by Jake Bible
“Troops are in place, sir,” another tech reported. “Should we give the order to march?”
“Yes,” Norton said. “I need to see how the CMPs perform first, but we can’t wait if they fail. If they can take the wasteland on their own that’s great. If Capreze’s people do survive the CMPs then we need to have overwhelming forces coming down on them hard.”
“Do you think a handful of mechs can take on our mech numbers, sir?” the first tech asked.
“Not willing to take the chance,” Norton replied.
***
“Are you mechheads listening to what Commander LaFrance is telling you?” Marin asked over the com. “Those mechs you’re about to engage aren’t normal.”
“The word normal needs to be banned from all communication,” Bisby said. “It just doesn’t fucking apply to anything out here!”
“Pilot Bisby?” LaFrance asked as he was patched into the com system. “Those mechs are made of BC. Biochrome. They are self-repairing and have close to ten times the ammunition you do. You engage head to head and they will rip you apart. Pulling back and regrouping is the sane choice.”
“I pilot a one armed mech,” Bisby said. “You think I give two shits about sane?” He switched to a mech to mech channel. “You worried about this, Harlow?”
“Do I seem worried?” Harlow asked as she kept pushing her mech forward, ready to fight.
Bisby smiled and switched back to an open channel. “Ain’t gonna slow down now,” he laughed. “Shit’s just about to get good.”
“Jesus Christ,” LaFrance swore and looked over at Lt. Murphy. “Are they suicidal?”
“Yes,” Lt. Murphy responded. “It’s what makes them so dangerous.”
“And we’re they’re only backup?” Campbell asked. “This Hybrid mech and the Railer train?”
“We’re it,” Specialist Sol replied.
“I just hope they leave some action for us,” Specialist Grendetti grinned.
“Jesus Christ,” LaFrance repeated. “You’re all insane.”
***
“The battle will begin before us,” Bad Shell stated. “We will arrive to nothing but a pile of slag instead of your flesh friends.”
“The mech pilots are well trained,” Shiner replied. “I have fought with them and they will not be defeated by the Cans. Experience and skill will win out over numbers.”
“Better not be over,” Awl Good said. “I need to slam something. Make a hole in some metal!”
“You turn on your kind quickly,” Hollow Eye countered. “We should be supporting the metal, not the humans.”
“This is the wrong metal,” Shiner said. “The Cans are made of biochrome, like my body is. It will repair quickly if left intact.”
“So we don’t leave it intact,” Thunk added. “Fuck it all.”
“Language,” Bad Shell snarled. “Do not backstep, brother.”
“I’m gonna stomp step!” Awl Good shouted. “Crush them good!”
“You have added fire to these mechs,” Hollow Eye said to Shiner. “Whether that is bad or good shall wait to be seen.”
“I will leave that judgment to each mech,” Shiner replied.
“Do these helpless mechs not have allies?” Bad Shell asked. “Why are they left alone?”
“There are few allies in the wasteland,” Shiner said. “Especially for the mech pilots. Their forces are stretched.”
“They should build more forces,” Thunk said.
The few mini-mechs following, of course, said nothing.
***
“Hmmm,” Jethro said. “That’s either a storm or a whole lot of… Fuck!”
“What is it Jethro?” Capreze asked. “And don’t shout in my ear.”
“Was that on?” Jethro asked. “Damn. Systems seem to work with less than a thought now. I’m getting good at this shit.”
“I believe you just fucked over something,” Capreze stated. “What was the fuck about?”
“Take a look at your vid,” Jethro said.
Capreze did and frowned. “And that is?”
“My guess? Thousands and thousands of deaders,” Jethro answered. “I’m thinking six figures worth.”
“Where did they come from?” Capreze exclaimed. “There can’t be that many deaders left in the wasteland. There aren’t enough fucking people!”
“Not sure, sir,” Jethro said. “Looks like they’re coming from Rancher territory.”
“Ranchers?” Capreze said. “But Wyble is dead. I’d figure they’d have fallen apart.”
“What about that Pope guy?” Jethro asked. “My database says he split from the Archbishop a while back. Could be him.”
“Could be,” Capreze said. “If it is then what’s he after?”
“Us, sir,” Jethro said. “They’re heading right for us.”
“Ah, fuck,” Capreze swore.
***
“It suits you, Pilot Masters,” Stomper said as he watched Masters train in the knew Tumbler mech.
“I’m a rollin’ and tumblin’!” Masters sang. “Right on down the line!”
The mech was built with curved arches as its frame, making it easy to tumble quick and come up fast on its powerful legs. Masters rolled about, backwards, forwards, sideways, getting a feel for the mech’s capabilities.
“No offense, Stomper my boy, but this mech is fucking amazing!” Masters crowed. “It’s like I can dance in combat!”
“Don’t get cocky, twinkle toes,” Jay said from the hangar bay door as he watched Masters closely, looking for flaws or issues with the new mech. “It’s just a prototype. Hasn’t been fully tested yet.”
Masters came up from a roll, flung himself into the air, dove and then rolled upright, his guns out and whirling, ready to shred anything in his way.
“Well I can’t wait to fucking test it!” Masters said.
“You may get to soon,” Jethro said as he fed Stomper and Masters the readings of the deaders heading to the Stronghold. “It better be as good as Jay says.”
“Here,” June said as she stepped up next to Jay and handed him a tablet. “Take a look at this.”
Jay studied the tablet readings and looked over at June. “Fuck this shit.”
“Guns and defenses are fully loaded and ready,” Jethro said before Jay could start barking orders. “June has gotten all non-combat personnel into safely secured areas in the Stronghold.”
“I’ll make sure all Railer mechanics are ready,” Jay said. “We’re gonna take some serious heat on this. Even with the power of the Stronghold I don’t know how well we’ll be able to fend those fuckers off. That’s a lot of dead coming at us.”
“You think the Stronghold can be breached?” Masters asked. “By deaders?”
“No,” Jay and Jethro answered at the same time.
“But, they can overwhelm our defenses and bring down the guns,” Jethro said.
“Making it tricky for everyone that’s out on missions to get in,” Jay growled.
“Oh,” Masters said his thoughts immediately on Harlow. “Great.”
“Have we heard from Matty and Rachel?” June asked.
“Jethro?” Jay asked also.
“Not a fucking word,” Jethro responded. “And they were dropping transmitter relays along the way. They should be in range.”
***
“Jesus Christ,” Blue Masterson said as he looked at the crumbling shield generator building. “She’s still in there?”
“Yes,” Mathew croaked as he let an American medic wrap his face and hands in gauze. His uniform was scorched and his neck and arms were bright red from burns. “She was shutting the generator down.”
“Beth was helping her,” Melissa said as she surveyed the destruction. “But I can’t find her.”
“Someone get me Laughlin!” Blue shouted into his com. “What’s your channel, pilot?”
“Huh?” Mathew asked.
“You’re channel? For the Stronghold?” Blue said. “Pay attention. We are at war h
ere, boy!”
“I don’t…fucking know. It’s…ah fuck…385? No…374?” Mathew said. “I…it’s…fuck, ask Themopolous.”
“We can’t,” Blue said.
“You haven’t found her,” Mathew asked. “She was right next to me.”
“We found her,” Blue said and Mathew caught his tone.
“Oh, Jeezus,” Mathew said as he lowered his head. “Dead?”
“Very,” Blue frowned. “Sorry.”
Mathew nodded.
***
“We are proceeding forward,” Mr. Continental smiled. “Our forces will hit the beach in only a few hours. The Americans will be wiped out quickly.”
“And Norton?” Mr. Plain asked.
“He has the forces on the march,” Mr. Brown Eyes said. “The CMPs are about to engage some of Capreze’s mechs. They won’t last but a couple of minutes. Wasteland metal can’t go up against BC.”
“Our techno-zombie soldiers have lined up along the north. If the CMPs fail then they will swoop down and wipe out everything,” Mr. Continental added. “Brilliant idea to bring them across the Bering Straight.”
“I have my moments,” Mr. Plain smiled. “What about Isely?”
“Her second monster is awake and ready to serve,” Mr. Brown Eyes said. “He isn’t flawed like Mr. Stone. The man-.” They all grinned at the word. “-knows how to take orders.”
“Good,” Mr. Continental nodded. “Our troops will need a strong leader. One that can keep going even longer than they can.”
“And Mr. Gein?” Mr. Brown Eyes asked. “What of him?”
“In the brig for the moment,” Mr. Plain said. “Too much of a liability to leave unattended, but too much of an asset to neutralize.”
“Maybe he’ll see the error of his ways,” Mr. Continental commented.
“Perhaps,” Mr. Plain said.
“What is this report of a mass migration of undead across the wasteland?” Mr. Brown Eye’s asked. “Is this true?”
“It appears to be,” Mr. Plain said. “Once the shield went down we could complete full scans. There are hundreds of thousands of the creatures. All moving towards the Stronghold.”
“Maybe the wasteland will do most of our job for us,” Mr. Continental smiled. “But we have the numbers to match if needed.”
“Indeed we do,” Mr. Plain replied.
***
“Oh, my eyes have seen the glory of the marching Disciples!” the Pope sang into a microphone as he sat upon the top of a transport, the wasteland rushing by with a sea of deaders surrounding him. Other transports were mixed in with the deader army, their loudspeakers blaring the Pope’s voice. “They are trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored! They are loosed the fateful hordes like a massive, rotting sword! Their truth is shambling on!”
“GLORY GLORY HALLELUJAH!” every single Rancher sang into their coms, their voices amplified along with the Pope’s. “GLORY GLORY HALLELUJAH! GLORY GLORY HALLELUJAH! THE MARCHING DISCIPLES COME!”
The Great Maker kept pace with the Pope’s transport, his arachnimech carrying him through the onslaught of undead that trudged their way towards the Stronghold. He had agreed to help as a way to make it safely to the Stronghold, but his motivation was far different from the Pope’s.
***
The wasteland was turned into a churning dust storm as close to three hundred cyces roared away from Eden. Dirt and grit flew everywhere and Dog couldn’t help but laugh as he piloted his cyce in the front of the massive pack.
“You doing fine there, cuz?” Immy asked as she sped up next to him.
“Doing great,” Dog replied.
“Pay attention,” Agnatha warned. “Don’t get cocky. This isn’t a mech that will catch itself if you lose control. You go down on a cyce and you go down hard.”
“Got it,” Dog laughed as he accelerated, pushing his cyce across the rough terrain.
“He’s fun!” Immy shouted as she moved to keep pace.
“Damn kids,” Agnatha swore.
“We were like that when we were younger,” the Mayor said. “We just didn’t have the fun toys.”
“Well they better not break them,” Agnatha said. “This is serious.”
She accelerated also and quickly caught up with Dog and Immy. The rest of the cyces followed suit.
Eden was on the move and they weren’t bringing a garden picnic.
***
The guard’s head fell to the floor, twisted clean off. Mr. Stone kicked it aside and deactivated the cell’s shielding.
“Come on, Gein,” Stone said. “Get your drunk ass up. Time to go.”
“Wah…?” Mr. Gein blinked as he stared at his former agent. “How the fuck…?”
“Once I figured out what I was I knew I had to come back and get you,” Stone shrugged. “You’re the only one I know that can help bring these fuckers down. Time to get to a safe place and watch the carnage.”
“Watch the carnage?” Mr. Gein asked as he limped out of the cell. “And then what?”
“Then move in for the kill,” Stone said.
“What if the Americans win?” Mr. Gein asked as he took the assault rifle Stone handed him. “What then?”
“Then our job is done for us,” Stone grinned. “And we’ll be free to play with the Americans.”
“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Mr. Gein asked. “You have to cause trouble and keep fighting.”
“Why should I help myself, as you say?” Stone laughed. “Who’s going to stop me now?”
***
Edgar Styles, formerly Styles 000075, but recently rechristened Styles 1, stood up on the platform and looked out upon the many faces that were his, and the many BTTs that they would pilot.
“Hey, y’all,” Styles said, tipping his hat. The fifty plus others all tipped their hats to him. “Glad you could all be here.”
There was a low chuckle from the crowd.
“As you all know, our good friend Prince Alexander Tartarov decided that cloning me- well, us- would be a good idea,” Styles said. “While I wish he was here so I could kick the fuck out of him for it, I can’t really argue with him too much.”
A holo came to life behind him and he pointed at the map of the wasteland. “We have some American friends that are about to get their dicks and tits blown off by those Three motherfuckers,” Styles explained. “There are also some other folk we might call long, lost kin that sure could use our help.”
“Why should we give a fuck?” one of the Styleses shouted.
“Why shouldn’t we?” Styles 1 replied. “If any one of you can give me a decent reason why we shouldn’t fly into the middle of this mess and blow some motherfuckers up then please let me know.”
No one answered.
“Exactly,” Styles 1 said, pointing at the Styles that had spoken up. “Get your hat on right, boy. Our job is to fly some serious biochrome right up the asses of some motherfuckers that deserve some serious biochrome flown up their asses! Y’all down with that?”
“FUCK YEAH!” they all shouted as one.
“God damn right we are,” Styles 1 smiled as he turned to Dr. Maszle. “Guess the Styles Air Force is ready to get its war on. Anything you want to say?”
Dr. Maszle looked out at the Styleses and grinned. “Kill ‘em all, boys!”
The entire group erupted into hoots and hollers as they tossed their cowboy hats into the air. With hats quickly retrieved they all made their way to their BTTs and the preflight checklists began.
“May not make it through this,” Styles smiled at Dr. Maszle as he took her in his arms. He kissed her deeply and then pulled away, tipping his hat back on his head. “But if I do I’m coming back so you can show me that Carnivale you keep talkin’ about.”
He winked at her and jumped off the platform, working his way to his own BTT.
The air was about to be owned.
***
The Mayor watched everything on the Eden vid screens. Talaria got up and walked
over to him.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked.
“Never been more sure in my life,” he replied. “The old ways are done. Time to rip this Hell apart and rebuild.”
She leaned in and kissed his lips, his cheeks, his forehead. “I hope you’re right. We have a good thing here.”
“We have a safe thing here,” the Mayor said. “Life isn’t safe. Time to live a little.”
“All set,” a tech announced. “Just waiting on the order.”
“Order given,” the Mayor smiled. “Time to connect the wasteland. Let’s open the lines of communications. No more hiding.”
The tech tapped at his keyboard and the command was given. Coms, vids, and every other communication type devices across the wasteland were simultaneously connected, creating one single network. Relays placed across the land, whether on mesas, in mountains, the edges of canyons, inside the bowels of hundreds of shambling, running, crawling deaders, everywhere, all linked together. The Mayor smiled as he had an open channel to every single soul with a com.
“Hello, wasteland,” the Mayor announced. “This is the Mayor of Eden. I’ll be your host while we get this war started. A couple words first, though. Don’t try to jam me because it can’t be done. And don’t try to shift channels. You’ll have some wiggle room on the first couple of tries, but then my system will fry your system and you’ll be deaf, and possibly blind, while everything goes down. It’s all or nothing, folks. Hear it all or hear nothing. I look forward to talking to many of you.”
“Filter in place,” a tech said. “Chatter is now segregated and controlled.”
“Send me the feeds,” the Mayor said. “I want to know who is saying what. I’d hate to get all the players confused.”
“Feeds are sent,” the tech replied. “Your panel should show them.”
The Mayor looked at the arm of his chair. He smiled as the names Stronghold, Capreze Mechs, the Americans, Ranchers, Railers, Unknown Mechs, the Canadians, and Eden Cyces, all lit up.
