Starkindler (MechaVerse Series Book 1)

by Jeremy Cunkle

  * * * * *

  General Akari had been auspiciously absent during the exchange between the SSgt and the plutocrat, as well as the ensuing fratricidal disaster, but chose now to reappear in the Command and Control Center with a squad of Marines in full combat gear trailing dutifully behind him. With a commanding voice, he announced, “General Afinger, you are hereby placed under arrest for the knowing and willful fratricide of PDF member and will remain in custody until arrangements for your trial have been completed. We welcome your non-cooperation.”

  The Marine squad leader patted his service weapon in response to the General’s words, the implicit threat made clear. General Akari ignored the plutocrat who stuttered about his status as the official Party representative and how he could not be placed under arrest; without looking back, he ordered, “Take him away.”

  In seconds, a pair of burly Marines pinned Afinger against the railing, roughly clasping a pair of handcuffs around his wrists before four of them bodily dragged the protesting grotesquely fat man out of the Command and Control Center. Having recovered from his initial shock, the now-deposed General shouted obscenities and curses until the entrance to the Center was once again sealed.

  SSgt Anderson waited until the noise died down before turning to his leader, relief inherent within his voice. “Sir, we are awaiting your orders.”

  General Akari moved to the commander’s station and immediately assumed control, assessing the situation and then began barking orders, the technicians promptly complying. “Cease bombardment immediately. Dispatch rescue units to Epsilon along with additional forces to assist them however they can. All units between the target and the bait are to clear a path between them. From now on, the primary target’s lethality should be considered extreme, to the point the terrorist is not to be engaged without at least battalion sized support. All units are to prepare to spring the final trap, let’s kill this son-of-a-bitch.”

  * * * * *

  “What is this, more madness?” Aurora’s hologram fluidly morphed from one posture to another, a clear sign of her extreme discomfort.

  “Be quiet.” Mikkhael was not intentionally curt with her. He was exhausted. The stress of the situation was wearing him down despite his best efforts. The fratricide of the PDF’s own troops weighed heavily upon him, while the responsibility of somehow attempting to rescue Eve was the ever-present deadweight on his shoulders. The urge to close his eyes and forget everything for a little bit was nearly overwhelming. Aurora was already feeding him dangerously high levels of the cognitive boosters; further doses could give him an aneurism and kill him; he dared not risk more.

  They escaped the bombardment by rocketing through a narrow canyon scoured out by the fierce Martian winds into the very bedrock of the planet. The terrain continuing to work in his favor; pockmarked by deep ravines and winding gorges, as well as a myriad of caves to temporarily hide away in, it would be hours before the PDF could effectively search for him even if they tried. Aurora found an area where a natural bend occurred for them to hide, covered by a rock overhang large enough to shelter them from prying satellites or drones. It was an obvious move on their part, but they would not stay long. The artillery barrage had only come to a halt a few minutes earlier; there was no telling if it would restart once he left the canyon. The unnatural sensation of the planet shaking underneath and all around them had not yet passed, phantom tremors continued to wrack his body, reminding him of experiencing earthquakes back on Earth.

  With an almost desperate need, Mikkhael forced his mind to focus on better, more peaceful memories while he slowly walked himself through combat deep-breathing practice, remembering the good times back on Earth with his friends as he did so. Without fail though, as he walked through the memories of his lost childhood, he could not stay away from the haunting faces of his dead family and friends, mown down in front of him with no chance to run, begging for mercy, receiving none.

  The haunting flash of tragic remembrance was enough to send cold sweats through his body, making his heart race and his hands sweat as his mind translated the remembered panic from that terrible day and processed it into ice-cold rage. Fury seared through him, boiling his blood, making his skin blush with feverish heat. His heart rate climbed as his natural adrenaline drive surged into action.

  Aurora noticed the sudden change. She knew full well what would cause that reaction and knew she had to act before he suffered an aneurism. His mental state was too weakened from exhaustion and the continuous fighting to fight off the red wall of pain and rage consuming him from the inside. She threw him the only lifeline she could, unable to dose him with narcotics because of the danger of their situation; instead, distracting him with the reality in front of him, not the false one circumstances created for him in his own mind. “Mikkhael, what do we do next? We cannot stay here much longer; patrols are incoming, already searching for our remains. When they do not find signs of our destruction they will widen their search.” The lie left the bytes that composed her lips as easily as they would from any human recognizing the necessity that accompanies desperate situations.

  When no reply proved forthcoming, she increased reactor output to full, firing the engines and took flight control, steering out into the open expanse of the cratered valley floor towards a new set of targets selected for their proximity in conjunction with their overall final destination. Since he was unresponsive to vocal stimulation, she knew the one thing that could wake him up was a way to release some of his pain instead of the alternative coping method of simply falling unconscious, which they could not presently afford. In the heat of battle he would not be acting as a human, he would rely on his base instincts to respond for him, but then again, there was no room for humanity on the battlefield. This was their choice, leaving him only one form of release.

  Lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts, Mikkhael vaguely noted Aurora’s actions, absently examining the fact that whether Aurora redirected his rage and instincts to kill while the berserkers rage overcame him, or he performed the act of slaughtering the PDF en masse himself would in the end carry the same result. Responsibility for the current situation rested with the PDF and their commanders, justified by creating an elaborate trap to capture and hold Commander Ultor’s daughter hostage in order to lure him out, leaving him and Aurora with no option but to do their best despite the circumstances. There would of course be some fool who could look at the current situation and argue that he did have a choice, but in his current state of mind he would as soon permanently fix the mistake of their existence as easily as any PDF. Somehow, recognizing the need of the situation despite the overwhelming torment of his inner demons physically manifesting themselves, he internally admitted that at this point the only thing able to sate his rage would be a sea of his enemies blood. He focused on the anger gripping his heart in a numbing vice, re-directing it into action. Moment of crisis over, he hyper-focused on the unsuspecting patrol they were rapidly approaching, mindlessly yelling a feral battle cry as he assumed control before the engagement, relying on the rush of combat for a crutch to lean on.

  He moved on an instinctive, preternatural level, unable to sense anything aside from targets requiring elimination. There was no passage of time in that state of mind, no thought of breathing, pain or exhaustion, or even morose thoughts and feeling at eliminating human life. He simply rose to meet the challenge of the odds against him, mentally stepping aside as his instinct took over. Screaming in mindless agony as he did so, Starkindler engaged a company-sized element of mixed Mech armor on their way to check and assist survivors at FOB Epsilon. Mikkhael danced Starkindler around and through them with ease, destroying them at will. The sixth sense of combat experience and instinct forged together, creating a monster able to anticipate the enemy pilots’ actions seconds before they were made. His main cannons fired where the enemy Mech armor were headed, not where they were, repeatedly landing incredibly difficult shots one after the other with perfect accuracy, utterly destroying each target o
ne after the other. Starkindler moved out of incoming fire before the enemy pilots even pulled the trigger, not once forced to rely on the energy shields despite being outnumbered almost twenty to one.

  In less than two minutes, he nearly evened the odds, reducing the number of enemies by over half their original number through the combination of surprise and supreme dominance. The unrequited nature of the all-in onslaught ensured the destruction of the PDF, the survivors of the initial attack turning in panic, attempting to flee the scene. With a final burst of chemically laced vengeance, Starkindler stood upright amidst the carnage, energy shields crackling with eager anticipation, disdaining the cloaking system, and with one last long machine scream loosed a final volley that eliminated all but one of the surviving PDF Mech armor with a seemingly unending barrage of rockets, missiles, and rapid cannon fire. From end-to-end, Mikkhael saw nothing but red. The engagement lasted mere minutes.

  When it was over, nineteen hulks burned the black smoke of their ruins, adding to the wave of carnage sweeping across the desolate Martian plane. Spent and broken, Mikkhael blacked out before finishing off the one survivor who Aurora let live, more concerned about Mikkhael. She refrained from administering boosters to avoid prolonging the inevitable collapse, letting him rest; softly whispering into his ear for him to dream of a better place while she found another hiding spot.

  * * * * *

  General Akari registered the knock at the door. He sat up straight while collecting himself from taking a brief nap before calling out. “Enter.” He must have fallen asleep while reading a report, the weakness of his age betraying him. There had been a point in his life when he could remain awake for days; this time he barely lasted thirty six hours.

  His aide SSgt Anderson walked in, professionally overlooking the fact that even Generals were human too, going straight to business. “Twenty minutes ago, a mixed company of Marine Steyr’s and Stridents on route to check for survivors at FOB Epsilon stopped responding. Not in a lost communication due to the wide area jamming kind of way; more like a ‘they no longer exist’ kind of way. They were all veterans piloting upgraded models. Their signals stopped responding within a period of minutes. Repeated attempts to regain contact with them have proved unsuccessful. I took the liberty of re-routing a surveillance drone to perform an over-flight of their last available position. We should have more information in less than two minutes. I assumed you would want to see the results.”

  General Akari began scanning the data slate his aide handed him. “You did well.” It was short, to the point. Praise from the General always was. In that manner, it was also extremely effective. The SSgt did not show his reaction but internally he puffed with pride; he would gladly give his life for his General.

  Without being prompted, the SSgt could not resist asking the burning question away from the prying eyes that followed the General everywhere outside of the privacy of his office. “I don’t understand, though, Sir; they would have had superiority if it really was the terrorist working alone. It was one hell of a gamble for him to take on a force that size. He has taken on larger forces, yes, but always when extremely prepared with all the factors in his favor in combination with a well thought out plan. This.” He paused considering his next words carefully. “This was more like an emotional decision.”

  General Akari looked away from the slate, vacantly staring at the wall while in reality processing the Sergeant’s words. Just then the slate beeped, providing a live visual feed from the drone sent to investigate the companies last known position. Wrecked hulks, blown out Mech armor segments and still burning shells were all that remained of the company of Marines. The drone’s camera automatically zoomed in as it approached the still smoldering remains of one-sided battle. Shell casings and missile fragments littered the area. SSgt Anderson swore under his breath; it was a sobering sight.

  “Look at how heavy the terrorists Mech tracked through the surface,” he pointed, “scorch marks on the ground from how low the engine exhausts were from where he passed, also the level of output he was using to maneuver. Combine that with the sheer number of expended shell casings scattered around. That scary sum-bitch was going all out; not holding back at all like someone who was conserving munitions. Either he isn’t anticipating a long battle and has a plan to end this all soon; or …” The Sergeant stopped talking out loud in mid-sentence, realizing with horror what he had just implied.

  General Akari finished for him, agreeing with his subordinates unasked-for assessment. Cowed by his own similar conclusion. “Or resupply is not a concern; one of the primary reasons our forces use energy-based weapons, not the consumable munitions of past ages. From the start, this was supposed to be a battle of attrition, wear down the terrorist with our vastly superior numbers, consuming him slowly. After boxing him in somewhere out in the open, we would use the artillery, missiles, and Reapers, giving him no chance for survival. But we were wrong, so very wrong. From the start, he has brought the fight to us, overpowering our forces despite all the odds time and again. I believe you are correct, Sergeant, and despite all appearances, he has more in favor for him than the plutocrats would have us believe. Have a strike team of Special Forces Hellcats begin tracking his general location, prepared to move in whenever we find him next. One man cannot be allowed to win against these odds under any circumstances, the whole system would collapse. We have to find a way to end this, now.”

  * * * * *

  Six hours passed as Mikkhael lay unconscious in the pilots’ chair, Aurora meanwhile continuing to wage her own desperate war across cyberspace. The entire time they sat hiding deep in the bottom of yet another one of the endless series of canyons that crisscrossed the vast Martian Valles Marineris region. Clouds of PDF drones crisscrossed the skies above them, painting much of the area with their sensors operating at full power, futilely searching out any telltale existence of their hidden location.

  The manned patrols had all pulled back, but she was unable to determine how far as long as most of her network remained disconnected and under direct assault. She was aware that on some level, entire division-sized elements moved to surround them, growing closer by the minute. Time was running out; if they were going to make their move, it had to be sooner rather than later. There was no word on if the StormCrows had left Mount Olympus or remained in place under Mikkhael’s strict instructions. She knew that it was only a matter of time until they left the sanctity of their stronghold and invited their own destruction upon doing so.

  With a mother’s fearful trepidation, she regretfully woke Mikkhael up, feeding him everything from anti-nausea meds in order to soothe his empty stomach, followed by thin, nutrient-rich syrup, to finally small amounts of the cognitive-boosting drug cocktail through the permanent IV set in his arm. Painfully slow, protesting and fighting the entire time, Mikkhael reacted to her intervention; coming out of the near coma sleep he had fallen into. He took his time getting up to speed, complaining of a pounding headache that she could only feed him the barest amount of medicine for in fear of dulling his instincts too far. While she informed him of the little she knew, he munched silently on a dry, tasteless protein bar, the toll of his efforts showing in his startling level of exhaustion.

  With everything done that she could possibly do to revive vitality to his depleted frame, they set out to finish what they started before the option was taken away from them. They moved slowly, having to take all necessary precautions in order to avoid detection by the drones flying continuously overhead. Aurora piloted through one canyon after another, forced to rely on stored satellite images of the terrain they crossed. If they came across a patrol while at the bottom of one of the canyons, they would be as surprised as their enemy, and therefore at a distinct disadvantage. Neither of them dwelled on the uncomfortable thought.

  Mikkhael remained silent through the next hour, gathering his energy as they approached their final destination, the still-faint signal of the remaining Rebel forces from the doomed Mount Olympus task forc
e. Neither he nor Aurora held any particular hope they were still alive and therefore spent little of their limited available processing power on considering what would happen after they arrived. Neither of them expected to make it as far as they already had.

  After Aurora’s vast amounts of artificial assistance, he finally felt rested enough to take over piloting once more, knowing that he needed to find a way to get ready for challenges that would far surpass anything they had already been through. Skirting the crest of one of the last remaining hills between him and whoever remained from the captured strike force, they paused in a knoll on the lee side of the hill to take stock of the situation, straining Starkindler’s sensors as far as they could without giving away their location.

  Aurora attempted to use line-of-sight communication lasers, but was unsuccessful in contacting any survivors. All satellites with communication capability were disabled, but even with the capability they would not have used radio transmission for fear of giving away their position. The PDF had researched well; they were completely prepared with countermeasures for Starkindler’s and Aurora’s capabilities and were effectively blocking them. On top of that, worse news was to follow.

  As they paused, overlooking the last valley between them and the Rebels, they looked out in horror upon an entire Marine combined arms battalion of Mech armor encamped along with support units directly in their planned route. Aurora immediately populated the HUD with hundreds of primary targets, not to mention thousands of secondary that overwhelmed the screen. They looked on in stunned silence as hundreds of technicians went about openly servicing the small army in front of them. Fourteen Steyr’s, the Marine big brother to the less-capable mass-produced Slayers, as well as dozens of Dragonwagons, a capable Marine variant anti-tank armored vehicle, were supported by dozens more unmanned sentry guns providing an outer ring of defense for the sprawling camp. Two variants of armored scout drones patrolled the perimeter, some ranging far and wide in order to provide the Marines with as much warning as possible should an attack occur. It was only by sheer luck that Aurora and Mikkhael managed to slip inside the drones search patrol without alerting the inhabitants.