The Iron War: A Xander Cain Novel

by P W Hillard

  “Nutcracker,” Xander said. His voice boomed from his suit’s external speakers.

  “Nutcracker? I would have liked to have seen that.”

  “I’ll show you the footage later.” Xander extended his free arm, the hand held out with the palm up. “Hop on,” Xander said. “Your reactor is toast, and unless you fancy waiting around here for recovery, we need to get a move on.”

  “We going back to the LZ?” Alexi said as he climbed into the hand. He held tight to the fingers like they were railings.

  “Yeah, we need to have some serious words with our employers.”

  Chapter Four

  Xander thundered down the street, Alexi holding onto the fingers of the mechsuit tightly. Standard procedure when carrying a passenger was to move slowly, to avoid spilling them to the ground. That went out of the window almost immediately in a combat situation. Standard procedure was written by some clerk working for the mercenary guild who had never ridden a mechsuit in their life. Leaving the breaches of other mercenaries out of official guild reports was a time-honoured tradition, unless of course, they were on the other side.

  Alexi shouted something, though Xander couldn’t hear him over the pounding of his metal legs against the concrete. The man looked tiny, clinging onto the metal fingers. He was gesturing behind them, pointing furiously. Xander turned the head of his suit, and warnings flared into his vision as he spotted what Alexi was pointing at.

  A helicopter had swung itself around from behind a building, its rotor spinning furiously. It hung there, hovering, for just a second, before releasing a storm of fire, rockets screaming from their pods beneath.

  Xander spun to the side, trying to evade the explosives. He wasn’t quick enough. Whilst most of the rockets slammed into the road, one struck the back of his right knee. The servos in the leg failed, sending him toppling. He slammed into the ground face first, his hands too occupied to prevent him from hitting the asphalt hard. The strike sent Alexi flying, and the man rolled across the ground, stopping motionless meters from the mechsuit.

  Xander didn’t wait, he knew he couldn’t. He rolled onto his back, and as he did swung his weapon around. The helicopter strafed into the alleyway he had fallen into, moving to finish off its target with its cannon. Xander snapped off a burst as the helicopter did the same, blasting away with its nose mounted weaponry. They both hit their targets, the helicopters barrage moving up the street in a line, the last few rounds punching into Xander's already damaged leg. His were more on target, the rounds slamming into the helicopter. Its fragile armour shattered, sending it into a spin. It careened away, twirling off out of Xander's view. An explosion erupting past the entrance to the alley signalling its demise.

  “Ah, fuck,” Xander said as he attempted to right himself. His right leg was nearly trashed, the servos not responding. Xander locked it into a straight position, a rod sliding from the upper portion to the lower to allow this. The mechsuit limped forward, using its frozen damaged leg as a crutch.

  It stopped as it reached the still laying Alexi. Xander was relieved to see he was moving if more than a little grazed.

  “You could have maybe tried for a softer landing,” Alexi groaned as he slowly sat up. One of his arms hung oddly, flapping about as he moved. Even from here Xander could see the sharp bone jutting from Alexi’s forearm. “Argh, that’s going to cost in medical.”

  “Your contract not cover it?” Xander said. His voice echoed through the streets, projected by speakers.

  “No, I negotiated for more salvage rights. Had to give something up somewhere. This was supposed to be a stand and look intimidating job. Not so much an…ugh…dangerous one.” Alexi was gripping his broken arm, blood trickling between his fingers. “Any chance of a lift?”

  Xander tried to bend down, stretching his hand. The mechsuit strained, metal groaning in protest. The arm stopped far short.

  “No, servos in my leg are out, I don’t want to risk unlocking it.”

  “Walking it is then.” Alexi nodded. He understood. Xander’s suit would be unstable with the damaged leg, and a mech on the ground was often a dead mech. “We better get going, before more reinforcements arrive.”

  “Agreed,” Xander said. He pulled the empty magazine from his weapon dropped it to the floor with a clang. A compartment on the left leg sprang open and Xander removed a fresh magazine from it, slotting it into place with a click. “That was a little close for comfort.”

  ***

  The three tanks bared down on Anya, firing their cannons as they advanced. She stood firm, allowing the shells to ping off her thick armour. It was a risk; a lucky shot could always penetrate even her dense hide. She swung her arms up, aiming her rotary cannons, barrels spinning. Spikes shot from the back of her ankles, anchoring her into the concrete.

  Anya sent a thought through her wetware, her weapons firing in response, the arm-mounted weapons lacking a physical trigger. Shots sprayed forth, the noise filling the air with a terrifying ripsaw buzz. The street became a wall of death, the torrent of hot metal filling the air. The barrage shredded the tanks, annihilating the three of them in an instant.

  It was a waste of ammunition maybe, a short burst at each tank would have been enough, but Anya was making a display, one that was intended to tell any other attackers that to try again was death. This had been the second assault since Xander had called in the orbital strike. The enemy forces were growing desperate, their air cover robbed from them. Whatever they wanted, they were determined enough to press for it anyway.

  Something moved at the end of the street, and Anya readied her weapons again. Her arms dropped as she saw what was moving. It was a mechsuit limping on one damaged leg. By its feet was a man, his arm covered in blood. An IFF signal identified the stumbling suit as Freelancer four, Xander Cain. The man at his feet had to be Alexi. Anya was relieved to see them. She wasn’t friends with either man, not really, she had met them only days before the disastrous drop, but she hadn’t been looking forward to holding the base alone until she could arrange retrieval.

  “Good to see you, these pricks, whoever they are, are getting desperate.” Anya was sweating inside her suit. Her weapons were powerful, but the kickback worked her servos hard even with her anchors, and the reactor had to up its output to compensate. Heat dissipation could be a problem for heavier suits. “Just repelled the second assault in the last half hour alone.”

  “Well, we would have been here quicker, if we hadn't run into a bit of trouble with a helo,” Xander said. “And before that, there was the whole sniper thing.”

  “A nutcracker for that? Must have cost a fortune.”

  “Well, special circumstances,” Xander said. His suit shrugged, his intentions working their way through circuits and nerves.

  “You really think you can argue that? I’ve never heard of someone actually invoking those clauses.” Anya stepped aside, clearing the way for the struggling suit. “Not sure I would have made the same choice.”

  “Just glad the Heracles agreed to it. What kind of forces have you been seeing?”

  “Just tanks,” Anya said. “No suits yet. Maybe you dropped what they had when you took the park?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I know this is a small base, but only six mechsuits and a single helo to support the tank assault? That doesn’t add up. Not when they would have been expecting at least a decently sized contingent of mercenaries. That job posting was on the network for months before the due date. The mechs wouldn’t be a surprise.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. Sure is odd, for a standard lounge about to need eleven mercenaries. Almost like they had expected trouble.”

  “Yeah, we do need to have a word.”

  ***

  The mechsuit groaned as it slumped downwards. The head unit moved back with a click, and there was a gush of hot air from under the armpits as the front armour slid forward, revealing the cockpit inside. It looked like a coffin, a solid rectangle of metal, encasing Xander totally.

&
nbsp; The cockpit’s front opened, much less dramatically than the armour opening. The metal panel on the front swung open, revealing the rider within. Xander was an athletic man, his hair black with thick streaks of grey. A scar ran across the bottom of his chin, the story about it more embarrassing than he would have liked. Like all riders, the skin just above his left eye had been replaced by metal, a thin strip running from the top of his cheekbone to the middle of his brow. A cluster of wires were plugged into the metal, vanishing off behind the seat Xander occupied. He reached up and tugged on the cables, their ends unclipping from his skull.

  Xander knew it seemed strange to civilians, to connect your mind directly into a machine. Other industries banned any kind of man-machine connection outright, ancestral memories of the collapse instilling a natural hatred of such technologies. Mechsuits were just too useful on the battlefield, however, and the mercenary guilds held enough political sway that the Core Worlds turned a blind eye. Xander had been on the receiving end of more than one bigoted punch in a dodgy bar because of it though.

  Xander stepped out from the cockpit, resting his foot onto armour panel that had dropped forward. He reached down, gripping the folding ladder and releasing it from its hooks, tossing it over the side of the armour like a child dropping the ladder for their treehouse. He placed one foot onto the metal rungs, the wire sides of the ladder swaying as he lowered himself to the ground.

  Xander turned to face the largest warehouse. The compound had three total, though one was significantly bigger than the others. Around them was a high outer concrete wall with a single large entrance. It was no different to a thousand other similar facilities, scattered all over the Iron Belt. Xander barged through a small side door, stomping across the warehouse floor towards the nearest room that looked vaguely like an office. The contents of the warehouse had been covered in blue plastic sheets, something that struck Xander as extremely odd.

  “Who is in charge here?” Xander said, standing the doorway of the office, his hands against the frame. He scowled as he looked around the room. There was three men sat inside, each wearing a white shirt with a black tie, a name embroidered on the left breast of their clothing. Heliustech. The men turned to face the angry mercenary. One of them stood up.

  “Can I help you, Cain, isn’t it?” The standing man said.

  “You the asshole who counts himself as the boss?”

  “I suppose,” the man said. “I am the supervisor of this facility.” The man outstretched his hand. “Sergei Bird, Heliustech site manager.”

  Xander stared down at the awaiting palm. He didn’t take it. “You the corporate rep for the contract?”

  “I suppose.” Sergei was remarkably calm before the angry, armed, mercenary.

  “Then why, the hell, were we attacked? Our dropships flew right into antiair fire. Tanks were at your gates!”

  “You were contracted for a defensive mission.”

  “For a defensive garrison! Guild rules state that a garrison requires an extremely low chance of combat.”

  “Low,” Sergei said. “But not impossible.”

  “I would not class antiair guns and multiple enemy suits low. Expect to foot the bill for the orbital strike I had to call in. I’m invoking the special circumstances clause.” Xander took a step forward, moving into the office proper.

  “From what I gather you chose to engage those antiair defences. I would argue that action was outside of the remit of your contracted purpose.”

  “Are you really going to try and argue that?” Xander drew himself up. He wasn’t a tall person, but the corporate executive was much shorter than him, and he stared down at the man. “The only reason this whole facility isn’t being bombarded by helicopters right now is because they’re scared that you’ll bring in your own air support. And you should do that, fire that up the corporate chain or whatever you pen pushers do. You’ve only got a short time before they decide to send them in anyway.”

  “Oh…I…uh, thank you then. I'll submit the request, but I can't guarantee that the higher-ups will pay it. How much does it come to?”

  “Oh, with the orbital strike fines, you’re looking at least ten, maybe eleven million.”

  “I’m sorry? Million.” Sergei was shaking. “Oh, well, that might be a problem…”

  QualiTech Military Product Number Thirty-Four: Mechanised Combat Suit

  Excerpt from the Boys Bumper Book of Mechs

  Date of Launch: Year of Reclamation 1122

  Ceased Production: Year of Reclamation 1401

  Released early on during the Corporate Wars, QualiTech product thirty-four, more commonly known as the QT-34, was QualiTech’s first official foray into the mechsuit industry. Launched to little fanfare in the third year of the war, the QT-34 follows all QualiTech’s traditional hallmarks. It was cheap and poorly armoured, widely regarded at the time as a knockoff of the more popular Brahms and Stucker Defender.

  Nevertheless, the QT-34 was a rousing financial success for QualiTech. The rate of attrition in corporate forces during the wars meant that the budget mechsuits were purchased in large quantities. The necessity of replacing forces quickly meaning they were constantly popular with purchasers, though they were wildly unpopular with riders. The suits proved easy to repair and maintain in combat. The mass-produced parts that composed them were easily replaced or salvaged and many QT-34’s are still in use today, especially amongst smaller corporations or bandit forces. QualiTech officially retired its support of the model in 1401YR, nearly three hundred years after its introduction. Time will tell of the replacement QT-212 will prove as ubiquitous.

  The QT-34 is a variable loadout mech. It has a humanoid form with two working hands and a standard posture. The exact weapon configuration varies widely, but stock models were issued with a carried assault autocannon and a single medium yield laser in the upper left torso. Expansion ports for shoulder-mounted weapons exist in the unit but were rarely used. New models shipped with them empty, the extras sold as an additional add-on few corporations were willing to spend credits on during the war, as QT-34’s and their riders were generally considered expendable.

  Powered by a dual-chamber neutrite reactor, the QT-34 had a comparable power output to its contemporary opponents. They proved ill-matched in other areas, however. Most commonly, the back of the suit’s knee lacked any kind of armour and was a vulnerable weak point. ‘QT-Knee’ is still a slang term amongst riders for an injury suffered from a toppling mechsuit, particularly amongst the mercenary companies. The suit also suffered from a substandard wetware connection, and frequently suffered from thought delay. Almost all modern suits outclass the QT-34, but in the hands of a capable rider, it is still a considerable threat to conventional units.

  Notable Battles

  - During the siege of Hades, a battalion of QT-34s was able to punch through a defensive line made of mixed heavy mechsuits. Their opponents had gambled on fielding overwhelming firepower, but were outmanoeuvred by the battalion's commander, a young Maximus Cain, who would later go on to found the famous Cain's Corsairs mercenary company.

  - A lone QT-34 with an unknown rider was able to ambush and disable multiple convoys on the planet Athena over the course of six years, between 1324-1330. The suit was ultimately destroyed when the mercenary company Helena's Hydras hid their mechsuits in the convoy trucks, lying deactivated beneath canvas sheets. The rider managed to eject, and their identity is still subject to rumour.

  - During 1286, at the height of the Corporate Wars, the jump ship Perseus is fired upon from the surface of the planet Hermes, breaching the then neutrality of the jump ships. Carrying the Nightwolves mercenary company, the mercs are more than happy to oblige the captain of the massively damaged jump ship. Their own materiel destroyed, the mercs take to the surface in retaliation by fielding the large delivery of QT-34's the ship was carrying. The Nightwolves land every rider they can manage, including trainees. The assault on the missile battery is still the largest all mech assault ever record
ed.

  Chapter Five

  Xander hated the wait. The corporate types never had any sense of urgency. There was always forms to fill out, authorisations to acquire, or a horde of middle managers to work through. It drove him insane. Xander wondered if slapping one of them into a mechsuit and sending them out to battle would put them right, or if they would dither over pulling the trigger. Either way, it would make his life easier, if only a little. It had been nearly two hours and Sergei had yet to reappear from his office. Xander was sat on the steps of the building, his eyes fixed to the skyline.

  His suit was open, ready to receive him should the enemy, whoever they were, returned. Anya had stayed in hers, watching the skies with her rotary cannons. The formidable weapons would be useful if another attack came, especially if it was aerial, but they ate through ammunition at an insane rate and were difficult to reload. Once Anya was out, she was effectively unarmed.

  “You look worried, my friend,” Alexi said. He was walking across the courtyard. His damaged arm was covered in a thick blue coating, a kind of hard spray-on plastic that dried near-instantly and formed a tight, if brittle, shell that acted as a makeshift bandage and splint. It was a common component of most first aid kits.

  “I just hate this corporate bullshit. We could do with the air support. Two or three helos, it isn't asking much. From how long it takes you would think we were asking for an entire jump ship.” Xander stretched out his legs, tapping the back of his boots onto the concrete.

  “It is how it is. You know these suited and booted types. It is why maybe you are a mercenary? It is the only way to escape the clutches of the constant drudgery.” Alexi took a seat on the step next to him. His face was covered in grease. His own suit destroyed; he had been trying to get the QT-34 he had salvaged working. It was sitting in the courtyard, its cockpit open. It wasn’t a perfect solution, the front armour was damaged, the interior cockpit plating destroyed, and the less said about the corpse that Xander had helped Alexi remove the better. The effects of a field knife on the human body were not pretty.