Starkindler (MechaVerse Series Book 1)

by Jeremy Cunkle

  Starkindler exited the crag with a violent roar at full speed under the additional thrust of full afterburners, with shields nearly recharged, heading once against straight towards the canyon where the hostages were being kept. Exposed on the plain once again, Mikkhael was not surprised when a targeting lock-on sounded shortly before the HUD washed white. He found himself thrown forward as far as the taut gel holding him in place let his body go, organs violently sloshing back and forth in his stomach as the HUD refocused on a priority set of targets on a small hill off to their left. Atop sat a trio of HellCats outfitted with high-density laser rifles supported by external auxiliary power sources. The single shot drained his energy shields by over twenty percent before piercing through to strike solidly against the armor plating underneath, meaning that the two preparing to fire were set to deliver a world of pain.

  A second flash again washed his world white as the external cameras were unable to dampen the blinding light in time and he once again had the unnatural sensation of being picked up and tossed as effortlessly as a ragdoll. Aurora managed to avoid the third short, temporarily taking over evasive maneuvers as she struggled to keep Starkindler upright. With the new priority being survival, Mikkhael cursed in a now well-practiced litany as he was forced to re-route in order to engage and destroy the snipers before they ended his mission mere feet away from Eve and the hostage MARS pilots.

  Placing the hill between him and his pursuers, using it for temporary cover, they rocketed up around the side as Aurora guided. Flushing out the snipers by directly engaging them was the last thing they would expect him to do with so many other enemies in hot pursuit, and he banked his bleak future on it. Once high enough, and directly behind the snipers, Mikkhael found himself with a dilemma and needing to make a snap decision. Sky-lining himself against a ridge was likely suicidal, but that was the only way between him and the snipers, and he was out of both ideas and time. Desperate with no real options, he went for it.

  Several small mines detonated right before he crested the hill, the modern equivalent of claymores upgraded for armored vehicles. Hundreds of titanium balls the size of Mikkhael’s head wiped out the shields in a blast of destruction that sheared off the near face of the small hill. The damage display spiked red in multiple sections as Starkindler bled critical fluids.

  The world went red. Mikkhael screamed in rage as he obtained sight of the trio of HellCats in the process of turning towards him, dropping their high-energy rifles while drawing what appeared to be the equivalent of short-nosed shotguns. He opened fire, depleting their shields with the sub cannons while his main cannons and waves of small missiles eliminated them moments before they could fire. With no time to waste, he left three charred hulks still smoldering behind him as they flew down the hill back towards where they were first ambushed. The firefight now began in earnest. The motto of ‘movement is the key to life’ became the maxim by which all participants operated.

  Mikkhael would fire on a squad, then seek to pursue with follow up shots to finish them off, only to have Aurora warn him they were being flanked by more squads to either side, forcing him to retreat into the field of boulders before completing the killing blow. The Special Forces units would not pursue him out of their positions where they would become vulnerable and lose many of their own in the process, content to keep him boxed in place until the Marines caught up. They were too skilled for him to bring about a finishing blow, never moving from cover or providing an opening for him to exploit.

  His frustration and rage only grew as the scenario repeated itself over and over, the stalemate ensuing all the while. Once a squadron of HellCats restored their shields, they would act as bait, moving forward while the other nearby squadrons took up positions where they could lay down blistering crossfire, neutralizing Starkindler’s combat advantages with their numbers, preparedness, and teamwork.

  Mikkhael would activate his afterburners, turning away from the obvious trap of pursuing the squad acting as the bait; instead performing a full assault on one of the supporting squads. However, the experienced Special Forces pilots had yet to make a mistake, setting up multiple zones of supporting cross fire, repeatedly shredding his energy shields, dealing increasing damage to the layers of composite armor shredding under one blistering attack after another. He would then be forced to retreat altogether, wait for the shields to regenerate, and then perform another attempt to decisively break out from the armored cordon.

  After what seemed an eternity, Mikkhael found himself verbally lashing out, frustration getting the best of him. “Aurora, can you do anything to help?!” Desperation underpinned his tone; his knuckles were white as they gripped the control handles.

  “I am, just not that you can see. The supporting FOB’s are trying to launch Reapers, which is why the Special Forces have been trying to hold you in place. They are waiting for the Reapers to arrive and finish us off. I have so far been able to deny them the ability to launch, but I cannot say for how much longer I can maintain my denial of the data links they require. The attacks against me have changed; foregoing all subtlety and they are now trying to overwhelm my defenses with brute force. For all of its simplicity the method is proving effective. For the time being, Central Command has not realized they are unable to process commands efficiently in order to effectively use their artillery or missiles or you would already be dead, the downside is that I am unable to attack either as my resources are completely tied up. The cyber forces are creating enough disruption that even the satellite feeds are full of lag, crippling both sides.”

  A flash of desperate inspiration and Mikkhael settled on what needed done. There was no denying the inevitable any longer; they were running out of time. He ground his teeth, set his shoulders, gripped the controls tightly, and set Starkindler blazing once again into motion. The giant Mech armor nimbly darted in between boulders as smooth as a dancer, moving at speeds that defied logic, placing additional strain on the stressed internal mechanical systems unable to take much more. The surprised HellCat pilots took pot shots where they could; not expecting him to continue futilely trying to break out. They were unable to track the cloaked Mech armor very well, but were able to maintain a general sense of direction he traveled. So instead of locking on with accurate fire, they fired staccato barrages squad by squad, attempting to anticipate his moves and push him back.

  Mikkhael returned fire when gaps in the enemy defenses presented themselves, but mostly remained focused on brute-forcing their way through the enemy ranks, absorbing the rapidly mounting incoming damage, tuning out the growing number of alerts and alarms blaring in the background as the energy shields were decimated in the process. Aurora screamed incoherently at him over the intercom as he ignored her. Sensors declared a growing number of mechanical functions inability to perform as intended. Alarms blared with increasing urgency as limits were surpassed. Warnings scrolled across almost every display. Near misses reverberated throughout Starkindler’s frame as nearby boulders either shredded or melted from the overwhelming amounts of raw energy exploding forcefully all around him. Unmitigated strikes landed against the armor at an increasing rate; the smell of burning foam permeated throughout the cockpit as the suicidal headlong charge continued.

  Aurora disconnected the external oxygen feed to Mikkhael’s pilot suit, instantly engaging filters built to withstand the worst biological attacks as a new countdown timer appeared on the inside mask of the helmet; two hours of self-contained oxygen remaining. Still, the smell of burning foam, singed metal, and the heavy ozone odor of frying electronics insidiously invaded the suit. Smoke began to whirl about the cockpit as some of the display feeds blinked out. Dozens of the external camera feeds went dark as the armor plates they were set between buckled and failed under successive attacks.

  The damage became crippling. Mikkhael forgot to breathe, pushing all thought aside from piloting. He lost himself, reducing his world to a purely instinctual level of physical responses; his world narrowing to a minute number
of nerve endings controlling the muscles of his hands wrapped tightly around the control sticks and the sensory load of visual stimuli guiding him.

  An eternity of pain held off by his all-consuming effort passed as they approached the end of the boulder field, at which point there would be no cover across several hundred yards of flat scree that was all that remained between him and the MARS pilots. It was time. Without energy shields, the kite shield having been destroyed and abandoned some time back, the exterior foam burned away, and the plates of armor showing stress, he never hesitated. Back amongst the boulders before beginning the suicidal charge, he pre-loaded dozens of grenades. Now, at the end of the field of boulders, Starkindler’s arms pointed out to each side as Aurora began to fire pairs of grenades off to either side and then destroy them in midair utilizing the last of the point defense cannon ammunition.

  The random explosions of different potencies were intended to serve as the misdirection he needed to buy him the next few seconds. If not, he would never know. Redlined and critically overheating, he used the last of the reactors power to launch Starkindler into a climb that defied any logic. The HellCat pilots recovered from the surprises of exploding grenades and suicidal jump faster than he hoped, but it was already too late.

  A feral grin twisted Mikkhaels face. Alerts screamed one last desperate cry as the HellCat pilots locked onto Starkindler en masse, firing everything they could. The reactor wailed in mortal pain as it reached critical temperature and then shut itself off before melting down.

  Time seemed to slow to unreal levels as Mikkhael watched the munitions heading his way on their way to destroy Starkindler. His finger took an eternity to move enough to flip one last switch. The terrible smile still painted his face, the corners of his mouth turned up in a look of supreme pleasure; teeth bared with eager anticipation, eyes narrow with the expectation of what was to come. The switch flipped positions as the world changed from the red Martian landscape to the brilliant oranges and whites of unholy chemical fire and earth shattering explosions. The force of the blasts concussions knocked Mikkhael unconscious. The smile remained painted on his face as the world went dark.

  Chapter 19 – Endings

  “Hero’s live forever, but Legends Never Die.”

  “General Akari sir! They got him; the terrorist has been destroyed!” The Sergeant turned to his superior with awe in his tone.

  General Akari nodded slowly, turned and heavily sat in the commander’s seat, allowing himself to relax just a little for the first time in days at the center of the second most powerful command and control center on the planet. “Confirm the kill, collect the pieces that remain. All pilots are to transmit visual of the area at all times. Remain ready for combat just in case.”

  His aide turned to the technicians, orders once again streaming forth, the world already returning to normal around them. General Akari felt the burden on his shoulders lift ever so slightly. If he focused, he could look past this fight, seeing himself finally taking control of the armed forces, affecting his personal quiet revolution on the corrupt Mars Industries government from within, cutting out and then cauterizing the sicknesses of greed, slavery, and corruption that threatened to overwhelm everything decent about humanity. Destroying Starkindler would finally allow him the chance he had yearned so long for.

  He told himself that it was over, repeating it to himself like a mantra, that if he continued to say the phrase it would become true; but he could not shake the feeling that something was out of place. He was missing something. Something he could not place his fingers on. So instead he would wait. He would figure it out eventually, the answers always came, given time, and then he would reap his reward.

  * * * * *

  The switch that Mikkhael flipped had been coded to disengage all of the energy shields simultaneously. Aurora realized the latent potential of having such a function during their earlier fight where they had swapped the charged back energy shields for the depleted frontal ones. He made some small adjustments to the code behind the trigger before leaving the field of boulders, adjusting for what he knew would be a lack of active shields. Instead, he directed the shield coils to store the raw energy and then release all of the pent-up vitality in one instantaneous burst that would mimic the effect of active energy shields.

  The trigger activated right before the wave of incoming chemical death struck the unprotected Mechanized form. As foreseen, the energy shields were obliterated by the time he exited the field of boulders. Unable to cope for the sheer amount of incoming fire, the energy remained collating in the energy coils, building slowly, waiting for him.

  Once he triggered the command, all of the energy held within the coils disengaged as intended. Positive reactions and physics took over, the energy moving at the speed of light to bind together into shield layers temporarily fixed in midair. Then, without reactor output the engines stalled out, leaving only momentum to continue carrying them. Using the last of the power from the reactor, with no backup fuel cell system to draw from, Aurora cloaked Starkindler one last time. The energy shield hung in place behind them for moments immeasurable by human standards until the incoming munitions struck.

  Aurora, sidelined from combatant to observer status when the reactor died, knew her logic stacks required vast amounts of energy to operate that the crippled Mech armor was no longer able to provide. Her machine learning code stared in amazement at the results of her miscalculation that she never fathomed as a remote possibility. The incoming munitions struck the static energy shields, but the effect was far from expected. As she watched, her power fading, she recorded a world-shifting phenomenon.

  As the munitions met the energy shield and began to detonate, instead of explosively collapsing as expected, the shield layers wrapped around the rapidly expanding ball of chemical fury. Measured in nanoseconds, using Starkindler’s remaining sensors, she watched with a level of perception that was unreal for a mere human to witness as the force of the detonating missiles fought for dominance against the static energy shields. The opposing forces then reduced themselves down to a miniscule point in space before blasting outwards as if a miniature star went supernova. The air cracked with the sound of broken thunder, those pilots who were left unprotected by their damaged units never had time to realize that the wave of pressure racing over them liquefied their internal organs, killing them instantly. Darkness covered the sky as Mars itself bent and shifted under the torturous onslaught.

  With the shattering force of several nuclear detonations exploding hundreds of feet above ground level, the shockwave rippled across the surface, picking up and tossing boulders, Mech armor, and incoming missiles, then effortlessly tossing them through the air, followed by a rolling wall of flame expanding in every direction. Unseen by humans, a naturally occurring EMP led the explosions vanguard, destabilizing the energy shields of the Marine Steyr’s closing in on the fight, forcing them to implode, rendering electronic and physical sensors caught in its path unusable. The inferno raged until the little oxygen in the atmosphere was consumed, extinguishing itself as quickly as it appeared.

  When it was over, Starkindler was gone. A few bits and pieces of its composite armor remained, scattered across miles, lost in the dust. Radioactive particles drifted on the wind, saturating the surrounding area. The silence that followed was maddening, leaving the survivors disoriented after the fierceness of the recent battles. The few remaining pilots took their time recovering; many of their units were critically damaged. Very few of the dazed pilots considered how strange it had been for Starkindler to take flight at the very end; those that did attributed the strange maneuver to be the terrorist’s first and last mistake of his career.

  * * * * *

  Mikkhael slowly came to. He tasted blood and then sluggishly moved his hand to assess the damage but needed a moment as his arm temporarily refused to work. He placed a finger inside his mouth to feel the inside of his cheek, blinking rapidly to force the world to stop spinning and focus on the finger. It
came away wet with blood. His other hand moved slowly, brushing the side of his head above his temple. His hair had become matted with more dried blood. Realization dawned on him slowly, if the blood had time to dry, then quite some time had passed.

  With difficulty, he fought to remember the sequence of events leading to his current situation. Starkindler had been falling without power from the reactor or engines when the shields detonated. He was headed in the direction where the hostage MARS pilots were located, what happened afterwards was lost to him. The composite layers of external armor protected him from the unseen force of the pressure wave, lasting long enough for Starkindler to be thrown down to the ground. But with the blessing of lady Fortuna herself, they were thrown bodily into the base of the canyon where they slammed into the unyielding rock lining the canyon walls.

  His neck was stiff; turning it required more effort than he cared to admit, bringing with it fresh waves of pain. He ached all over, feeling bruised and battered in places he had not known could hurt. The feeling reminded him of when he had been in a bad anti-grav cart accident, colliding with an oncoming cart that had swerved to hit him head on when a strut failed while traveling at high speed.

  Aurora’s hologram flickered into being, greeting him, weakly holding its presence, motioning for his attention. He finally realized she was speaking; the ringing in his ears was deafening. Reflexively he placed his hands over his ears, futilely attempting to make the noise stop. The tension throughout his body was overwhelming; instinctively, he curled into the fetal position as he was wracked with pain spasms that forced him to dry heave several times.