“It’s not about fighting. Those situations were different. They could fight back. I wouldn’t have a problem taking him out in the field.” Damir shook his head. “If we’re supposed to be better than the UTC, we have to start ensuring that right now. Otherwise, what will be the point? We’ll be just as vicious and ruthless as they are. The roots of our new government will be diseased from the beginning.”
Sinclair sighed. “You know what, Sokov? You’re right.”
“Thank you.” Damir relaxed his shoulders and took a deep breath. “We can take him back—”
Sinclair snapped up his rifle and shot the private in the head. No one moved. They all looked at Damir and the mercenary commander, unsure what to do.
“You want to win this rebellion?” Sinclair began, gesturing with the barrel toward the body. “If you do, you’ll have no choice but to be vicious and ruthless. Not as vicious and ruthless as the UTC Army, more vicious. Savage, even. Freedom isn’t gained by people overly concerned with morality, but by those who are willing to spill blood until the other side has no choice but to run from them.”
Damir growled, “That’s bullshit.”
“That’s history, Sokov.” Sinclair squeezed the bridge of his nose before bringing his hand back down to support his rifle. He pointed it at Damir, his eyes blazing. “And I’m done placating you. The next time you disobey me, you piece of shit, you die. I didn’t come all the way to this backwater colony to help you rubes play at war so I can die because you have an attack of conscience. I’m here for an important purpose, and it can’t be disrupted because you care about wounded soldiers. They are expendable. You are expendable.”
Damir clenched his jaw. He didn’t dare raise his rifle. Sinclair was aiming at his head. One burst would finish him.
The confusion of the other rebels vanished. They exchanged looks before pointing their guns at Sinclair.
“What the hell is this?” Sinclair snarled. “Sokov is a traitor. He wanted me to spare the life of a UTC dog, and now you’re pointing your guns at me? Think this through, morons.”
Kaze, one of the rebels Damir hadn’t worked with until the last two missions, was the first to speak. “You’re an outsider, a mercenary. Damir has been with the FSA from the beginning. His father was with the FSC. They didn’t need money for the cause. That means he’s earned our respect. Lower your weapon, Sinclair. I’m not sure what we should have done with that soldier, but I do know we don’t turn our guns on one another.”
“Put the gun down or what?” The mercenary laughed. “You’re going to shoot me? How will you explain it? You going to tell everyone you killed someone helping you fight the Army because a fellow rebel lost his balls?”
“It’ll be easy to explain away. All we have to say is some Army soldier got the drop on you.” Kaze sneered. “A lot of things can happen out here. We don’t have to have a problem, but we can’t have you threatening a brother. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m not going to let you kill Sokov.”
Sinclair tossed his rifle on the floor. “Fine, you stupid hick piece of shit. You’ll be punished when I report this anyway.”
Damir let out a sigh of relief. He had not wanted anything to escalate like this, but he didn’t regret standing up to the mercenary.
“Turn around,” Kaze ordered. “We’re going to bind you and escort you back to the base. They can decide. If you’re so confident they’ll punish us, you shouldn’t have a problem waiting.”
Sinclair turned around and put his arms behind him. “You’re making a mistake.”
“We probably are,” Damir replied. “But I’m beginning to think hiring you mercs was our biggest mistake. It’s been bothering me for a while, all the rumors I hear about you people. I’ve tried to ignore them, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Everything you’ve heard is true, by the way,” Sinclair announced with a sneer. “Everything you’re thinking is likely true. Yes, we’re using special Tin Men to help win the war. They’re called Elites. They have true dedication to the cause. They understand they must sacrifice everything. You lack sufficient commitment to your cause. Destroy all your enemies, and the morality of it becomes irrelevant. That’s why you pathetic hicks sicken me.”
“What the hell?” Kaze approached slowly, reaching into his pouch for binding ties. “Tin Men? I thought that was just propaganda. Are you kidding me?”
“No, they’re not Tin Men. That’s not adequate to describe them. They’re something better, just a brain in a metal shell.” Sinclair chuckled. “They are the future of warfare. They will enforce a new order that will not rely on maggots like you who are restricted by sentiment and false ideals about what you’re building.”
The rebels exchanged disgusted looks. Damir backed past the others toward the door, his stomach tightening. His conspiracy theories didn’t seem so outlandish anymore. They might not have been extreme enough.
Kaze raised his binding ties. “I’m sorry, Sinclair, but Sokov’s right. We need standards. You’re a merc. You don’t get what it means to fight for something more than money. It’s not just about killing people and bombing their shit.”
“I agree,” Sinclair replied. “We do need standards. Do you know why I’m saying all this to you? Why I’m bothering to give you this much information?”
“Because you’re a crazy bastard?” Kaze suggested. “Or an arrogant son of a bitch”
“No, because you shouldn’t kid yourself. Your leaders know exactly what we’re using and our tactics. Do you honestly think we’d be able to cover it without their help? Second, you won’t be alive soon because you’ve let Sokov infest your minds. His ideals will spread like an infection and weaken the FSA, and we can’t have that. I’ve been wondering about Sokov since I heard one of the commanders mention him. My people need this war to last a little longer for our purposes, and that means we need to get rid of people like all of you.”
The rebels glared at Sinclair.
Kaze snorted and reached for Sinclair’s hands. “Sorry, merc. We’re not planning to die anytime soon. I don’t care how that affects your merc bottom line. I think you forget that this is our planet, not yours.”
“Oh, the death wasn’t a request. It’s an order.” Sinclair spun, a knife popping out of the bottom of this sleeve. His slash opened Kaze’s throat with a spray of blood. Before the body fell, Sinclair flicked his wrist and sent his knife into the eye of another rebel. He yanked Kaze’s rifle up and fired a burst into the face of a third rebel.
Damir and the survivors opened fire, their training betraying them. Their bursts pounded Sinclair’s tactical vest, forcing him back with a grunt but not finishing him off. He was more selective, shifting from target to target, shooting the rebels in their heads with a gleeful expression.
Sinclair laughed and jerked his rifle toward his final target, Damir, but the rebel beat him, his rifle aiming higher as he pulled the trigger. The bullets ripped through the mercenary’s throat, and his body collapsed on the floor atop the dead Kaze.
Damir backed out of the office, shaking. He could barely register what had just happened. His eyes widened as Sinclair crawled forward, a crazed gleam in his eyes and half his neck missing. The merc raised a finger and wagged it slowly before slumping and letting out a hollow death rattle.
Hands shaking, Damir grabbed a plasma grenade from his belt and primed it. He backed away from the office and threw it inside before sprinting away. The explosion shook the hallway, but he barely noticed.
Sinclair had killed the men without hesitation. The mysterious sniper, the tank, and all the other threads of evidence were now bright flares highlighting the obvious truth. The FSA was corrupt, infiltrated by and allied with the sickest kinds of people, men who knew no restraint.
Damir couldn’t go back, not now. He would not betray his brothers, but he could never forgive the mercenaries.
Chapter Thirty
October 8, 2230, Gliese 581, New Samarkand, Sogdia
“Keep an eye out,�
� Cabrina announced. “If they make it past our line, they might be able to hit the field hospital.”
With most people out on patrol, it would be a slaughter. Army counteroffensives had gone well in the last few days, despite rebel pushback the last few hours. At least that was the line HQ was spinning. The downside was it was hard to hit a place if all their forces were elsewhere. Additional reinforcements would arrive soon, but not fast enough. The garrisons in nearby systems were worried that whatever was going in Gliese 581 might be contagious. No one wanted to release many of their troops. They were willing to lend a platoon or a company here and there, but not the serious level of troops needed to crush the insurrection.
Her squad’s six exos advanced in a loose V formation, shields fully expanded. Two hours of hit and run by enemy forces had worn down Cabrina’s patience. They knew the enemy was close because her friendly drones kept getting knocked out of the sky. The speed and firepower on display pointed to a single possibility: the so-called Elites.
A rumor had become truth, and that truth spread through the garrison. The mercenaries aiding the FSA were employing full-conversion cyborgs. What was left of ID on the planet had provided a small amount of intel, only noting the government hadn’t previously encountered Elites controlling full-sized vehicles. They hadn’t mentioned Cybernetic Psychosis Syndrome, but it didn’t matter since the enemies were intended solely for killing and mayhem.
Were they making them on the planet somehow? The thought sent a shudder through Cabrina. She couldn’t understand why the rebels would be willing to work with those monsters, but the rebels kept insisting it was government propaganda rather than truth. The mercs used sophisticated bots, some claimed. It was easy to look away when the monsters were on their side.
Cabrina didn’t know what HQ thought about reinforcements against the Elites, and she didn’t care. She’d be grateful if all they ended up getting were two people in an armored flitter with a big gun. The rebels were being whittled away, but their mercenary allies kept launching devasting raids such as the ones now pinning down squads all over the sector, slowing their battalion’s offensive. Every time they took down an Elite, it felt like two more showed up on the next raid.
The rebel viciousness now made sense, especially when connected with the mercenaries. Cabrina didn’t need to be an ID analyst to realize there was someone with a lot of resources and money off-world who was interested in fueling the insurrection for their own purposes. For the moment, she didn’t worry about anything other than keeping enemy forces away from the field hospital. There were other units who were delivering the pain farther afield.
An alert from HQ popped up. Cabrina hissed in frustration as she skimmed the red message in the corner of her faceplate.
“Okay, get ready to head due northeast, double-time,” she announced. “A patrol got ambushed. Nobody’s dead, but they need cover to retreat. Possible Elites. Load appropriate ordnance. I don’t want any of those things surviving. There is no way they have an unlimited supply.”
The squad charged forward, knocking rubble and debris out of their way as their heavy metal feet hit the broken streets and ground. Gunfire sounded in the distance, followed by an explosion, but it was in a different direction. That was for another squad to handle. Not encountering any trouble, they closed the distance to the wounded infantry squad in a few short minutes.
A sergeant limped toward Cabrina’s exo, holes burned into his tactical vest and uniform. “We barely could see what struck us. Just saw a flash of metal, and then it lit us up. We got some hits in, but I doubt we did more than scratch it. I think the bastard was toying with us.”
With a flick of her fingers, Cabrina launched a micro-drone into the air. She didn’t expect to get any decent intel, but she did want to establish how close the nearest enemy was in the most efficient way possible. The drone cleared about ten meters before a shot rang out and ripped the tiny machine in half. Its pieces plummeted to the ground.
“Alpha Five and Six,” Cabrina began. “Make your way toward the field hospital with the wounded and the rest of the infantry. The rest of you come with me. If the rebels or their merc buddies want to play, let’s show them who the real Elites are: assault infantry!”
The drone hadn’t detected anything before its destruction, but the last transmission provided a direction of fire. Elites could move quickly, but at least Cabrina knew where to look. She advanced, keeping her weapons at the ready. Their enemies weren’t gods, or even advanced aliens with tech humans didn’t understand. They were just a bunch of rebels and Tin Man freaks who didn’t know where to draw the line.
She wasn’t running at them with a knife in her teeth and a pistol. She was in proven military tech, an exo with a heavy machine gun loaded with armor-piercing rounds and a rocket launcher. That was all she needed to reduce any Elite to scrap.
A dark shadow passed between two nearby buildings. Cabrina spun that way, ready to fire a rocket, but it was too late. Sensors pinged two moving contacts, but there was so much debris and metal scattered along with the tightly packed buildings, it was interfering with her readings. It didn’t help that they’d encountered Elites with almost no sensor signature before. They were like demons hiding in the shadows.
“Inverted wedge,” she ordered.
The other exos took up position. The two escorting the infantry and carrying wounded had made it a good hundred meters down the street, and Cabrina had every indication the enemy was closer to her and the bulk of the squad. She did her best to ignore sporadic gunfire in the distance, concentrating on the nearby enemy.
“This is the problem with putting up all these buildings so damned close together,” she muttered. “Too many places to hide. I hope the moon never decides to stage an uprising, and if they do, I hope I’m on the other side of the UTC at the time.”
“Movement at ten o’clock, LT,” reported Alpha Three.
“Movement at two o’clock,” Alpha Two shouted seconds later.
“They’re fast, but they’re not that fast,” Cabrina replied. “Presume at least two hostiles, Elite classes unknown. Maximum weapons usage authorized. Send them to that hot place below.”
Controlling an exo in a search-and-destroy mission was as much about concentration as skill. That concentration was honed by practiced discipline, including Cabrina’s constant flicking gaze to camera feeds and sensor readings. Her squadmates’ reports made it easy for her to pick up movement on the sides despite the unreliability of the sensors. She might need her exo’s big gun, but all they required otherwise was a good pair of enlisted eyes.
A sing-song voice echoed all around them. “Army dogs. Army dogs in shells think they have a chance, but they’re just here to die, die, die. I’d say you’ll fertilize the ground, but that’s not the case in this colony, so your deaths will be useless. Mighty, mighty garrison, but you have taken so many casualties already. You had to get reinforcements just so they can die too. You’re inferior—a waste of flesh. You can’t stand up to an Elite. You should lie down and let us slaughter you like the cattle you are.”
That taunt answered the question about whether they were dealing with bots or normal rebels. The confirmation emboldened Cabrina. She preferred fighting Elites. They might be sick monstrosities, but she wanted to go up against an enemy with a mind who presented a halfway decent challenge. In the end, she wanted the best of the insurrection’s forces to know they’d gotten their asses handed to them by members of the 919th Assault Infantry and Lieutenant Cabrina Pena.
“Ignore that crap. They’re trying to flank us.” Cabrina frowned. “Damn it. No, they’re too far out. They’re going after the wounded. Let’s get their attention.” She spun and released a burst from her machine gun before swinging it to the other side and firing. “Let’s dance, monsters.”
With a roar and a flash, a pile of debris in the direction of her second shot spat bullets, then a long serpentine multi-legged metal form emerged. A heavy cannon sprouted from the front of its
head—a Torch Dragon. Its barrage ripped into the exposed flank of one of the squad, blasting chunks from the exo’s arm. The soldier spun to cover himself with his shield, his exo’s arm movements stiff from actuator damage.
Something wiggled over a nearby roof and opened fire. A third Torch Dragon skittered in front of them as if taunting them. Cabrina and another squad member opened fire, their AP rounds ripping into it in a shower of sparks before the metal monster disappeared between buildings. The other two enemies continued their relentless assault, forcing the exos back.
“Roof!” Cabrina ordered. “Rockets!”
The four exos swung their rocket launchers and released in near-perfect tandem. The explosives sped toward the roof, and the Torch Dragon skittered back before the rockets blew the front half of the small building apart. The enemy jumped off, its wriggling form silhouetted by the beautiful oranges, yellows, and reds of the huge blast.
Cabrina’s machine gun screamed to life and her anticipatory aim landed her armor-piercing rounds right on target, leaving a trail of holes through the Elite’s body. The other three exos followed her lead. The cumulative storm of high-velocity lead blew the Torch Dragon Elite into three pieces.
His friend on the left scampered forward, thinking he had a chance. Cabrina jumped and spun, her thrusters burning hard. She would have killed for a newer model at that moment, but she got decent height on her jump and angled to rake the advancing Elite with her machine gun before following up with a rocket. Her target writhed and changed direction, but her explosion blasted off half his legs, slowing him.
Redundancy meant a lot in nature and on the battlefield. He’d made it forward far enough to unload on Alpha Three from behind and sever the bottom half of the exo’s leg, but that didn’t harm the soldier inside. The other exos concentrated their fire, sticking to their machine guns because of proximity, until the bullet-riddled Elite collapsed to the ground, its blood mixing with other dark fluids seeping from its destroyed body.
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