Raiders

by Malone, Stephan

  “How the hell did you end up out here?” Christie asked with a short laugh.

  “We fell back to our failsafe keep down on Level Seven. Escaped through the airvents and here we are.”

  “Those Coilguns are gonna be a problem,” Christie said.

  “Tell me about it,” Berg responded.

  General Christie looked around the sky. “They had drones?”

  Berg responded, “Yes, some but they aren’t flying any more. My guess is that they had no need to keep them airborne. So we’re lucky in that regard.”

  “Did you manage to capture any of them?” Christie asked.

  “One. She’s with us now though.” Berg said.

  “She? Huh. That’s interesting. Where is she?”

  “Around here somewhere. Why?” Berg scratched his head and puffed on his pipe. “You want to meet her?”

  “Of course I want to meet her Otto. Don’t be silly. Where’s this Raider of yours,” Christie said.

  “We’ll find her, follow me.” The two Generals walked around the campsite for ten minutes until they found Kama. She sat in a semicircle with her friends. “Kama, I want you to meet General Christie from Polar City Six.”

  Kama turned around and stood up. She was a good six inches taller than Christie. She took off her battle headgear and her banded hair fell to her left side. “Hello,” she said.

  “And hello right back!” Christie responded with a slight snort. “Well look at you! You look like a friggin' model! What was your role with the Raiders? Morale booster or somethin’?”

  Kama sternly looked at Christie. “Jia Ting. I was reconnaissance. Surveyor. I was a Chosen before. And they’re not my Raiders.”

  General Christie laughed. “A Chosen? Chosen for what?”

  Kama paused for a moment in silence. She said, “Is it important to you?”

  Christie laughed again. “I suppose not darling.”

  Berg interrupted the conversation. “Kama was drafted into their elite leader circle as a companion. She’s a fifth generation descendant of the genetically modified hybrids from the Old World.”

  “Ooh, a hybrid huh,” Christie said with raised eyebrows and grabbed Kama’s right upper arm. Her arm felt as if it were formed of an otherworldly steel to Christie’s touch. Kama did not move but stared at the General without emotion. “Never met one before. Impressed.”

  General Berg said, “Kama General Christie wants to pick your brain a little. What do you think we can expect when we go back into the City?”

  “What do you mean?” Kama asked.

  “What I mean is, do you think they will have their troops guarding the Gates? What would your best guess be as far as what they are doing in there?” Berg asked.

  Kama replied, “General, I really don’t know. On instinct I would say that they are not. They never guarded Reso’s entryways because there was never a need. They probably haven't changed their ways. I don’t know. That’s my guess, though.”

  General Christie looked at Kama square on and said, “My dear it’s been a pleasure. Great to have you on our side.” Kama did not respond but nodded with a hint of reserve in her eyes. Julian and Aurelia dutifully saluted. Mirabella and Calliope nervously smiled at them.

  The two Generals walked until they were just outside the camp compound. General Berg stopped and said, “Thanks for coming Bjørg. You have no idea how good it is to see you.”

  General Christie smiled and laughed. “Oh Otto. How could I not come to help?” And then she kissed him on the cheek, scrunched his shoulders with her hands then looked back to the Wall in the distance. The sun was nearly set. It cast an orange-red light over everything.

  “Okay,” she said while she looked at him with a smile. “Let’s go get your City back.”

  Twenty Two

  “Deployed a drone to Gate One, they set mines up against it ma’am,” Major Krava spoke into his Personal Assistant band while he ducked behind a large felled tree trunk almost a meter in diameter. “Check your band, I’m sendin’ the telemetry intel.”

  “Thanks Major,” General Christie replied via her Assistant band on her arm. She looked at the band’s flexible soft display. A small wire-framed visual of the Gate entrance glowed on its face. It showed the detected enemy positions and ordnance estimates including their potential cones of engagement.

  Berg said, “Not a lot there except the mines and twenty or so Raiders.”

  “If most of them are inside, we’re gonna have to squeeze 'em from the ends,” Bjørg responded.

  “Was thinking the same,” Berg said. “I’ll take Gate Six, you take One. We’ll meet in the middle.”

  “Works for me. I’ll send three Stingrays and half my Division with you.” Bjørg spoke into her Assistant band. “Attention all hands this is the general speaking. Move to Gate One, space your units out so we avoid detect. Go wide around the Wall. Waypoints should be painted on your HUDs.”

  The men and women soldiers of Polar City Six split into two groups of seven thousand each. Despite the large numbers they deployed themselves with impressive fluidity, almost as if they rehearsed the maneuvers before they left. The remnant of survivors from Polar City Three still able to fight were issued new battle rifles and fresh battle-gear that was stowed aboard the third Airship.

  After two hours everyone was geared up and battle ready. The gear did not fit well for some as Quartermasters issued them with haste, but it was better than nothing. There wasn’t much time to tally with size discrepancies. Every second was one more chance that they might be detected outside the City and their offensive advantage would be lost.

  “Ammo’s the same as ours,” Julian said while he loaded rounds into his rifle’s spare magazine. “Shit I had three rounds left.”

  “I was ‘bout empty too,” Aurelia responded. She studied Julian while he loaded the bullets supplied by their newfound friends. Shhh-click, shhh-click, Julian couched the rounds into the metal sleeve one by one. “You know,” she said while she squinted against the Sun, “You look so fucking hot right now doing that.”

  Julian stopped and looked at her. “Really? Huh,” he said, shrugged and continued on. He never really ever figured out what made her run. She was different, always was. Maybe that’s why he was so attracted to her. Her variability, unpredictable. But she was loyal. There’s nothing quite like having a woman who would fight for you, someone on your side, never against, he mused silently. Maybe a little rough around the edges but she’s the genuine thing. Not polished, but honest and sexy in her own way. All the difference in the world, he thought. A beautiful liar was something that she would never be.

  Another ninety minutes passed until they were ready. “Set to engage,” General Berg said to Christie via his Assistant band. “Team’s in place. We're ready on your mark.”

  “Storm inbound sir,” the meteorology Officer announced to General Berg.

  “Shit. How big?” Berg asked.

  “It’s an eight sir. Moving fast to the West. Storm flank will reach us in about twelve minutes.” Even as he said this the wind picked up to twenty knots. The air was calm and benign only moments before, the Sun happily shined it’s light down. It was one of the greater storms of the Twenty-Sixth century. Winds would blow in at over two-hundred and fifty knots. They made an old world category five storm from centuries ago feel like a modest squall in comparison. The greater storms could not affect the Polar Cities to any great extent. Outside the City nearly everything alive would soon be pushed and impaled and twisted into a wrecked and ruined soup. As for the blindscrub trees, some would miraculously hang onto the earth if their root bulbs were deep and vested into the rocks and soil line. But they would grow back quickly. They were scraggly and toughened things that were used to the insults.

  Berg said into his Assistant band, “Bjørg we got company. An eight, about ten minutes!”

  “I know, my weather guy told me the same,” General Christie responded. She surveyed the field in front of Gate One. She took in a
deep breath, exhaled and said, “Stingray fireteam! Engage now!”

  The Stingrays were strongly reinforced battle tanks, their hulls wrapped in twenty-two hundred layers of carbonsteel alternated with a chrystalline resin glass, the same material as the glass barrier of Level Seven. The Stingray's hull, like the glass barrier, could only be fabricated in the microgravity of near-earth orbital space. Both were forged on the World Space Station over three hundred years ago at the prohibitive cost of two million Euros per kilogram, the strongest manufactured substance mankind had ever hammered from the earth and her elements below.

  The Stingrays were almost comically flat in shape with no windows or ports in evidence. They carried two Assistant-guided guns on their bow and stern respectively. The wheels were not wheels at all but spheres. They were mechanically isolated from the hull. They spun on magnetic induction alone.

  “Approaching Gate now ma’am. Blow it!” The Stingray fire team leader said. Special Ordnance soldiers pushed large artillery shells into the mortar tubes. The shells exited with a bottleblown sound, thwwwwoompp. The rounds volleyed over the Stingrays and landed smack against the Gate and then exploded. Hardly a sound could be heard inside the Stingrays, only a sprinkled sssssfffttt as if someone poured sand over the hulls but that was all. Thirty meters ahead the mortars shrieked as they flew over and roared as they detonated with a thundered, low pitched kra-booomm. The soldiers reloaded the mortars. Thwwwoomp. Kra-boomm. Thwwwooomp. Kra-boooom.

  The makeshift plating that was Gate One slowly buckled in and fell. Proximity mines placed by the Raiders ignited and blew all at once. They lifted the Gate up about a half meter until it thunked back down. The Raiders had only tack welded pieces onto the original Gate door to repair the damage. It was just enough to keep the Storm winds outside.

  “Go go go!” Bjørg yelled. The Stingrays rolled into the Polar City as they ker-klannged over the fallen metal gate. The few Raiders near the Gate entrance shot at the Stingrays with their Coilguns. Most of the Coilrounds deflected away but a few bit the hulls and pushed small segments of metal and resin inward.

  “Holy fuck!” The lead Stingray’s driver said as he watched small pencil-wide protrusions push themselves inside the crew cabin almost as if it was fabricated of rubber.

  “Don’t worry. she’s holdin’,” the leader said. “Guns up!” He yelled.

  “Guns to go sir!” the third soldier said. “Guns up and ready!”

  “All Rays, guns up!” The leader said into the onboard comm. “Vemi, sync all forwards to one-sixty!”

  A female voice emitted from the Stingray’s console. “Done. Sixty two targets acquired. Forty engageable. Assisted or manual?”

  “Assisted Vemi,” the Stingray leader said as he felt the oil and sweat coat his face.

  “Assisted mode ready. Switching to combat vis,” Vemi announced. Before the onboard Assistant even finished her words the entire inside of the Stingray transformed from a carbon black to seemingly transparent as if it were entirely made of glass. The interior transformed itself into a giant display that wrapped itself around the cabin. Vemi used parallax and other visual modifications to accurately emulate the outside world.

  All of the controls pushed away. The chairs transformed into pivotable platforms with thumb-sticks on small hand grips. The driver on the left covered the front and sides. The right soldier took the rear and flanks and the middle driver could micro-navigate the craft with her small hand held controls.

  “They’re hidin’,” the navigator said as she moved her head left to right. The Raiders’ outlines were vaguely outlined in red as Vemi worked hard to draw the enemy overlay indicators as best she could. Every red trace seemed to be behind something.

  “Ma’am they’re all squirreled away in cover. This may take a few minutes!” The leader said into the Stingray console.

  “Negative, we have to get everyone inside now! One way or another!” Bjørg returned. “We got a Storm right on our ass!”

  “Copy ma’am.” The leader nodded and said, “You heard the lady. All Rays, engage no discrimination! Light ‘em up!” And with that the Stingray soldiers fired their guns, the reticles moved with a fluid precision against their thumb-sticks. “Burst fire! Don’t burn through!” He said.

  Tracer rounds spat out from the Stingrays and into the darkened City streets. Two Raiders crouched behind a concrete bench stammered away as the Rays chiseled them down to powder. They had shot at the craft with their Coilguns for only a few rounds but then violently shook and fell.

  “Got ‘em! That’s two!” The other two Stingrays pulled ahead slowly and began to fire at the Raiders who grew more impatient and rattled. They started to peek out from their positions and bravely fired Coilrounds into the windowless vehicles. The indentations they created on the Stingray shells grew more numerous. The displays inside the rays became difficult to see as the distortions increased from the Raider rounds.

  They swiveled in their chairs and swept and fired away. They slowly rolled the craft ahead, a few meters at a time. “Twenty-six, twenty-seven point five!” Vemi announced with each successive hit, the point-five being an estimated non-fatal Raider casualty. The soldiers continued their deadly survey. “Thirty-four. Thirty-five!” Vemi said.

  “Keep it up guys! Yeah!” The leader shouted.

  “Oh shit,” the navigator in the middle said.

  “What?” The right soldier asked without taking his eyes off the reticle as it appeared to dance and skew outside of the Stingray altogether. “Stewart, what is it?” He asked.

  “Shitload of bad guys comin’ in,” she said.

  “How many?”

  “Don’t know. Vemi, enemy count beyond the perimeter,” Corporal Stewart said.

  “Estimating. Eight hundred fifty to nine hundred approaching.” Vemi paused. “Advise withdraw!”

  “We’re not fuckin’ withdrawin’ nothin’,” the leader said. “Keep hittin’! Vemi give me an ammo count baby!”

  “Ammunition remaining nine thousand six hundred rounds,” Vemi said.

  “Ah we got plenty left.” He paused and scanned for any movement or red outlines. “Okay move in! We’re clear ma’am!” The leader said while he rubbed the sweat from his right hand with a small cloth.

  “We’re not fucking clear Janos! We got nine hundred bogeys comin’ in!” Stewart said as she nervously pointed to the spread spectrum display.

  “No choice. We gotta get ‘em in here!” Janos responded.

  A moment later the troops flooded in past the fallen Gate. The Stingrays were parked just ahead. Soldiers took cover behind the Rays while others found cover points nearby. There were small barrier walls but they were angled to defend the Gate from the inside. The cover barriers felt awkward and clumsy but there was no other option. Half of the soldiers had no choice but to go prone.

  Strong winds billowed and howled their way past the Gate. A remnant of soldiers continued to pile in to escape the Storm when the Raiders emerged from the curved road ahead. The forward Raiders took flank positions, some in cover and others none when they fired their Coilguns at the Stingrays and soldiers. Almost instantly twenty-two soldiers were hit, their bodies chewed to shredded heaps from the indifferent shower of Coilrounds.

  And then the entire street within erupted at once into a maelstrom of screams and yells and gunfire. Bullets and Coilrounds thwished and stung in all directions and veils of greyblue smoke soon coated all. The Stingrays did not move any further. Their guns stopped their pursuit of target just three minutes into the fight.

  “Fireteam Stingray! Move up! You gotta move up!” General Christie yelled into her armband. But they remained still as hundreds of Coilrounds sparked and chicked away at their hulls.

  Inside the Rays three bodies lay hunched over, lifeless as a Coilround or two poked their bodies into slightly different positions. The entire cabin was filled with smoke and spark. The display was gone, no more. In its place hundreds of small protrusions jutted inward thirty centimeter
s or more, a few of them opened into the street.

  “Vemi! Advance the Rays slowly! Fifty meters!” There was no response from Vemi but the Stingrays did as they were told and advanced at a stately velocity of five meters per second. She was still in there, initiated and alive, somewhere.

  The soldiers who were covered behind the Stingrays moved right with them. A seemingly never-ending curtain of Coilrounds flew around and over the vehicles. More Raiders fell as the soldiers shot from their modestly protected positions. Another soldier was picked off, only a centimeter of his skull had peeped over a barrier. His rifle skidded away and he attempted to stand up even with half his head gone. The apparition splotted into a rivulet of blood and water that rippled over the street’s surface.

  Kama, Julian and Aurelia fought ever forward. They stayed behind barriers and bobbed up long enough to get a shot off with the hopeful glimpse of a hand or a head or foot. Kama looked back at the Gate entrance. Outside, about two hundred meters away she could see a blur of debris that whooshed left to right past the Gate. It looked as if the Gate were a portal to the inside of a tornado. And then it hit her. Dusty was out there! She hoped he had found shelter somehow. Did they use the storm pods? She wondered but did not know.

  Hundreds of the fallen lay lifeless between her and the Gate, dead Raiders and Polar City Six soldiers both. Belts of storm-blown rain sheeted a hundred meters or more into the City. As the winds thundered outside the large entryway sang in haunted resonance, like a giant bowl of crystal at the hands of some unseen spirit. The song was loud enough that it overpowered the shots and the screams and the yells all-round.

  “They’re falling back!” Someone yelled amidst the noise and smoke and projecta. The Coilrounds and bullets lowered their intense attack. Aurelia stole a dashed glance over the masoned barrier.

  “Holy shit they are! I say we push up,” Aurelia said while she exchanged magazines. She flopped her torso over the barrier next to Julian who pulse-fired his weapon into the poorly lit streets. Together they did their part as they watched the Raiders slowly disappear. She whispered up to him, her left leg brushed against his right with a feathered pressure. The Stingrays rolled forward. The cars were a good fifty meters ahead of the three friends.