One window remained mostly intact, depicting an older suit of armor pinning a Xaros Master to the ground with a glass and gold sword. The Xaros looked like a demon of fire and obsidian, grasping up at the armor as it died.

  Roland caught movement out another window, a group of Rakka moving away from the command center.

  “They’re not coming for us?” Roland asked.

  “Maybe they know when they can’t win,” Morrigan said.

  “Got this one.” Nicodemus turned his scanner to a barrel-shaped object with a crown of crystals.

  A soft ululation sounded over Roland’s head. He jerked his cannons up, but there was nothing in the rafters. Sunlight filtered through cracks in the ceiling and the wooden beams rattled in tune with distant explosions.

  “Did you hear that?” Roland asked.

  “Brave meat. Foolish meat,” hissed from the front of the church. Roland scanned through his visuals filters but found nothing.

  “Heroes die. They always die,” echoed around them.

  Nicodemus snapped his hand back into place and drew his sword. The blade extended from the hilt and gleamed as light from the Kesaht equipment reflected off the razor-sharp edge. He backed toward the center of the room, Morrigan and Roland following his lead.

  “The last one demands true born.” The ululation returned, louder this time. “These are always true born. Give yourself to him. Honor yourselves.”

  “We give nothing,” Nicodemus said. “Come and claim us.”

  A ribbon of light deformed along the wall just above the broken windows. The deformity leaped at Roland, and he had just enough time to throw a punch as it slammed into him. His fist connected, and a stealth field collapsed as the impact shoved him into Morrigan’s back.

  A Toth warrior, clad in bulky crystal armor, latched clawed feet against Roland’s waist and legs. The reptilian reared up, raised its arms to the side, and struck at either side of Roland’s helm. Roland got his arms up and blocked the blows. The Toth pressed his arms in, grasping for his optics. Roland’s actuators strained against the alien’s strength and found he couldn’t overpower this foe.

  Inside the Toth’s multifaceted faceplate, Roland saw a forked tongue press against the crystal.

  Roland raised his arms up, then slammed his upper body toward the ground. The Toth took the brunt of the impact and Roland got his cannon arm free. He fired a double shot into the Toth’s chest, cracking the armor. The Toth released its hold on Roland’s waist and legs and attempted to squirm away.

  Roland extended his fingers and drove them into the broken armor like a dagger. As the strike punctured the crystal and his hand invaded the flesh beneath, the Toth let off a high-pitched scream. Roland gripped a handful of organs in the alien’s chest cavity and ripped his hand out. Yellow blood bubbled out of the wound and Roland tossed a beating heart aside.

  Roland looked aside and saw Morrigan lying on her back, a Toth warrior bent over her clawing at her breastplate. She was still fighting, knocking aside blows as best she could.

  Roland drew his sword, brought the hilt back to his hip as the blade extended—ready to ram the weapon into the Toth so focused on Morrigan—and caught a blur of motion to his side just as he struck at the Toth. A glint of light passed in front of his helm and a blow jarred his sword out of his hand.

  A Toth with a crystal-edged halberd jabbed the spike on his weapon at Roland. The tip struck his chest and pushed into the armor, glancing off his womb. Roland’s HUD went berserk with warnings as he brought a hand up and chopped at the haft.

  The halberd broke, but the axe head and spike remained embedded in his chest.

  The Toth swung the other end of his weapon, tipped with a spiked mace head, against Roland’s lower back. The impact rattled him inside his womb. He sent an impulse for his gauss cannons to reload and swung a hasty fist at the Toth. The snap of two gauss rounds loading into place echoed through the church.

  The warrior ducked the blow and brought the mace down toward Roland’s head. Roland caught the Toth by the wrist and punched at it with his other hand. The Toth brought its foreleg up, grabbed the gauss cannon arm, and used all its strength to push Roland’s aim away…and straight toward the Toth still beating on Morrigan.

  Roland fired and blew an arm off the Toth over his lance mate.

  There was a flash of crystal and the Toth still grappling with Roland whipped its tail up and struck him in the helm. His faceplate cracked and his vision swam as his armor tried to compensate for the damage. He ducked his helm down as the next strike dented the black armor and broke antennae loose.

  The Toth grabbed his wrist with another foot and stretched his arms out. Roland felt the strain on his servos as the alien tried to tear him apart.

  “I’ll have you, meat!” the alien hissed. “I’ll feast on your—”

  A sword point burst through its face from behind and it went limp. Roland shrugged the corpse off just as Morrigan set a boot against the Toth’s back and ripped her sword free. Nicodemus kicked at a pile of three dead warriors at his feet.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Same,” Roland responded as he reached for his sword hilt and missed, grabbing at air. “I can’t tell if it’s my servos or optics that are off.” He tried again, but his fingers refused to grasp.

  Nicodemus picked up Roland’s sword, returned the blade to the hilt, and slapped it against the mag lock.

  “It’s both,” he said. “Your armor will compensate for the damage. Give it a minute.”

  “No more speculation,” Morrigan said. “The Toth are alive, and they’re behind the Kesaht.”

  “Lady Ibarra will need proof to show Earth and the rest of the galaxy.” Nicodemus ripped a hand and forearm off a Toth warrior and shook out the yellow blood.

  “The Toth…” Roland looked over one of the crystal-armored bodies, wondering just how they designed their exoskeletons to match his strength. “What does this mean?”

  “There will be no peace between us and the Kesaht,” Nicodemus said. “Not now. Not ever. The Toth twisted them into th
eir servants. Made them fanatics. And the only way to deal with the true believer is to kill them. No middle ground. No compromise.”

  “I’m oddly comfortable with that,” Morrigan said.

  The ground shook, a low rumble that reverberated through the church.

  “That wasn’t an explosion,” Roland said.

  The rumble returned and a shadow passed over the street outside. Roland went to the stained-glass image of the armor slaying the Xaros Master and saw, several blocks away, the top of a walker moving between buildings. The design was more delicate than anything he’d seen from the Kesaht before: a cone-shaped head and spindly vanes extending up from the shoulders. It stopped in an intersection, and Roland saw it had large crystals mounted to the side of its egg-shaped torso instead of arms. Thick legs extended down from hip actuators beneath the torso. The opal-blue surface gleamed in the sunlight.

  “I’ve not seen one of those before,” Roland said. “Is it new? It looks new.”

  Shields flared around the walker as gauss bullets struck home. Panels in the top of the torso opened and missiles fired, arcing up and away. It swung to one side and the crystals lit up. Roland dimmed his optics as the crystals let off a torrent of energy that obliterated a residential building. It continued on, heading for the spaceport.

  “It’s new.” Nicodemus lifted his chin. “Command says the Mausers aren’t getting through. Every time we shoot at it, it responds with missiles and it slags another building. Air support can’t get near it.”

  “Then we hit it with rail cannons,” Roland said.

  “Shields are too strong,” Nicodemus said. “Look at this.”

  He sent video of the walker under fire. Ley lines of energy appeared along the shields as they flared.

  “The emitters must be there,” Morrigan said, highlighting spots on the walker’s torso.

  “They have to drop the shields to get the missiles through,” Roland said. “You saw the way they arced. We’d have to come in from the top.”