by Richard Fox
Booms from Elias’ cannon reverberated between the buildings.
“Sir, if I fire my Gustav, it’ll probably flip this truck right over,” Franklin said to Hale.
“I know. You’re still the best shot out of all of us. Give me your grenades.” Hale handed his gauss rifle to the heavy gunner and got three anti-armor grenades in return.
A black oblong shape swooped out from behind an office building and bore down on the truck. Stalks grew from the drone’s body, their tips burning like embers.
“Incoming!” Hale yelled. He twisted the fuse on the anti-armor grenade to “EFP” and hurled the grenade at the approaching drone. The grenade tumbled end over end, the radar and IR sensors in the warhead scanning for an appropriate target. The grenade locked on to the drone and exploded. The explosives behind the tungsten plate morphed the metal into an oversized bullet and shot the projectile at the drone at a velocity of nearly a mile per second.
The projectile struck the drone and slammed it into the road. The drone tumbled end over end, smashing into an antique sports car and embedding in the wreckage.
“That got it,” Hale said.
“No, sir,” Franklin said, “it ain’t dead just yet.” Franklin put a gauss round into the wrecked nest where the drone lay, shoving the mass to the side.
The drone burst from the wreck, its stalks tearing the old car into bits as it extracted itself. It floated a meter above the road and raced after the Marines.
A gauss round hit the drone dead center and managed to slow it down. Hale threw another grenade but the projectile missed the drone and blew a crater in the road. The drone slalomed toward them, fouling Franklin’s next shot and evading a third grenade.
“Damn things learn fast,” Franklin said.
All but two stalks retracted into the drone and it sped forward so fast Hale saw it as a blur. Hale pulled a grenade off his belt and set it to “Shaped Charge.”
The drone reared up just behind the truck, its stalks raised like a tarantula about to strike. Franklin fired and the round impacted with a spark, sending the drone back a meter. The drone’s stalks slammed down, barely missing the truck before it impaled itself into the road.
Hale tossed the grenade at the stationary drone and turned his head aside.
The grenade exploded, sending a molten lance of tungsten at the drone. The lance punctured the drone’s carapace and shattered everything within.
The drone disintegrated without a sound.
“Hot damn, sir! That was awesome!” Standish yelled and almost tossed his lieutenant over the side by swerving too sharply around a school bus.
“Red 1, this is Gall. Can you read me?” Durand’s voice broke over Hale’s IR net.
“This is Red 1. We have the package. Can you get to us?” Hale said.
“I’m assuming you’re the white truck heading south. Stand by,” she said.
The sound of breaking glass and cracking masonry demanded Hale’s attention. A drone burst through a building and pounced at the truck. Standish jerked the truck into a fishtail and spun around the drone.
A stalk split the air over Hale’s head and slashed through the tailgate like it was made of paper. The truck slammed into the concrete divider and ground to a halt.
Three stalk tips converged, a yellow light brighter than the sun burning between the points.
Franklin got off a hip shot that hit the rear of the drone. It veered to the side but the stalks held their aim.
Standish got the truck moving just as the drone fired. Brilliant light the power of a million candles flashed in front of Hale and annihilated the road. Hale tried to blink away the afterglow and fumbled with a grenade.
Standish hit a pothole and the grenade flew out of Hale’s grasp and bounced down to the road.
Hale’s strained eyes caught another shape speeding up from behind the drone and Hale’s heart sank at the idea of fighting a second drone.
He blinked hard and saw Elias, his legs in their tracked position, slam into the drone and wrestle it to the ground.
The suit ripped stalks from the drone and hammered blows against the carapace, the suit’s armored fists sounding like blows against an anvil. Elias picked up the drone and slammed it against the road. The drone skipped away like a stone across a lake.
Elias’ treads morphed back into his legs and he took his Gustav heavy rifle from his back.
The drone stopped its skip midair and launched itself back at Elias like a bullet. A stalk speared out and drove straight through Elias’ head. The suit twitched then fell to its knees.
The drone grew more stalks and readied another blast.
“Uh, sir?” Franklin said.
Elias’ suit twisted around at the waist and blew the drone apart with a single shot. Elias stood and ran after the truck, a gout of sparks pouring from its ruined head assembly.
“His real head is in the armor’s chest,” Hale said.
A drop ship roared overhead and kept pace with the truck.
“Hale, there are more bogeys inbound. I can’t put down to get you,” Durand said over the IR.
Hale looked over the cab to see how much road they had left. His idea just might work.
“Gall, lower your ramp and fly as close to the front of the truck as you can. Standish, hold your speed. We’re going to do an alley-oop with the principal,” Hale said.
“I’m sorry—you’re going to what me?” Stacey asked.
Hale punched through the cab’s rear glass, which shattered into uniform cubes, and pulled Stacey out by her harness. As Hale grabbed her by the shoulder and belt, Franklin mimicked the hold.
The drop ship came down ahead of them, flying almost ten feet above with its rear hatch open.
“What…what…what are you doing?” Stacey demanded, struggling against the Marine’s grasp.
“Gall, get ready to cut speed in three…two…,” Hale said.
“Can we talk about—” Stacey’s plea turned into a shriek as Hale and Franklin hurled her straight up, their augmented strength hefting her level with the open drop ship.
The drop ship slammed its reverse thrusters and Stacey’s forward momentum carried her over the drop ship’s lowered hatch and into the hold. She rolled across the deck and crashed against a bulkhead. The rear hatch sealed shut and Durand hit the thrusters.
The crew chief ran over and touched Stacey on the shoulder.
“You OK?”
“Ensign Faben/Ibarra is uninjured. Please return us to the fleet at once,” Ibarra said, the light on Stacey’s hand pulsating with its words.
“Holy shit!” the crew chief squealed and backpedaled away from Stacey.
“What’s going on back there?” Durand said over the intercom.
“I don’t know where to start. Can we please leave?” Stacey asked. She sat up and looked at the light glowing in her palm. The light held steady and she clenched her hand into a fist.
****
The truck pulled up to a mess of rubble. Buildings smoked and popped as small fires burned inside them. Hale and Franklin leapt from the truck before it came to a complete stop, their weapons up and ready. The crawlspace used to gain entrance had been blown into a breach big enough for two Marines to walk through at a time.
Major Acera was supposed to meet Hale here, but the only Marines waiting for them lay in the rubble, limbs bent at cruel angles. Each bore the perfect holes of the Xaros weapons. Hale picked up the left arm of one of the Marines; the ID tags that should have been under the Marine’s forearm Ubi were gone.
Hale hated to see Marines left on the battlefield but nothing could be done for them now. He keyed in coordinates for each body; the information would pass on to the graves registration teams to collect the bodies later.
“Ident chips are gone. They were leaving on their own terms, not running,” Hale said.
Elias rolled up and got back on his feet.
“I’m not picking up anything on my IR,” he said. Each suit came with an IR net boo
ster. If Acera or any Marine tied to his net were in line of sight, Elias would have connected to him. Grabbing his sensor “head,” Elias tried to crunch it back together. A misshapen lump held firm for a second, then fell over again.
“What now, sir? Those two drones took off after the drop ship but more will come,” Cortaro said.
“Move to the landing zone. They won’t leave until we get there,” Hale said.
“Assuming they know we’re alive,” Standish said.
“Less talk, more moving,” Elias said. The suit stumbled over a lump of concrete and a blurb of static shot from its speakers.
“You OK in there?” Standish asked.
“My primary cameras are shot, some damage to my gyroscopes affecting balance,” Elias said.
“Can’t you get out of there and walk?”
A flap snapped down on the suit’s upper torso and it leaned toward Standish. A slit in the armor came level with Standish’s eyes as a sliver of pale white skin, so translucent that pulsating veins were visible, twisted behind the slit and a pair of pale blue eyes stared at Standish.
“Death before dismount, crunchy. Let’s get moving,” Elias said.
Hale picked his way through the breach and looked toward the distant landing zone. Smoke rose from a dozen different places between his Marines and their escape.
“Double time,” Hale said and started running, which was easier in their armor than running unarmored. The suits lengthened strides and optimized the swing of the arms to keep a kinesthetic rhythm. They ran almost a kilometer, passing newly collapsed homes and burning vehicles, before they heard the sharp whine of gauss weapons fire.
Hale ran toward the sound of battle, his Marines behind him.
A gauss round snapped past Hale and blew through a garage door. Marines’ locations popped onto Hale’s visor as the IR net established itself.
“This is Red 1. Five Marines and one armor coming in!” Hale shouted into the IR net.
“Hale? Did you get her out?” Acera asked, the sound of gauss blasts and the swoosh of Xaros beams crowding out his words.
“She’s away and with the precious cargo,” Hale answered.
“Bring the armor up. We need his rail shot,” Acera said. An enemy icon blinked onto Hale’s mini-map.
Hale waved to Elias to follow him, the suit too damaged to receive updates from Acera.
“Sir, a rail shot in atmosphere?” Hale said.
An explosion blew through the three-story city hall. Hale not only saw the explosion, he heard it up close and personal as it overwhelmed the IR net.
Someone screamed in pain on the net, then cut out in a hiss of static.
“Yes in atmosphere! I’m bringing it to you!” Acera said.
Hale whirled around and pointed at Elias. “Ready your rail shot!”
Elias skidded to a halt and raised a foot off the ground. A spike shot from his heel and imbedded in the ground. He jammed the spike deep into the ground and repeated the anchoring with his other foot.
The paired rails on his back lifted up and hinged down on his shoulder. Electricity crackled between the rails and Hale’s visor roiled with static.
“Ready,” Elias said.
A lone Marine ran across the road ahead of them. He twisted around and fired off a high-powered shot from his hip. The round blew a crumbling wall to dust, which billowed like a growing cloud.
A high-pitched whine rose in Hale’s ears and a dark mass appeared in the dust cloud.
“Shoot it! Shoot it!” Acera shouted.
“Shoot what? I don’t see—”
A giant stomped out of the dust, twice the height and width of Elias’ armor. It was hunched over, a wolf-like head lower than its shoulders. Black armor swirling with gray fractals gleamed with a chrome reflection. The giant’s arms ended in glowing points of light at the apex of dozens of stalks protruding from its forearms.
One of the trunk-like arms pointed at Acera and a spear of light erupted from its cannon. The light blew through two rows of houses, sending roofs spinning into the air like startled birds. The giant came to a stop, then slowly turned its attention toward Elias. The lights in the center of the hand cannons grew brighter.
“Hold on to something,” Elias said. Electric arcs sizzled up and down his rails and Hale fell to the ground, his arms wrapped around his head.
The rail gun fired with the force of a thunderclap as it accelerated a cobalt-jacketed tungsten slug the size of Hale’s forearm from zero to 25,000 miles an hour, fast enough to send the slug into orbit, straight at the Xaros monstrosity. The slug ignited the oxygen in the air as it flew to its target, a laser-straight contrail of fire in its wake.
The slug passed through the Xaros giant and blew it apart. Hunks of the giant tumbled away from Hale and Elias, caught up in the hurricane force winds that followed the slug’s passage. The Xaros disintegrated within seconds of its destruction.
Hale looked up and saw flaming trees up and down the road, burning like torches. The tinkle and crash of breaking glass from across the neighborhood surrounded Hale, the overpressure from the rail gun’s blast damaging far beyond what lay in its line of fire.
“Major Acera?” Hale asked. The major’s location pinged from the center of a wrecked house across the street.
Hale ran across the street, adding a waypoint for what remained of his team to converge where the major should have been. The house was a field of blackened rubble, scorched remnants of a family home jumbled with wood and concrete. Acera’s marker bobbed from place to place within the rubble.
“Sir? Where are you?” Hale said through his helmet’s loudspeakers. He grabbed a chunk of masonry and threw it aside. Acera’s location icon switched to amber and blinked—he was wounded. Hale kicked aside a ruined doll and ran deeper into the rubble field. Acera’s icon flitted from place to place as the metal in the rubble, heat from the rail shot, and the burning remnants of the home all conspired to block Acera’s beacon.
“Come on…where are you?” Hale said.
“Sir! I’m picking him up,” Cortaro said from the edge of the wreckage. The team sergeant’s reading came up on Hale’s visor. The two icons wavered around a cracked wall canted over a support beam.
“I’ve got him too,” Standish said. A third icon floated around the canted wall. Hale stumbled over the debris toward where the readings triangulated.
He found Acera under the wall, the lower half of the major’s body pinned beneath it.
“Hale, take this.” Acera tossed a tube to Hale, a pyrotechnic that could send up a cluster of burning lights. “Use it to bring in the evac and get out of here,” Acera said, his voice straining against the pain of his shattered legs.
“No, we’re not leaving you,” Hale said. He mag-locked the star cluster to his thigh and pushed at the wall holding Acera to the ground. It was a solid mountain. Hale’s Marines joined the rescue effort, jamming their gauss rifles into the voids between the wall and the ground, trying to pry Acera loose.
“Five drones combined to make that walker. Blew both our fighters and a drop ship out of the air before the last two got away. Get that intelligence back to the fleet and leave me, Marines! That’s an order!” Acera said.
Hale’s team grouped together at one edge of the wall and tried lifting it in a combined effort. The wall shifted, then sank even deeper.
“Get out of here! Now!” Acera said again.
Hale tapped at the side of his helmet and shrugged his shoulders.
“Lift again,” Hale said, “on three...two….” The wall elevated with a groan. Elias stood at the other end of the wall, holding the wall aloft with a single hand.
Standish and Cortaro dragged Acera clear of the wall, his lower leg armor cracked and caked in blood.
Hale held the star cluster in front of him and slapped it on the bottom. Three gold lights popped from the cylinder like a military-grade Roman candle from his childhood. Icons of approaching Marines crept onto his visor, what little remained of the
ir landing force.
The whine of approaching drop ships grew louder.
Hale looked back to the Euskal Tower, the lower floors engulfed in flames. A line of destruction traced his path back to where he’d left two of his marines on the battlefield. Honor demanded he recover them, but this battle was beyond what the Corps expected of him. This was about survival.
CHAPTER 5
Hale triggered his helmet’s release and slid it off his head. The air in the drop ship smelled of ozone and blood, but it was cool and being able to scratch his face was a welcome relief. The drop ships had just left Earth atmosphere. It would be hours before they made it back to the Breitenfeld.
He looked at his Marines, each coming down from combat highs in their own way: Standish wolfed down a pouch of spaghetti and meatballs. Franklin slept against his restraints. Cortaro’s attention focused on an Ubi, not the one he normally played games on as his adrenaline waned. Torni, who kept her blond hair slightly longer than the male Marines’ high and tight, ran an alcohol pad over her exposed skin.
Habit made Hale look for Vincenti and Walsh, but they were gone.
Looking down at his filthy armor, Hale saw his was just as stained with soot, blood and pulverized concrete as the rest of the Marines in the drop ship. Remnants from another squad of Marines sat across from him. Elias and another armor soldier took up most of the deck between the two rows of seats. The armor was in travel configuration, arms and legs tight together and strapped to the deck.
Hale keyed a channel to Elias.
“You OK in there?” Hale asked, keeping his voice low.
“I’ve had worse,” Elias said.
“When was the last time you were out?”
Seconds ticked by as Hale waited for Elias’ answer.
“You can’t stay in there forever, Elias, especially not after the system damage you’ve taken. Did you get any over feed when you got hit?” Hale asked. Armor pilots often reported feeling pain when their suits took damage, which the suit designers claimed was impossible. Pilots, not wanting to risk admitting to neurologic issues and thus losing their suits, referred to the phantom pain as “over feed.”
