The pair saluted and the General marched out with his staff and Umi right behind.
Colonel Clarke stood, alone, and felt the excitement rising. "Three days," he whispered.
A group of soldiers marched in with two prisoners. One of the prisoners was massive like a bison. His head merged into his shoulders without as much as a neck in between. Five sets of shackles hung on his wrists with two of them broken. The other man was thin, delicate, and wore the crest of some noble family.
"Colonel Clarke," a Sergeant said. "They were in maximum security. They're yours now."
Colonel Clarke looked at the pair. He stood and walked up to the monster of a man. "Take off his shackles."
"Sir, he's a dangerous criminal, murderer," the Sergeant said.
The beast glared down at Colonel Clarke.
"You've got a chance at a fresh start here. Both of you. Now remove the shackles."
The Sergeant stood to the side of the large man and carefully removed all of the shackles. The rest of the transport squad moved back a few meters and raised their weapons. Then he removed the shackles from the other.
The large man rubbed his wrists. A bit of fire seemed to edge away. He looked back at the detail and watched them walk out of the building.
"You want a job?" Colonel Clarke said to the large man. Then he turned to the other. "Both of you?"
"Da," the large man said.
"What's your name?"
"Auroch, sir," the man said.
"You?" Colonel Clarke asked the other.
"William Belles Cunningham," the man said quietly.
Colonel Clarke nodded at them both. "Can you fight?"
Auroch nodded. Cunningham did not.
"Then you both have one task in this world. You ride in my tank, sit quietly, and hurt anyone who tries to hurt me. Can you do that?"
Cunningham sniffed and rubbed his nose. He glanced at Auroch and nodded. "Yes sir."
Auroch blinked his eyes rapidly and shook his massive head. "I, I, I'd be honored."
"Report to Commander Arap, he'll get you into the training routine. Welcome to the 19th."
#
Chapter Twenty-Three
Vasilov Prime - Civilian MagLev Transport
The moment they completed digging defensive positions the order came to move out. And now. No shower, no clean up, just a hard forced march to the camp and then a bumpy ride through the rain to the railhead.
The word everywhere was tanks. Tanks and war. Rumors had trickled down about the situation on Lishun Delta and they all knew that would be the destination. Those who'd served there before kept quiet, or mostly quiet. Those who hadn't listened to the stories and wondered what was true, or if it even mattered.
Corporal Mick stood in the center of the railcar and swayed with the movement of the train. A stifled grin sat on his face and his hands motioned about as he spoke. "Now they ain't too smart, but all they do is fight! They don't surrender and by Vasilov's blue balls, don't you surrender, either. They'll eat you right up."
"Eat me?" a private named Wickel asked.
"Under that heavy coat and armor plate is about a dozen little legs, all tucked up tight. Each one is razor sharp, tipped with a spike of bone, and specifically designed to grab, cut, grind and shove your remains into their mouths. True, right, Sergeant?" Corporal Mick said with a plaintive look to Sergeant Nikov.
"Cut the shit Mick, you're scaring the privates. The Kadan are herbivores."
Mick shrugged and pointed a scarred finger at the privates. "Plants, animals, it don't matter. They will kill you, absolutely. Shoot 'em before they get close, it usually takes a few rounds."
"At least," a Sergeant added. "Sometimes a whole clip."
"I'd add a grenade too," a sleepy-eyed Corporal mumbled. "Maybe two."
Private Mueller burst through the rear doors with his field jacket clenched tight. The sound of clinking glass announced his arrival. "Hey! Someone give me a hand before I drop something."
Tomi suddenly found a bottle of the most expensive whisky he'd ever seen plopped in his lap. His squad mates leaned in from around the booth. "Uh."
"Shhh," Corporal Mick said. He slid into the booth and procured the bottle. He cracked off the top and sniffed the cork like a true connoisseur. "Here! Take a drink."
Tomi sucked down a burning slug. The whisky rolled down his stomach and gave that gentle burn only booze can offer.
"Now go watch for the Officers," Mick said as he took a drink and passed it along.
Tomi savored the burn and knew he'd feel the hefty drink any moment. He passed by the same scene happening all along the length of the passenger car. It didn't look like it'd take long until the bottles were empty.
He peered through the dirty window into the next car. All of the Officers had left for a staff meeting as soon as the train departed.
The winter landscape drifted by through banks of alternating fog and clustered villages. They were in the settled areas where the heroes of old and new owned Baronies, Counties, Magistrations. These minor districts made up the worlds of Vasilov. Above each was a semi-feudal bureaucracy held by those who had earned it. What was once rare, a title, had become common after the war on Kadan.
The train car grew overly warm as they moved South. The sounds of carousing crept up until a handful of arguments barked down the car. Tomi stood and gawked back as a short Private from Third Platoon did flips down the center of the aisle.
The crowd cheered.
The Private collapsed against a seat and promptly vomited.
The crowd cheered again.
Tomi couldn't help but grin. It felt good to have a release, even for a short train ride. They'd gone, nonstop, for two weeks with barely a break. They slept in their own bunks only twice. The rest of the time was in the mud. They trained at night with night vision glasses. They trained at defending, assaulting, attacking, flanking, and moving as a cohesive unit.
They trained until they could hardly move. Then the Sigg Cadre would provide instruction and they'd learn why they flanked like they did. Or why they waited 'til the last moment to toss grenades. The Sigg had a quick eye, a watchful eye, but they also seemed genuinely curious.
Tomi thought it was fatherly concern until the other Vasilov soldiers pointed out that the Sigg saw the Vasilov military as backwards.
Was it? Tomi wondered. The others said how different it all was than the normal training. A few of the older soldiers protested the training and defended the doctrine of trenches. But most took it with quiet professionalism. This wasn't merely a new march, but a new way of battle. But most importantly a new way of staying alive.
Tomi felt a hand on his shoulder. He stepped aside and stared up at Colonel Clarke. He stammered for words.
Colonel Clarke gave Tomi a soft smile and leaned on the edge of the door frame. He crossed his arms and watched. His eyes twinkled and the barest touch of a smile was on his lips.
Tomi snapped his eyes back to the rest of the car. In that moment he had no idea what to do.
Corporal Mick stood in the center of the aisle. A blond haired Sergeant stood opposite him and the two boxed. Next to each was an almost empty glass bottle. The car cheered each of them on. Mick snapped one punch and the blonde dodged it easily.
The blond leaned back and drove his fist into an upper cut.
Mick caught it squarely on the chin and plopped down onto his ass with his legs sprawled out.
The train car went wild.
About then someone noticed Colonel Clarke and shouted out, "Company Attention!"
There was the sound of clinking glass, shuffling feet, and a stifled belch. Someone fell over and scrambled back into position.
Colonel Clarke didn't say a word for a moment. He looked down the length of the car and nodded slowly. "Well," he said.
The car was taut with tension. Sweat broke out on more than a few brows.
"Did anyone save me a sip?" Colonel Clarke said. "At ease."
There was a co
llective sigh of relief and everyone sat slowly. Colonel Clarke strolled down the middle of the passenger car and picked up Corporal Micks' bottle. He took a little sip and handed it back to Mick.
"By now you've probably heard where we're going," Colonel Clarke said. He exhaled and gave a little shiver. "Oof, that stuff has some bite!"
Corporal Mick grinned back.
"We will get our armor today," Colonel Clarke said. He let the words hang. "This isn't a penal battalion any longer, but an Armored Cavalry Squadron. We have three days with our tanks. Three days." He stopped again and looked up and down. "It was hard before, now it's going to be worse."
"Colonel, where we going in three days?" Sergeant Pikovic, a soon-to-be vehicle commander asked.
"The Mackinof Front. Two weeks ago an orbital bombardment demolished the command bunker, they've barely been able to hold. We're going in to hold the line and let reinforcements come in. I'm not going to lie to you, I'm not sure what to expect here. Our operational data is pretty thin. First priority is for anti-air units to get in and get us covered. If you fail, we're done. If we're down then the Mackinof front will fall."
No one spoke. The only sound was the whistling of the wind.
"If Mackinof falls, LISCOM falls, and then," Colonel Clarke said as he waved a hand toward the window, "the Kadan are here."
Tomi listened and felt a weight grow on his shoulders, a weight called duty. It wasn't an abstract operation, or a sentry duty, or some busy work. It was real now and he felt different.
"That is our duty, and this we shall defend."
The soldiers in the train car cheered. Now they weren't a rabble of broken men and women, but soldiers. Soldiers fighting for their nation.
"Get your rest, sleep off that whisky, and be ready." Colonel Clarke walked toward the end of the train car and stopped. "You've all done well, now keep it up."
Colonel Clarke opened the next door and walked in the next train car filled with soldiers.
"There we go!" Corporal Mick howled.
The train pushed through the countryside without stopping. Towns grew larger and then turned into cities and finally the vast sprawling landscape of the Capital. There the railyards were packed with civilians all moving out.
The Capital was dirty, like a party left behind. The streets were littered with discarded clothing, equipment, garbage, and in some cases people. Never before had so many been evacuated.
They disembarked into the rain at the edge of an industrial zone. Factory complexes stretched into the distance, all bearing the red and yellow stripe of the Martinez Group. The unit marched through a cavernous door. The inside was dark and felt hollow.
The lights turned on.
The entire space was filled with Sigg armored vehicles. They were arrayed by vehicle type. The first row was the longest. It held the standard Hellcat tank with an off center gun carriage and infantry bay. Next to it were the anti-air units, next to that the close support artillery units, and then a mixed bag of command vehicles, medical, support, and finally the gunships.
All of the armor was built upon the same basic chassis. They had tracks like black alligator skin. It was ribbed, random, and thoroughly angry looking. The sides sloped gently and merged into the top of the vehicle. The front was a sharp angle while the rear was blocky. At the top was a pair of blister turrets with small caliber autocannons poking out.
The main units had a slender cannon tucked into a protective cradle. It looked quiet, unassuming, even a bit too small in comparison to the rest of the vehicle. A set of rotary turrets poked out from the rear, anti-artillery interceptors.
They were dull gray. Scrapes, scratches, dent, and battle scars marked them as surplus. Some still bore the shadow of the Sigg insignia while others still had unit names. Each had a name stenciled on the side : Devastator, Comanche, Cannibal, Crunch, Bodacious Bastard, and other such colorful names.
Pablo Martinez stood before them, his arms across his chest, with a wide grin on his face. "Welcome." He swung his arms open. "These are your steeds."
They broke out of ranks and formed into armored crews. Tomi and his group followed after Hans and arrived at a rather sad looking tank with the name Bulldog painted on the side.
It wore a terrible scrape on the side of the armor that looked like a blow torch had melted the steel away. The road wheels were pitted and slivers of shrapnel still poked out. The barrel was shrouded in a canvas cover.
Hans stepped to the back and engaged the door to open.
The rear hatch slid out and down before settling onto the ground. Inside it smelled musty with a hint of body odor, feces, and blood.
"Go on," Hans said with a wave. "Poke it, climb on it, get used to it."
The crew, Sergeant Nikov and Tomi, stood in the front of the infantry. Hutch peered over their heads with the rest of his mates.
"Go on!" Hans pointed at Tomi. "You first, driver is first in, last out."
Tomi stepped into the vehicle. The infantry area was tight with fold up seats packed against the wall. Nooks, crannies and stowage areas were everywhere. It was much simpler inside than he had expected. A wide panel was marked MAIN AMMO with panels beneath it stenciled with numbers. The ceiling was covered with fat metal rings. "What are the rings for, sir?"
"Hammocks," Hans said. "You'll eat, sleep, and live here."
"All of us?" Private Sophia asked.
Hans shrugged. "Plenty of room."
Tomi pushed through a slender gap into the front. There were two stations. The first was down low with a driving yoke and a control panel all wedged tightly between armor plate. The second was above and behind the driver, it was slightly larger. Both of them had a helmet sitting on the seat with a visor covering the eyes.
Tomi immediately recognized everything. "This is just like what I used to run."
"What?" Hans asked behind him. "Show me."
Tomi slid into the tight chair and recognized the grasp of the cushions, the bump on his spine, even the way his legs sprawled out. Identical. He slid the helmet on and smelled someone else just for a moment. He wondered who sat here before.
His hands danced on the controls and the dark visor blinked to life. The vehicle hummed as the internal power core came back to life. Fans whirred, the air moved, servos and cylinders performed status checks and Tomi grinned.
Diagnostics data scrolled past his eyes and the visor finally flashed ready. He keyed an acknowledgment on the hand control. The visor dimmed and slowly the view outside the tank came to life.
The view through the visor was like he sat on the top of the tank. Vision sensors were spaced all around the armored vehicle and they gave him a seamless view of every detail around him. He turned his head and looked behind. He grinned and poked at more controls, buttons, and screens. He keyed the button where the mining laser was on his old unit and was rewarded with the sound of the main cannon coming online.
A new set of data dropped in and firing solutions appeared. He depressed one button and swung the main cannon from side-to-side.
Someone yelled outside.
Tomi returned the cannon to the cradle.
"Quit fucking off! What the fuck is going on in here?" Commander Arap shouted into the back of the tank.
Tomi peeled the helmet off and sat up sharply.
"Commander," Hans said. He crossed his arms and frowned.
"This is orientation time, not weapons unlocked. These people don't have any training on this shit and you let him deploy the main gun?" Commander Arap barked, his voice was rough and it sounded like he was one syllable away from a hemorrhage.
Hans rubbed his chin and looked back to Tomi. "How many hours do you have logged on this kind of equipment?"
Tomi tried to speak but had to clear his throat first. Fear ran through him. The last thing he wanted was to be the focus of Commander Arap's rage. "9,460 hours, sir."
Commander Arap locked eyes with Hans.
Hans nodded and smiled a thin smile. "You see, Commander, thi
s young man used to run Sigg designed mining rigs. He has more hours on this equipment than any of our trainers."
"What's your name, trooper?" Commander Arap asked. The anger in his voice was gone.
"Private Tomi Morgan, sir."
Commander Arap placed his hands on Tomi's shoulder. "How'd you like to train our drivers, Morgan?"
Tomi turned to see if Commander Arap was serious. "Yes sir!"
Commander Arap grinned back and nodded slowly. "Carry on trooper. Carry on."
#
Chapter Twenty-Four
Vasilov Prime - 68th Floor of the Rassenheim Building
The rain fell in sheets over the darkened city. The blood of the city, its citizens, had left. Only troops marched beneath the high rise complexes.
The synthetic clung to the side of a warehouse stenciled with an advertisement. It sat on the sharp edge of a blue R. It was nearly complete.
It had sloughed off the biological a few days before into a drainage ditch. After that its metal skin was cold-tender like cold milk on hot teeth. It didn't like the feeling. So it hid inside a culvert and waited.
The metal skin, like a million fish scales, congealed, oxidized, and took on a black sheen. Instead of a frail biological, it was a much more robust synthetic. A combination all based on an iron chemical structure.
It waited. The rain ran over it. It waited and watched beneath. The city was filled with soldiers and it knew better than to engage now.
It shifted spectrum. Thermal plumes from an armored column wafted into the sky.
Memories churned and it sorted through millennia of technical data as it sought to catalog what it saw. It settled first on a design from a species in the Kelen Arm but found it statistically unlikely that they were here. Next it saw similarities to an old design discovered in the ruins of XVI2234. That too was discarded. Finally it came to a more recent entry.
Sigg.
It recorded the column and ignored it. It didn't deal with armored vehicles. Its expertise was in softer things.
A pair of gunships powered through the clouds. They came into view for a moment. One had a terrible hum in a turbine while the other wobbled and slid through the air like a drunk.
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