Iron Dragoons (Terran Armor Corps Book 1)

by Richard Fox

  A zoomed-in video feed came up on Roland’s UI. Domed ships on clusters of thrusters crossed beneath the upper edge of the hurricane. Pairs of Vishrakath fighters trailed the larger landing ships.

  “Are they here because they heard us call for an exit,” Aignar asked, “or to pick up the other team?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Gideon raised his cannon arm. “Three of us will engage with rail cannons. Roland on overwatch. Let’s find their landing zone. It’ll be the easiest place to shoot them down…and probably where our flyboys will want to land.”

  They ran through the city, the buildings rising in height as they neared the center. The vines stopped growing after the third story. Every building corner had the same set of statues, all flat-headed and double-eyed, frog-like humanoids holding spheres in their over-long fingers.

  The road opened into a small square surrounded by squat buildings. What might have been a grassy patch was now overrun with reeds and loops of tiny bell-shaped flowers.

  “Got line of sight on the aircraft,” Cha’ril said.

  “Drop anchor, single salvo,” Gideon said.

  As Roland tore through the undergrowth that seemed to clutch at him, his acoustics isolated a sound behind the vine-choked buildings. He ducked down and looked through a window ringed with broken glass. Through an open back door, a dozen Vishrakath soldiers pushed their way in. More—many more—were behind them.

  Roland dropped down and spun his rotary cannon to life.

  There was a single, high-pitched sound from the lead alien before Roland’s weapon tore him, and the three soldiers behind him, into bloody chunks. Roland fired his gauss cannon into the building, the heavy shells penetrating the back walls, turning the ancient structure into shrapnel that pulverized the Vishrakath infantry massing behind the building.

  Roland activated his grenade launcher, lobbing shells high over the road leading to the square and the opposite side of the buildings.

  The front of the structure collapsed, kicking up a cloud of dust. Scattered Vishrakath soldiers filled the road, all of them now with a clear shot at the armor.

  Roland’s mortar rounds burst in the air over the aliens’ heads, showering them with a spray of shrapnel. In the confusion of the bombardment and snap shots from his rotary and gauss cannons, the Vishrakath infantry broke and ran.

  A massive thunderclap broke behind him, the blast of three rail guns firing at once pushing him forward and into the fallen building.

  Overhead, two of the alien landers were expanding fireballs. The third wobbled in the sky and flew into the hurricane where wind yanked it aside and into the gray morass. Flashes of explosions followed moments later.

  “Who missed?” Roland asked.

  “I want crap from you, I’ll squeeze your head,” Aignar said.

  “Fast movers coming in,” Gideon said, pointing to an avenue between the tallest buildings.

  Roland stomped through the destroyed building and caught a movement next to where the walls still stood. A Vishrakath soldier lay on its back, chest heaving, two of its four legs bent at painful angles, one arm reaching for a plasma rifle leaned against the wall next to it. Roland snapped his rotary cannon toward the Vishrakath.

  “Your choice,” Roland said.

  The alien knocked the weapon away.

  Roland ran down the narrow street, keeping his rotary cannon aimed at the wounded soldier until it was out of sight.

  A shadow fell over the armor as they ran down the street, the shimmer of a lake at the far end. The whine of jet engines echoed down the Baradan-made canyon.

  “Six o’clock,” Cha’ril said.

  “Phalanx,” Gideon said and they spread out into a line. Four Vishrakath fighters dove between the buildings and charged straight for the armor. A line of energy bolts cut through the air and stitched down the road, blasting up hexagon tiles. Roland and the rest threw up a storm of bullets into the fighter’s flight path and two of the fighters exploded instantly. The third turned aside and crashed into a skyscraper, bouncing from building to building before shattering against the road.

  The fourth pulled up and banked out of sight.

  “Other side,” Aignar said.

  Amber icons flashed on Roland’s UI.

  “Low on ammo,” he said.

  “Same,” Cha’ril added.

  As a stack of enemy fighters formed over the lake and sped toward them, the uppermost burst apart. The next two flipped over and spiraled down, trailing smoke. The survivor pulled up out of the narrow attack path and exploded just as it cleared the buildings.

  A pair of Eagle fighters slashed through the air high overhead.

  “Thought we were the cavalry,” Gideon said. “Hurry.”

  “Iron Dragoons, this is Skull Leader off the Matterhorn. We see your handiwork but not you. How copy?” came over the radio.

  “Skull Leader, this is Dragoon actual. Package secured. Need to evac it before more Vish show up,” Gideon said.

  “Can do better than that. Destrier spiraling down now. Think Admiral Stolzoff and the rest of 3rd Fleet convinced the Vish to play nice,” the pilot said.

  The armor came out and onto the edge of an opal-blue lake. A Terran transport ship, flanked by Eagle fighters, angled toward them.

  Roland looked at the case locked onto Cha’ril’s back, unsure exactly what was in there and if it was worth all the death and destruction. He spun his rotary cannon down and felt an enormous weight come over his shoulders. He stumbled to the side, and Aignar caught him before he went into the lake.

  “You all right?”

  “Roland, your synch rating’s bottoming out.” Gideon rapped knuckles against his breastplate. “Who are you?”

  “Shaw, Roland—”

  Gideon punched Roland’s chest hard enough to send a ripple through his amniosis.

  “Who. Are. You?”

  Roland pulled himself up and pushed Aignar away.

  “Armor. I am armor.”

  “I am fury,” Aignar said.

  “We did not fail.” Cha’ril touched Roland’s shoulder and gave him a gentle shake as the transport closed in on them.

  Chapter 21

  Roland tugged at the collar of his dress uniform. Wearing actual clothes after so long in the womb felt more and more unusual as time went on. He double-checked his scant ribbons and looked at Aignar’s chest full of color and at Cha’ril, whose dress uniform was a bright white tunic, long skirt and sandals with a sash over her chest.

  The three stood before a metal double door built into the cold Martian rock beneath Olympus.

  “Roland, you first,” Aignar said.

  “Why don’t you—”

  “Because you’re the hero of the day, kid.” Aignar punched him in the shoulder. “Next time, don’t come back from the dead and save my ass.”

  “That’s not what happened. Saving your ass, yes, not the other part.”

  “Thank you for my ass.” Cha’ril punched him on the other shoulder. “Idioms! What fun.”

  “I wonder if the Terran exchange armor on Dotari have to put up with this,” Roland muttered.

  One of the doors opened slightly, and the three snapped to attention. It swung open and Lieutenant Silva, in his dress uniform, motioned Roland forward, leaving the other two outside.

  Behind the door, a wide red carpet led to a raised platform. Pairs of armor faced each other over the carpet, shoulder to shoulder, all the way to the end. Roland walked beside Silva, and the armor beat a fist to their chests as they passed, tolling like a bell.

  Colonel Martel and Gideon stood on the platform, and an adjutant held a silver plate next to him. Armor soldiers formed ranks behind the platform.

  Silva held a hand against Roland’s chest. Tongea stepped from behind a suit of armor and blocked Roland’s path.

  “This one is unworthy,” the Maori said. “I do not know his deeds.”

  “I am Candidate—”

  Tongea backhanded him across the face. Roland taste
d blood and felt his anger rise. Tongea brushed a thumb tip across his tall stack of ribbons.

  “I fought the Vishrakath on Barada. Killed their walkers and their soldiers. My lance commander witnessed my deeds.” Roland glanced at Gideon.

  “No man can do this,” Tongea said. “Who are you?”

  “Can—” Roland stopped himself as Tongea raised his hand to strike again.

  “If you do not know who you are, then tell us why you fight,” Tongea said.

  “To belong,” Roland said, lowering his head. “To stand beside heroes and be found worthy.”

  Tongea stepped aside.

  Roland walked to Colonel Martel. He picked up a sword from the table and planted the point between his feet.

  “A petitioner,” Martel said to Gideon. “Will you have him?”

  “Who is he?” Gideon asked.

  “I am…armor,” Roland said.

  “I’ve seen this one’s iron. I will have him in my lance,” Gideon said.

  “Kneel,” Martel ordered.

  Roland went down on one knee.

  “Armor, you have been found worthy in deed, honor and dedication to the Corps. Will you swear to uphold the highest traditions of our Corps, the laws of our worlds and give your life for the innocent?”

  “I do,” Roland said. He felt a caress down the back of his neck and over his plugs, and the face he had seen on Barada came to his mind.

  Martel lifted the sword and touched it to Roland’s shoulders, then he pulled the sword away and punched Roland in the face. Roland swayed to the side, his ears ringing.

  “That is so you do not forget your vow,” Martel said. “Rise…an Iron Dragoon.”

  He stood, and the armor soldiers broke into applause. Martel pressed a metal pin into his left hand. The Armor Corps insignia glinted up at Roland.

  “Well done, son. Well done,” Martel said.

  Tongea took him by the elbow and led him away from the stage. The Maori gave Roland a quick pat on the cheek.

  “Sir,” Roland said quietly, “a moment.”

  “I have to challenge the others,” Tongea said.

  “I need to speak to you…about her, about Saint Kallen,” Roland said. He looked away, almost ashamed at the swell of emotions in his chest.

  “I’ll take you to her,” Tongea said. “Later.”

  Roland nodded, his eyes lingering over the Templar cross on the older man’s chest, then falling to the Armor Corps badge in his hand. He squeezed his hand around the piece of metal and felt the edges bite into his flesh.

  Chapter 22

  Minder, as she preferred to be called, walked around the open stasis cube with her hands clasped behind her back. She kept her normal shape, that of a straight-backed but elderly woman, while fractal patterns played across her shell.

  A golden lattice made of solid light sat in the cube, tiny white motes moving along the lines randomly.

  As the last-known Xaros drone moved her hand over the lattice, her fingers grew longer, playing in the hue over the artifact. After days of examination, she had come to two inescapable conclusions, both of which filled her with dread.

  She flicked a hand toward a sensor on the ceiling of her laboratory deep in the Crucible, and two holograms filled the room.

  President Garret sat at his desk, staring at a slate. He did a double take once he saw Minder. The other hologram was scrambled, the outline breaking up again and again.

  “Well?” Garret stood up and tossed his slate aside. “Did we find the fountain of youth or some old collection of alien poetry?”

  “It’s a Qa’Resh codex,” Minder said. “No doubt about that. I doubt the Baradans managed to translate any of it, certainly don’t see any sign of that in their ruins.”

  “You’re stalling.” Words from the scrambled hologram came through with an altered pitch, artificial.

  “Accessing Qa’Resh technology is difficult…but this is a log from a Qa’Resh starship. The final entry is of a crash, rescue efforts. We know how resilient their technology is. I believe it’s still out there. It’ll take time to find it.”

  “A Qa’Resh ship…,” the broken hologram said. “They were on par with the Xaros before they vanished from the galaxy. Finding that ship would change the galaxy forever.”

  “If it’s a race, we’re behind. Way behind.” Minder shook her head. “Someone accessed this before me. I see her fingerprints in the quantum lattice. It can only be her. She must have left it behind to taunt us.”

  Garret cursed and knocked a data slate off his desk.

  “Not what we need right now,” he said. “The Vishrakath and their allies are two seconds away from declaring war on us. Are you sure? Absolutely sure?”

  “Yes,” Minder said. “The Ibarras found this device before we did. If they find that ship before we do…”

  “We don’t owe them anymore,” the broken hologram said. “It is time to destroy them before they turn the rest of the galaxy against us.”

  “Agreed.” Garret sank back into his chair. “Minder?”

  “Do it,” she said.

  THE END

  Roland’s story continues in The Ibarra Sanction, coming Spring 2017!

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  Hello Dear and Gentle Reader,

  Thank you for reading Iron Dragoon I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I did writing the exploits of Roland and his fellow bean heads. The Iron Dragoons continue the universe of The Ember War Saga, and there is much more in store for Roland when he and his lance are called back to war.

  Please leave a review on Amazon and let me know how I’m doing as a storyteller.

  I’ve been a fan of science fiction since I saw Star Wars in the theater when I was a wee lad. My love for all things space ship and giant robot has only grown over time, I’m fortunate that I can add a few new stories to the genre.

  Drop me a line at Richard@richardfoxauthor.com.

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  Also By Richard Fox:

  The Ember War Saga:

  1. The Ember War

  2. The Ruins of Anthalas

  3. Blood of Heroes

  4. Earth Defiant

  5. The Gardens of Nibiru

  6. The Battle of the Void

  7. The Siege of Earth

  8. The Crucible

  9. The Xaros Reckoning

  Terran Armor Corps:

  1. Iron Dragoons

  2. The Ibarra Sanction (Coming Spring 2017!)

  The Exiled Fleet Series:

  1. Albion Lost

  2. The Long March (Coming Spring 2017!)

  Iron Hearts

  Join my mailing list and read an exclusive Ember War Story

  about Saint Kallen and the Iron Hearts!

  IRON HEARTS

  Elias, soldier of the Iron Hearts and pilot of a mechanized suit of armor, lies comatose in a hospital. His mind trapped within the prison of his failing body. With no other option but to watch their friend wither away, his fellow Iron Hearts concoct a dangerous plan to save him.

  Click HERE (or copy and paste http://eepurl.com/bLj1gf) to join my spam free mailing list and get the exclusive short stories set immediately after the events of The Ember War and during The Ruins of Anthalas.

  The Ember War

  Before Iron Dragoons, humanity fought The Ember War.

  The Earth is doomed. Humanity has a chance.

  In the near future, an alien probe arrives on Earth with a pivotal mission—determine if humanity has what it takes to survive the impending invasion by a merciless armada.

  The probe discovers Marc Ibarra, a young inventor, who holds the key to a daring gambit that could save a fraction of Earth's population. Humanity's only chance lies with Ibarra's ability to keep a terrible secret and engineer the planet down the narrow path to
survival.

  Earth will need a fleet. One with a hidden purpose. One strong enough to fight a battle against annihilation.

  The Ember War is the first installment in an epic military sci-fi series. If you like A Hymn Before Battle by John Ringo and The Last Starship by Vaughn Heppner, then you'll love this explosive adventure with constant thrills and high stakes from cover to cover.

  Here’s a sample for you:

  Chapter 1

  THE NEAR FUTURE

  Humanity’s only hope of survival entered the solar system at nearly the speed of light. The probe slowed as the sun’s heliosphere disrupted the graviton wave it rode in on from the abyss of deep space. Awakened by the sudden deceleration, the probe absorbed the electromagnetic spectrum utilized by its target species and assessed the technological sophistication of the sole sentient species on Earth.

  The probe adjusted its course to take it into the system’s star. If the humans couldn’t survive—with its help—what was to come, then the probe would annihilate itself. There would be no trace of it for the enemy, and no chance of humanity’s existence beyond the time it had until the enemy arrived. The probe analyzed filed patents, military expenditures, birth rates, mathematical advancement and space exploration.

  The first assessment fell within the margin of error of survival and extinction for humanity. The probe’s programming allowed for limited autonomous decision making (choice being a rare luxury for the probe’s class of artificial intelligence). The probe found itself in a position to choose between ending its mission in the sun’s fire and a mathematically improbable defense of humanity—and the potential compromise of its much larger mission.