Battle Earth: 11

by Nick S. Thomas

  The closest ship he had hit was struck by a hail of fire from the rapid firing anti-aircraft platforms all around him. The two craft with it tried to bank and gain speed, but it was too late for them also. They burst into flames and dropped out of the sky. A few Mechs managed to jump from one, and Kelly's troops on the ground were quick to take aim and finish them as they landed.

  Kelly turned his gun on the next targets. They had split on entering the valley and seen the incoming fire, to spread out. They were already raining in fire against the troops below. A pulse flattened one of the smaller trucks and its two crew sheltering beside it. Kelly squeezed the trigger once again and riddled one of the craft with fire. It began disembarking Mechs in an assisted fifty-metre drop with boosters. His machine gun followed them down and cut two of them apart before they'd even reached the canyon floor.

  Anti-aircraft fire filled the sky, in what could almost be described as a fireworks display. The soldiers on the ground cheered as each of the craft was brought down with ruthless efficiency. They were all nothing more than light transports that didn't stand a chance against close range heavy weapons fire.

  A number of the Mechs had managed to disembark from one of the craft before it was destroyed and had got under the anti-aircraft firing solutions. They were out from cover now and striding towards one of the AA trucks. Kelly rotated his gun around and took aim at the first. He opened fire and blew it apart, but he could see a pulse from one of the others coming right for the armoured canopy of his emplacement. He ducked down barely in time; the pulse impacted and blew the canopy, showering shards of reinforced Perspex down on him. Several of them burnt into the flesh on his face and neck, but a few seconds later, he was back up at the guns that were now open to the world.

  Kelly fired once again, this time keeping his finger on the trigger as he strafed three of the Mechs. With the weight of fire from others, they were rapidly brought down. He quickly turned his attention back to the air. Another of the craft dropped from the sky and barrelled into nearby trees and burst into flames. But he turned his attention now to the final craft and could see it was banking and putting full power down to escape the valley.

  "Bring it down!"

  His voice echoed around the valley through the loudhailer on his vehicle for all to hear. He opened fire with his own guns but was out of ammo after the initial burst. He knew there was no chance of reloading in time now and simply watched, hoping his people could do it. Tracer fire lit up the sky as the alien craft tried evasive manoeuvres. It was almost out of view when a final burst struck the engines, and it lost altitude, clipping the trees at the top of the valley and crashing down the other side.

  "Did they make it?" he asked Engel hastily.

  "No...no, Sir."

  He looked back. The smoke was rising from where the craft had gone down, and he sighed in relief.

  "We did it," he told himself.

  He looked all around them for some sign of remaining Mechs and heard a few shots as the last two were gunned down. As he climbed up onto the top of the vehicle, he could see four of their own vehicles had been destroyed by the blast, and he could see as many bodies or more. No losses were acceptable, but the result was the best they could hope for. He looked down the hatch of the turret towards the ladder leading into the vehicle and asked one last time.

  "Any more contact?"

  "No, Sir, the air is clear."

  "Then we've done it."

  He looked out to the rest of his people who waited their next orders.

  "You make me proud!" he said sternly. A single tear dropped down his face and seeped into the burning wound on his cheek, "You've just won us another day, another week, another month. It doesn't matter how long. We're still alive. We're still fighting. We are the resistance!"

  Cheers rang out, but he knew he couldn't revel in it for too long. He held up his hand to call for silence. Almost instantly the valley returned to the tranquillity he had enjoyed in the moments before the battle.

  "We may be on the run, but we have achieved exactly what we set out to achieve!"

  More cheers followed, and once again he had to call for silence.

  "The fact remains that we are still here. We live on in defiance, and every single day that one of us still breathes and fights, is another day we have succeeded in our mission!"

  There were nods and grunts of approval, but they stayed silent this time for him to continue.

  "So we go on. We run when we have to and fight where we can. We've just bought ourselves the time we need to blend back into this vast forest, but we cannot linger any longer. Gather up the wounded. Leave the dead, or risk joining them. Let's move out!"

  Nobody liked leaving their fallen friends where they fell, but nobody argued the point. They all knew they couldn't afford to. It took less than a minute for everyone to clamber into the vehicles. Kelly's was already rocking forward in less time than that. He climbed down into the comms cab and found Engel waiting for him. She was staring at him. He froze for a moment and tried to figure out what she wanted from him.

  "You did well," he finally stated.

  "All I did was sit here and tell you what I saw."

  "We all have a job to do, none of them are glamorous, but all of them are necessary."

  "I want to fight."

  "Why?" he asked abruptly, "You weren't trained for it."

  "I wasn't trained for anything that is required of any of us anymore. There are plenty of civilians around who weren't trained as soldiers either."

  "If this is about doing your part, then trust me, you are already doing it."

  She looked away and to her instruments, knowing she wasn't getting anywhere. He paced over to her and put his hand on her chin, turning her head around to face him.

  "Trust me, your time to fight with a rifle in hand will come. It will come for all of us. That doesn't mean you'd wish it to come sooner rather than later."

  "But...you like to fight," she pleaded.

  He shook his head. "What gave you that impression?"

  "All the speeches you give. It's like all you want in life is to kill the enemy."

  "But not because I enjoy it. Anyone who ever tells you they do is either a fool or crazy. It brings me great satisfaction knowing we have deprived the enemy of something, but I get no pleasure from the killing."

  He knew deep down that he was lying to some extent, but he wanted to believe he was better than that. He also knew he had to set an example.

  What would Taylor do? he asked himself.

  He was certain his answer would be the same as his.

  Try and set a higher standard than that which I live by.

  Kelly turned his attention to Becker who also looked a little lost.

  "You all right, Captain?"

  He shrugged. "I'm still alive."

  "Then what's the problem?"

  "I'm a tanker with no tanks left. Leaves me, well, useless."

  Kelly laughed.

  "We win this victory, and in large part at your hands, and you sulk about it. Don't you worry, we'll find plenty for you to do."

  With that, he climbed back up the ladder and into the damaged turret to use as an observation post. He watched the column fall into line, and they moved back under the canopy of the forest. He had no idea where they were heading, only that it was away from the enemy, and that was enough.

  * * *

  Just six days had passed, and Kelly sat around a campfire with Reynolds and Becker. He knew depression was setting in amongst the ranks. They still had food to last plenty of time, but the temporary shelters and lack of security of the bunker made them all uneasy. A canopy above them kept them dry as the rain poured onto the ground everywhere around them. He watched Engel climbed out of the command vehicle where she'd been sleeping in the back with several others. Few of them got more than an hour or two's sleep each night. They were being hunted, and they knew it. It was that feeling alone that kept them awake at night.

  "Is this the glor
ious guerrilla warfare you had in mind?" Becker asked. He was wearing every item of clothing he owned to stay warm, "It'll be snowing any day now," he added.

  "Well, you're a cheery one, aren't you?" Kelly answered him.

  "Only saying what I see."

  "You don't see snow though, do you? Why pre-empt problems?"

  Becker shrugged his shoulders.

  "If it snows, it snows. If it rains, it rains. And if a hundred Mechs turn up tonight to blow your head off, then so be it. Maybe that'll happen, but there's nothing you can do about that either," Kelly spat.

  Even as he finished the sentence, he regretted having said it. He opened his mouth to speak again but stopped, knowing anything he said would probably make things worse.

  "You know we aren't the first people to fight out in this wilderness. These lands have a long history of harbouring armies that have beaten those of far greater odds, or at least provided the safety and security to those here to live long enough for others to come to their aid," said Engel.

  "But there isn't anyone, is there?" asked Reynolds.

  "Anyone where?" Engel asked.

  "Coming to our aid. Nobody coming to break the siege or haul us out of here."

  Kelly shook his head.

  "You're as bad as Becker. He wants to think we're already finished, and you want to rule out all hope of there being other survivors."

  "You think there are?"

  "Of course," Kelly replied abruptly, "You think we're the only ones capable of holding out this long? What we have achieved is impressive, I would say, but don't underestimate the rest of the world."

  "Pockets of survivors like us maybe, but not enough to ever come to our aid. Can you imagine us being able to ride to the aid of others?"

  "Well, Becker, maybe we should. Maybe that would give us something to go on for, beyond just revenge.

  "And survival," added Reynolds.

  "I'd rather have died in the seat of my tank than live like a wild animal out here until I'm finally hunted down and put to death. I'm not sure this is survival but anymore than a prolonged agonising death."

  Kelly looked at Becker in disgust. He pointed out towards the rest of their people camped all around. "You know they rely on us to keep it together. That means they depend on you, so start acting like the officer you are."

  They all fell silent and thought on his words. Kelly knew they were heading for disaster. They needed either hope or a battle to fight. He prayed there was someone coming to their aid one day. It seemed a dream beyond any logic or sense, but he could still hope.

  Chapter 6

  Taylor stood on top of the Diderot, watching the world go by. Ever since his time aboard the ship, he had felt an attachment to it. On an alien world where he had no home, and the Washington was long gone, it seemed the only place he had a connection with. In the distance was line after line of temporary structures, assembled to house the personnel without accommodation on the vessels that had either been destroyed or were being repaired and refitted. Jafar was standing just a few metres behind him and was, as he always preferred, glued to his side.

  "You know it's a goddamn miracle they haven't tried to kill you yet," Taylor said to him.

  "Not really," he replied casually.

  Taylor turned, somewhat surprised.

  "They gave you their word, and you gave them yours. I have nothing to fear."

  "And you trust that whole heartedly?"

  "I have no reason not to. They could have killed me any time they liked. Were they still intending to, there would be nothing to stop them."

  "So don't worry about what you can't change?"

  Jafar shrugged as if to agree in part.

  "Look at these ships," said Taylor, "We're scraping bits together to try and get them operational. At least half of them should never be committed to space again. They'll be damn death traps. We need the tech they have."

  "Who?"

  "Irala's people, whoever they are. How do we not even know what they're called yet? You know we are goddamn allies, and I've not heard a word from them. Sure, they must be repairing and recovering themselves, but not a single bit of contact? Time we got some contact from them."

  Jafar didn't respond, but Taylor knew his silence was a statement in itself.

  "What, you don't agree?"

  "If they have not come to you, they may not want to talk."

  "And if we don't go to them, how will we ever know? I'm gonna go find that silent son of a bitch and get some answers."

  Taylor intended to leave but was suddenly met with Irala standing in front of him. He jumped back a few paces in surprise.

  "How the hell do you do that?"

  "You have encountered Erdogan enough times now to know that he possesses hologram projection technology?"

  "Yeah."

  "He stole that from us. One of many devices he stole in the war we fought."

  Taylor thought himself a fool for not reaching that conclusion, but he still found it hard to adjust to the ever-increasing amount of tech he encountered.

  "That cloaking technology I have seen your ships use. I have seen it before."

  "Yes, though his people were never able to make it work effectively for larger vessels, and only ever in a limited number of equipment taken from us."

  "If you possessed such technology, how did you ever lose?" Taylor asked.

  "We are few, we always have been. We live for hundreds; sometimes even thousands of your years, but we have few offspring and are a small people in population. Hence, we rely on our technology to make up for this."

  "If you live that long, then dying must be a pretty big deal?"

  "Individually, no more a loss than I should imagine you would feel, but as a species, yes."

  "Well, we're starting to understand that. We aren't exactly a flourishing population. There are what, three million humans left? We've entered a new dark age."

  Irala looked surprised by his comment.

  "There are many more than three million of you left."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Those on Earth, of course, your homeworld."

  "Earth is long lost, and Erdogan would not have let humanity survive in his paradise."

  Irala shook his head. "Then you are misinformed. Pockets of resistance fight on in your world. Others have been enslaved and work for the Krys."

  Taylor was shocked and speechless. He had never believed life could have gone on in any capacity after they left.

  “How do you know this?”

  “We have monitored the progression of the war on your planet.”

  “So you have people there now?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know how many humans still live?”

  “Our last figures suggest up to eighty or ninety million worldwide.”

  Taylor was once again silenced and shocked.

  “I need to pass this information on to our leaders. I don’t think you appreciate how significant this is.”

  Irala didn’t respond physically; he only calmly responded, “You will in time tell them.”

  “They’ll need to meet you. I do not command this fleet, far from it.”

  “But we have dealt with you, we trust you. We do not know them, and we do not know whether we trust them yet.”

  “Well, you won’t know till you meet them, will you?”

  “For now, we will make all contact through you, Colonel. You have proven yourself to my people. Though we can still not approve of your association with that,” he said as he pointed to Jafar, “You should have killed it the first time you set eyes upon it. For that creature can bring you nothing but pain and destruction.”

  “And if I had killed him all those years ago, I wouldn’t be here to talk to you this day. You expect a lot of trust from me, so I expect a little back. When we finally take Earth back, we’ll have a sizeable Krys population to deal with, and I won’t have them exterminated as one of their leaders once tried with us. Jafar shows there is a way we ca
n live together.”

  Taylor couldn’t believe he was saying it but realised it is what they needed.

  Irala seemed wholly unconvinced, but he moved past the issue.

  “You say you want to go back to your Earth and fight Erdogan there, but your ships look far from ready.”

  Taylor smiled in response.

  “If we were on our world, at our shipyards with our resources and workers, we might get these ships up and running and ready to go. But we’re not. We’re on a foreign world, with no shipyards, and nothing more than what we brought with us. We could sure do with the help of the locals.”

  Irala was still silent.

  “What’ll it be?” Taylor asked, ”We’re allies now. Will you help us be the best we can be so that together we stand a chance?”

  “What you are asking us is to share our technology with you?”

  Taylor nodded.

  “We do not yet know whether you present a threat to us or not.”

  “And yet you fight with us?”

  “We have a shared enemy, that does not mean we present no threat to each other.”

  Taylor sighed. “We have a chance together, but not if we stand as allies of convenience. We have to be more than that, or we don’t stand a chance at all. The fight we had with Erdogan, we fought to a stalemate with everything we had. If we are gonna take him on at Earth, well… that’s his home soil now. He’s got everything going for him. We couldn’t beat him when we had the world's armies at our disposal, so how can we have any hope of success now?”

  “You wanted this,” replied Irala.

  “Yes, I wanted to fight back the best way we can. With a little help from you, we could be stronger fighters. We could have better weapons, better ships. We could stand a real chance. Why will you not help us?”

  “You ask a lot of us.”