Fighting Iron 2: Perdition Plains

by Jake Bible

  He didn’t finish as the battle mech’s cannons fired. Plasma bolts flew towards the Vernacht and Clay gripped the claw controls, his eyes watching as the energy blasts grew closer and closer. He swung the claw in a wide arc and managed to block both plasma bolts, but not without great expense.

  “Claw just lost three fingers,” Clay said. “I can maybe swipe away a couple more plasma attacks, but then it’s lights out for the claw.”

  “Do what you can,” Gibbons said. “I think I found us a place to hide. It looks like a burrow.”

  “A burrow?” Clay asked. “Big enough for a Vernacht to—?”

  He shut up and concentrated on the second wave of plasma bolts coming at them. A swipe of the claw and the appendage no longer had any usable fingers. The remaining digits had been blasted from the palm except for one which hung by a bent and scorched strut. Clay gave the claw arm a shake and the last digit broke free and fell to the ground.

  “We’ll be taking body blows from here on out,” Clay said.

  “I am aware,” Gibbons replied.

  “How close is that burrow?” Clay asked. “Can it be called a burrow? It would have to be a massive cavern or something for this thing to fit.”

  “We’re not close enough for deep scanners to penetrate the ground yet,” Gibbons said. “But luckily this machine is equipped with the capabilities to render us an almost three-dimensional view once we are close enough. Construction mechs do have some perks.”

  “You’re not giving up on the battle mech, are you?” Clay asked.

  Gibbons sighed. “Hear that sound? That’s me sighing with as much exasperation and sarcasm as possible. Let me do it again.” Gibbons sighed even longer.

  “Okay, I get it,” Clay said.

  The battle mech seemed to be gaining ground and Clay checked the scanners. “Gibbons?”

  “I see it,” Gibbons said. “Whatever repairs they did to our mech, it’s increased the travel efficiency. The flesh parts are making the mech faster. Possibly due to weight or just increased flexibility in the joints.”

  “We’re going to have to take a stand and fight,” Clay said.

  “How? The only weapon this mech had was the claw,” Gibbons said.

  “I can handle this,” Clay said.

  He’d been standing at the controls the whole time, but as the battle mech gained on them, he sat down in the pilot’s seat and strapped in.

  “I’m going to need full control, buddy,” Clay said. “Keep us running full out until I give the word then switch it all over to me.”

  “Don’t break our mech,” Gibbons said.

  “I’ll try not to, but no promises,” Clay said. “I bet Holcomb will just fix it back up with bison bits, anyway. Right now, we need to worry about us not getting broken.”

  Clay ran his hands over the mech controls. Eight legs with a claw arm. No claw, but the arm was still functional and Clay could work with that. He also saw that there were four blast torches, two ramming pistons, and something marked SMCPLV.

  “Gibbons? What the hell is a SMCPLV?” Clay asked.

  “Seismic pulverizer,” Gibbons replied. “You can center the mech over large boulders and crush them using concentrated sound waves. It really should be called a sonic pulverizer, but seismic sounds better. I’ll bet it was the sales department that named it when these models were first for sale. That would have been way before the Bloody Conflict started and all mechs were requisitioned for military use.”

  “Seismic pulverizer,” Clay said. “I like that. Can we get one for our mech?”

  “Not unless we want to add about two hundred tons of stabilizing weight and six more legs,” Gibbons replied. Clay didn’t respond. “No, we are not adding two hundred tons of stabilizing weight and six more legs to our battle mech, Clay. Get it out of your head.”

  “You’re no fun, buddy,” Clay said.

  They kept running, the battle mech slowly getting closer and closer.

  “If we are going to make a stand, then we need to do it here,” Gibbons said. “Any farther and the battle mech will be able to scan where we are going once we kick its butt and get back to running away.”

  “I like your optimism,” Clay said. “Give me the controls and let’s make our stand.”

  Clay felt the pilot’s seat fully come to life and the consoles around him, the ones Gibbons had shut down for added power, lit back up. Clay turned the mech so that two of the blast torches were facing the oncoming battle mech.

  “You have a plan?” Gibbons asked.

  “I do,” Clay said. “It’s so simple I feel bad I didn’t think about it before.”

  “Want to give me a hint?” Gibbons asked.

  “You’re about to see,” Clay said.

  The battle mech slowed then came to a full stop. Clay flipped the com to an open channel.

  “Mr. Bell,” Clay called. “You can handle a mech, I’ll give you that. I know you think you have a job to do and all, but how about you quit while you’re ahead and abandon our mech? Just hop on out and walk away? You can keep that patchwork skin of yours intact, we get our property back, and everyone goes their separate ways. Deal?”

  Clay was answered by a low growl then a sharp snarl.

  “He’s increased his vocabulary,” Clay said.

  “Doubled it even,” Gibbons added.

  A second voice broke in. “Mr. MacAulay? This is Holcomb.”

  “I figured,” Clay replied. “What can I do for you, Holcomb?”

  “You can return my Vernacht and refrain from damaging your mech,” Holcomb said. “You do that, and I’ll even let you upload your AI into a roller system, and you both can be on your way.”

  “He’s lying,” Gibbons said. “Voice analysis says he has no intention of letting us do any of that. You step out of this mech and you’re dead, Clay. Then they’ll dismantle my programming until I’m no more than a basic autopilot. He’s also scared. Terrified even. We must have him worried.”

  “I don’t think he’s terrified of us,” Clay said. “You never saw the folks in charge. Those people are downright Satanic, if you ask me. Pure evil.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Gibbons said.

  “Holcomb, I appreciate the offer, but we both know you can’t make good on anything you just said,” Clay responded over the com. “We give up and we’re dead, both of us. I’m going to have to undo some of your handy work so we can be on our way. But before I do, I want you to know this is far from over. We will be back. We will take our mech. We will stomp our way into town and pay the folks in charge back. In full.”

  “I am sorry to hear you say that, Mr. MacAulay,” Holcomb replied. “I kinda liked you, son. You have spirit. Which is why I guess you’d never fit in around Perdition Plains. Spirit is frowned upon here.”

  “I gathered that quickly,” Clay said.

  He moved the Vernacht in a slow pace towards the battle mech.

  “Mr. Bell? My offer still stands,” Clay said. “Get out, walk away, and no harm comes to you.”

  The battle mech raised the plasma cannons once more, their tips glowing hot as they prepared to fire.

  “Alright then,” Clay said and engaged the blast torches.

  The flames extended in bright blue and orange streams straight out of the side of the Vernacht. The battle mech quickly began to retreat as the flesh components on its structure started to smolder and bubble.

  “Damn,” Gibbons said. “This is why you’re the best mech pilot in the land.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Clay said.

  “It’s a small pool, so you have a good shot at that title,” Gibbons said. “Most of the really good ones are long dead.”

  “Cute,” Clay said and piloted the Vernacht closer to the battle mech.

  Clay upped the fuel to the blast torches and the streams of fire extended several meters further, cooking one of the flesh patches on the battle mech’s right knee joint. There was a loud hiss then pop as the rotten bison flesh burned a
ll the way through and the knee gave out.

  “Going in for the kill,” Clay said.

  Then the battle mech’s plasma cannons opened up, and Clay was shouting orders for Gibbons to take back control and get them out of there. Sparks flew everywhere, and the cockpit became a cage filled with caustic smoke.

  As Gibbons got the Vernacht moving again, Clay undid his straps and crawled over to the cockpit’s door. He shoved it open and gulped fresh air. Or as fresh as the air was that close to Perdition Plains.

  “We lost one of the legs. It’s hanging on by a couple cables only,” Gibbons announced. “Two more are damaged and at half their functionality. I’m ditching the lost one and retracting the damaged ones. I’ll redistribute power to the ones that are working fully.”

  “Can you do that?” Clay asked. “Won’t we fall over?”

  “It’s why the Vernacht has eight legs, Clay,” Gibbons said in a tone that came very close to duh.

  “Fine,” Clay said. “Do what you have to. Are we out of range of the—?”

  Clay’s question was simultaneously cut off and answered as several more plasma bolts impacted with the Vernacht’s structure. Klaxons blared, more smoke filled the cockpit, and Clay stayed hunkered down by the open door, as worried about the shower of sparks issuing from the sizzling consoles as he was about the smoke.

  He lifted his head and stared across the plains at the far-off battle mech. More plasma bolts came at them, but Gibbons had managed to get the Vernacht out of range.

  “Mr. MacAulay?” Holcomb’s voice crackled in the speakers. “Mr. MacAulay? This is far from over. I am sorry it had to come to this.”

  “You and me both,” Clay said to himself. He didn’t bother engaging the com and actually responding.

  Holcomb continued speaking, but the connection was quickly lost as Gibbons got the Vernacht far enough away. Soon, they were far over the horizon and the downed battle mech was completely lost from sight.

  “It’s returning to the locks,” Gibbons said. “We’ll be out of its scan range in about six kilometers.”

  “Good,” Clay said. “How far until we reach the burrow you found?”

  “That’s approximately eighteen kilometers,” Gibbons said. “But you’ll have to go on your own, Clay.”

  “I’ll what?” Clay exclaimed.

  “I am going to need to power down two more legs,” Gibbons said. “I won’t disengage them completely, but they’ll only be there for stability, not propulsion. Mr. Bell is quite the marksman with the plasma cannons.”

  “But you can keep this thing moving?” Clay asked.

  “Yes,” Gibbons answered.

  “Then why am I leaving and going to the burrow on my own?” Clay asked. “I’ll just stay in here with you.”

  “Clay, are you aware of your current situation?” Gibbons asked. “You are lying prone on the floor, halfway out of the door because the air in the cockpit is fouled beyond being breathable.”

  “Well, yeah, there’s that,” Clay admitted.

  “I’m also dealing with a possible hack situation,” Gibbons said. “It looks like Holcomb may have remote access to the Vernacht’s systems. It’s rudimentary, and I am blocking it successfully, but just in case my attention waivers, I’d hate for you to die because of any self-destruct sequence that is triggered.”

  Clay gulped. “That’s possible?”

  “Like I said, Clay, I am blocking it successfully, but this mech’s primary system is not designed to handle an AI of my caliber,” Gibbons said. “It’s like you trying to fit into a children’s poncho. Things could break, and there’s not a lot I can do about it. It’ll be easier for me to work out the problem knowing I won’t accidentally kill you if I am the one that mistakenly triggers the self-destruct.”

  “Well, when you put it that way,” Clay said. “Try to get me as close as possible, will ya?”

  “I will,” Gibbons said.

  They trekked on in silence for another sixteen kilometers. Clay half dozed on the floor, coughing now and again as the cockpit smoke wafted over him. He was amazed the whole thing didn’t just go up in flames, but the Vernacht was mostly constructed of fire-retardant materials and all it did was sizzle and smolder. Clay laughed to himself how his battle mech, which was designed to engage in combat and get parts and pieces blown off, wasn’t even close to as fire retardant as the Vernacht. The military on both sides of the Bloody Conflict could have saved countless lives by taking some cues from the private sector and construction industry.

  The mech slowed, and Gibbons lowered the main body down to the ground.

  “This is as far as we go,” Gibbons said. “I don’t know the blast radius if this machine goes up.”

  “No claw to take me to the ground,” Clay said.

  “I have extended a side ladder,” Gibbons said.

  “Great,” Clay said.

  He scrambled all the way out of the mech and found the ladder.

  “Stay safe, Gibbons,” Clay said. “Try not to blow up.”

  “Until we meet again,” Gibbons responded.

  “Until we meet again?” Clay laughed. “Nice one.”

  He descended to the ground, stretched his legs a few times, then started on his journey. He thumbed open his watch and the route to the burrow was clearly delineated across the face. Two kilometers and he’d be there.

  The walk was not a fun one. The plains looked flat when you observed them on a grand scale, but down close, the ground was chock full of obstacles. Mostly ankle-breaker holes from where prairie dogs had created yet another entrance/exit to their warren. He caught sight of one of the critters now and then, heard their high-pitched calls of warning, then watched them disappear in a blink.

  Clay was so engrossed with looking out for prairie dog holes that he almost didn’t notice that he was ascending a slight hill. When his breathing increased and legs grew even more tired, he stopped and checked his watch. He’d arrived. He spun in a circle, but didn’t see anything.

  Clay started walking again, and within seconds, he found what he was looking for on the far side of the low hill. There was a massive opening, obviously to a huge cave made from limestone. He clambered down the hill to the cave mouth and peered into the darkness.

  He was about to walk inside when he felt the ground under him shake. He knew that feeling.

  “Gibbons?” Clay called over the com. “Is that you?”

  “Is what me?” Gibbons asked, his voice staticky but clear enough to hear. “I haven’t moved a centimeter.”

  “I feel mech feet,” Clay said. “Is Mr. Bell coming after us again?”

  “I have the scanners offline as I try to repair some of the other systems,” Gibbons said. “But I highly doubt it could be our battle mech. They wouldn’t have had time to make repairs and catch up to us.”

  “That’s not good,” Clay said. “It means we have a mystery mech…on…our…”

  Clay hurried back away from the cave mouth. His left heel slipped into a prairie dog hole and he fell hard on his ass, pain radiating up from his ankle.

  “Oh…my…god,” Clay whispered.

  “Clay? Clay! What is it?” Gibbons called.

  Clay didn’t reply.

  Thirteen

  It was unlike anything Clay had ever seen before. Which was saying something since Clay had seen a lot in his time, especially things down in the Brazilian Empire that he even hadn’t told Gibbons about.

  But what emerged from the cave mouth was like nothing Clay had experienced.

  Except that wasn’t quite true. It actually had a very familiar look to it.

  “What the holy hell in a hand basket is this shit?” Clay muttered as he scooted across the dirt and through the prairie grasses on his ass. “I must have fallen asleep while walking. This is just some surreal dream. Gotta be.”

  “Clay! Answer me, dammit!” Gibbons yelled.

  “I’m here, buddy,” Clay replied. “But you aren’t real. I’m sleeping.”

&nbs
p; “You are not sleeping!” Gibbons barked. “What is going on? Why are you talking like that?”

  “I’m not sleeping?” Clay asked.

  “You are not sleeping!” Gibbons shouted.

  “Huh,” Clay said. “Then this is going to be hard to explain.”

  “What is?” Gibbons demanded.

  “You know how we thought what they did to our mech was weird?” Clay asked. “Repairing it with bison parts?”

  “Yes, Clay, that was a recent experience,” Gibbons said. “I haven’t forgotten it.”

  The thing before Clay had come fully out of the cavern and towered over him. The smell was intense, but not rotten. That surprised Clay. One of many surprises.

  “Yeah, well, I think I’m looking at a mech made entirely of bison parts,” Clay said. “I’m staring at a flesh mech.”

  “A flesh mech?” Gibbons asked.

  “A flesh mech,” Clay repeated. “A mech made of flesh. Fully articulated arms, legs, torso. Not as large as our battle mech, not cavalry. More like one of the squat infantry mechs. The ones they used at the start of the Bloody Conflict before resources started dwindling.”

  “A flesh mech?” Gibbons asked.

  “Yep,” Clay said. “Flesh mech. Gotta be ten meters tall and ten wide. It’s a bruiser.”

  “Even my processing capacity is having a hard time understanding what you are telling me,” Gibbons said. “A flesh mech?”

  “Can we skip that question?” Clay replied. “We’ve established I’m looking at a flesh mech. Oh, shit, and the cockpit is opening.”

  “Is the cockpit actually made of—?” Gibbons started.

  “No,” Clay interrupted. “Do not finish that question. We’ll skip the anatomy lesson today, thank you kindly.”

  “Hello down there!” a voice called out as the fleshy cockpit hatch opened fully and a man appeared at the edge. “You must be Clay MacAulay! You got my note, I see! This is such an honor to meet a real mech pilot in the flesh!”

  The man laughed hard, clutching at his belly for a few seconds until he calmed down.

  “I apologize for the pun,” the man said. “My humor tends to be of a simple style.”