Starkindler (MechaVerse Series Book 1)

by Jeremy Cunkle

  Looking at him face-to-face for the first time since he arrived, Commander Ultor quietly asked, “How long have you been on Mars now?”

  The simple question did not catch him off guard. Mikkhael figured his guest would probably start with small talk that would prove relevant later. “Approaching seven months now, Sir.”

  Commander Ultor nodded slowly at the reply, already well aware of the answer. “And you have been with us all but a few days of that time, yes?” He continued without pausing, the question had been rhetorical. “In that time, you have managed one miracle after another, in battle after battle. I understand that you fight for yourself and your own goals, far better than you may realize, but I wanted to ask you, man to man, have you come to understand just how much the StormCrows fight with you and how you represent them? Not in the sense of pulling the trigger, because you understandably fight alone except in a few instances, but in that there are literally hundreds of us now involved in actively supporting you.”

  The Commander fixed Mikkhael with a direct gaze, the intensity of his focus momentarily startling him. It was no wonder the man often seemed aloof or rarely made but brief eye contact, there was an alertness and sense of brilliant vigor that belied his age visible through those portals merely referred to as eyes. Under the direct regard of such piercing scrutiny, Mikkhael found himself considering his answers with an extra sense of gravity that he had not felt before; knowing there was more underlying the Commander’s questions then passive inquiries. For the first time he found himself able to sympathize with how lonely such a fierce and yet simple capability bound the Commander to his station, secluding him from his peers.

  “I am, and always will be, grateful to the StormCrows for all of their support, Sir. There was no way I could have accomplished anything nearly as meaningful without it. Because of your assistance, Aurora and I are far ahead of even our most optimistic schedule.” Mikkhael replied, his stomach sinking as he knew beyond doubt that he had just said the wrong answer, failing an unannounced test. Yet, he could not fathom what answers the Commander was seeking.

  Shaking his head no, only confirming Mikkhael’s beliefs, Commander Ultor spoke slowly as if he was trying to get an incredibly important point across to an especially dense child. “You sleep here in our quarters, eat side by side with us at the same tables, go into battle on our behalf or with our men and women, and yet you still speak about the StormCrows as if you do not belong here, as if you are not one of us. Luckily for you, we do not have the same misbelief. Thank you for all you’ve done.”

  With that said, Commander Ultor turned and walked out of the door, leaving Mikkhael too dumbfounded for words, unsure of how he would have replied if the Commander had remained in his quarters. Something made him look over to the bedside table where he saw something else that stunned him. Somehow, without him noticing when, Commander Ultor placed a StormCrow patch on the small table, leaving unsaid that Mikkhael could attach the patch to his otherwise plain white uniform if he so chose. The patch was just a symbol, but tears threatened to spill from his eyes as he considered the honor of being gently reprimanded that he had indeed thought of himself as apart from the StormCrows; that for some time now he was indeed very much one of them, with many brothers and sisters who all fought in their own way for the same ideals he did.

  Three days later, when Mikkhael left Mount Olympus and the base officers had come to see him off as usual, they gave small approving nods as each one of them caught sight of the patch that now proudly adorned the outside of his left arm.

  * * * * *

  Fleeing from the Marines chasing him, Mikkhael found himself absently touching the patch on his left arm covered by his pilot’s suit, reminding himself of why he was fighting so hard, risking everything for the hostage MARS pilots trapped just a few more miles away. He smiled grimly to himself as he tallied the cost to those who had sought once more to tear his family from him, making them pay by drowning them in an ocean of blood spilled from their fallen.

  Those few years ago, he had been powerless to halt the pain and loss that occurred on that fateful day. However, today he was not the same man he used to be. He was no longer powerless. He was no longer afraid, because he was a StormCrow.

  Chapter 18 – Intrepid

  “Come on, you son‘s of bitches, do you want to live forever?”

  –Ssgt Dan Daly USMC Marine Corp

  Starkindler raced across the dusty red Martian landscape, desperate for every inch they placed between them and the blood raged Marines pursuing them. Dust from the growing storm swirled around in increasing density, sometimes growing into tall columns like dust devils back on Earth. Visibility decreased noticeably by the hour, the energy shields prevented the dust from accumulating in any open spaces within Starkindler, but the unshielded PDF Mech armor would not be so fortunate. Their engineers devised other methods to keep the dust from clogging up their engines, methods that would make their pursuit of him that much slower.

  Wounded and exhausted, the suffering Mech armor valiantly struggled to cover the remaining distance to Eve and the other hostage MARS pilots as rapidly as possible. Aurora was busy fighting her own war in the cyber sphere, her ample resources strained to the max, leaving Mikkhael to pilot at speeds across the craggy terrain more than double those of his dogged pursuers. He could sustain the current pace, relying on the wings to help them cross the myriad crisscrossing canyons of varied depths, while the Marines would have to travel in bursts of speed, forced to navigate with the terrain and not over it.

  Traveling in full flight mode, at high speed with wings deployed, left them vulnerable to being acquired by anyone using IFR sensors. When the wings were folded behind the back in their state of rest, they helped mask the heat and exhaust output. But deployed for flight while racing across the brutally cold terrain under full thruster and afterburner power; their heat index climbed quickly without anyway to lower it. The point was moot however; everyone within five hundred miles knew where he was headed and even when he would arrive. The time for subtlety had long since passed.

  Mikkhael closed to within twenty miles of where the unresponsive hostages supposedly lay entombed at the bottom of a deep canyon. They had been held as live bait for nearly two days now. He could not help but wonder at their status, cursing himself for having last minute doubts about whether or not his effort on their behalf was even justifiable.

  Aurora created and ran a sub routine that attempted continuous communication with them now that the wide area jamming was removed, but had so far been unsuccessful. Mikkhael feared that, in all probability, they were slaughtered before he had even left Mount Olympus. Then all of this would have been for nothing. He held little expectations of what he would find. A part of him hidden in the very back of his mind begged the question of why he should even continue when the price of doing so was so obviously in front of him, but he refused to back down now. If there was even a chance they were alive, he had to know. There was much more at stake than a simple hostage rescue. He knew there was no way the PDF were going to let him leave as anything other than a few ashes they could gather to ensure he was dead.

  In the time since they left Earth, let alone Mount Olympus, Mikkhael had already accomplished more than he ever realistically imagined he would in his one-man campaign to make a difference on the red planet. By choosing to push forward with this mission no matter the personal cost, he would only reinforce the memories of his actions in the minds of the surviving rebels, and eventually the millions of citizen slaves held captive by Mars Industries. If after this day he was only remembered as a martyr and not a living hero, the symbol of resistance he worked to create should be enough to unify the disparate rebel factions enough for them to have a chance of overthrowing the corrupt corporate government. To be able to claim as a legacy that he fought hard enough and accomplished so much as to cause that much change in this new world would be more than enough to justify his life.

  Once he passed the designated waypoin
t, he turned off the afterburners and then throttled down to 20% engine output, bringing Starkindler to a soft landing along a rare windswept ledge before he cut the engines fully. He would take the next ten miles at a short hop after he let the reactor cool for a few minutes, cycling the reserve coolant into place, unable to air vent the reactor because of the amount of dust in the air. While he waited, nervously scanning the threat indicators, Aurora directed his attention to other matters. “We have between thirty and forty minutes before the Marine division in pursuit catches up. Considering that we likely have the hardest fight yet in front of us, that time will pass quickly. You should assume the local forces know we have arrived, if not our precise location. Also, they have the entire region in front of us painted with layers of active radar. I believe they have linked the radar beams to various pre-sighted missile, rocket, and artillery platforms scattered across the area. We have run out of time to destroy them, meaning staying in one place for any length of time is certain death.”

  Mikkhael performed what would likely be the last system check he would ever get to do. He ignored the butterflies in his stomach, hyper-focused on what was in front of him. He was too tired for self-pity or doubt at this point, simply ready for it all to end. Starkindler’s active camouflage was at full capacity; his store of the meta-materials that powered it held plenty thanks to the Phoenix Core. The energy shields could not rise to more than 73% of full capacity. Four full salvos of medium missiles remained; he hoped it would be enough. The electro magnets on all of his weapons had been sorely abused. They showed signs of warping under the extreme use but should be able hold out for one last fight.

  His smaller munitions were mostly unused, unable to contribute much in the last engagement. The physical shield carried on the left arm was bent in places while showing signs of stress cracks in others. The damage display depicted as mostly orange and yellow with reduced capabilities from the amount of damage sustained. The detailed readout described stressed joints and areas where the armor plating had been damaged or begun to breach. Overall, he held mixed feelings about what he was about to attempt, but the reactor chimed its state of readiness and he was truly out of time.

  There were no more Phoenix Cores to call upon, no more tricks up his sleeve to use, no last reserve to call upon. There were no last words as he manually throttled the engines into a burn that would bring them to within less than a mile of the Rebel MARS pilots last known location. He was on the apex of the climb when he immediately dropped them to the ground, hard, pulling to a stop inside a cloud of dust swirling up out of the canyon in front of them.

  Aurora’s machine code had stopped asking him to explain his gut instincts of things he knew but could not explain. Instead, she simply re-routed processing power to boosting the sensors, attempting to find what he already felt, the enemies lying hidden just in front of them. Alerts began activating throughout the cockpit, showing that they were being painted by dozens of radars beams. Because of the amount of damage they had sustained, Aurora was unable to inform him if the PDF were simply locating him with wide band search radar or if the beams were narrow, emanating from the tips of missiles that were already locked on and were now incoming.

  Without hesitating, he pushed Starkindler forward into a loping run for the last mile through a field of boulders as they skirted the canyon, one of the few Mech armor on Mars with enough agility to perform the move. While he piloted, Aurora used one of the overhead satellites to locate a Special Forces squadron of HellCats waiting in ambush less than five hundred yards dead ahead. If Mikkhael had not stopped when he had, there would have been almost no chance of them surviving the imminent ambush while flying through the air with no room to maneuver or evade. She highlighted their locations on the HUD, examining their immediate vicinity for the other squadrons that would be nearby ready to support the first squadron, feeding additional information markers to the HUD as they became known.

  Starkindler surged out from behind a set of boulders barely one hundred yards away from the HellCats with every weapon blasting. Mikkhael’s shots caught most of the squadron by surprise; all but one of them had been aiming into the sky. He instantly realized that they must have a way of detecting him while in flight but not on the ground. The one HellCat pilot not surprised to see the giant Mech armor charging at their formation from the ground had been posted on guard duty for just this eventuality, and the enemy pilot reacted with the precision and skill of a highly trained veteran.

  Mikkhael and the HellCat exchanged nearly simultaneous fire while both working to traverse their Mechs torsos, maintaining their weapons in line with their enemy while simultaneously moving to cover. With Starkindler’s energy shields at 73%, he was shocked at the amount of damage the HellCat’s las rifle dealt. Incoming fire struck dead-on; washing his world white with its effect as the external camera feeds failed to filter the distortion effect; several of them melting from extreme heat. With an ominous sense of foreboding settling in, he saw the enemy pilot rip off three more underpowered shots in rapid succession from the rifle held by both of its hands. Each shot struck instantaneously, depleting Starkindler’s energy shields by 18% which struggled to compensate from the shock of the massive amount of incoming energy rippling across the entire shield system. There was no way that he would be able to take on any more than a squadron of the HellCats at a time, a luxury he did not have the time to consider as he pushed forward to close on the squadron before they could finish reacting.

  Hundreds of rounds fired from the sub cannons melted the HellCat’s armor plating before he triggered both of the main cannons. The shields collapsed under the barrage as a half dozen small rockets joined the maelstrom of explosive carnage, the unexpended energy of the shots tearing into its torso, shredding the mechanical intestines. The remaining five HellCats recovered from the surprise attack, bursting from their failed ambush in every direction so that they could trade space for time in order to steal back the initiative. Everything about their design was an improvement on even the capable Marine Steyr’s frame, and their engines were multiple times more powerful, nearly enabling them to keep up with Starkindler.

  Mikkhael was forced to retreat down into a narrow ravine as the remaining members laid down withering barrages of accurate crossfire. Their laser rifles could charge their shots similar to his own, and their pilots chose to use underpowered but rapid shots to drive him back while they assumed new defensive positions. Allowing himself to be manipulated a bit while continuing to push closer to his final objective, Mikkhael flanked the squadron which Aurora reoriented the HUD to center around, only to run almost face first into a squad of supporting Strident’s that anticipated his move and assumed defensive positions at the end of the ravine he was racing down. Panicking at the shock of being outwitted so rapidly, he again fired everything he could; trying to force them to take cover. Sub cannons roared, pouring thousands of smaller rounds into the Stridents powerful shields, quickly followed by high-explosive grenades lobbed into their midst in an attempt to destroy their weaker leg joints. Those were followed by some of the remaining missiles and main cannons, gunning down a pair of the hardy units while at a full tactical retreat as he now involuntarily continued his original flanking move.

  An alert blared throughout the cockpit showing dozens of incoming missiles locked on from an entirely new location, but there were no known attackers in that direction. A separate alert bleated in agony as the back shields absorbed multiple hits from high-energy laser weapons, knocking him forward to slam heavily against the taut straps holding him in place. Several of the direct hits managed to pass through the weakened shields, striking against the armor plating, the impacts ringing throughout the cockpit, shaking him violently as the chair absorbed as much of the vibrations as possible. The damage to the armor so far was minimal, but at this rate was quickly adding up, time was not on his side.

  Mikkhael’s HUD finally displayed proximity alerts, showing they were encircled by two full companies of HellCats alon
g with several squadrons of supporting Stridents. Fifty of the best Mech armor the PDF could throw at him surrounded him on all sides, and he was already struggling against six. The last trap had finally sprung, proving more than effective. He retreated from the fearsome Stridents; their return fire of powerful unguided rockets recklessly shredded the nearby ever-present boulders as well as anything else in their path, currently proving an insurmountable challenge. The Strident’s fired barrages of missiles at his retreating form; detonating with nearly as much destructive force as those Starkindler carried, effortlessly atomizing the field of rocks around him, the seat shaking violently underneath him despite its best attempts to limit the outside interference of unmitigated ferocity.

  The front shield gauge dropped rapidly, obliging more warnings to blare. Aurora did her best to knock as many of the incoming rockets down with the point defense cannons before they impacted, but there were simply too many. He fired the afterburners, dropping into a barely controlled crouch, shifting heavily behind a low hill in a desperate attempt to find cover and allow the energy shields to recover. Aurora fired chaff and flares to distract a few of the incoming Mech killer guided missiles the Stridents continued to fire while he cursed silently.

  Barreling down a crag barely larger than Starkindler at a suicidal speed, Mikkhael dropped his precious defensive drone at the mouth behind them where the opening was widest. The drone immediately engaged the remaining incoming missiles with a continuous stream of angry metal bees searching for their target to eliminate. One long continuous series of explosions that twisted and morphed into a single ringing terrible blaze of lightning lit up the sky for miles around, sending powerful shockwaves exploding out across the plain as the drone engaged wave after wave of incoming missiles. Between the drone and Aurora nearly melting the point defense cannons from their sheer rate of fire, all of the incoming missiles were destroyed, but now the point defense cannons were registering low on ammunition.