Alien War Trilogy 2: Zeus

by Isaac Hooke

“I’ve made up my mind,” Rade told him before anyone else could arrive.

  Harlequin’s face brightened. “And?”

  “No callsign for now.”

  Harlequin forced a smile. “I see.”

  “Don’t take it too hard,” Rade said. “In this platoon, you basically have to move a mountain if you want to be eligible for a callsign.”

  “But I’ve checked the records,” Harlequin complained. “Others in Team Seven have achieved callsigns for less.”

  “I know,” Rade said. “But that was in the past. We’ve upped our standards since then.”

  Bomb arrived, followed by Bender; Rade quickly changed the subject.

  “No chicken today?” Rade asked Bender.

  Bender scowled. “No. All they got left is steak.”

  Tahoe sat beside him. “What’s wrong with steak?”

  “Nothing. But the steak the Marine mess halls serve is best described as rubber. Look at this shit.” He sawed at his meat with a knife. “Impossible to cut.”

  “Hmm.” Tahoe said loudly. He retrieved a personal laser fork from the utility belt of his suit and readily sliced himself a small piece. “Seems easy to cut to me.”

  “Up yours. Give me that.” Bender snatched at the fork but Tahoe was the quicker and hid it behind his back.

  Keelhaul took the last seat. “Did I miss anything?”

  “Nope,” Bomb said.

  The others arrived, sitting at nearby tables around them.

  “I’ll show you how to eat steak.” Bender angrily unclipped his right glove from his belt and put it on. Then he pointed the index finger at his steak and fired the surgical laser that all of their gloves possessed. He slid his finger across the meat, cutting clean through the steak and the plate underneath.

  “How are you powering it without connecting the helmet?” Tahoe said.

  “Ain’t telling you, bitch.”

  Tahoe set down his fork and gave him a dangerous look. “I’m not a bitch.”

  Bender deactivated his laser and looked Tahoe in the eyes. He seemed ready to throw a punch.

  Rade was about to intervene when Bender abruptly flashed his gold teeth in a toothy smile.

  “No,” Bender agreed. “You ain’t. My apologizes.” He glanced at Manic at the table nearby. “Manic’s a bitch, however,” he added loudly.

  Without looking up from his plate, Manic flipped him the bird.

  Bomb, Tahoe and Bender finished their first plates at nearly the same time, and went back for seconds. Harlequin got up, too, excusing himself by claiming the chief wanted to see him.

  That left Keelhaul and Rade alone at the table. Rade always was a slow eater, but not Keelhaul, who usually finished his meals in time with the best of them. Apparently he wasn’t hungry that day—Rade hadn’t noticed earlier, but he was picking at his food.

  “How are you holding up?” Rade asked him.

  “Better than ever,” Keelhaul said enthusiastically. “Traveling the galaxy. Kicking the shit out of aliens. I’m living the dream, baby.”

  “Try not to be too sarcastic,” Rade said.

  The brave face abruptly dropped and Keelhaul’s features twisted in angst. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. He tried again: “I was just thinking...”

  Rade waited, not wanting to say anything that would cause Keelhaul to change his mind and shut-in whatever was bothering him. Rade glanced at the other platoon members seated nearby, then activated the noise canceler built into the table, hoping that by blocking out other listeners he would make Keelhaul feel more comfortable about speaking his mind.

  “I was thinking about what happened back on CF III,” Keelhaul continued. “When you and the others risked everything to retrieve me from that alien ship. I don’t want you to ever do something like that again.”

  “Then don’t get captured again,” Rade said with a smile.

  Keelhaul forced a grin. “I can’t tell you how embarrassed I am about that.”

  “I know you are,” Rade said. “But listen, it could have happened to any of us. Those of us who have been on Team Seven for a long time don’t have some magic talisman protecting us from death and misfortune. The fact is, a lot of the time when we’re fighting out there, and we win against overwhelming odds without suffering casualties of our own, it’s not skill that sees us through, nor even our vaunted training. For the most part it boils down to luck. Nothing more. But don’t you dare tell anyone I said that.”

  “I won’t, boss.”

  Rade nodded. “Good. Fate chose you to be the unlucky one that day. I’m just glad we were able to rescue you in time. I’m sure you’ll have a chance to return the favor at some point. In fact, you already have, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Keelhaul furrowed his brow. “Have I? How?”

  “Simply by fighting alongside your brothers.”

  Rade repealed the noise canceler as the others sat down. Tahoe, apparently noticing the somber expression on his face, said: “Did I miss something important?”

  “Nothing,” Rade said. “Nothing at all.”

  eleven

  Cocooned inside the cockpit of his Zeus mech, Rade lay flat on a rooftop, aiming his cobra over the short wall toward the street below. His point of view resided firmly in the scope of the laser weapon, and he slowly scanned the targeting reticle over the broken buildings.

  “Seems like a waste,” Tahoe said from his guard position behind him. “Putting Zeus mechs on overwatch duty.”

  “We’re meant for the front lines,” Rade agreed. Alpha Platoon had been completely split up, its constituent members placed under the command of various Marine infantry units. Weasley had finished the repairs and restocked Alpha’s Zeus mechs before eleven, as promised, but Rade suspected the technician had squealed on him to the other companies bumped from the queue, and this was the punishment.

  Rade’s current commander, one Captain Philips, had ordered him and Tahoe to provide overwatch while his infantrymen cleared the houses in the neighborhood one by one. The men were digging up any rubble they found inside, and investigating anything even remotely suspicious. Basically, they were doing a far more thorough search than any of the HS3s had done, or could do for that matter. The scout robots were still sent ahead beforehand to give an initial all-clear, of course.

  “I don’t think this Captain Philips knows how to integrate mechs with his unit,” Tahoe said. “Though I suppose on the bright side, at least he’s not making us dig up rubble.”

  Rade ran his scope over the Centurions digging out a collapsed house nearby. Definitely not a job he envied.

  He continued his survey. Other mechs patrolled between the ruined buildings, leading platoons of foot units. Rade felt a twinge of jealously as he moved his aim onward.

  “How’s Keelhaul doing by the way?” Tahoe asked. “He didn’t look too happy this morning during breakfast.”

  “He’s fine, under the circumstances,” Rade said. “He still feels guilty about his capture on CF III.”

  “Still?” Tahoe said. “After all these months? The man needs counseling, bro.”

  “Probably,” Rade said. “I’ll have him schedule a session with one of the AIs. He was fine up until we deployed again. Combat has triggered a repressed fear or something. He’s terrified of getting captured again. Doesn’t want us to risk our lives for him. I have a feeling he’s going to be ultra-cautious out there.”

  “Well that’s probably a good thing,” Tahoe said.

  “Maybe,” Rade said. “Unless it starts interfering with his performance.”

  Tahoe chuckled to himself.

  “What is it?” Rade asked.

  “Nothing,” Tahoe said. “Just, well, guess I still don’t really think of you as LPO. And then every now and again you go and do something, or say something like you just did, that reminds me you’re my boss.”

  “I might be your boss,” Rade said. “But I’m also your friend. And I hope you never forget that.”

  “I won’
t,” Tahoe said.

  Growing slightly bored as he passed his scope across the landscape, he momentarily changed focus to a random background object. A stadium. Motion drew his eye to several enemy robots rushing up between the aisles to assume ambush positions in the upper tiers. Scorpion units, it looked like.

  “Got a squad of tangos,” Rade said. “Stadium at my eight o’clock. Seven blocks north.”

  “I see them,” Tahoe said a moment later.

  “I’m switching to target designation mode,” Rade said. “Sky, activate the Laser Target Locator, please.”

  “Activated,” the AI returned.

  “What, not going to claim the tangos all for yourself?” Tahoe said sarcastically. “Boost up your kill count?”

  “While it’s a nice thought,” Rade said. “I doubt I could get them all from here. Besides, shoot down one, the rest will dive for cover.” He pointed his targeting reticle at the stadium and squeezed off a nanosecond burst of controlled visual light. The coordinates appeared on his HUD. “Captain Philips, I’m sending over the coordinates of a squad of enemy robots. They’re cooped up in a stadium seven blocks north of my position. I’d recommend a thousand pounder.”

  “Got it,” the captain returned. “Transmitting to air support. By the way, what were you doing scoping something eight blocks to the north, when you’re supposed to be covering my unit?”

  “Movement drew the eye of my watchman,” Rade lied.

  The minutes ticked past. Rade and Tahoe leaped across three adjacent rooftops to assume a new overwatch position when the infantry unit advanced.

  A high keening drew his gaze to the north and he watched the laser-guided bomb drop on the stadium. The entire structure vanished in the resulting debris cloud, and a satisfying plume of smoke snaked skyward.

  “Purty,” Tahoe said.

  “Ugliest thing I’ve ever seen, you ask me,” Rade said.

  “What, you going sentimental on me now? Don’t like images of war anymore? Boohoo.”

  Rade smiled. “At least you didn’t call me boss.”

  Without warning, the roof that Rade and Tahoe had chosen for themselves collapsed. Their mechs fell the two stories to the ground floor inside. Rade hit hard, and a large travertine fragment landed on his leg. He grabbed the jagged piece and shoved it aside, then scrambled to his feet as the dust cleared.

  “You all right?” Rade asked.

  “Fantastic.” Tahoe shoved a big shard of travertine from his torso and also stood.

  Rade surveyed his surroundings. He had thought it was the ground floor, but it looked like he had descended into some sort of subterranean passageway.

  HS3s already in the cavern spun toward him from positions farther inside, as did a platoon of nearby Marines.

  “Carry on,” Rade said with a wave. He jetted up to the first floor, then smashed his way through the front door with Tahoe close behind.

  “Didn’t know there were subterranean passageways,” Tahoe muttered as he stepped into the street.

  “Check your overhead map,” Rade said. “Lowest level. A dedicated battalion is mapping the tunnels out with some HS3s. Looks like our alien friends built a few extensions into the sewage system. So far it’s nothing we need to worry about, with only minor pockets of resistance sprouting up.”

  Rade jetted onto the building adjacent to the one that had collapsed, and resumed his overwatch of the Marines below.

  The infantrymen entered a house two at a time, and in moments vanished from view. He still saw them, or their positional indicators anyway, via the overhead map. Rade scanned the windows and rooftop of the upper floors, and those of the nearby buildings, searching for potential hostiles. The Marines had placed motion sensors in those buildings that had already been cleared, so in theory he needn’t scan them again. In Rade’s opinion, that was something the robots should have done in the first place, but the division commander, in his infinite wisdom, had decided against it.

  “Tango!” Tahoe said.

  Rade glanced at his overhead map. A new red dot had appeared.

  He quickly turned his scope in the direction. Leaning outside the window of a partially intact home, a robot was holding some sort of rocket or grenade launcher over its shoulder. Smoke billowed from its chest, and Rade knew that Tahoe had already struck the target.

  Unfortunately, the missile launched before the unit went down. It was headed straight for the house containing the Marines.

  “Incoming!” Rade sent. He launched his Trench Coat in a vain attempt to deflect the missile, but he was too late and the rocket struck the house. The entire lower level exploded outward and the top section caved inward.

  “No, no no! Captain, do you read, over? Captain?” Rade glanced at his overhead map. Roughly half of the blue dots representing the Marines trapped there had winked out, indicating their demise.

  Via his scope, he surveyed the home where the robot had launched the missile: despite his grief, he had enough presence of mind to search for other enemies. On the lower levels he spotted a group of Centurions rushing the entrance of said home. The first bashed in the door, while the others moved inside in pairs to clear the place. Satisfied that the building was being taken care of, he turned to Tahoe. “Stay here. Watch my back.”

  Rade leaped down to the street. “Praetor!” He sent to the command robot of a team digging through the rubble nearby. “Get your Centurions over here on the double! We have some buried Marines!”

  “Already on the way,” the Praetor replied.

  Rade hurried to the destroyed house and, using the blue dots of the trapped Marines as a guide, he began to dig out the rubble.

  “Can I come down now?” Tahoe asked over the comm.

  “Stay where you are for the time being,” Rade said. “Overwatch, Cyclone.” He used his friend’s callsign to remind him that Rade was LPO.

  The Centurions he had summoned joined in shortly, along with a team of corpsmen and Weavers. The latter units were attached to autonomous gurneys on treads.

  He uncovered his first Marine. A woman. “Over here!” Rade said. Two Centurions rushed over, along with a corpsman.

  The latter knelt to check the woman. She was conscious.

  “You’re going to be all right,” the corpsman told her.

  Rade backed away carefully, not wanting to disturb the rubble around her, or step on any of the Centurions or other rescue personnel nearby.

  “She’s moveable,” the corpsman said.

  Upon hearing that, the two Centurions lifted the Marine from the rubble and carried her to one of the Weavers for further treatment.

  “We’re going to need a troop carrier to bring them all back,” the corpsman told Rade.

  “Chief, we’ve got a collapsed house over here,” Rade sent. “Can you arrange for a troop carrier or shuttle?”

  “That area doesn’t have clearance for shuttles,” Facehopper returned. “But I’ll get a troop carrier dispatched on the double.”

  “Thank you.” Rade stepped between two of the digging Centurions and hoisted aside a huge beam.

  “Careful!” one of the Centurions sent. “You almost collapsed an alcove buried underneath. Dig over there.”

  A red area became highlighted on his display and Rade obediently moved to it. While there weren’t any trapped Marines directly under the area, he would be helping to clear several larger beams that pinned down the rubble on the eastern side of the house.

  “Rage, pull back!” Tahoe sent.

  twelve

  Wha—” Rade began.

  Before he could finish, the body of a dead hammerhead slammed into the debris in front of him; a laser bore had penetrated clear through its smoldering head.

  Two more of the creatures leaped down onto his mech an instant later, sending him crashing into the rubble. In moments the entire area was teeming with them. The Weavers and Centurions were smashed, and the corpsmen were dragged away screaming.

  Spreadeagled and unable to move under the weigh
t of all the hammerheads pinning him, Rade fired his cobra and zodiac, but because his arms were positioned out to either side, the weapons only struck creatures farther away. Claws and mandibles tore into his cockpit, and spiked tails ripped gashes into the armor of his arms and legs, but so far he himself remained unharmed.

  “We have incurred several hull breaches,” Sky said.

  “I know that!”

  Rade didn’t dare launch a missile from his shoulder mounts, not at that close range: the explosion would melt his mech in the process. But as soon as he gained some distance...

  He heard the sound of tearing metal: a harsh, strident noise that seemed to come from beside either ear. Glancing toward his left and right shoulders in turn, he realized the creatures had ripped his missile mounts clean off.

  So much for that idea.

  “Tahoe, could use some help here,” he said.

  “I’m a bit occupied at the moment...” The strain was obvious in Tahoe’s voice.

  A nearby Centurion managed to get in a shot before it went down, and the laser bored a hole through one of the hammerheads pinning Rade’s left arm. It collapsed, and he was able to move his elbow enough to fire at the other hammerhead restraining the upper portion of his arm. At that distance, the laser bored directly through three other creatures securing his mech, and he was able to lift his entire upper body.

  When he sat up he unleashed his zodiac electrolaser. Thunder boomed as lightning bolts cascaded between the hammerheads pinning down his legs. Rade scrambled to his feet as they fell, and he activated his jumpjets at the same time.

  He had intended to launch toward Tahoe’s rooftop, but before he was two meters off the ground more hammerheads leaped up and clamped onto his feet. He applied further thrust and kicked his legs, struggling to escape them, but still more of the creatures latched on and pulled him down.

  Rade activated the incendiary throwers in his fists and swept the flames over the ranks. Creatures squealed in pain as the fire consumed those closest to him. He formed a defensive circle of flame around himself. The fire didn’t spread beyond the burning bodies, though. The other beasts kept their distance, waiting for the flames to subside—he had hoped the remaining creatures would flee. No such luck.