General Akari watched passively as the technicians throughout the room went to work. Commands issued forth. Dedicated displays reflected the results of those commands as the PDF forces moved out en masse, closing in on the enemy, trapping him with nowhere to go. Digital clocks on every display counted down the time remaining until the PDF forces entered firing range.
* * * * *
“They are finally moving.” Aurora said.
Mikkhael did not reply. There was not really anything for him to say.
Aurora’s holographic self-representation crossed her arms, lifted her chin and stared unblinkingly at him with her eyebrows raised in unspoken question. The gesture was human enough that it caused him to shudder.
“Would you care to explain why after successfully defeating the remaining obstacle to completing our mission, you choose to wait in a defenseless position with no hope of survival?” Aurora purred, the silky smoothness of her voice making the bite of her sarcasm more intense.
He looked past her; collecting his thoughts. It was difficult enough for him to communicate as he was so out of practice, but now she was asking him to explain something he only understood that he needed to do on a purely instinctual level.
She waited impatiently for him to return to the real world, it was not like there was a massive army closing in to kill them or anything, while a timer performed a countdown until the PDF arrived within weapons range. There were still several minutes before they could engage and all preparations were complete that could be made. She knew that keeping him distracted would serve a useful dual purpose. She truly did not understand what he intended, and forcing him to explain himself might help him further consider anything he might have missed.
“The PDF know our destination. They have from the start. They know what we want, how we plan on getting it, and they can make an accurate guess on when we would arrive. With their vastly superior numbers, we cannot operate on their timetable if there is to be any chance whatsoever of retrieving Eve and any of the MARS pilots still alive.
“Aside from being necessary, the resupply was intended to force the PDF to retreat, collect their forces, and then attack again with everything they have left. By doing so, they will have moved the majority of their forces out of their positions surrounding the trapped rebels. If we can break through this next attack, then it becomes a race to Eve and the other pilots, one which we can win. Akari will have left some forces behind to guard against our success. They will almost certainly be his best remaining units, meaning HellCats. But facing them alone without the support of the Marine division is still preferable.
“After we collect Eve and any remaining rebels, if any are still alive, we will have a much more likely chance of escape if the remaining division is spread out trying to catch up to us then if they had remained in their defensive positions surrounding the rebels.” He shrugged. “It’s not as if we really have a chance. However, I still think we should try to live through this and I have planned accordingly to make that effort. That’s why from the very beginning I have tried to whittle down their forces and act unpredictably instead of simply playing into Akari’s hands. He is far too dangerous an opponent to allow him to call the shots.” Mikkhael breathed deeply as he finished, his voice quivering from the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Aurora’s hologram nodded, seeing his logic. She used a reestablished satellite feed to show him the distance remaining between him and the advancing PDF on the HUD. She then used a different feed to highlight areas where the HellCats were likely lying in wait around the canyon where the hostages were located. She charted a path, obtained his approval, and then it was time. The Marine formation appeared on the horizon, occluded by the cloud of dust they kicked up in their passing. She increased his drip feed to nearly lethal levels, monitoring his reactions closely.
Mikkhael felt the effects of the drug cocktail course their way through his body as his veins burned. His blood surged with the power of the stimulants, and with him, so too did Starkindler come to full preparedness as Aurora redlined the reactor output. As one, melded machine body, and human soul; they charged.
The Marines formed a box around Starkindler, a battalion worth of various armored units forming each of the four sides. A gap in their lines formed when a medal hunting squad commander of Heavy Marauder tanks used his unit’s superior speed to pass in front of a platoon sized element of plodding Strident class Mech armor, interrupting their momentum. The gap closed quickly as the other nearby units compensated for the disruption in their ranks. What the over eager tank commander failed to realize was, General Akari specifically ordered the echelon formation to allow for coordinated barrages of fire that would occur in staccato bursts, never allowing Starkindler’s energy shields to recover from the continuous fire they would unleash. By cutting off the smaller Strident’s line of fire with their oversized anti-grav tanks, the eager tank commander eliminated almost a third of the firepower his mixed formation could bring to bear by blocking his allies’ ability to fire, a blunder that had not gone unnoticed by Aurora’s all-seeing satellite feeds.
She pointed the mistake out to Mikkhael, who never hesitated what with thousands of men and woman closing on their current position. Reactor at full power, energy shields maxed, rested and re-charged, Starkindler raced towards the approaching enemy lines. Mikkhael was now committed to his course; full afterburners roared their defiance in the face of the enemies overwhelming numbers. Starkindler was in full flight mode, knees tucked inwards, hunched over and leaning forward with both arms bent at the elbow like a boxer waiting to strike. Aurora began activating one missile after another, making the most of the remaining range as she targeted both the Marauders and the Strident’s while Mikkhael took careful aim with his main cannons and fired a double salvo at the lead Marauder.
Hurtling towards the advancing PDF formations, blaring death and defiance with its machine scream, the PDF formation rippling in anticipatory fear despite their vast numerical advantage. Starkindler’s weapons possessed vastly superior range and damage capabilities to those of the many varied types of enemies arrayed against them except the Marauders main cannons, and Mikkhael used them to great effect as there was no longer any reason to hold back. Incoming fire from the Marauder heavy anti-grav tanks was ineffective due to them being forced to shoot at Starkindler’s feet in order to not lock up their IFF sensors as their allies directly across from them were otherwise in the line of fire. This forced them to reduce the capabilities of their most powerful weapons and the only ones capable of dealing significant damage to Starkindler, instead having to settle for whittling down his energy shields.
Aurora fired her second salvo of missiles before the Marines could even open fire due to the limited potency of their laser-based weapons at range. The high-energy laser weapons used by the PDF could be fired with instant pinpoint accuracy across distances of many miles, but needed to be within one mile of armored targets in order to do any damage due to the limited fuel cell packs that powered their Mech armor. Their weapons were ineffective at less than half a mile. Any shots fired beyond that range were absorbed and then converted into raw energy, which Aurora then used to supplement the energy shields, using the PDF weapons against themselves. Mikkhael fired a second time as well, taking every advantage of his range while he could, disabling the lead Marauder tank directly in front of him. The Marines tasted the scent of blood and began breaking formation, closing in on him faster than their orders, eager to avenge their dead.
With all sides of the massive box of armored vehicles collapsing in upon one another in their frenetic attempt to kill him, the Marines who remained steady according to their orders found their weapons locked out by the IFF sensor. They were ordered to advance in echelon formation, a staggered advancing line that provided plenty of small gaps for the IFF sensors on the Mech armor across from them to read the gaps allowing them to fire. They fought as a group of individuals instead of a coordinated unit and everything went to hell.
Seeing the darkness of confusion manifesting itself among his foes by his decision to attack, Mikkhael engaged the plasma blade along the right arm, ducking as much of Starkindler’s body behind the physical shield attached on the left arm as possible as they closed the last several hundred yards between them and the now panicking Marauder tank squadron. He readied himself to cut through the enemy ranks if needed; staying out in the open in the middle of them all was suicidal. The raw energy of the plasma blade took shape and solidified form, glowing hauntingly through the violently swirling dust now sweeping across the plain, intense white flashes exploding throughout the billowing smoke and confusion of armies on the move. Warnings rang out inside the cockpit as the energy shields sustained hundreds of shots in rapid succession as they closed the last few hundred feet into the mixed ranks of Marine and PDF of the armored corps.
Then he was among them. A surreal sense of immortality settled over him as he moved within the midst of the tanks that moved too clumsily to be able to defend themselves when he was in their midst. The plasma blade flashed repeatedly, carving and slicing through everything in sight as rapidly as possible. Starkindler’s left arm fired everything it could as quickly as possible while keeping the physical shield between them and the bulk of PDF. Meanwhile Aurora emptied the majority of their missile cache in a steady stream of chemical fury, kicking in the teeth of the closest Marines who were unable to fight back because of their IFF sensors being tripped. Explosions fountained forth as one nearly continuous roll of thunder echoed out across the plain, guided missiles and high explosive shells striking Marauder and Strident alike wherever they were vulnerable
The focused plasma blade tore through enemy Mech armor and heavily armored main line battle tanks as effortlessly as a knife passing through butter. Starkindler danced among the PDF with lethal precision. The plasma blade overloaded all semblance of energy shields, the heat and power slicing through the armored plating of any vehicle unlucky enough to come within range of its devastation. Mikkhael fell deep inside himself, piloting from a purely instinctual level, rending limbs and other vital components away from one enemy after another. He was always a half-dozen steps ahead of the enemy pilots who fumbled into each other or blocked their allies’ lines of fire. The fight had been underway for less than five minutes before he sliced his way to the rear of the formation, although it seemed to last hours. Most of the Stridents in the nearest formation registered as disabled or damaged. Out of the eight heavy Marauder tanks, only two remained.
The battalion to either side was comprised of Marine Steyrs supported by infantry fighting vehicles. Seeing the armored formation being cut to pieces and unable to defend themselves, they received permission to disable their sensors, laying down steady, accurate suppressive fire. Manually targeting their weapons the instant Starkindler entered their line of sight; the surrounding pilots peppered his energy shields with dozens of shots while hundreds more near misses contributed to the growing maelstrom. Static electricity in the air built to the point that lightning began randomly discharging, leaping from energy shields and traveling across to unprotected armored units and even violently discharging in midair. The dust gathered and enveloped everyone caught in its midst, blinding all visual and sensor abilities, pulsing as if alive with each successive roll of thunder.
In the chaotic center of hell that is war performed by amateurs, the PDF unintentionally committed unimaginable fratricidal horrors as wave after wave of poorly aimed high-energy bolts fed the growing inferno. Aurora yelled in warning as Starkindler’s energy shielding critically depleted on every side. Bolts of lightning began arcing between the moving armored combatants, simultaneously frying electronics and human pilots as the dust storm threatened to drown everyone under its rapidly increasing weight, lit from the inside as if they were caught in the midst of a volcanic explosion. The intensity of the maelstrom grew until one continuous rolling peal of thunder washed over the plain, echoing off the surrounding mountains, splitting boulders from resonant force as the choking dust danced in celebration of unreserved death.
Knowing that to stay in this bottom ring of hell meant certain death, Mikkhael collapsed Starkindler’s wings, placing the physical shield over them in the passive position on his back, providing an extra layer of armor while also making the massive Mech as small as possible before racing away from the imploding division towards the captive MARS units. Barely one in a hundred shots fired at their quickly retreating back landed, many of which were mitigated by the physical shield. However, thousands more laser bolts flying at the speed of light continued to seek them out, imploding with vengeful fury when they found a target. Alarms screeched panicky alerts as the energy shields completely collapsed and then the physical shield covering their back disintegrated.
He had not made it out of the maelstrom unnoticed. Half a dozen mixed Marine armored vehicles and Mech armor were in hot pursuit, simply the first of many. With nothing left to stop their shots from striking against the armor, Mikkhael’s gut twisted in fear at the thought of not being able to stop the inevitable arc of the Reapers sweeping scythe as his pursuers began firing. Their initial shots were absorbed by the outer layers of heat-absorbing foam that burned up in the process of mitigating the incoming fire, but it was only a matter of time. Out of rockets and missiles, and unable to return fire rapidly enough to kill all of them, Mikkhael could only watch in horror as they lined up for a second salvo that Starkindler was unable to fend off in any way. At that very moment, a coordinated wave of laser fire from the Marines stuck back in the boiling maelstrom let loose, mowing down the unfortunate bastards caught between Starkindler and them. Their armored forms melted in place as they absorbed the massive wave of concentrated energy. Not all of the shots missed though; sheer volume of fire ensured partial accuracy, some of which did strike Starkindler.
Mikkhael ran. It was not cowardice that made him flee; it was the desperate will to survive, if only a little longer. There was no consideration for the hostage MARS pilots; there was only the knowledge that to remain in range of the blood crazed Marines was suicide. Wrapped in the darkness of active camouflage systems, Starkindler fled, energy shields entirely depleted on both his front and back sections. Large areas of the energy-absorbing foam coating burned off, leaving them naked and vulnerable.
* * * * *
He was not sure what exactly sparked the memory, but as he fled from the blood-raged Marines, he found himself remembering a strange event that occurred a few weeks ago back in Mount Olympus. A few days before going out on his last patrol, during one of the rare moments when he was in his personal quarters instead of recovering in the medical ward, Commander Ultor had come to see him for a much different reason then he had two days ago.
Mikkhael had been lying down on the small bed that was the only furniture in the room aside from a small bedside table; even the drawers for his few assigned uniforms were built into the walls. He did not look for meaning while here on Mars in acquiring the material possessions that consumed most civilians’ lives; instead, holding to a Spartan existence, keeping only the bare minimum of what was required in order to function effectively. With nothing else to do except research his next target for hours on end, he had been in that between state of sleep and mind wandering, data slate lying forgotten on his chest when the door chime pealed softly. A small pad next to the door as well as the slate in his hand and the screen in the wall all automatically reflected different-sized images of the figure at the door.
Startled to find Commander Ultor outside his personal quarters, Mikkhael swiped the door release on the slate, hurriedly standing just as the Commander entered.
Patting the air absently, Commander Ultor just shook his head no as he looked slowly around the room. “No need for any formality, please excuse the intrusion. I was in the area and wanted to stop by for a few moments, nothing more. I have not been in these rooms in quite some time; I had forgotten how simple they are.”
Mikkhael fought to cont
ain his surprise. All militaries throughout history intentionally separated the officer’s quarters from the enlisted men. When needed, an officer would have to send the men under their command to die, something easier done if they were not friends. Secondly, the enlisted men were given a certain laxity in their billets that was not afforded to them anywhere else except on leave, something that would not be acceptable in the presence of officers who were held to higher standards. As such, an unwritten rule was that officers, and especially Commanders, never went down to the enlisted quarters. It was the job of the enlisted to go to the officers and Commander.
There was no such thing as an officer or Commander just wanting to stop by and talk to an enlisted man or woman, so Mikkhael ignored the white lie, waiting for Commander Ultor to tell him the reason he had come to talk. He did relax a bit, though; there was obviously no urgency in the visit as the Commander approvingly finished performing his visual inspection of the room, not that there was much to catch his eye.
“I would offer to let you sit Sir, were there a chair. I apologize.” Mikkhael said after he sensed enough time passed.
Commander Ultor cleared his throat distractedly, almost hesitating to bring up the real reason why he purposefully sought Mikkhael out. “Quite alright, there is no need for apologies. I left to stretch my legs anyways; Commanders are capable of standing as well, or so Dr. Hesken keeps telling me anyways.” He grinned ruefully at the joke, letting Mikkhael know there was more truth to the off-handed comment then he cared to admit.
Starkindler (MechaVerse Series Book 1) Page 36
