by Isaac Hooke
Tahoe jogged toward the assigned Delivery Vehicle with hunched shoulders.
“Sorry about that, mate,” Facehopper said to me over the comm after a moment. “Someday Tahoe will understand why I did that.”
“Yeah.” I felt bad for Tahoe. He just wanted to stay and help me. I would’ve wanted to do the same for him.
“Now listen: Most of the ATLAS 5 booster payloads landed to the northwest. Do you see them on your map?”
I zoomed out on my map, and saw the flashing blue dots that indicated the payloads. “I see them. I can make it.”
Facehopper’s eyes dropped to Dragonfly’s sparking limb once more. A bit doubtfully, I thought.
“See you topside, sir,” I said before he could add anything further, or change his mind. “You owe me a beer next liberty.”
“I owe you more than a beer.” He gazed past me, at the growing group of ATLAS 5s forming a perimeter beyond the amtracs and DVs. “There are a couple of other MOTHs out there. You’re not alone. You’re never alone. Stick together. Watch each other’s backs. And always remember: you’ve had it worse. This is damn well luxurious compared to some of the crap we’ve been in.” With that, Facehopper cut communications and ran after Tahoe toward the designated DV.
I approached the line of ATLAS 5s that had taken up defensive positions along the edge of the insert site. The mechs were distributed in a zigzag pattern, about ten meters apart. Each one had burrowed into the shale, and lay prostrate, with the ballistic shield held out in front at a downward angle. The position of those shields ensured only a small portion of each mech was exposed, namely the barrel of the weapon held by the other hand. The video feed from the scopes of either the Gats or the serpents could be fed directly to the cockpit, so the pilots wouldn’t even have to peer around the edges of the shields to aim. The angle of the shields also encouraged the upward deflection of incoming bullets, away from the mechs.
Basically we were forming a line of one-man, mobile machine gun bunkers.
It was a good thing the enemy didn’t have air-strike capability. If they’d dropped some Napalm D, they would’ve easily routed us from our makeshift dugouts. It was what we would have done when faced with a similar situation.
At a glance, most of the mechs in the defensive line seemed just as battered as my own. Some had arms and other pieces missing. One ATLAS 5 had half its head blown off. And judging from the vitals I saw next to each mech on my aReal, more than a few of the pilots inside were wounded. Some seriously.
Yet they all fought on.
I marched toward a mech labeled “Bender-Rocketman” on my aReal.
“Hey, Rocketman,” I sent him over the comm. “I’d quote a line from the song here, but you know, copyright issues.”
“You don’t even know any lines from the song,” Bender retorted.
“And you do?”
No answer.
I nodded at his mech. “Hope the owner gave it to you willingly.”
“Hey, what are you trying to say, bitch? The dude was dead.” Bender’s face appeared in the upper left of my aReal courtesy of a vidlink overlay. “What happened to your arm?”
“Had a little tangle with an ATLAS 6,” I told him.
“You serious?” Bender said. “I didn’t think the SK bitches brought any with them.”
“They didn’t.”
“Daaamn. Who won?”
“Since I’m still standing, I think it’s pretty obvious.”
Bender chuckled. “Yeah man, but with one arm, that only counts as half a win.”
“A win’s a win, whether your mech comes out of it with one arm or two.”
“If you say so,” Bender answered.
I started digging in behind him. “You get to be my shield today.” Since I had only one arm, I couldn’t have a weapon and shield active at the same time. I’d have to choose one or the other, and to be effective I’d chosen the Gatling gun, which meant my ATLAS 5 remained unshielded. I didn’t think I’d be able to burrow deep enough into the shale to protect my whole body. Hence, I’d have to share Bender’s ballistic shield.
“Hell no!” Bender said. “I ain’t being no one’s goddamn human shield! Find someone else to make a bigger target with.”
I knew him well enough by now to realize that was his way of agreeing, albeit grudgingly, so I ignored him and continued digging in.
“Bitch,” he sent.
“Hey,” I transmitted. “You’re the one who’s my bitch. I’m in back, after all.”
Though his vid feed had cut out, I could imagine his disgusted expression. “Don’t go all gay on me.”
After I’d settled in, I aimed my weapon over Bender’s shield, and transferred the vid feed from my Gatling to the cockpit and surveyed the battle space from the weapon’s point of view.
The line of possessed mechs and robots had halted a short distance beyond weapons range. The enemy front appeared to be waiting for the slugs to catch up. That they even knew about weapons range was telling. I had a feeling more than a few of those Phants had possessed human-designed robots before.
“Hold your fire,” came a voice over the comm channel we’d put together for the ATLAS units. I saw the speaker’s name at the bottom of my HUD: Sergeant Crabbuster.
Nice.
“We’re going to bust some crabs for you, sir!” someone joked over the comm.
When the three superslugs reached the ranks of the possessed robots, the enemy line moved forward in a coordinated advance.
None of the targets were in range. Not yet.
I switched to Dragonfly’s POV and glanced up and down our lines. I viewed the name and rank of each pilot on my aReal. Privates, sergeants, and corporals from across the three allied nations. Brave, brave men. Thirty-three of us in total.
The enemy meanwhile had at least a hundred robots, half of them ATLAS 5s. They also had the superslugs and their attached crabs.
We were vastly outnumbered.
But what the enemy had in numbers, we made up for in heart. Not to mention skill. We’d invested countless hours over the past few years training inside these mechs. The possessed ATLAS 5s? The most time any of the Phants had had to practice was two months. We outclassed them.
At least, that’s what I believed.
Hoped.
“Dammit,” someone said over the comm. “Those drop ships are sure taking their time.”
I swiveled to look. The drop ships had been arrayed in a rough circle, and the closer crafts had already departed. Marines were still loading into the remaining drop vehicles, and some of the soldiers on foot still had a ways to go.
Apparently the order to withhold air strikes had lifted, because just then two gunships swept overhead. I switched my view back to my Gatling, and watched the gunships strafe targets.
The enemy line easily shot down both gunships. One of the pilots managed to steer his rapidly descending craft into the possessed ranks, taking out two enemy ATLAS 5s in the crash.
I checked the vital signs of the gunships’ occupants: dead. It was horrible to think it, but it was almost better that way, because we wouldn’t have to worry about mounting a risky rescue.
A shuttle darted in from the side and loosed a few hellfires at the enemy ranks, and as it passed high overhead it dropped a couple of cluster bombs, one of them incendiary.
The ground shook as the shockwave passed over my position, and a massive fireball plumed from the enemy front, covering the skies.
I saw the glowing liquid of Phants spew out from that plume and splash the no-man’s land between our opposing sides. That none of it reached our ranks was sheer luck.
Then a voice came over the comm. “I’ve lost control!”
So much for sheer luck.
On the far right flank, Gatling fire erupted.
“Eject, Marley!” someone s
aid. “Eject!”
More Gatling fire. One of the green dots on my HUD turned black.
“Target eliminated,” a grieved voice came over the comm.
“Rightmost units, reposition,” Sergeant Crabbuster transmitted. “Move away from the liquid seeping from that mech on the double!”
Overhead, the shuttle pulled away. Either the pilots had seen the unintended side effects of their bombing run, or someone had told them to get the hell away.
The enemy front was well within range now.
“Engage!” Sergeant Crabbuster sent over the comm.
I started picking off the weaker Praetors and Centurions with my Gatling. Some of them were on fire from the jellied gasoline splashed by the incendiary bomb, and I could see the glowing mist of Phants around the brain cases of the smaller units as the heat converted the alien entities to vapor.
Other defenders along the line were opening fire as well. Gatlings unleashed. Serpents launched.
Many of the possessed ATLAS 5s knew how to use their ballistic shields, and they provided cover to the weaker units beside them. Some of the possessed mechs fired off Trench Coats in response to the incoming rockets. Most of the enemy combatants simply returned fire. They were spread out in a wide line. All the better to outflank us.
Up and down our zigzagging ranks, defenders launched Trench Coats in response to incoming missiles.
The superslugs surged forward, through the enemy front, drawing fire away from the robot units. Connected by their “ripcords,” crabs started plunging from the slugs. Most of the crabs touched down in the battlefield in front of us, but some managed to land right in our midst.
I covered Bender, protecting him from crabs while he concentrated on the more dangerous robots. We made a surprisingly good team.
“Sinkhole on our six!” someone said over the comm. Directly behind us.
I swiveled around, switching my vision to Dragonfly’s perspective.
Another sinkhole had indeed opened up in the middle of the insertion site. Two slugs and their respective crabs had emerged, and were harassing the drop ships we were assigned to protect. These slugs were smaller, roughly half as big as the behemoths, and their crabs were a quarter the size of my mech. Still, they wreaked havoc upon the Delivery Vehicles, despite the Gatling guns those crafts employed in defense. There were just too many of them.
As I watched, a slug plowed into two DVs, knocking them over. The crabs from it swarmed the vehicles. Claws ripped into the fuselage, mandibles tore out squirming human bodies and promptly ripped them apart.
“Marines, hold the line!” I sent over the comm. “MOTHs, on me!”
I clambered to my feet. Along our ranks, five ATLAS mechs, including Bender’s, rose from the shale and joined me. I had hoped for more, but five MOTHs were the equivalent of ten ordinary men as far as I was concerned. Dyson, surprisingly enough, was the other MOTH from Alfa; the remaining three were from Bravo platoon.
“Dyson, what the hell are you doing in an ATLAS?” Bender sent. “Actually never mind. Just watch where you put your unskilled ass. I ain’t coming back for you if you go down.”
“Nice to see you too, Bender,” Dyson returned.
Together we sprinted toward the new sinkhole as Delivery Vehicles launched frantically around us.
The smaller crabs had thinner cords, but because I was running low on ammo I chose my shots selectively, issuing very short bursts, taking care not to fire unless I had a clean target. I did a lot of bashing and stomping as well.
Wading through the upturned, twitching alien carapaces, I fought my way to the side of the slug closest to the drop vehicles and unleashed Gatling fire all along its flank, just above the skin, aiming to cut away as many of the umbilicals as I could. Like a barber shaving hair.
My MOTH brothers were beside me, doing the same thing. In moments we’d severed roughly three-fourths of the crabs connected to that side.
Then we turned our attention on the slug itself.
The thing was white hot, and steaming, which meant it had freshly burrowed through the surface. It was, thankfully, one of the smaller ones, so our Gatling bullets actually had some effect on it.
“Yo!” I could hear Bender yelling over the comm. “You like that, bitch? You like that?”
I switched to my incendiary weapon and vomited a swathe of adhesive flame onto the slug’s skin.
“Let’s move back for some serpents, boys!” I said.
We retreated to a safe distance, fighting off a few more crabs along the way, then unleashed our serpent rockets into the slug. Explosions rocked its body.
The thing seizured, its body alternately rounding then inverting, like a larva thrown onto a heating element. In its frantic death throes, it ended up coming right at us. I moved too slowly, and took a meaty hit in the chest, sending me flying backward several paces.
Before I could do anything, I found myself surrounded by a half-dozen crabs, and the second slug was fast bearing down on me.
Time to start bashing.
I splattered three of the small crabs with every thrust of my lone arm. I crunched two underfoot with each tread of my feet.
But for every one killed, three more replaced it. I couldn’t move my lone arm fast enough.
Pincers clanged against external tubing and servomotors. Mandibles chewed at exposed wiring. Warning indicators went off inside the cockpit.
I loaded my incendiary thrower.
Turning, I unleashed a stream of flame and ignited an entire row of the things. The fire just consumed the alien entities. They screamed and flailed about, trying to rub the flaming adhesive from their carapaces. I sprayed fire for a few more seconds, but was forced to back off because the heat from the conflagration became too intense.
Something bashed into me from the side and I was sent sprawling.
Three crabs were instantly on top of me.
I couldn’t use the incendiary thrower at this close range, because some of the fiery substance might splash my mech. If Dragonfly caught fire, there’d be no dousing it and my cockpit would quickly become an oven.
I was able to bash one of the crabs aside, but two more immediately replaced it. I struggled to stand up, but the crabs kept coming, beating me down. I attempted to swap out my incendiary thrower for the Gat, but the swiveling weapon mount got jammed on the legs of a crab.
So now I had no weapons.
Threads of Gatling fire abruptly came in above me, severing the crabs at the umbilicals.
I was finally able to stand.
I bashed the dead crab from my hand, freeing up my weapon mount. The Gatling finally swiveled into place.
I turned toward my rescuer.
Bender.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue,” I said into the comm.
“Who says I was coming to your rescue?” Bender was just waling on those crabs. “Maybe I just wanted to steal your kills.”
“Steal away, brother.”
“I ain’t your brother!” Bender slammed his huge metallic fist down and split a carapace in two.
Behind me, the other slug had died and faded from existence. So at least I didn’t have to worry about an attack from that vector. Unless something else emerged from the sinkhole.
“All drop ships are away!” Sergeant Crabbuster announced on the comm. “To the booster payloads, people!”
“Man,” Bender said. “Just when I was starting to have fun.”
Four crabs came from nowhere and jumped Bender, pinning him.
I aimed at the connecting cords, but something shoved me forcefully from behind, hurling me to the shale.
More crabs.
What—
Another slug had come out of the sinkhole behind us.
The clatter of mandibles on steel filled my cockpit. I lifted my Gat and let off some rounds int
o a crab’s soft underside.
Gatling fire from my right flank mowed down the remainder.
I clambered to my feet in time to witness threads of Gatling fire clear the area around Bender, too.
“I didn’t need your help!” Bender sent me as he got up.
“Wasn’t me.”
I looked to my right. My aReal identified the ATLAS 5 standing there as “Dyson-Pitchfork.”
“Dammit, caterpillar,” Bender transmitted. “I had the situation well under control.”
A bunch of crabs jumped Bender once again from behind.
“I can see that,” Dyson transmitted.
Dyson and I helped Bender beat the crabs off.
“Let’s go!” I said, advancing through the mob. “Stay close!”
The three of us fought our way through the horde as yet another slug emerged from the sinkhole.
An ATLAS mech appeared on my nine o’clock. Then two more. The MOTHs of Bravo platoon.
Brothers to the end.
Now that the drop ships had all launched, the defending ATLAS 5s piloted by the Marines had fallen back. The mechs were moving in a wedge formation, cutting a path through the horde of fresh crabs. Only fifteen mechs remained.
We joined their line. MOTHs and Marines continued forward in a unified front of atomic-powered steel.
We broke free of the swarm and sprinted across the vast Geronium plain at full speed, traveling in the direction of the payload elements.
Behind us, the possessed mechs, robots, liquid Phants, and superslugs overran the now undefended insertion site, joining the newer slugs and crabs.
But we were far ahead of them.
According to my HUD map, the booster rockets were distributed across a quarter klick of land. The ATLAS mechs in our wedge formation separated into smaller groups, heading toward the different clusters of blinking dots on the map.
Whoever reached a booster first took it. That was the unwritten rule, and no one seemed to mind, because in theory there were more boosters available than mechs, given the losses we’d incurred.
My group had whittled down to five ATLAS mechs by the time I’d come close enough to take a booster.
Dragonfly decided to turn on me in that moment, as the ATLAS 5 fired its Gatling into the booster rocket as I approached.
