Atlas

by Isaac Hooke

  "Chief," I sent directly to Chief Bourbonjack on a private line. "Do the scientists have permission to setup?"

  My words were met with silence, and I knew that the Chief was checking with the Lieutenant Commander. Or maybe arguing with him, given how long it was taking him to respond. Finally: "Roger that, Mr. Galaal."

  Mordecai, our pilot, was sitting down on the ramp of the MDV, M4 rifle in one gloved hand. In front of him, both of the scientists were bending far forward to unfold some sort of retractable antennae on their equipment.

  "How's the view from down there, Mordecai?" I subvocalized to the pilot. "Bet you wish you passed BSD/M."

  He gave me the finger.

  "What did you say?" Tahoe said.

  I chuckled. "Nothing. Just asking him if he liked the view. I might have teased him about failing MOTH training."

  "Oh you're a bad man," Alejandro said, voice dripping with irony. "A bad bad man. Though actually I wouldn't mind being down there right now. That scientist on the right? Bet she has a sweet behind. Even suited up, you know what I'm saying?"

  About an hour later Facehopper ordered us down and we reconvened with the rest of the team.

  "Well, the SKs sure left this place in a hurry," Facehopper said. "Meals half-eaten in the mess hall, beds left unmade, closets fully stocked with gear and clothes."

  Chief Bourbonjack was rubbing the lower part of his facemask. "Any leads? Rad trails?"

  Fret pointed to the east, beyond the mirrorlike silo where I'd perched with Tahoe and Alejandro. "Found a strong rad trail at the edge of the outpost. SK signature. About eight months old." Atomic-powered machines always left a radiation signature, and unless it was cleaned, anyone with the proper equipment could track it. "TJ had an HS3 follow the trail. Looks like it leads to one of their Geronium excavation sites. TJ has the Raptor patrolling the area now."

  Chief Bourbonjack glanced at TJ.

  Our drone operator shrugged. "Looks clear, Chief."

  "How far?"

  "Two klicks," TJ said.

  The Chief nodded. "We should really take the MDV." He glanced at the scientists. "You two. How easy is it to move all that equipment you've set up?"

  The first scientist shook her head. "Not easy at all. We've already started drilling. It would take at least an hour to pack everything up again. That's an hour we could spend getting core samples. The sooner we finish, the sooner everyone goes home." There were tubes and wires running from the survey equipment back to the MDV. It was pretty obvious that you couldn't move one without packing up the other.

  "Damn." The Chief gazed longingly at the MDV, then bit his lip. "Guess we'll go on foot." He surveyed the rest of the platoon. "We move out in five. Facehopper, get 'em ready. I'll be on the comm with the Commander." He walked up the ramp and into the MDV.

  Facehopper had us all recharge our oxygen tanks and jetpacks, courtesy of the MDV's inventory. Neither scientist had a jetpack, but Facehopper had them refill their O2 supplies too.

  When the five minutes were up, Chief Bourbonjack wasted no time in organizing the platoon.

  "Bomb and Fret, you're staying behind with Mordecai to guard the MDV and scientists."

  "Yes sir."

  "The rest of you are coming on our little walk. Facehopper, if you would?"

  "Traveling overwatch formation," Facehopper said. "Two squads, seven men each. ATLAS 5s on point. Heavy gunners on drag."

  He proceeded to divide the platoon into two squads. I was in the lead squad, whose members, from front to back, included: Manic, Snakeoil, Facehopper, Bender, Alejandro, me, and Big Dog. In the second squad were Lui, Tahoe, Chief Bourbonjack, Trace, TJ, Ghost and Skullcracker.

  The labels above each member of the platoon updated to reflect the new squad level designations, prefixing the letters S1 or S2 to the front of each name, depending on which squad they were part of. We also had a new squad-level comm assigned, so we could send messages only to those in squad one or two if we wanted.

  Before leaving, I considered dropping off most of my gear at the MDV, but decided to keep it. I just hoped all those extra grenades and magazines didn't slow me down, but I figured the strength-boost from the jumpsuit would more than compensate for the extra weight.

  We used our jetpacks to quickly travel over the domes to the outer section of the outpost, where the buildings were set further apart, and then we started the eastward march into the barren landscape.

  The entire area sat on the shoulders of a mountain range, and the digital coloration on my jumpsuit darkened to match the loose, rocky shale at my feet—it wasn't obsidian, as I had thought during the descent, but those rocks were still ink black.

  I heard the unified trod of five polycarbonate feet as the Centurions sprinted past, led by a Praetor command unit. My finger involuntarily reached for the trigger on my rifle.

  "Rest tight people," Facehopper sent over the S1 line. "Chief had TJ deploy the bots in a scouting capacity, is all."

  A few seconds later an Equestrian tank rolled by in hot pursuit, its treads crushing the shale. Five HS3s hovered alongside.

  I saw Alejandro start in front of me. "Where the hell did that come from?" he said.

  "It dropped with the Centurions," Facehopper said. "Keep the comm chatter to a minimum, please, people."

  Approximately three hundred meters ahead the robots slowed to match our pace and then spread out. The hull of the Equestrian, and the clothing of the Centurions had changed coloration to match the terrain. The robots were damn hard to make out. I hoped the platoon melded into the background just as well.

  In each squad, every person was situated five meters from the next in a zigzag line. Twenty-five meters separated the dragman of the first squad, Big Dog, from the pointman of the second squad, Lui (in Aphid). The separation ensured that an enemy would have difficulty attacking the entire platoon at once, and limited the effectiveness of mass-casualty weapons such as grenades or rockets that might be launched against us. Plus the formation allowed one squad to "overwatch" the other, hence the name.

  Like the jumpsuits, the metallic skins of Aphid and Ladybug had changed colors to match the terrain. Both ATLAS 5s had also deployed their ballistic shields, which were these long translucent shells in the left hands that ran from the base of the mechs to just above their heads and protected against armor-piercing rounds. The shields used up a weapon slot, effectively taking away half the firepower of each mech.

  You know that feeling of dread I had before on the ship, deep down inside me? It was completely gone. I guess all I needed to do was get into action, and finally deploy. It helped that I was surrounded by men who knew how to kill, and weren't afraid to do it.

  I felt extremely safe with Manic at our point, in Ladybug. The mechanical hum of those large servomotors punctuated the mech's every movement, and I felt the ground shake with each step it took, even though I was twelve meters away.

  Everyone else looked just as confident as I felt. Snakeoil with his communication rucksack, walking with his M60 belt-fed machinegun. Facehopper and Bender with their M4 rifles. Alejandro and me with our sniper rifles (and my extra grenades and the Carl Gustav thrown in for good measure). Big Dog bringing up the rear with another M60.

  We were practically invincible.

  None of us had been wounded during our earlier deployment in Mongolia. I figured that this was going to be just as easy. Even if there were SKs here, I knew we'd easily take them. It didn't even matter if they were better equipped. You know why? Because we were better trained.

  I wondered if I could access Shaw from here. Snakeoil was carrying around an InterPlaNet node on his back, so it was entirely feasible. However, sending any unnecessary communications while in a traveling overwatch was strictly prohibited. If there was an enemy somewhere on these mountains, we didn't want to do anything that might compromise our position.

  Shaw. I glanced involuntarily at the sky. She was up there now, somewhere, maybe looking down on the planet at this moment. I could
n't wait to see her when I got back tonight. In that moment I remembered the warning Tahoe had given me, and I quickly forced her to the back of my mind.

  Ahead, I caught sight of the Raptor in the permanently gray sky. The unmanned aerial vehicle circled our distant target, reminding me of a vulture.

  I pulled up the map on my HUD. The excavation site sat inside a crater approximately two klicks ahead.

  The land sloped upward, becoming a narrow escarpment with a high cliff on one side and a steep drop the other. We managed to keep our zigzag formation, even though the path had tightened considerably.

  "How the hell did that Equestrian tank get up here?" Alejandro said.

  "With difficulty," Facehopper answered.

  I could see tread marks on the cliff beside us, as well as on the path at my feet. The automated tank had had to drive at a forty-five degree angle to traverse the area, with half its treads on the wall, the other half on the path.

  Ahead, Ladybug moved on, this impenetrable bastion of unstoppable steel, not slowed in the least by the terrain.

  Behind Ladybug, Snakeoil abruptly lost his footing and plummeted over the ledge.

  He reappeared a few seconds later, his jumpjets on full burn, and returned to the path.

  Snakeoil smiled sheepishly. "Lost my footing. Sorry to scare y'all."

  Facehopper didn't find it funny. "Please mates, for the love of God, watch— where— you— tread."

  He'd only just stopped talking when a spine-tingling laugh pierced the air.

  I spun, training my rifle on an evil-looking thing at the top of a distant outcrop opposite our own. It just stood there, yapping away, looking like a cross between a hyena and a bear. It had an elongated, wolf-like head. Its bulky body was covered in thick black fur, and tufts of green hair tipped its knees, shoulders, and ears.

  Four more of the things ran up onto the outcrop, cackling away like demons.

  "HQ," Chief Bourbonjack sent over the troop line (which included Lieutenant Commander Braggs). "We got something. South-south-east of our position. 150 meters. Over." His voice was the epitome of calm.

  "Aliens!" Alejandro said. "I knew it! Friggin aliens!"

  "Weapons hold. Confirm element. Over." Lieutenant Commander Braggs sent down from his cozy compartment on the Royal Fortune.

  "TJ," Chief Bourbonjack sent to the platoon line, keeping us all in the loop. "Are these SK bioweapons?"

  One of the HS3 drones with us hovered over to the strange animals. The lead beast stepped back and growled, lips curling to reveal a row of sharp teeth. The HS3 launched some kind of dart, and the animal yelped, but held its ground, growling even more fervently.

  "Receiving prelim data from Arnold," TJ replied. Arnold was the callsign of the HS3 drone, apparently. "Definitely bioengineered from Earth stock. They seem to be contributing to the terraforming. Inhale the CO2 and H2O, exhale O2. Body uses up the extra glucose. Those green marks on their body? Chlorophyll. Got some incredible adaptations going on, genetic-wise, to let them withstand the low pressure. Our scientists are going to have a field day with this data. Maybe we should bring a specimen back with us."

  "HQ," Chief Bourbonjack sent to the troop line. "Confirmed bioengineered elements. Earth DNA. Possible contributors to the terraforming. Over."

  I glanced at Alejandro. "Aliens, huh?"

  Alejandro shrugged. "Hey, they look like aliens okay?"

  "The bioengineered elements are extraneous to the mission," Lieutenant Commander Braggs sent. "However, if you want to engage, it's your call. Over."

  "They're not actually producing enough glucose from the sun to survive," TJ sent on the platoon line.

  Facehopper glanced at Big Dog. "That means they've been getting the bulk of their nutrients from somewhere else..."

  Big Dog pursed his lips behind his facemask. "I suppose if there were any surviving SKs left behind, now we know what happened to them."

  Those snarling jaws took on a whole new dimension.

  "Puto!" Alejandro cursed.

  "Facehopper, has your squad come to the same conclusion we have?" Chief Bourbonjack sent on the platoon line.

  "We have sir," Facehopper sent. "Ghost, Trace, Alejandro, Rade. Take them out."

  The creatures didn't have a chance. We picked our targets and downed the bioengineered animals at the same time. Four gurgled yelps echoed across to us as we shot, and the creatures went flying back. When the dead animals came to rest, greenish steam wafted from their wounds.

  "What is that?" Alejandro said, the disgust evident in his voice.

  "Their blood," Big Dog said, rather dispassionately. "The boiling point of a liquid is dependent on pressure. The higher the pressure, the higher the boiling point. The lower the pressure, the lower the boiling point. You bleed out here, your blood's gonna boil."

  "Then why don't their eyes bug out, or boil away or something?" Alejandro said, lowering his rifle.

  "Dunno," Big Dog said. "Ask TJ. He's the one with the sensor drones."

  "You know what? Forget it. I don't want to know. Bioengineering. Caramba. It's just as bad as encountering an alien." Alejandro stared at the bodies a moment longer. Then he glanced at me. "What if we were wrong about them?"

  I couldn't meet his eye. "We weren't."

  The escarpment leveled out, and we proceeded across a short plateau, keeping our zigzag formation. Manic's ATLAS 5 crunched eagerly ahead, an unstoppable war machine ready to go into action.

  The rad trail eventually led to a relatively wide, v-shaped defile. Cover was limited, though if we were attacked in there, I could probably burrow into the shale that was a prevalent feature of the landscape.

  According to the green dots marking the map on my HUD, the Centurions and the Equestrian were about three hundred meters ahead, roughly halfway through the defile. There were two green dots on both my left and right, and looking up I saw the corresponding HS3s hovering along the peaks of the bordering slopes.

  "How's it look, TJ?" Facehopper sent over the platoon-line.

  "All support troops report clear."

  "I don't like it," Facehopper transmitted. "Chief, recommend we turn back and find another route."

  I glanced at squad two, twenty-five meters behind us. The Chief seemed to be looking up at the rocky escarpments. "I'm with you, Facehopper. We double-back, find another route. TJ, recall the scouts."

  "Recalling... wait." TJ jerked his gaze upward. "Just lost contact with the HS3s!"

  I turned around in time to watch a barrage of rockets launch from the tops of both escarpments.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  My training took over.

  I could almost hear the instructor's voice in my head, guiding me through each step of the Contact Response protocol.

  "Drop!" the imaginary instructor said.

  I dropped immediately. The shale scratched the bottom of my facemask.

  I never saw where those rockets struck, but I heard the explosion, and felt the shockwaves.

  There was little to no cover here. I tried to burrow as far as I could into the loose, rocky shale, and keep my head down, hoping the black and gray digital pattern of my jumpsuit would hide me. I heard the familiar belt-whip sound of bullets flying past and narrowly missing. The shale exploded all around me as the rounds struck. Black dust kicked up.

  "Find your buddy!" the instructor said.

  I glanced to my left. Alejandro was there, dug into the shale about five meters away. He nodded, then looked into his scope, aiming up the escarpment.

  I glanced over my shoulder. The other members of the platoon were dispersed behind me, wherever they could find cover. In a tiny depression here. Behind a pile of rocks there. Or just on the open ground like me, burrowed into the shale.

  "Complement you buddy's field of fire!" the instructor said.

  I gazed into my scope. The range wasn't great enough for the processors in the EXACTO rounds to kick in—any hits I made would be all me. A target in a jumpsuit decided that now was a good t
ime to lift his head from behind the rock he was hiding behind.

  I took him out.

  There was a bright flash overhead. With a quick glance skyward, I saw that the Raptor drone was on an exponentially decaying flightpath, a plume of smoke streaming from its engine.

  We'd just lost our air support.

  I forced myself to peer into the scope again.

  Another target presented himself. He was close enough that I could make out his features through the lens of his jumpsuit.

  Definitely SK.

  Got him.

  "Ladybug down!" Manic sent on the comm. "Hydraulics are blown to shit! Can't lift my arms or legs!"

  What, how could that be possible? An ATLAS 5 already out of action?

  "Aphid down!" Lui said on the platoon comm.

  The second ATLAS 5?

  I couldn't believe it.

  Both mechs, gone.

  It must have been dumb luck on the part of the attackers.

  The ATLAS 5s were invincible.

  We were invincible.

  Our training had taught us that.

  Our deployment in Mongolia had taught us that.

  This shouldn't be happening.

  Yet here it was.

  We were going down, one by one.

  Well at least I knew what the targets of those initial rockets had been. The ballistic shields each ATLAS carried were meant to protect against armor-piercing bullets, not rockets. The first strikes would have crumpled the shields away, leaving the mechs defenseless for the second and third strikes. The ATLAS 5s had something called a "Trench Coat" countermeasure, which used 360-degree radar to send out seventeen pieces of metal, one of which was bound to hit any incoming rocket. However, it didn't work too well when four or five rockets locked onto a mech at once.

  On my HUD map, a bunch of red dots appeared on the escarpments, about three hundred meters into the defile, to the left and right of the green dots that marked the robot friendlies—our support troops were identifying and transmitting the positions of the enemy units further in. I gazed through my scope, down into the defile. I saw the Centurions pinned behind the Equestrian tank. The tank was firing repeatedly up the slope on one side, taking out huge chunks of the escarpment.