by Richard Fox
The Dragonfly hovered over the four armor and robotic arms came out of the centerline and gripped each soldier just under the shoulders. The transport hefted them into the air and flew off, engines straining.
Servo arms in the Dragonfly went to work as they cut over the desert. Roland’s ammo was reloaded, batteries swapped, and the gash on his side repaired. The amniosis inside his womb flushed cool as the oxygen-rich fluid was recycled.
“He’s still mad at you,” Aignar said on a channel open to him, Roland, and Cha’ril.
Roland checked the data fed into his vision cortex by the plugs in the base of his skull connecting him to his armor. Gideon was in a private channel with a higher command element, one that didn’t show on Gideon’s status.
“I can’t imagine why,” Roland said.
“I’m sure it has something to do with you fighting alongside the Ibarras on Balmaseda,” Cha’ril said. “You were with Gideon’s old lance mates, the ones who defected to the Ibarras and left him behind.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” Roland deadpanned.
“Then why did you—”
“Irony, Cha’ril. Is there a Dotari word for facetious?” Roland asked.
“Checking,” she said. “No. We would never joke about something like this.”
“What’s a little light treason between friends?” Aignar asked.
“I fought on Balmaseda against the Kesaht,” Roland said. “It wasn’t against Earth, and I did it to save lives.”
“We get that,” Aignar said. “Don’t we, Cha’ril?”
“The reasoning is sound,” she said. “Though I think Lieutenant Gideon will never see it that way. Humans can be irrational.”
“Well, it’s not like Roland was slaved to pheromones and beating people nearly to death with sticks,” Aignar said. “Or spitting phlegm all over people. Did I tell you about that, Roland?”
“You have shared that story eight times,” Cha’ril said.
“I leave you two alone for a few weeks while I’m in an Ibarran prison cell and look at all the trouble you get into,” Roland said.
The Dragonfly passed over Terran lines. Rangers in the desert below raised their rifles and cheered as the armor flew overhead.
“We’re coming up on the ship,” Aignar said.
“Patch me your video,” Roland said. “I’m facing the wrong way.”
When the screen came up on Roland’s vision, he saw a gash of blackened sand and rock stretched across the desert, ending where a strike carrier lay cradled by dunes. The ship’s forward hangars were angled to the sky, the bridge and dorsal rail cannon batteries battered but largely intact. The upper hull was white with wide green stripes—not Terran Union Navy colors, but those of the Ibarra Nation.
“Amazing that the Narvik survived the crash somewhat intact,” Cha’ril said. “Even more impressive that some of the Ibarran crew survived.”
“You’d think they’d be a bit happier to see us and the Rangers,” Aignar said. “The Kesaht would have killed them all had we not arrived in system with the Argonne.”
“Being taken prisoner is rarely a plus,” Roland said. “Don’t think it matters by who or why.”
“Man’fred Vo told me there are prisons being built on Mars,” Cha’ril said. “Near the Ulysses Tholis, not far from Olympus.”
“How does your almost-husband know about that?” Aignar asked.
“Mars flight command put the area off-limits to Dotari pilots,” she said. “Naturally, that made all the pilots in Man’fred Vo’s squadron curious and they accidentally skirted that restricted space and got a few pictures. Lots of life-support equipment and a few air defense batteries. Has to be a prison. You humans are terrible at keeping secrets.”
“Maybe Dotari are nosy,” Aignar said.
“A prison on Mars makes sense,” Roland said. “The planet is a giant military base. And if you break out, where would you go? Without a suit, you’d die in a minute in Mars’ atmosphere. They build a prison in Siberia. An escapee could still get away…until the bears or tigers catch up with them.”
The Dragonfly banked to one side, and Roland got a look at the crash site for himself. A cluster of Terran Mules and a field hospital were set up nearby. He zoomed in on a circle made up of several strands of barbed wire and saw Ibarran sailors inside.
“We have our next mission,” Gideon said on the lance’s channel. “Pathfinders had to wave off a rescue mission to the south. Enemy presence was too heavy. We’re to clear it out and keep the area safe for the extraction.”
“Who? Is it a downed pilot from the Ardennes?” Cha’ril asked.
Man’fred Vo flew a fighter off the ship and Roland felt the emotion in her voice as she realized her joined husband was possibly in danger.
“Not a pilot,” Gideon said. “Armor. Simon’s Lancers are off-line.”
Roland looked over at Gideon in the harness next to him.
Simon’s Lancers were all Templar and had joined with Roland at the pre-battle prayers aboard the Ardennes. For every Lancer to be off-line was highly unusual, and a touch of dread appeared in Roland’s heart.
A satellite map of the surrounding area flashed across Roland’s HUD, and a pulsing red icon appeared to the south. A blue arrow in place of their Dragonfly vectored toward the icon in time with the ship’s movement.
“What were they doing that far out from the battle lines?” Aignar asked.
“Ask when we catch up to them,” Gideon said. “The area’s hot with Kesaht presence. The pilot wants to do a fastball special.”
“What?” Aignar asked. “No. No, I have a bad feeling about this.”
“The gravity of Theseus is higher than any simulations we’ve done,” Cha’ril said. “The risk factors for that kind of an attack are significant.”
“Not like you to be so cautious, Cha’ril,” Roland said. “We’ve done insertions from ballistic torpedoes. What’s a little high-grav toss in comparison?”
“There are acceptable risks, and then there are suicidal tendencies,” the Dotari said.
“Pilot has the ballistics loaded up,” Gideon said as the Dragonfly accelerated. “You all stick your landings or we’ll rehearse this maneuver until you sprout wings and learn to fly.”
“We have the aerodynamics of a brick.” Aignar cycled gauss rounds into his forearm cannons and put one hand on the Mauser on his back. “I’ll just point that out.”
Dunes blurred beneath the transport and a pair of Eagle fighters flew level with the Dragonfly.
“Oh good, an audience,” Aignar said.
The Eagles wagged their wings and raised their noses to the sky, then they shot away, afterburners blazing.
“Release in three…” Gideon said as the Dragonfly sped up, rattling as a gust of desert wind blew across the ship.
“That’s a good shaking, right?” Aignar asked.
“Two.” Gideon pulled his legs and arms toward his chest.
“Sancti spiritus adsit,” Roland intoned as a laser blast snapped past the ship.
The Dragonfly nosed up, and the clamps around the armors’ waists released.
Roland went flying, carried through the air by the Dragonfly’s momentum at the moment it let them loose. A semi-opaque column of light on his HUD marked the target location, and he scanned the dune sea for Kesaht and any place he could land safely.
He lost altitude quickly in Theseus’ strong gravity and his ballistic projection ended against the middle of a sand wall.
Rakka laser blasts shot past his helm as he flew over a patrol. Ignoring a single hit to the back of an arm, he deployed the thrusters in his lower legs. The thrusters were meant for zero-gravity environments, but Roland needed just a little boost.
The rockets flared and his projection went fuzzy. He unsnapped the Mauser off his back just as his thrusters overheated and cut out. His projection reformed, showing he’d land slightly higher against the sand wall.
Roland kicked his feet forward and came down a
sold four feet short of the dune crest, bursting through in an explosion of sand and rolling down the opposite slope. He came to an ugly stop as his feet slid across bare rock.
His helm snapped up next to his rifle pointed at the sky. A suit of armor lay a dozen yards away, the breastplate perforated with smoking laser strikes and an arm ripped away. Ixio clustered around the armor. The lithe aliens with wide, almond-shaped black eyes held power tools and were frozen in shock at Roland’s sudden appearance.
Roland thrust his gauss cannon arm at the aliens and opened fire. The hypervelocity shells didn’t kill the Ixio so much as the impacts made them pop like balloons. Rage blossomed in his heart as he strode toward the downed armor and saw two other suits lying in the sand. Ixio scavengers raced toward a Kesaht transport.
“Sanheel and foot soldiers coming from the east,” Gideon radioed, his voice laced with static.
“Also the south,” Cha’ril said, the thump of gauss cannons carrying with her transmission.
Roland stood over the fallen Lancer and brought his rotary cannon up onto his shoulder. He cut down the fleeing Ixio with short bursts and the transport lurched off the ground before a half-dozen of the aliens could reach safety.
There, just beyond where the transport had lifted off, was the fourth Lancer. The armor’s breastplate had been cut away and the womb removed.
“They’ve got a prisoner.” Roland reloaded his gauss cannons and took aim on the transport. “I’m taking the shot.”
“He won’t survive the crash!” Cha’ril shouted.
“Take the shot,” Gideon said.
Roland led his target as the shuttle accelerated and fired one round.
The Kesaht ship wobbled; smoke pouring from the port engines, and banked hard. It corkscrewed to the ground and careened off a dune top before crashing. It spun around and tilted up on the undamaged wing, which crumpled, and the transport flipped onto its back. Flames exploded out of the cargo bay.
“Not like this,” Roland said and ran to the crash, his massive feet thumping against the ground. He charged into the smoke and flames as a section of the transport’s hull went flying through the air. Aignar was there, tearing through the wreckage.
Ignoring the heat warning from his HUD, Roland gripped the metal with both hands and ripped the hull open. He found a black oval with a red Templar cross in the wreck and clamped his hands against the sides. He wrenched the womb out, carried it away from the crash, and set it down. A small probe extended from his forearm housing and into ports on the womb.
“Come on, talk to me,” Roland said.
Readings splashed across his HUD and an EKG showed an active heartbeat.
“—my lance!” rang in Roland’s ears from the other armor. “Leave me and save my lance!”
“This is Roland of the Iron Dragoons. We have the area secure.” He looked over at the first suit he’d seen. Gideon was there, one arm on the fallen armor’s shoulder. The lieutenant shook his head.
At the second suit, Cha’ril touched armor wet with spilled amniosis. She sent readings to Roland: the fluid was thick with blood—too much to believe the soldier within had survived.
Roland looked over the scorched womb.
“Chief Tarkos?” Roland asked. “Give me a check.”
“My lance! We were ambushed and—”
“You are an inch away from redlining,” Roland said. “Too much strain from battle damage and whatever the Ixio did to remove you from your suit. Focus small. Pull back.”
“Is Simon online?” Tarkos asked.
“Say a prayer with me,” Roland said as he found Aignar at the last suit. The breastplate was mangled and a pool of amniosis bled into the parched earth.
“Which?” Tarkos’ voice sounded far away and Roland realized he was losing the soldier.
“Saint Kallen, come to their aid,” Roland said.
“No. No, not that one…please.”
“You know the rites. You must be the one to give it to them.” Roland went to one knee and drew his sword. Releasing the blade, he drove the point into the ground.
“Come to meet them, angel of our Lord,” Tarkos said, his voice stronger.
“Receive their souls and present them to God,” Roland said.
“May Kallen, who called, take them to her side. Give them eternal rest, O’ Lord, may their light shine through us the living forever…which, Roland? Which are gone?”
“All of them, brother, but not you. You will avenge them, you understand?” Roland asked.
“It was an ambush.” Tarkos’ heart slowed down.
“I’m going to put you under.” Roland keyed emergency protocols, and the womb flooded Tarkos with tranquilizers. His life signs stabilized as the drugs sent him into a near-coma.
“Look alive!” Gideon shouted.
A target alert flashed on Roland’s HUD. He looked to the sky and saw a burning comet bearing down on them.
“Last Kesaht battleship went kamikaze,” Gideon said. “On course to the Ibarra ship.”
“Bastards know how to die hard,” Aignar said.
“Drop anchor and ready rails,” Gideon said.
Roland hurried a few feet away from Tarkos’ womb and raised a foot. A diamond-tipped drill bit emerged from his heel, and he slammed his foot into the rock. The anchor bore into the ground, sending vibrations through his armor and jiggling him in his womb.
“That’s a Daeva-class ship,” Cha’ril said. “Our rails don’t have the mass to—”
“Better to do something useful right away than figure out the perfect solution two minutes too late,” Gideon said.
Roland’s anchor bit firm. He raised twin rail gun vanes off his back and lowered them toward the oncoming ship. The Kesaht vessel was alight with fire and trailing a long line of smoke. Electricity crackled along the metal vanes as a magnetic field formed. He snapped a long cobalt-encased tungsten dart and set it in the rail gun chamber.
“Simultaneous strike or sequential?” Aignar asked.
Roland waited for Gideon’s answer, but the lieutenant hesitated. Roland turned his helm to look at the other armor.
“Daeva ships have a single flight deck,” Roland said. “A mass strike will send a blast wave that will—”
“Cha’ril?” Gideon asked.
“I concur. Assuming they fought with their hull pressurized.”
“We’ve been in their ships,” Gideon said.
A targeting reticule appeared on the battleship amidships. When a timer appeared on Roland’s HUD, he shunted power to the rail gun.
In the sky, Eagle fighters appeared and launched missiles toward the battleship.
“Idiots,” Aignar said. “Like a sparrow fart in a hurricane.”
“Abort strike?” Roland asked. “The blast wave from—”
“Fire on the mark,” Gideon said. “Too many lives at stake on the ground. Even if they’re Ibarran.”
Roland’s hands clenched into fists as the timer ran to zero.
Four rail cannons fired, splitting the air with sonic booms as the shells shot out, leaving burning contrails in their wake. The shells closed so fast one could have blinked and missed the sprint. The rounds hit the Kesaht battleship, and the vessel’s belly exploded outward. The ship bucked like it had been kicked, and then lolled to one side, angling down and diving toward the planet. Roland watched as it slammed into the sand and sent out a shockwave that blew a sudden storm of sand and superhot air over the Iron Dragoons.
“Status,” Gideon sent.
“Green across the board.” Roland pulled his anchor up and went back to Tarkos’ womb. He reconnected to it and found Tarkos awake and alert.
“What the hell was that?” Tarkos asked. “My womb almost dumped me out. Some sort of massive system disruption.”
“Rail fire…and a Kesaht battleship crashing nearby.”
“Must have been bad for you to fire rails in atmo—”
“That ship might have smashed the crash site and killed thousands,”
Roland said. “You’re still in one piece.”
“The Saint was with us,” Tarkos said.
Roland set a hand on the cross carved into the womb and looked back at the three dead armor soldiers.
“She was,” Roland said, “and what a price we paid.”
“Extraction en route,” Gideon said. “Fleet figured out where the Narvik went before it crashed. We need to break orbit.”
A map of Theseus’ third moon appeared on Roland’s HUD.
++++
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Table of Contents
IRON DRAGOONS
THE IBARRA SANCTION
THE TRUE MEASURE
SCHISM
THE ANVIL
A sneak peek at A HOUSE DIVIDED, Terran Armor Corps Book 4, available now!
