She got up to walk into the village but paused when she noted the looks of surprise on the humanoid faces. “I do not refer to the smell of death,” she explained. “There is something else. Like overripe cheese smeared into old, well-oiled leather.” She tasted the air with her antennae. “Definitely diglycerides and ammonia in the air.”
“Knockout gas?” Vetch suggested.
“Very probable,” Fitz agreed, grabbing Enthree by the rear leg to stop her from walking into the village. “Woah! Hold up, Ms. Enthree. We don’t step out of cover without first concocting a plan.”
“The two storehouses are not ablaze,” she explained. “I want to know why. Maybe answers await us there.”
“Have you considered,” asked Fitz, “that it could be because whoever committed this atrocity is still here? They’re the two most solidly built buildings in the village, and the gap between them is hidden from view. We will approach, but first, we ready the GAC-19s as a reserve and then we sneak up from either side in a coordinated reconnaissance.”
“Wait!” Enthree angled her antennae at the road that fed in from the trees on the opposite side of the village. Then she screwed them into the dirt. “Wheeled vehicles are approaching. Three of them.”
“Everybody, stay under cover,” Fitz ordered. “Not everything is as it seems. Wait. Observe. Be ready.”
“Remind me why this guy is giving the orders now,” Darant demanded.
“Because I say he does,” said Vetch. “For the moment. So, shut up and wait.”
The rebels came screaming in on three trucks with fat tires and long travel suspension, but the narrow bodies were only about five feet wide. The armed passengers sat in a line behind the driver.
The vehicles screamed to a halt, though the occupants hesitated before disembarking. They stared wide eyed at the corpse-strewn ruins for a long while before finally jumping to the ground.
By then, a welcoming party had begun to assemble.
A Pryxian and a human had moved out from the gap between the storehouses, initially heading away from the rebels, but doubling back to flank the vehicles from behind concealment. Their clothing resembled Shepherd’s, down to the neckerchief striped in the red and white of the Panhandlers, but unlike the old human man, these two stalked their prey with the stealth and certainty of jungle predators.
Something else about them spiked Enthree’s interest—they didn’t just move beside the burning buildings to use them as concealment, they walked through them too, seemingly unscathed.
Interesting.
She concentrated on her observation of the fireproof humanoids. If she ever met up with her Expansion handler, the memory she would extrude and store on the outside of her head would be well received.
“Are we going to sit back and watch this happen?” Darant asked, aghast.
“The massacre has already happened,” Fitz answered. “I want to see how this plays out. Don’t forget, those people in the trucks left us to die.”
“Not everyone abandoned us,” warned Darant.
Fitzwilliam’s face paled. “You’re right. Sorry. Lily told me about Istrielle.” He straightened up. “And in her name, you and Vetch work around the rear of the vehicle convoy. Enthree, with me. We’re going to take them from the side. Assume the rebels are our friends, and the welcome party are the perpetrators of this outrage. But the situation is fluid. Don’t hold fast to your initial assumptions. Let’s move it, gentle people, because we’re doing it for Istrielle!”
* * * * *
Chapter 25: Vetch Arunsen
Hugging cover all the way, they crept up on the rebel convoy. The soldiers had unassed the trucks and were about to spread out and search the village when a lone figure strode out from the storehouses to meet them.
“Returned to the scene of your crime, have you?” It was a Zhoogene dressed in the same Panhandler neckerchief as the two they’d seen disappear into the burning village. He seemed familiar, but Vetch couldn’t place him. “You’ve got nerve coming back here.”
“This?” The RevRec leader gestured at the devastation. “You think we did this? Are you mad? Explain yourself, and you’d better make it fucking good.” He made a show of charging his blaster. “I’m not in the mood for games.”
“Keep moving,” Vetch urged Darant.
They filtered along a row of blazing retail stores, keeping low beneath the walled-off loading yards at the back.
“You shot these defenseless civilians,” thundered the Zhoogene, hidden from Vetch and Darants’ view, but his voice ringing clear. “Massacred those who looked to you for protection. The people of this world will hold the Revolutionary Forces of Reconciliation responsible, and they will turn upon you and destroy you.”
“Why are you saying that shit?”
Darant had pushed on ahead, making for the end of the shops from which they could drop behind the convoy.
“Because we have footage of you committing the massacre,” the Zhoogene said.
Under the cover of the stunned silence, Vetch checked that Fitz and Enthree were in position a short distance behind them. Then he hurried to join up with Darant who suddenly shouldered his blaster and took aim.
Vetch moved alongside and saw one of the apparent Panhandlers walk out of the burning store on the end of the row and get ready to sneak behind the rear of the RevRec rebels. The Pryxian looked disoriented for a moment as he exited the blaze but otherwise unscathed. Why weren’t his clothes even smoldering?
“Sorry, Lucerne,” Vetch told his war hammer as he slung her over his back and cradled his light blaster in his hands. “You’ll taste some skulls soon. I promise.”
Once again, he checked Fitz and Enthree. They were holding position, and Fitz was waving at Vetch to hold fire. When he saw he’d gotten Vetch’s attention, Fitz pointed back at the storehouse, trying to convey with gestures what was coming.
Vetch was no good at these party games. But he got the message that what was headed his way was big. And bad.
“Darant,” he whispered. “We’ve got trouble inbound. Eight o’clock.”
“Do I take the shot?”
Vetch sucked in a deep breath and almost choked on the smoke and stink of overcooked meat. What was he leading the remnants of Raven Company into? Fitz complicated everything. Vetch had wanted to thrash it out when they got downtime, but it couldn’t wait. Soon as this action was over, Fitz would have some talking to do.
Meanwhile, Vetch didn’t feel like taking orders. He felt much more like taking revenge.
“Wait for my signal,” he whispered to Darant. “But yes. Waste the Pryxian.”
* * * * *
Chapter 26: Tavistock Fitzwilliam
“Hey, you! Skangat! Get your green ass back here!”
Fitz looked with interest through a gap in the burning buildings as the Zhoogene sauntered away from the RevRec rebels in the direction of the storehouses.
“Kill him!” ordered the rebel leader.
Suddenly struck with fear, the Zhoogene turned and spread out his long arms. “Please, no!” he pleaded. “We’re on the same side.”
The Revolutionary Forces of Reconciliation was not listening. The Zhoogene went down under a fusillade of blaster fire, his screams almost, but not quite, drowned out by the fury of the bolts ripping through the air.
Then he got up, dusted the soot off as best he could, and resumed his walk back to the storehouses, apparently without a care in the galaxy.
Desultory blaster fire pursued the Zhoogene who’d passed out of Fitz’s narrow field of vision. He didn’t need to see to know that it wouldn’t penetrate the personal force shield.
It was a smoking hot variant. He’d never seen one so good. Damn!
Tire squeals announced the rebels were going to run down the fake Panhandler.
That wouldn’t work either. The Zhoogene who’d dressed up like a Panhandler had staged his shooting. No doubt it would be edited to add fake blood later. If his team had taken out the entire village with ease, a handful
of rebels wouldn’t present much of a problem.
Azhanti! He’d stumbled into an operation mounted by serious professionals. A false flag action designed to discredit the RevRec rebels.
And we all know who loves false flags. SpecMish…
“Captain Fitz!”
Enthree was pointing along the retail row at Darant and Arunsen who were exchanging fire with another apparent Panhandler, a Pryxian also wearing a shield. This one appeared to be a more conventional model, though, because it flashed ghostly colors, like an aurora, under the blaster assault.
“Enthree, tell those two buffoons to disengage and withdraw to the GAC-19s.”
“You mean Darant and Sergeant Arunsen?”
“Yes, of course, those two buffoons.”
“In the future, please be more specific in your instructions,” Enthree corrected him and sprinted off to comply.
Fitz shook his head. “That Muryani’s going to be even more trouble than Lynx,” he murmured and then broke cover to head in the opposite direction, wanting a better look at what they were really facing.
The command and control issue his team faced needed resolving, fast, but it would have to wait. He’d been waiting until he’d gathered the legionary component of Chimera Company. Now that decision didn’t seem so smart.
Boom! Boom!
Here it came…Enthree had stuck her feelers into the dirt and warned him about what was coming, but the sight of it still made Fitz’s heart pound. And the sound of massive metal and ceramalloy feet slamming into the ground sent primal fear coursing through him.
He wanted to flee.
But he had to watch as the nine-foot high mech stomped out of the cover between the storehouses.
Its armor was painted a deep green, and it had unusually long and rounded arms that ended in miniguns. The cockpit was multifaceted, and its many armor reinforcing joints that jutted out of the hull gave the mech an insectoid look. In its own way, it was a chimera of sorts, but an ungainly one weighed down by oversized multiple rocket arrays mounted on its shoulders like shoulder pads of death.
Out of forty on each shoulder, only three tubes still contained rockets.
I’d bet the Phantom those rockets were loaded with knockout gas. It’s the only way to explain how they staged the massacre.
The rocket pods also explained why the beast was stomping so much. Its driver had to be struggling to keep the mech’s balance under such an ungainly load.
Rebel bolts, aimed mostly at the weak points at the joints, screamed into the mech.
The mech replied with both miniguns, unleashing a devastating hail of fire.
Return fire from the rebels swiftly dwindled.
The Zhoogene operative reappeared in Fitz’s view, having armed himself with a blaster. Sheltered in the mech’s shadow, he calmly observed the extermination of the rebels. Suddenly, he twisted around, looking straight at Fitz along a barrel he was holding in a C-clamp grip.
“Arrogant,” muttered Fitz, then he jumped out of sight behind the blackened ruin of a wall and heard the bolts scream overhead.
“And he wants me alive. For now.”
The professional false flag op.
The signature C-clamp grip they loved for some reason.
Neither was unique to the Special Missions Executive, but that’s how Fitz was calling it. He’d lay money on that mech driver smoking a clay pipe inside the canopy.
He could even be facing the same team who’d taken out Nuysp. Department 9, Wei had called them. Whatever. He now knew to take them seriously.
Swingfire armor piercing or shield piercing? Which cartridge to select for his hand cannon?
The mech was still stomping destruction through the last of the rebels.
Cursing himself for not stumping that extra twenty thou for the dual magazine option, Fitz went for shield piercers.
His F-Cannon hummed as it reconfigured its loadout. While his pride and joy worked its alien-tech magic, he looked back to check on the status of his new marines.
He caught a glimpse of insectoid limbs moving into cover and surmised that Darant, Arunsen, and Enthree were falling back to Lily’s position in the trees. They covered each other in their retreat, maintaining almost continuous blaster fire in the approximate direction of the mech. With the village in flames, he couldn’t see what they were firing on, but their withdrawal was disciplined.
“I want nothing but the best in my marine squad,” he declared to no one in particular, not caring that he didn’t have a ship for them to operate out of.
Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he stepped out from cover expecting to snap a shot at the Zhoogene.
But there was no one there.
He swiveled his head back and forth, but all he could see was a burning village. All he could hear was a mech crashing through the debris of buildings…And it was heading his way.
“There is no escape, Fitzwilliam,” boomed the monster through external speakers. “Or should I say, Lieutenant Commander Zi’Alfu?”
Azhanti! Where’s Izza when I need her?
Fitz ran.
* * * * *
Chapter 27: Lily Hjon
“Helluva time to learn how to fly!”
Lily pushed the gravitic control forward and simmered with satisfaction as the GAC-19 hover flier rose from its leafy concealment.
She was exhilarated by the power flowing through the yoke and vibrating her ass. This wasn’t like the game sims. This was real!
She understood instantly why aviators and space jocks got addicted to this.
She eased back the gravitics slightly, then pushed on the thrust lever, and the flier accelerated forward.
Suddenly, tree trunks were flying at her. She turned the yoke, easily slaloming through the forest, before bursting out into the open area in front of the village.
“Oh, yeah!” she screamed. The yoke was just like her old holo-game setup. This was going to be fun.
She kicked the pedal, yawed right, and swept around the open area, heading for the road into the village the RevRec rebels had driven along.
Stuck up a tree with no radio comms, she’d had to piece together what was going on. But when the miniguns started their furious rattle, she had decided it was time to shift from lookout to reserve force.
En route to the road, she saw a Pryxian dressed like a Panhandler step out of a burning building and send bolts her way from a weirdly stubby blaster.
Fireproof. That’s a neat trick.
She pulled back the throttle and hit the stabilizer control. The flier was a hovering gun platform now, twisting to face its foe.
The Pryxian’s blast fire mostly deflected off the GAC-19’s heavily armored nose, but some bolts were skimming over the top and into the front of the canopy, which darkened under the impact.
“Don’t know what you are—” she flicked the safety caps off the fire buttons on the yoke handles, “—but you ain’t no Panhandler.”
Quad heavy blasters spat fat bolts into the target.
The Pryxian held up his hand as if warding off a dazzling light. Around him, the outline of a force shield blazed in a baleful red.
But the shield held.
Bolts caught the Pryxian in his right flank—she guessed they were from her friends—and the shield’s glow shifted from red to green.
Lily screamed when the flight canopy shattered around her. She ducked low but kept both thumbs down on the fire buttons, giving the Pryxian everything the war machine had.
“Lily!” someone screamed. “You got him.”
She raised her head and saw Fitz yelling at her from within the confusing maze of flaming ruins. “Get out of here. Now!”
The Pryxian had been chewed into burned dogmeat beneath a cloud of dust.
The feet pounding through the rubble were the first indication of what was coming next. Then the dust began to clear, and she saw a hulking metal form cutting through a ruined building to get to her.
She was flying. For the first tim
e. Not just flying but combat flying.
As it turned out, getting out of here wasn’t going to be simple. The street was narrow, and the flames all around seemed to lick at her, eager to burn her up.
Hell, she’d had no experience running away from tight situations in the sims. That simply wasn’t part of the game mechanics. But she did know the best way to beat boss-level opponents was to wear them down while ducking nimbly away from their big guns.
The mech lumbered her way, stopped, and began twisting its body to face her.
If that wasn’t a boss, she didn’t know what was. And if those guns got a lock on her, she was dead.
She throttled forward and flew at it, head on.
“Get some!” she yelled.
Moments before crashing into its torso, she remembered to fire. Bolts flew at the metal beast but didn’t penetrate.
“It’s not over yet,” she assured her enemy and pushed the yoke forward to skim over its top and come around for another quick burst before it could bring its miniguns into play.
A distant memory surfaced of reversing the yoke control in her game setup.
Instead of flying over the top of the mech, she pitched down toward the ground. She pulled back, but it was too late. Her straps bit hard as she was thrown forward when her GAC-19 hit the ground and skimmed along, throwing up a plume of ash. The flier careened through the mech’s legs and delivered a glancing blow to its ankle before coming to a stop in a gap between two houses.
Lily hit the quick release on her harness and scrambled out of the cockpit.
Behind her, the whine and hiss of the mech’s servos sent a fresh adrenaline spike through her limbs, and she ran faster, trying to lose herself in the smoke and flames.
* * * * *
Chapter 28: Hines “Bronze” Zy Pel
“What the hell are those brutes?” Sybutu pointed at the mech monsters parked fifty yards ahead in the gap between the two long buildings that were the only ones in the little town not on fire. Not even scorched.
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