Talbot followed Wilkes’ lead and dropped to one knee in a steady firing position, wondering whether these powerfully-built beasts were the run-through type. Gritting his teeth over the relentless recoil of his spitting assault rifle, Talbot was vaguely aware of a beast barreling into a soldier next to him, crunching bone and sinew. The beasts broke through the steadfast Terran formation, tempting many engineers to turn and fire at their backs.
“Eyes front!” Talbot bellowed.
It was one of the oldest tricks in the book - deploy a lightning-fast first attack, then follow up with a back-stab to inexperienced soldiers who had turned around. Sure, those beasts would wheel around for another attack, but Ashby and his main force would arrive first. The Irian leader and some fifty dragoons streamed over the hill to the north, long-range harpoons firing with devilish accuracy.
Engineers along the Terran line fell to the silent death, many of them wide-eyed and gasping from shots to the neck. Talbot looked squarely at his nemesis, hunch-backed and ugly but somehow imperious and effortlessly charismatic. The small Irian was framed by a towering plume of black smoke rising behind him. The modest fire had built into roaring, highly-mobile inferno.
It was time - there was only slaughter out here in the open.
“Withdraw!” Talbot barked, waving his soldiers away to the south.
That meant rushing back through the beast riders, but they were the less threatening of the splintered enemy groups. The advantage of the defensive mound was the partial cover it provided as the Terrans retreated. Several harpoon bolts whooshed over their heads as they hared across the tussocks toward the beast riders closing in for another attack.
One enemy came straight for Talbot, who took a deep breath to settle his nerves and knelt to fire. He didn’t have much ammo left, so made sure of the burst. The semi-automatic clip sent four palathin-tipped bullets thudding into the beast’s forehead, stopping it in its tracks for good. Carried by his own momentum, the rider was pitched forward and ended up spread-eagled at Talbot’s feet. The Terran put his last bullet between the forager’s eyes.
As he looked up, Ashby was just appearing over the mound. The pair locked eyes, their mutual hatred an irrepressible force constantly drawing them into a collision, like two pulsars. That’s when realization dawned in Ashby’s pale eyes. Talbot would look back on that moment as a turning point in the virtual war for Alpha Centauri.
A frown line appeared on Ashby’s high forehead when he realized Talbot had left a man behind. The pathfinder who had started the fire. The Irian raised his hand, balled it into a fist. With extraordinary discipline, his troops fell back around him. The beast riders and foragers extracted themselves from the skirmish, joining the dragoons further north.
20
The relatively flat terrain enabled the Irians to post rearguard sentries and stay abreast of Terran movement, but it also meant Fielding and her scouts could get a few pot shots in. They dropped at least five Irians as the enemy scrambled over the hill and dropped from sight. As Talbot had anticipated, Ashby was going straight for the beacons that were possibly at risk. Even if it meant risking that fire.
“Sir,” Fielding said, still hunched over her rifle sights. “That could’ve gone better.”
She looked drawn and tired. Truth be told, all the soldiers did. Three days in stifling heat and claustrophobic jungle had taken its toll.
For Talbot, the battle had passed so quickly he hadn’t been able to keep tabs on his comrades. He’d been focused on the Irians and the fire in the north. The number of Terran corpses was like a blow to the stomach. At least nine engineers lay dead, victims of precision long-range Irian fire. The improved weapon Admiral Gann had warned about.
Talbot was overwhelmed with guilt. What had he sacrificed to see his plan realized? Everything now depended on one man who was probably dead already.
“Porter, do you read?”
Nothing but static. Was it realistic to expect so much of one scout? What if Ashby had left more than sentries behind? Porter might have fallen victim to a well-placed trap.
The Terrans were down to fifteen soldiers, including Porter. Hardly a force to carry on with, even if they somehow won the day. Talbot could only look over at Fielding and shake his head. He felt stupid and powerless.
“The fire approaches,” Quantum warned.
Draining the vibrant prairie of its color, the raging inferno had reached the hill to the south.
“Withdraw, sir,” Wilkes said, noticing Talbot’s temporary malaise. The Terran leader allowed himself to be led by the older man.
“You alright, sir?”
Talbot frowned. “I can’t reach Porter. This whole thing’s for nothing if he’s dead.”
He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh.
“Fielding’s right,” he went on in a softer tone. “This wasn’t a good idea at all. Too many good people have been lost.”
“We’re still in with a chance,” Wilkes said. “We popped quite of few Irians, and those photon charges will probably add to their casualty list. Attrition, Talbot. Happens in war. No General is perfect.”
As usual, Wilkes’ unique blend of hard-nosed realism and bright-eyed hope hit the right spot. Somewhat revived, Talbot pushed on, leading his weary troops over the southern grasslands, as yet untouched by the fire.
“Here,” Fielding called.
She’d found a shallow lagoon covered in red lilypads. Talbot didn’t like the idea of wading through there, but the fire was approaching quickly. All manner of beasts careened over the tussocks toward them, but their objective was purely survival. The glow of the all-consuming grass fire filled in the shadows left by the passing day. Huge flocks of birds rose from ground nests and wheeled toward the mountain range to the south.
“At ease,” Talbot said tiredly, noticing his soldiers were at a loose end.
As one, the Terran host watched the fire roll in, spitting and hissing as it consumed the larger pampas tussocks. Several soldiers waded into the water as tongues of flame got a little close for comfort, but fire continued on without incident. It would’ve been much harder for Ashby and his crew to make it through the northern wall of flame. At best, he would’ve been delayed in his pursuit of Porter. Talbot’s gaze was locked on the distant sunset-kissed peaks when his wrist com crackled.
“Status and position, Porter,” Talbot said, trying hard to keep the emotion from his voice.
At that moment the sound of thunder rolled across the smoking prairie.
“Photon charges,” Wilkes said. “The Irians made good time, but that landfall should slow them down.”
Talbot checked his wrist pad - just over an hour of game time left.
“Listen, Porter,” he said. “The aliens will be stuck in the ravine for a while yet. I’m going to ask Fielding for advice on local med resources. We need you to fly.”
Talbot summoned Laura, who was only too happy to help.
“Saio fruit,” Fielding said into her com. “I saw a tree on the way through. Orange, fist-sized fruit. You can’t miss it. They’ll dull your pain and allow you to continue at full speed. For a time.”
“Affirmative, sir.”
“We just need two beacons,” Talbot said as a final instruction. “Two beacons will see the final tally to 4-3 our way. If you head northeast you’ll find one at the lagoon. There’s also one on the meadow with the red flowers.”
“Good lad,” Talbot said. “Our hearts are with you, soldier.”
Talbot killed the channel. Porter had a clear m
ission and needed to get moving.
“The Irians are back,” Fielding warned.
Talbot trained his nocs on the movement - sure enough, Ashby was leading his main force back out to the open grassland. He was moving at a fair clip too.
“Guns at the ready,” Talbot said softly. “Engineers central positions. Scouts on the lateral flanks. Wilkes and I will take the vanguard.”
The Terrans moved to their assigned positions with a minimum of fuss. They might have been exhausted, but they were consummate professionals. Talbot had to admit he hadn’t factored in this very last chapter. He’d believed Ashby would try and catch Porter in order to save his beacons.
Talbot had planned his operation too well. Ashby had wisely come to the conclusion that his main force had no chance of catching up to Porter. He’d probably sent two or three runners after the scout. A small group that could spur each other on at maximum speed.
Talbot glanced at his wrist pad - Porter had captured the beacon at the lagoon. The overall tally was now 4-3 in favor of the Irians. Just one more and the Terrans would win the day at the last minute. Talbot’s heart soared at the thought, but feared that Porter wouldn’t have enough time to reach the last beacon.
In the meantime, the Irians advanced with murderous intent, their progress made all the easier with the tussocks turned to cinder. There can’t have been much longer in the game. The minutes dripped by like toxic glue, the Irians steadily closing the distance between hunter and prey. Talbot was so tired, everything took on a hallucinatory glow. The dying fire, the blood-red sunset, the spreading vanguard of pale dragoons - it was like a scene from hell.
Ponsford’s rifle cracked across the empty space. Talbot was about to reprimand the scout but a leading dragoon fell to the charred earth. That rifle had serious range.
More rifle blasts dropped the dragoons. By this stage a clutch of beast riders had overtaken their comrades and would reach the Terrans within a minute.
“Steady,” Talbot called, lining up his first shot. “Make sure of it, folks.”
Three or four beasts made it through sniper coverage. The engineers fired their pistols but the beasts’ hides were far too strong. The foremost animal launched itself at poor Shaw, whose throat was ripped open with disturbing efficiency.
Talbot opened fire, but the beast riders cleverly maneuvered their mounts behind his soldiers. He lowered his weapon in frustration and entered the fray. The beasts were ripping through his precious engineer ranks like blood-soaked whirlwinds.
“Out of the way!” Talbot bellowed, clubbing at an alien with his rifle butt. He didn’t have melee skills in this heightened game world, but his objective was to engage the attackers for the last few seconds of game time. He moved among the beasts like a berserker, his anger rising with every strike. The animals were entirely capable of knocking him down, but seemed spooked by his crazed, care-free demeanor.
“Get back!” he snarled, swinging his assault rifle left and right. He felt a sharp pain in his leg and knew straight away he’d been skewered by a harpoon bolt. It didn’t slow him down. He peppered a dragoon from point blank range, laughing the whole time. He was vaguely aware of thinning enemy numbers through blood-soaked vision. Somewhere in the skirmish he must have received a blow to the head.
“Sir - the Irians are withdrawing.”
Talbot recognized that voice. It was Laura Fielding, looking at him like he was liable to combust at any moment. Her tone was severe and it irked him. He walked away, sucking air through deep breaths. Dead Terrans lay all around. He looked over at Ashby, standing three hundred yards away down the slope. The Irian leader smiled and nodded in his direction. Respect? Ridicule? It was difficult to tell. All Talbot knew was that he hated the alien with all his soul.
The com crackled out. Darkness seeped into Talbot’s vision and he thought he was blacking out. But then an internal voice of reason suggested it was the end of the game. The hint of a frown frolicked on Ashby’s weathered face as the virtual war for Avari faded into the annals of history.
21
Talbot found himself clawing to the surface of his Immersion tank. The faces of those on the hangar floor would tell the story, he told himself. He burst through the gel, ignoring the proffered towel from his inscrutable technician. The hangar was eerily silent. His heart almost burst when he saw a sea of stony faces on the Irian obs decks.
It was done, then. The Terran host had somehow held on for an unlikely victory. Talbot’s surviving comrades were dressing quickly. There was no joy, no elation. Their thin numbers gave Talbot pause, draining his initial burst of elation to a slow trickle.
Thirteen.
There were only thirteen Terrans left, including himself. Refusing a second offer of a towel, Talbot stepped forward, finger poised, counting the surviving Irians carefully.
“Forty-five,” he said in a flat voice.
He needed to hear it out loud. At that moment, it was a brutal number. A death knell. Talbot noticed that Quantum was already dressed and standing with the glum soldiers who’d been killed on the jungle planet. Porter, sobbing uncontrollably, was being comforted by Fielding.
“You too?” was all he could say.
The talented scout shook his head sadly. “Irian foragers. I couldn’t outrun them.”
“I’m sorry,” Talbot said meekly.
It sounded like an apology for all the dead. Porter nodded awkwardly and turned away. Feeling self-conscious now, Talbot finally accepted a towel, wiped himself down, dressed. On the floor he was confronted with Admiral Gann’s stern visage.
“How dare you inflict this final humiliation on us?” he asked quietly, quaking with rage. “What do you hope to achieve with thirteen soldiers? The least you could’ve done was spare us the indignity of witnessing another failure tomorrow.”
Not a single human had left the hangar. All were sweating on what Gann was saying, as if they wanted to see Talbot torn to pieces. In that moment he hated every one of them with a fierce passion.
“With respect, sir, perhaps an office would be a more appropriate -”
“I’ll address you when and where I fucking like,” Gann said, his face turning crimson. “I’ve never seen such a blatant waste of resources. Certainly never when the stakes are so high.”
“Last time I checked,” Talbot said slowly, “The score was 1-1.”
“At what cost, you imbecile? I’m growing tired of you putting good men and women in danger.”
“We can still do this, sir,” Talbot protested. “As long as we can stay mobile and explore scientific specializations -”
“Talbot, I couldn’t care less about your half-baked plans. You can stay on the Terangdor since you love it here so much. When you lose tomorrow, you are not welcome on any Terran vessel. An outcast. If you so much as look in our direction I’ll have you executed. Understood?”
Talbot bowed his head, humiliated.
“Yes, sir.”
“Get the fuck out of my sight.”
Defeated, Talbot trudged from the hangar bay, passing hundreds of blank-faced Irians on the way. He had no idea where he was headed, but made for an adjoining chamber where Irian refreshments had been laid out. What did he have to lose? Apparently he was a man without allegiances. He strode forward with more purpose than he felt.
Most of the fare was wholly unappetizing for a human reared on the croplands of Verdano III, but Talbot paused at the shots of purple liquid. The alcohol was way too sweet for his tastes, but he could feel the strong liquor warming his bones. He downed a second, then a third. The drinks felt harsh and alien to his virgin palette, but strangely addictive. By the time he was sizing up his fifth, the chamber was filling with Irian soldiers.
Several muttered sharply under their breath - it was clear he wasn’t welcome. One brazen individual shoved Talbot so hard he toppled over, the alcohol impairing his
balance. The Terran laughed, finding the surreal situation intensely humorous. He picked himself up, toasted the scowling Irians and stumbled through the door. Some small part of him, the sober part, was glad that Ashby hadn’t seen him like that.
Talbot found himself in a bright chrome corridor smelling like heavy duty disinfectant. It was said that the Irians were germophobes, at least by human standards, and the Terangdor certainly supported that hypothesis. Talbot accosted a passing alien and tried to convey the phrase ‘map room’. At length the Irian seemed to understood the gist of his strange gestures and led him down the corridor.
Talbot was offered an executive board room. Having gone through the painstaking process the night before, he knew how to work the projection tech in the middle of the long table. Before long he had summoned a large projection of the planet Silvano.
Judging from the dissonant changes in weight distribution throughout the Terangdor, the huge vessel was moving. Fast. Talbot had again missed his call to return to the Aurora for the night. That didn’t trouble him at all. If anything, it was a good omen. The last time this had happened he’d gone to win the battle the next day.
A cold and curiously dry planet, Silvano was nonetheless eminently habitable. Much of the equator was swathed in open sand, but the battle zone would take place in a northern mountain range. Baseline scans suggested the planet was rife with volcanic activity.
Talbot zoomed in on the battle zone. The area encompassed jagged mountain peaks to the north and a flat, dusty plain to the south. The upper-central area was a curious grey splodge - Talbot couldn’t make head or tail of it. He tried zooming in further, but the program wouldn’t allow him to do so.
He eventually concluded the zone was an artificial reservoir, difficult to identify because it was bone dry. Which meant three things - 1) alien tech had a strong presence on this world, 2) the aliens had either died out or left, and 3) water was a scarce commodity. All factors were useful scraps of intelligence. Talbot was already settling on where he’d like to spawn, but he would defer his final decision until the next morning.
Virtual War: Alpha Centauri (A LitRPG Novel) Page 13
