by Mark Wandrey
“Payback,” she said. The tank came up in her crosshairs. It was indeed a behemoth, probably the biggest she’d ever seen. Snow was falling on the barrel shrouds over its particle emitter, the flakes turning to steam on impact. “Range me.”
“But he said—”
“Fucking range me!” she snarled. He shook his head and moved the targetter.
“To the turret, 6,502 meters,” he said, shaking his head, “dispersion two-point-five.”
“Fucking snow,” she said. Dandridge’s eyes tracked her weapon status displays as she used her pinplants to change the collimator control to max tightness, then the charge control to full power.
“Jesus Christ, girl…” he said.
The gun hummed, and the charge chamber glowed as it mixed and preheated the maximum amount of chemicals it was capable of. In the gun’s display, a match of the tank’s configuration came up showing where each crewmember sat. She settled the sight to where the gunner would sit, tweaked the gun’s power levels with her pinplants, and took a calming breath. “Eat shit and die,” she hissed, and instead of firing with her mind, she lovingly stroked the firing stud, old school.
The wavelength used by the laser was outside the visible range of Human eyes. The beam, pumped to its maximum of just over a megawatt, burned a trail through the falling snow, actually becoming visible to the naked eye. Calling on reflexes honed from decades of killing at long range with laser weapons, Mika held the gun rock steady, willing all her rage and loss through the coherent beam of light to bring death with it.
“Hit,” Dandridge said.
* * *
There was a strange Ziiing! sound from above his head in the turret and Chosht turned his head to lookup. The vaporizing of the composite armor created a cloud of debris, partially defusing the laser beam as it burned through the turret wall and into the back of the empty gunner’s seat.
“Entropy!” he cursed. It would take a crew-served laser to penetrate the special treatment and four centimeters of armor on the J-F9a’s turret. The beam burned through the gunner’s seat back and into a power conduit. The explosion turned the burning seat and its metal backing into flying shrapnel.
“Argh!” Chosht screamed as razor-sharp metal fragments penetrated the skin on his head and along one side. The laser reflected off some of the mirror-bright fragments, and a tiny part of that energy whipped across his face. His skin parted easily, and the retina of his left eye flashed into vapor. The pain was beyond tolerance, and he fell face first onto the controls.
The huge J-F9a spun out of control, its huge fusion power plant pumping megawatts of power into the eight massive electric drive motors. The treads threw up huge sparking rooster tails of ice as it did doughnuts in the center of the tarmac.
* * *
“You did it, girl,” Dandridge said and patted her on the shoulder. “Something is seriously fucked up.”
“I took out the gunner,” she said, “don’t know why the driver is spinning around like crazy.” Her pinplants reported the gun status. One shot had consumed a third of an entire magazine, and the lasing chamber endurance indicator had gone from 90% to 70% with one shot. She settled on the tank again, this time trying for the engine compartment. If she could breach the reactor systems…
“Your gonna blow your gun to shit,” Dandridge warned her.
“I know what I’m doing,” she said, and pressed the firing stud again.
Thrummm the gun sounded again as it discharged. This time the tank was maneuvering, making holding target much more difficult. Her weapon gouged a ragged line into the rear deck armor, passing over the spot Murdock’s MAC had hit earlier and further degrading the armor there.
“Hold still, you son of a bitch,” she said and fired again. This time it penetrated, but only to one side through a track skirt. The track flopped on every rotation, though it didn’t fail. “Fuck!”
The gun’s grip buzzed under her trigger hand. Magazine was empty. She reached up and grabbed it, then instantly jerked her hand away from the burning metal. The magazines contained unmixed chemicals, a battery, and a container that held spent chemicals. They were just as toxic after use as they were before, and they also held a lot of residual energy, which manifested as heat. Normal operation of the weapon only used a quarter of the chemicals per shot of what she was using. She was overtaxing every part of the weapon.
“Damn it,” she said with a hiss, glancing at the angry red flesh and growing blisters on her hand. She pressed the release and shook the gun until the smoking magazine fell free, then ignored her burned hand and rammed the last one home. Three more shots available at the current power level. However, the lasing chamber integrity indicated 32%, and she didn’t have any replacements. “How’s the detention assault coming?” she asked as she reestablished a sight picture of the tank, six and a half kilometers away.
“Crabs are en route,” Dandridge said. “Kelso said he’s got the prisoners freed and safe. He says he’s going to leave the irregulars in charge and move toward the starport.”
“Roger that,” Mika said, relieved that going off mission hadn’t cost them anything. The tank was still alive, and she wasn’t done. She settled on target. “Come on,” she hissed, “show me that sweet, sweet kill spot.”
* * *
Chosht woke in unspeakable agony. It felt like a white-hot wire had transfixed his brain. He could only see out of his right eye, and the pain was so intense the images were blurry. He felt around himself and found the controls, slowing the tank and stopping the crazy spinning turn. Then he forced his good eye to focus. He found the first aid kit, and jerked it off its holder next to the controls. Little fires burned everywhere in the tank’s interior, some of them on his armor.
Chosht set the kit by feel, opened his mouth, and jammed the applicator against his tongue. It fired on contact, injecting a nanite spray through the mucus membrane. Next to his head, the pain of the nanites working was but a bare shadow in comparison. In a second, the pain dimmed and the vision in his good eye cleared. He grabbed one of several mirrors situated around the driver’s position which would allow a crew member to view other areas of the tank, turned it to look at himself, and hissed.
The deflected laser beam had slashed diagonally across his face like a sword. His head was covered in blood, there were a dozen burns as well, and his left eye was a bloody ruin. The nanites were stopping the bleeding. He could see pale white bone inside the gash on his head. The wound would require surgery to close. The little robots didn’t close wounds—they weren’t magic—they just stopped bleeding and mitigated damage.
The beam must have gone through my eye, he thought, is my brain damaged? He didn’t think it was. Though there was still a massive amount of pain, everything seemed to be working. There were face shields the tank crews normally wore that provided laser protection for their eyes. He hadn’t bothered grabbing one; he’d been in too much of a hurry. It hadn’t seemed important at the time. Chosht set about evaluating the condition of his vehicle.
The fire alarm was blaring its Zuul yapping alarm. He smacked the acknowledgement, noticing the armor on his arm was smoldering. He grabbed a breathing mask and triggered the internal halon fire-suppression system. The main gun’s secondary power was out, the cause of the explosion, though primary remained online. The turret controls were damaged as well, making it respond sluggishly.
The damage alarm chimed; the rear deck had been hit by laser fire. Whoever was firing at him was continuing their assault. Another hit—this one had compromised the left rear track!
“Who is shooting at me?” he asked, bringing up the primary defensive systems screen on his driver’s console. Counter-battery sensors registered the threat. A multi-megawatt laser was being fired from a nine-story building over six kilometers away.
The rational part of his brain was impressed; a laser from six kilometers in a storm was no mean feat. Well, his particle cannon was much better suited for these conditions than a laser. He brought the ta
nk to a skidding stop and activated the turret’s automatic targeting sequence. A practical demonstration to the sniper was in order.
* * *
“You’re almost out,” Dandridge warned her, glancing at the rifle’s magazine indicator.
“I’m almost done,” she said as the tank stopped slewing around, coming to a sudden and spectacular skidding stop. I gotcha now, she thought. Her sniper’s mind didn’t register the sensation of something clicking on her harness; it was too busy noticing the tank’s turret slewing around and the barrel elevating. She was mostly confused about how the turret was still moving. Her shot had clearly penetrated right on target, and she’d seen a spurt of fire out of the hole she’d made. The gunner must be dead! The barrel lined up directly at her. Oh, now that’s bad.
“It’s made us!” Dandridge yelled.
Mika didn’t move. The stationary tank and turret were the opportunity she’d been looking for. She centered right up the tank’s barrel. A megawatt of laser energy would put paid to that gun, and probably everyone inside. She was an instant from firing when Dandridge grabbed her by the harness, performed a hip roll, and tossed her over the side of the balcony into the snowy night. A split second later, the top of the building exploded.
* * * * *
Chapter Thirteen
Burning rubble, beams, and other parts of the former office building exploded outward as the Mk 7 CASPer rode its jumpjets to break free. Murdock was cursing furiously as he tried, and finally succeeded, in getting the damned things to fire.
The beam had missed him completely, though the ruined building had collapsed on top of him and the static discharge had taken out his primary radio and jumpjet controls. He gained a real appreciation of Jim Cartwright’s little alien buddy, Splunk, as he spent several minutes working through the control faults with finger movements on the diagnostics to reroute the jumpjet controls and bring them back online. Splunk often rode with Jim in his CASPer and acted as a living repair bot. Handy. All the while, Murdock was under a ton of burning building, watching the heat in his suit climb steadily. It was capable of shedding a lot of heat, but not when buried in a burning building.
Finally clear of the wreckage, the cockpit Tri-V came alive with fresh data. The low-powered radio reestablished contacts with his four drones just as the top two floors of the government/office complex exploded, taking the drone with it.
“Son of a bitch!” he yelled and fired a MAC round at the tank’s barrel. The cannon wasn’t designed to hit a target less than 300 mm wide and it went over the top, taking a chunk out of the tarmac and unnecessarily letting the tank know he wasn’t dead.
* * *
Chosht watched the distant building’s top three stories explode in a brilliant ball of burning metal. It was a most satisfying display. Then the powered armor suit erupted from the ruined building and sailed through the sky. “This Human is like a Goka!” Chosht yelled as he brought the tank’s drive back online. The damaged track made a horrendous noise, but it held.
The Human fired his MAC, but the round sailed over the tank, a clean miss. Chosht returned fire, and his shot missed as well. With the turret drive system damaged, he was at a further disadvantage when it came to tracking a rapidly moving target. He watched the cursed machine bound on its built-in rockets once again, and got an idea. The tank’s turret might not be able to move as fast, but the main drive was fine.
The powered suit bounded over Chosht’s tank, another MAC round smashing into the rear deck—Wham! Chosht instantly turned and accelerated. A second later the suit touched down, and he was right behind it. The operator realized his mistake and instantly tried to jump again. Too late. The tank hit the powered suit at forty kph, sending it spinning wildly from the impact.
Chosht admired the operator; he obviously possessed impressive skill in his piloting ability. The pilot brought it under control as a rocket flashed by and exploded within a few meters from it. Chosht tracked the rocket with a camera and saw a squad of his troopers pouring out of the barracks. At last, he thought, their drug-addled minds have realized we are under attack. Now you die, Human.
The powered armor lost one of its jets and came crashing down into the remains of the starport’s former defensive complex. It looked like he’d managed the descent at the last second. No matter. Chosht programmed a turn and the tank came around, turret rotating slowly. Boom. The world vibrated.
“What was that?” he wondered aloud.
Boom.
Chosht temporarily forgot the Human and his powered armor and started looking around with all the J-F9a’s various cameras.
Boom!
The entire tank shook like a minor earthquake. It was as if someone were shelling the starport from orbit, though the threat assessment and radar showed no such bombardment. No, just the two mountains to the east. Wait, two mountains? Chosht swung a camera to see one of the mountains…moving. No, not a mountain, a titanic construction machine the size of a hill.
Oh, now that’s bad, he thought as it rotated one set of its four walking legs forward. Boom! He activated his squadnet and yelled, “Shoot the machine!”
* * *
“Hey, Murdock, you alive?”
“Mostly,” he replied, “that earthquake you, Dolan?” Murdock shook his head in his CASPer, trying to clear the cobwebs. That last crash hurt.
“Oh, yeah,” Dolan said. “Greenstein got the power plant up; the rest was straightforward.” Boom! “We had just enough F11 for a few hours on the fusion plant.”
Murdock grinned. The HecSha had taken the cylinders of F11, the crystalline containers Dandridge and he had stolen from the S&L, probably because it was expensive. The dinos had likely gotten them from the house of the planet’s fusion reactor manager. Civilian fusion plants didn’t usually require flushes of fresh F11, the element that allowed them to control the incredible reaction going on inside. You just stuck a couple of the cylinders with hyper-pressurized F11 liquid gas into the reactor and whoosh! Inefficient as fuck, but cheaper than a flush. Civilian power generators never had high demands anyway; they had secondary cooling sources and conventional shielding, so the F11 was mostly a reaction dampener. At least that was how Greenstein had explained it.
He extracted himself from the remains of a building for the second time in a few minutes and observed the machine. As tall as a five-story building, it reminded Murdock of a bulldog. Its four legs didn’t step so much as rotate forward on a cam and gear arrangement, the center going around constantly. More like a steam engine or one of the ancient earth-movers on Earth.
Seventy-five years ago, the first colonists had leased the machine from an alien consortium. It was delivered by a huge freighter and landed by a dozen specially fitted trans-orbital tugs. The machine was able to cut terraces out of the old mountainside with just a few hundred personnel in weeks, a job that would have taken conventional construction crews years and thousands of workers.
After the job was done, it had carved out the bay now used by the fishing fleet. Then it had been set aside and the alien operators left. It was supposed to be picked up a short time later for its next job, but it never was. Nobody knew why. As Atlantis grew, the city eventually sort of surrounded it. It sat where it had last operated, many thousands of tons of alien machine just quietly rusting. Murdock thought Jim would have loved the thing; it was like a little doggy for his giant Raknar.
The rocket-wielding HecSha who’d nailed Murdock turned their weaponry on the excavator, and contrails flashed upward at the machine’s underside. The explosions seemed pathetically inadequate against the monster, and indeed they were. Murdock ran checks on his damaged systems while the dinos wasted missile after missile.
Better them than me, he thought. Fire began to slacken off. He didn’t know if it was because they’d figured out it did no good, or because they were running out of missiles. He hoped the latter. Then the tank opened fire.
* * *
Chosht realized the anti-personnel and anti-armor roc
kets of the troopers were having no results as the monster machine moved step by booming step onto the starport grounds. The only thing he could think of was that it might be a Raknar, one of the 20,000-year-old war machines long thought useless. Nothing else in his experience was as large and could move under its own power. He brought the tank around, elevated the cannon, and fired into the belly of the beast.
The machine—whatever it was—wasn’t designed to be shot by a fifty-megawatt particle-accelerator beam. The blast carved into its underside, cutting like a chainsaw through a cow. Great gouts of flame sprouted and steel plates fell like rain. The damage seemed horrendous. As the blast fireball cleared, Chosht realized it was just a scratch by comparison.
The machine turned by pivoting on one front leg and moving the other three. It was unwieldy and ponderous, yet still effective. As it turned, one of the feet stepped forward on a massive pad at least five meters across, and came down on the side of the dropship his tank had come from. The ship was crushed to the tarmac by thousands of tons of force, and its hydrogen fuel tank ruptured and electrical system shorted. It exploded with a huge fireball.
“It’s coming for me,” he realized. The thought chilled him through the pain of his injuries. Chosht moved the target locator and shot the leg closest to him. The resulting damage was similar on a much smaller target. The leg shifted position slightly in its mount.
“Trooper!” he yelled over the squadnet. “Prepare to board the monster machine. I want its operator alive.” When I get my claws on the Human, I will get some answers.
He maneuvered the tank backward, away from the advancing machine, while also watching his troopers preparing to assault. Everything looked perfect, until the first of his men went down. Then another, and another. The troopers dropped to the icy tarmac as a flood of Humans poured through the starport fence. Dozens, hundreds of them, and of all sizes as well. They were all armed and attacking his troopers.
