ATLAS 2 (ATLAS Series Book 2)

by Isaac Hooke

  “Keep going, Rage!” Facehopper said, as he and Tahoe continued to lay down suppression.

  I obeyed his orders, though my instincts cried out for me to stop. I wanted to stay behind and ensure they made it. I didn’t want to lose them, like I’d lost Alejandro.

  But I knew they’d be right behind me.

  They had to be.

  I checked my HUD map. Sure enough, Tahoe and Facehopper were sprinting after me, a ways to my left. They made smaller targets, and in theory were safer if they stayed away from me, because I’d draw the majority of the enemy fire.

  As I neared the convoy, I started taking fire from the good guys, too.

  “Facehopper! Taking friendly fire! Relay my coordinates to the troops!”

  “Relaying . . .”

  The incoming fire became so bad I had to drop. The good guys proved better shots than the enemy, and threads of Gatling fire erupted into me. I propped up my ballistic shield in front of me. It was fairly beat up by now, and I knew it couldn’t take much more of this abuse.

  The gunfire abruptly let up.

  “You’re good to go,” Facehopper sent.

  He and Tahoe sprinted past the periphery of my vision.

  I got up to follow them.

  My missile alarm went off.

  I launched the Trench Coat and dodged to the left, throwing myself once more to the ground.

  The missiles detonated behind me, and the shockwave roared over Dragonfly.

  I crawled to my knees and spun around.

  Ten meters ahead of me, a towering form stomped forward, pulverizing the shale beneath its feet with every step.

  The ATLAS 6.

  Its Gatling guns swiveled into place—

  I swung my ballistic shield up just in time. At this range, the Gats were just brutal. Dents appeared all over the shield, and the whole thing warped and bent. It sounded similar to the kind of hail you’d get in a tornado.

  The shield was going to fail any second.

  There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.

  Except perhaps one place . . .

  I got up and broke into a sprint, running straight at the possessed ATLAS 6, using its latest position on my HUD map for guidance. I fired off my rear jets for an extra horizontal kick, and I smashed into the mech, hitting the taller enemy in the waist. I must have been going at least fifty kilometers an hour. I was an ATLAS wrecking ball. Still, I knew I wouldn’t make more than a dent in the ballistic outer layer of its hull.

  On impact, the two of us tumbled onto the hard rocky surface. I ended up on top of the oversized ATLAS.

  I immediately slid off, avoiding a crushing blow from one of its fists.

  I held up my shield as it let loose another stream of Gatling fire from where it lay on the shale.

  I maneuvered around the fallen mech, deftly positioning myself out of the line of fire, but staying close.

  The ATLAS 6 started to rise—

  I hurled myself onto its back.

  The ATLAS 6 fell forward.

  I fired my Gatling into its upper back at point-blank range, but the bullets merely ricocheted like the sparks from a welder’s torch, leaving behind large dents.

  The mech shifted beneath me.

  I didn’t have much more time. If I wanted to cause damage while outside the sight lines of its weapons, I had to do it now.

  I ignored most of the external tubes and servomotor feeds, most of which had backup systems, and instead reached down between the jetpack and tore out the fuel line. I was just glad Nova Dynamics conveniently designed their fuel intakes the same way as on the older models, for easy laceration.

  With fuel spraying all over the place, the ATLAS 6 crawled to one knee and pivoted its torso, slamming its heavy elbow into my chest piece. I hurtled backward and landed sprawling.

  I swapped out my own Gatling for the incendiary thrower and fired a stream of jellied gasoline.

  The ATLAS 6 had turned around, and the sticky, flaming substance coated the entire front side of the mech. I ran sideways toward it, trying to ignite the fuel spraying from its jetpacks, but the ATLAS 6 jettisoned its pack.

  Smart.

  The mech came at me, ignoring the fact its entire front side was on fire. ATLAS mechs were rated to operate in incredibly hot environments. You could place a mech on Venus or even the light side of Mercury, and the ATLAS would endure for at least two hours before experiencing any sort of failure. Of course, this assumed a mech operating in AI mode, because the cockpit temperature would be oven-like. The Phant inside the ATLAS 6 may have been converted to vapor form by the heat, but that didn’t seem to affect its control of the ATLAS 6 whatsoever.

  I was expecting the Gatling guns to unload on me again, but the fiery mech swapped them out. Maybe it was out of ammo.

  I thought it was going to load its incendiary thrower like I had, but the actual weapon the ATLAS 6 mounted surprised me.

  An energy ax.

  That was new.

  It was the biggest, baddest ax I’d ever seen. White bolts sparked up and down the metallic surface. The blade itself was made of rediscovered wootz steel, whose sheets of microcarbides and graphene were tempered within a pearlite matrix, creating the sharpest and hardest substance known to man.

  I switched the Gat back into my right hand, and took several steps back.

  The flaming ATLAS 6 gripped the hilt of the energy-laden weapon with one hand, then rushed forward and swung it down on me.

  I rolled to the left, loosing a thread of Gatling fire at the area just below the cockpit hatch, toward the brain case. The ballistic shielding built into the mech’s skin held up well. I figured at this range my Gats would penetrate in about ten seconds.

  Unfortunately I didn’t have ten seconds.

  The energy blade came down again.

  I twisted to the right, then ducked, swinging my leg around—

  The loud clang of metal on metal filled the air as my foot made contact with the ankle of the ATLAS 6. I got lucky, because its weight was unbalanced, and I managed to trip it.

  The fiery mech landed with a resounding thud.

  I fired again at its shielded backside, and managed to destroy a servomotor feed tube. There was no immediate effect because the ATLAS 6 was already getting up.

  Three crabs suddenly surrounded me.

  I’d taken too long.

  I leaped backward, mowing through their cords.

  More crabs stalked in.

  Small-arms fire swept past from behind me, lacerating the umbilicals before I could get to them. The attached crabs fell down, dead.

  On my HUD map I saw two nearby green dots.

  Tahoe and Facehopper.

  They’d dug in not far to my left, Tahoe with his heavy gun, Facehopper with his standard-issue rifle. They were probably out of rockets and grenades by now.

  The ATLAS 6 had taken advantage of my distraction to close—

  I saw the energy blade swinging down on me nearly too late.

  I managed to sidestep.

  Not soon enough.

  The blade passed through Dragonfly’s right arm, cleanly severing it.

  My own arm was fine, secured inside the cockpit with the rest of my body. Still, it came as somewhat of a shock, because now when I moved the arm it was like moving a ghost limb.

  Tahoe and Facehopper continued to keep the crabs off me, letting me focus on the more immediate threat of the ATLAS 6.

  The fiery mech lifted its blade to strike again.

  I swung my entire body forward. I wanted to get inside the range of the weapon. My head only reached the middle of the taller mech’s waist, and I ended up colliding with its upper thighs. The flames around its torso had mostly gone out by now, so there wasn’t much of the fiery substance left to rub onto Dragonfly.

 
I pushed with the shield on my remaining arm, putting the full weight of my three-tonne body behind it. I activated my horizontal jets for an added boost.

  The arms of the ATLAS 6 clanged loudly against my shoulders, but its energy blade cut harmlessly into the air behind my body.

  I continued shoving. The ATLAS 6 finally gave some ground, stumbling backward. The possessed mech started slamming its elbows into the top of Dragonfly’s head.

  The inner cocoon of the cockpit translated the impacts to my own head, which was forced to the left and right. The hull shuddered, and I knew if I didn’t do something soon, the ATLAS 6 would bash Dragonfly’s head right off.

  I pushed backward, firing reverse thrusters, and broke away. The energy ax swept downward, nearly striking me during my retreat.

  I landed a good ten paces from the enemy.

  The possessed ATLAS 6 was already running toward me. Behind it, I could see one of the massive slugs not too far back, along with several more possessed mechs and robots. And of course the ever-present crabs.

  I had to end this. And now. If not for myself, then for Tahoe and Facehopper, who were still valiantly firing away, defending me as best they could. All of us would soon be overwhelmed.

  I clambered upright, and swapped out the ballistic shield on my left hand for the serpent launcher. At this range, there was a good chance I’d damage myself as well as the ATLAS 6.

  It was either me and the mech, or Tahoe and Facehopper.

  But before I could fire, the ATLAS 6 surprised me.

  It unmounted its ax and threw the weapon toward my cockpit.

  Instinctively, I raised my arm to block the blow, while dodging to the right at the same time.

  I deflected the ax, but ended up slicing the tube of the serpent launcher in half.

  Wonderful.

  I released the useless rocket launcher, letting it fall away. I scooped the energy blade off the shale beside me.

  I never got a chance to use it.

  The taller mech leaped forward, colliding with me.

  It wrapped its arms around me from behind as we rolled to the ground.

  It tried to stand, and lift me from the ground, but I could hear its servomotors struggling with Dragonfly’s weight.

  The ATLAS 6 elected to remain on its knees, and squeezed its arms tighter, slowly crushing me against its chest.

  I heard the protest of metal as my cockpit buckled slightly.

  I couldn’t lift my remaining arm, which was pinned to my torso, rendering the energy ax I held completely useless.

  I rocked violently, trying to break the death grip. I managed to topple the two of us to the shale, but the ATLAS 6 didn’t relent.

  “Dragonfly, launch Trench Coat,” I said.

  “At this range,” Dragonfly’s AI intoned, “there will be significant damage to—”

  “Override safety protocols! Zulu Alpha One!”

  “Safety protocols deactivated.”

  “Launch Trench Coat.”

  Those seventeen pieces of metal launched from my upper back, spraying the potentially heat-weakened hull of the ATLAS 6.

  The enemy’s hold on me weakened.

  I flung my arm outward, breaking the ATLAS 6’s grasp.

  I pivoted to find several Trench Coat pieces embedded within the brain case of the ATLAS 6, just beneath its cockpit area.

  I got lucky. The enemy had been in the perfect position.

  I rammed the energy ax into its brain case, finishing the job, then I gave the charred and smoking ATLAS 6 a good kick. It fell away lifelessly.

  “That was for Alejandro, motherfucker.”

  My Trench Coat system was permanently damaged now. I hoped no other missiles homed in on me.

  A possessed ATLAS 5 landed in front of me, ahead of a fresh onslaught of crabs. Obviously it was less experienced than the last one, because it was only now loading its Gatlings into the “on-hand” position.

  “Damn it.”

  I withdrew the energy ax from the fallen mech and threw it.

  The blade embedded deep in the ATLAS 5’s brain case, and the mech fell.

  I turned around and ran.

  Facehopper and Tahoe joined me, running alongside about ten meters to my left.

  “How come you always get to have all the fun?” Tahoe said over the comm.

  The rear guard of the routed convoy lay about one hundred meters ahead of us.

  I took long strides, basically leaping from one foot to the other while loosing repeated horizontal bursts from my jumpjets. I was careful not to travel more than a half meter from the ground lest I become an even easier target.

  Facehopper and Tahoe did the same in their powered exoskeletons beside me, using their jetpacks to add to their forward momentum.

  A thread of Gatling bullets tore past from behind, from either an Equestrian or a mech, and I was forced to run at an angle. I positioned myself behind Tahoe and Facehopper, covering them with Dragonfly’s beat-up body. I loaded the ballistic shield into my hand and held it behind me. I hoped no further missiles locked on to my mech.

  A stream of return fire erupted from our convoy, silencing the enemy guns.

  The three of us closed the gap with the laggards in the convoy, and I felt relieved to finally lose myself in the protection of that ragtag mass. If any missiles came now, I had plenty of other targets in the way. It was perhaps a deplorable thing to feel, but it was true.

  Weaving through the convoy, I followed Facehopper toward our assigned amtrac. A flash drew my eye skyward.

  The Raptors overhead had taken hits, and both of them were on decaying flight paths, smoke streaming behind. It wouldn’t have been hard for the enemy ATLAS mechs or Equestrians to take out those airborne units, because the targeting processors on the serpent missiles did most of the work. All the possessing Phants had to do was point and shoot, and launch enough missiles to overwhelm the countermeasures of the Raptors.

  Our side still had gunships and other airborne support crafts, which were wisely keeping out of range. Apparently the order to withhold air strikes was still standing. Probably a good idea.

  We finally reached our assigned amtrac, and Facehopper and Tahoe hopped up to join the gunners in the turrets.

  I glanced back, gauging the enemy’s progress. I didn’t think we were going to outdistance them any time soon. The possessed ATLAS mechs and robot support troops could easily match our speed, and had broken away from the slower crabs and slugs—which still moved along with surprising swiftness behind them.

  I noticed most of the crabs had returned to the “sheathed” positions on the slugs, while the superbehemoths themselves moved in a way I hadn’t seen before, which reminded me of the lateral undulations of a snake—their bodies alternately flexed left and then right. Transversal muscular waves added to the forward motion, passing from head to tail with creepy regularity, at turns expanding and compressing their bodies.

  “Got some good news,” Facehopper said over the comm. “Three parts. First, contact with the fleet has been restored. Second, the Chief reports the Gerald R. Ford is intact, and has taken out the enemy flotilla in its entirety. Third, all drop ships are cleared for return.”

  “We’re going to evac already?” Dyson transmitted. “Sir?”

  “We are,” Facehopper said. “We need to regroup, and rethink our strategy for another day. We’re losing too many assets.”

  “So I got something on my mind,” Bender sent. I noticed he wasn’t in the amtrac, according to the HUD, but rather keeping pace some ways to the right. Dyson wasn’t aboard either, for that matter. “The Gerald R. Ford defeated the small flotilla you say? Wahoo baby and all that. But what happened to the rest of our fleet? The carriers sent against the Big Bad mofo?”

  I glanced at the horizon behind me. The Skull Ship remained in place, hov
ering against the twilit sky. It was hard to imagine anything sent against that ship had succeeded in any way.

  “No news on the remainder of the fleet,” Facehopper replied, rather curtly.

  We reached the insert site and the amtracs started unloading. The Marines hurried to the drop ships in orderly groups. The crafts assigned to the units were marked out on each member’s aReal, so everyone knew exactly where to go. The robot support troops still on our side went off to their own drop vehicles. I remembered how many HS3 scouts had been present when we’d first landed. I only spotted maybe five of the basketball-sized HS3s in total now.

  The remaining Abrams and Equestrians dispersed at maximum speed onto the plains behind us, because, like the ATLAS mechs, they utilized booster rockets for the return trip.

  None of the ATLAS 5s themselves were yet retreating to those boosters, I noted.

  “The order is coming in,” Facehopper said over the comm as he and Tahoe jumped down from the amtrac. “ATLAS 5s are to remain behind until all drop assets have lifted off. If you are in an ATLAS mech, do not proceed to the booster rockets. Protect the drop vehicles.” He glanced significantly at me.

  “I’ll give them hell, sir,” I said.

  Facehopper’s gaze lingered on Dragonfly’s sparking, severed limb. “Are you sure, mate?”

  “I’m not out of the fight. Not by a long shot.”

  “I’m staying with Rade.” Tahoe took a step toward me.

  Facehopper extended a blocking arm. “No. You’re not.”

  Tahoe maneuvered past Facehopper and continued toward me.

  Facehopper jumped him from behind. The two scuffled in their strength-enhanced exoskeletons and in moments Facehopper had Tahoe restrained and weaponless on the ground.

  “You insubordinate little shit,” Facehopper said. “Ever heard the expression, don’t bring a knife to a gunfight? If you don’t have a mech, you don’t stay, mate. It’s as simple as that. Now move before I have your dumb ass court-martialed.”

  Tahoe got up, abandoning his heavy gun on the ground.

  “Take your weapon, Mr. Eaglehide,” Facehopper told him.

  Chastened, Tahoe retrieved the weapon.

  “Now get to the DV.”