Click Click Boom (War Wolves Book 2)

by Jonathan Yanez

  Riot heard and understood all of these words as she nodded along. Her eyes never left the scene in front of her. On the other side of the protective force field, Riot had a bird’s eye view of planet Raydon.

  The Dreadnaught had traveled close, so close now, Riot wondered how they weren’t being pulled into the planet’s atmosphere yet. Blue bolts of energy, as well as massive rockets, were being hurled at the planet below.

  The reddish cream texture of Raydon exploded in smoke and dust as the first explosions rocked the planet below. A mushroom cloud that looked like the size of Riot’s thumb erupted a moment later.

  “It’s hard to believe much can live through that,” Vet breathed. “You Grovothe don’t mess around.”

  “We do not. But be that as it may, there will still be thousands of Zenoth protecting the hive when we land.” Rippa motioned to the far side of the hangar, where four giant suits of armor stood against the wall. “If it weren’t for the mechs, we wouldn’t have a chance of close-range combat.”

  Riot followed Rippa’s gaze to the far end of the hangar. What she saw shocked her. Four twenty-foot tall robotic suits stood ready. They looked like walking tanks, with two thick armored legs and arms sprouting from the center. An intimidating helmet looked out onto the hangar bay with judgment in its eyes.

  “Holy nachos, and the almighty Taco Bell.” Wang breathed hard as if he were hyperventilating. “Are those what I think they are?”

  “Mechs,” Vet whispered, answering his comrade’s question. “We’re going to get mechs?”

  “Easy there,” Rippa said, pushing past Riot’s unit. She waved them to walk alongside her. “Learning to pilot a mech of this size takes years of dedicated practice and discipline. Even if you humans could master this type of mech, you’d need a very long time to practice. These are Juggernaut class mechs that are piloted by my unit and myself—the Spartans.”

  “Spartans? Like… on Earth?”

  “Actually,” Rippa laughed, “the way I understand it, the ones on Earth took it from us when our ancestors were called down to train them.”

  Riot was having yet another moment where she was listening and understanding everything Rippa was saying, yet her eyes never left the twenty-foot armored mech units standing in front of them.

  As they got closer, Riot saw there were already three other Grovothe checking and inspecting the armored units. The shorter race of aliens used powered lifts to move up and down the height of their battle suits.

  The smell of oil and grease assailed Riot’s nostrils as the constant booming of the Dreadnaught’s guns drifted in the background.

  “This is my unit,” Rippa said, motioning forward to the three Grovothe who were coming down from their lifts to greet the newcomers. “Brimley, Atlas, and Ragnar.”

  “Hello,” Brimley said, nodding to Riot and her team.

  Atlas gave them a suspicious stare, but nodded, as well.

  “Wow, this is going to be just the best.” Ragnar hopped off his lift and went around shaking everyone’s hands. He stopped when he came to Ketrick. “Is it true, giant?”

  “Is what true?” Ketrick asked, trying to free his hand from the much smaller Grovothe’s grip.

  “Do you have a space serpent with you at your command?”

  Ketrick finally pulled his hand free. “I do. Her name is Vikta.”

  “Oh, my lucky stars.” Ragnar ran a hand through his short, dark Mohawk. “We’re riding into battle with humans, a giant Trilord, and a space serpent!”

  “Control yourself,” Rippa commanded her soldier. “How do the mechs look?”

  “All checked out and in working order.” Brimley reached down and grabbed a checklist clamped to a folder on the ground. “We’re reloaded and fuel is stocked.”

  “So the four of you are going to be in your mechs when we assault the Zenoth hive tomorrow, and we’ll be in what?” Riot asked, glancing up once more at the giant bodies of armor. She couldn’t remember seeing anything more intimidating. Okay, one thing more intimidating: a charging dragon.

  “We’ll lead the assault,” Rippa said, lifting her eyes from the report in Brimley’s hands. “You’ll be our backup. Will the human armor you brought with you not suffice?”

  “Oh, we’ll be just fine,” Riot said.

  Wang, Rizzo, and Vet were all walking around the mechs, having all their questions answered by a very talkative Ragnar.

  “Is there a problem, giant?” Rippa said as she looked over to a scowling Ketrick. “Do our weapons not fit to your liking?”

  “No, no, it’s fine … I guess,” Ketrick said, shrugging. He coughed into his right hand, “If you’re too afraid to fight with your own hands and feet.”

  “What did you just say?” Rippa’s head swung up so fast, Riot thought she would have whiplash for sure. “Don’t hide your words, giant.”

  “I won’t, dwarf.” Ketrick took a step forward, pointing his chin at the mech units. “I just wonder why you hide behind a machine, instead of challenging your enemy face to face.”

  “What did you just call me?” Rippa moved away from Brimley to face Ketrick. The red-headed Grovothe female was comically short compared to Ketrick, but if this concerned her, she didn’t show it.

  “Wow, okay then,” Riot said, pushing her way between the two. “You know the universe has gone to hell in a handbasket when I’m the voice of reason. That’s enough. Like it or not, we have to work together. Let’s keep it civil, at least until we get through tomorrow, then you two can have your pissing contest.”

  Ketrick raised his hand and walked backwards. “I do not care to piss in any contest.”

  Rippa glared at Ketrick, shaking her head. Under her breath she mumbled, “Savage.”

  “Great, can’t wait to go into battle with you all tomorrow,” Riot said with wide eyes. “This is going to be one for the diary.”

  15

  Overnight, while the Dreadnaught pounded the Zenoth hives with orbital strikes, Riot lay awake in her bed, staring at the dark ceiling. The constant booming of the Dreadnaught guns was almost soothing in a way. It was a noise Riot knew well; a familiar note in an unfamiliar world.

  She ran through the events of the next day in her mind. Riot had coordinated a time to meet Rippa in the hangar where the Grovothe transport ship would take them to the planet’s surface. Their departure was less than eight hours away. More than anything, Riot wanted to sleep, but the weight of leading her unit into battle the next day weighed on her like never before.

  A rogue thought whispered in her ear: You just need a taste to take the edge off, the voice cooed. A single shot of whiskey will help you sleep. It would be as easy as walking to the mess hall and ordering a shot. Why shouldn’t she? She deserved it. She more than deserved it.

  Riot sat up in her bed. She even got as far as walking to her door. The one thing holding her back was the woman she knew she had to become. If her men were going to have a chance against the Zenoth, the Karnayers, the Ancient Ones if they existed at all, was with Riot at her very best.

  Riot forced herself to lie down again. Her mind wandered to her past, to mistakes made and lessons learned, and to Ketrick.

  When Riot woke, she understood she was in a dream. Despite how real the empty, white room felt all around her, she knew she had to be imagining it all. Every direction she turned, another white wall. There was no furniture in the room.

  Riot walked around the strange room, testing the walls one at a time. The third wall she pressed on blinked once, transitioning from a wall to a window. An old woman sat in a rocking chair. A single light shined down on her wrinkled face. The woman’s aged hands traveled over the familiar shape of a handgun. A Kimber 1911 lay on her lap as she cleaned the weapon before reassembling it.

  There was something familiar about the woman. Something Riot knew she should recognize, but for whatever reason, just couldn’t put her finger on. Only the profile of the woman’s face was visible. An idea as to the identity of the woman raced down R
iot’s spine.

  “No,” Riot breathed out loud. She knocked on the window, trying to gain the old woman’s attention. As soon as her fist made contact with the glass, more lights clicked on in the room.

  The woman still didn’t turn.

  With more illumination, Riot could tell it was the woman’s small apartment. A clean kitchen with a microwaved dinner for one set out and ready. A made bed and, what Riot guessed was the bathroom, to her right.

  “Hey, hey!” Riot shouted, hitting the glass harder. Somehow she already knew who the woman was; still, she had to see her face. “Look at me! Look at me!”

  The woman slowly rocking in the chair looked up as if she had heard Riot for the first time. Leathery hands placed the weapon parts down beside her chair. She turned to the window to her right, providing Riot with an unobstructed view of her face.

  It was Riot. An aged, soul-worn version of Riot, but still Riot.

  Riot’s heart dropped into her stomach. This couldn’t be her future. What had happened to her?

  The older Riot stood up from her seat and walked to the window. For a brief moment, both Riots stared at one another without saying a word.

  “If you push everyone away,” the older Riot said with a voice so sad it sounded as if it weren’t human at all, “one day there will be no one left to push back.”

  Riot didn’t know what to say.

  “Why did you do this to us?” The older Riot pounded so hard against the window, tiny spider web cracks spread out from where her fist had hit the glass. “Why did you do this to us?”

  The woman screamed over and over again. She beat the glass with both hands, sending more and more cracks over the window.

  “Why! Why! Why!” the woman howled.

  Riot woke up, when she realized it wasn’t the woman in her dreams yelling. It was her.

  “You okay?” Wang was already in the armory room when Riot arrived ten minutes before their designated time. “You look like you didn’t sleep at all. Was it the Dreadnaught’s weapons going off all night? I could have given you something to help you sleep.”

  “I’m fine,” Riot lied, hiding her fatigue behind another large drought of the coffee she had picked up from the mess hall on her way to the armory. “Speaking of giving me a little something, are you straight for our mission?”

  Riot was referring to the drug use Wang had battled with. He swore up and down to her every time she brought up the subject that he only used them when he absolutely needed to when his ADD got out of hand, even though Riot suspected otherwise.

  “I’m good to go, Captain.” Wang was already at his armor. He’d stripped down to his underwear, preparing to get into this dragon skin under armor. “I only use it when I have to. I wouldn’t put you or any other members of the team at risk if I thought I wasn’t good.”

  Riot took a moment to study Wang. He looked fine, and he was acting normal. Well, normal enough for Wang.

  “Does everyone get here early?” Doctor Miller poked her head into the armory. “Vet and Rizzo are right down the hall.”

  “Good,” Riot said, placing her coffee mug at the foot of her armor. She followed Wang’s example of stripping down before getting into her own armor. “Let’s get this party started.”

  Vet and Rizzo filed in. A moment later, Ketrick showed up with a frown. “Am I tardy? I thought this was the time we were all to meet.”

  “We’re Marines,” Vet said, pulling off his pants to expose an adult diaper strapped to his groin. “If you’re on time, you’re late.”

  “Oh, my eyes.” Riot winced, looking away. “You gotta warn us when you’re going to start flashing around your huggies, Vet.”

  Are you wearing your diapers again? Rizzo signed, shaking his head. We are going to have an intervention for you soon if you keep this up.

  “I’m not rehashing this conversation again,” Vet said, shaking his own head. “When we’re on the transport or in the middle of a firefight and you have to piss, I’m going to be prepared. You all are going to be straining your bladders, while I’ll be clearheaded and taking care of business.”

  Riot chuckled to herself as she pulled on the first layer of her armor, the dragon skin. Besides being a cool name, the dragon skin was made up of thousands of small overlapping metal scales. The scales bent enough to give the wearer maneuverability while still protecting them with its overlapping design. For all intents and purposes, it looked like an updated version of the chain mail ancient knights would wear into battle.

  Next came the crimson red liquid armor. The armor reminded Riot of advanced football pads. The thicker armor was made up of multiple thin layers of Kevlar, with a liquid substance separating each layer. The substance absorbed impacts from weapons this way, spreading the force over the armor instead of on one specific point, like when throwing a stone into a mass of water, with the water absorbing the blow by spreading out the force of the impact with ripples.

  “Evonne,” Riot said to the AI as she buckled on her red boots. “Do we have access to any AC/DC tuneage?”

  “Certainly, Captain,” Evonne’s voice answered back. “Playing now.”

  The familiar sounds of one of Riot’s favorite rock bands reverberated into the armory.

  Ketrick was on Riot’s right. The largest black Kevlar vest they had looked tiny on his massive chest. The Trilord wore his own thick, metal gauntlets that were covered in ancient runes. His hair was tied back behind his head. The weapon he favored, a long staff with a blaster at the end, had a hammer and an axe on either side at the end.

  The Trilords were notorious for mixing hand-to-hand weapons with blasters. It was from their homeworld of Hoydren Riot had adopted her own war hammer.

  Riot grabbed her own weapons. Memories of the nightmare she had the night before still plagued her. She banished these thoughts from her mind. She needed to focus on the task at hand and allowing thoughts of dreams to rule her would do no one any good.

  Riot grabbed her sidearm, the Cannon FP290, and clipped it into a holster on her left thigh. The retrofitted weapons left by the Syndicate and repurposed by SPEAR were nothing like Riot had ever seen. Their stocky frames and unlimited ammunition supply were revolutionary.

  Riot’s Villain Pulse Rifle was the Syndicate’s version of a AR15A4. A short, powerful scope was fitted above the flat, black weapon. A new addition to the weapon was a short tube fitted under the rifle’s barrel.

  “We added that on back at the Bulwark,” Vet said as he caught Riot examining the augmented weapon. “It’s like an alien grenade launcher.”

  “I noticed when I was cleaning it,” Riot said, nodding to Vet. “The more firepower the better. I like where your head’s at.”

  “Where is his head?” Ketrick asked over the sound of “Highway to Hell.”

  “It’s just a saying.” Riot hefted her own war hammer and placed it on a clip on her back. Her armor had been fitted with a special holding rack just for the weapon. “Final weapons check, people. We need to rendezvous with the Grovothe in the hangar in ten.”

  Ketrick reached for a small circular metal container in his locker. On the container was the symbol of a skull that reminded Riot of a pirate. Ketrick dipped two fingers into the tin and brought them back covered in red dye. He swiped two lines under his eyes like a football player. Then on each side he drew four lines coming down from the paint that looked like tears.

  What are you doing? Rizzo signed to Ketrick. Rizzo wore his own black-and-red armor. He held his helmet in the crook of his right elbow as he asked the question with his hands.

  Confusion washed over Ketrick’s face as he tried to piece together what Rizzo was saying. Unlike the rest of the unit, Ketrick did not have the time to study the basic signs used in sign language. Even with Riot going though a month of practice, she still didn’t know them all and would regularly miss signs.

  Rizzo pointed to the can of paint in Ketrick’s hand and then to the spot under Ketrick’s eyes where he applied it. Rizzo then followe
d it up with a shrug and a confused look on his face.

  “Oh,” Ketrick said, clapping Rizzo hard on the shoulder with a grin. “I grasp your meaning, brother Rizzo. This is ancient war paint my ancestors have used since our people began ruling Hoydren. It is a tradition that we apply it before a battle. I did not have the opportunity to apply it last time we fought side by side, but I will not miss this opportunity.”

  “Cool,” Wang said, coming over alongside Vet. Both men wore their own armor. “Can we try some, too?”

  “Certainly.” Ketrick smiled, extending his muscular arm with the circular can of red dye inside. “Apply it generously. Rub it into your skin vigorously. It will aid your warrior spirit in the confrontation to come.”

  Even Rizzo joined in as the three Marines lathered their faces in different designs with the thick red goop. Ketrick extended it to Doctor Miller. “Would you care for some?”

  “No disrespect to your kind,” Doctor Miller said, shaking her head. The action sent her blonde hair waving behind her. “But I think I’ll pass.”

  “How do I look?” Vet asked. He had spread the red dye in a hand print design over his face. “Pretty deadly?”

  “That’s one way to put it.” Riot shook her head, waving away the offer as Ketrick came to her. “I’ll have my helmet on for the engagement. Thanks, anyway.”

  “Hey, what’s this stuff made of, anyway?” Wang asked. His whole face was covered in red from his chin to his forehead. “It smells weird.”

  “The battle blood is made from pulverized remains of my ancestors. We will be carrying them into battle with us. Their fighting spirit will give us strength,” Ketrick said, replacing the cover on his tin.

  Wang’s mouth dropped open. “Say what again?”

  Rizzo began to gag as he tried wiping the dye off his face, but only managed to press it in deeper.

  “We’re wearing your dead ancestors?” Wang looked over at Rizzo, who had his hands on his knees, dry heaving. “No … no, don’t throw up. You’re going to make me—”