Combat Frame XSeed

by Brian Niemeier

  “Unable to establish a target lock at this range,” Marilyn warned from across a vast gulf. The green reticle jittered like a jumping bean in an earthquake.

  Air’s already ionized in the shuttle’s wake. Should give me some wiggle room. Max’s target hung at the end of a long dark tunnel. He pressed the trigger and saw the edge of Mjolnir’s muzzle flash. There was no visible impact on the shuttle’s blazing rockets.

  Max’s HUD flashed red. His foggy head whipped forward with a sudden drop in speed.

  “Number two engine inoperative,” Marilyn said with improved clarity as the transparent clay filling the cockpit turned back into air.

  Max gulped down a deep breath that escaped as a cry of triumph when the glowing pinpoint on the horizon expanded into a fist-sized fireball.

  “All targets destroyed,” Wen announced, her voice exultant.

  “Nice save, Captain,” added Larson. “We finally gave the Socs a bloody nose.”

  Max slumped back in his chair and breathed. He stared out over the hazy green coastline below. But we lost Zane—and a prototype combat frame full of military secrets. Once word got out, the Socs and every tinhorn warlord on the continent would be looking for Dead Drop. Unless we find it first, we’re in for a shitload of trouble.

  “This can’t be happening,” Secretary-General Mitsu told herself as she stared down the polished ebony table where eight of the nine Coalition Secretaries sat in heated debate. Her eyes wandered to the lone vacant seat: the place normally reserved for the head of the SOC’s newly created Defense Ministry.

  Terrestrial Affairs Secretary Gohaku stood and slapped a sheaf of papers down on the table with a shake of his bald, jowly head. “There’s no mistake. Contact with all Operation N shuttles was lost off the coast of Africa shortly after 7:00 a.m. local time. My people on the ground have confirmed the shuttles were shot down by EGE aircraft.”

  “Who in their right mind would attack a humanitarian mission?” Mitsu thought aloud. The question silenced her colleagues’ muttering.

  “I’m more interested in why there was no warning of the attack,” said gray-haired Transportation Secretary Vier. “The EGE can’t have decided to slaughter 200,000 Coalition civilians on a lark. Someone must have gathered advance intelligence.” He cast an accusing glance at Mitsu. Why wasn’t it shared?”

  The heavy oak door slammed open against the gilded plaster wall. Megami stood in the doorway with a navy blue trench coat draped over her black, skirted suit. “I see you started without me. I’d apologize for coming late, but no one told me about this meeting.”

  Mitsu stood up and pointed at Megami. “The Defense Secretary bears responsibility for this disaster! Sending those aid workers to Earth was her idea.”

  Megami tossed her waist-length hair. “Using Sanzen’s illegal workforce was yours. I just suggested a number.”

  A heavy silence fell. All eyes turned to Mitsu.

  The Secretary-General spoke in a quivering voice. “You staked your future on Operation N.”

  Megami grinned like a devil from Dark Ages art. “So I did—on Operation N failing.”

  “That’s absurd,” said Vier. “You’ve practically admitted your guilt.”

  “Why not?” Megami laughed. “All of you are complicit.

  “Complicit in what?” scoffed Vier.

  “In the deaths of 198,000 civilians and two thousand Kazoku,” Megami said.

  “Kazoku?” repeated Mitsu. That single word was all she could say in her shock. A corner of her mind remembered that it meant family.

  Megami stepped into the conference room. “Yes. My loyal brothers and sisters are understandably eager to meet you.” She snapped her fingers. Two lines of men in dark gray uniforms rushed around Megami and into the room. They surrounded the table, pointing assault rifles at the visibly startled Secretaries.

  “But I helped you!” Gohaku whined to Megami.

  “We did everything you asked!” added gaunt Commerce Secretary Satsu.

  Megami’s hand waved in a gesture that took in the whole table. “Sunset them,” she ordered the Kazoku.

  Mitsu stood frozen as her colleagues were herded from the room at gunpoint. A rifle barrel jabbed her in the side, breaking her trance. “Who are you?” she asked weakly when the Kazoku marched her past Megami.

  “I’m the Sentinel on the wall,” the new Secretary-General said. “I stand guard against the stupidity and brutality of Earth. And thanks to you, my watch is almost over.”

  22

  Ritter stood with Max beside the battered Thor Prototype on the Yamamoto’s deck. A flight of helicopters thundered overhead toward the tropical coastline off the carrier’s port side. Two turboprop recon planes followed. Their rotodomes looked to Ritter like flattened mushrooms growing atop the aircraft.

  At length, Ritter spoke. “We should be out there looking for Zane.”

  “Why?” scoffed Max. “He had the right idea bailing on this dumpster fire.”

  “That’s an odd way to describe a total victory,” said Ritter.

  “Megami used our turkey shoot to promote herself from SecDef to SecGen. The only victory was hers.”

  Ritter’s spirits sank. “You think that Soc pilot was telling the truth? Was Operation N a mercy mission all along?”

  “I’d rather not think about it,” said Max. “But Zane tried to warn us before he bugged out. Somehow he knew the situation was fubar.”

  Major Collins approached and saluted Ritter. To judge by his helmet and tan jumpsuit, he wasn’t out for a brisk constitutional. Ritter returned the Major’s greeting.

  “Joining the hunt for Zane, sir?” Max inferred. He still wore his flight suit but had stowed his helmet.

  “Admiral Omaka wants all available aircraft sweeping the coast for Dead Drop,” said Collins. “We can’t let it fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Do you want our help?” asked Ritter.

  Collins shook his head. “No. You men have done fine work lately, but the Thor Prototype is grounded pending repairs, and the Mab would just slow us down. I want you to get your air and watercraft combat ready ASAP. If we weren’t on the Coalition’s radar before, we definitely are now.”

  “Excuse me for being blunt,” said Max, “but Zane could be in Ankara by now. Don’t you think searching the coast is a wild goose chase?”

  “Off the record, yes,” Collins said. “The Admiral turned that black combat frame inside out looking for intel. I assume she has a lead on Dellister’s whereabouts she hasn’t seen fit to share with us. All I can do is my duty. I expect the pair of you to do yours.”

  “Sir?” Ritter called out as Collins turned to leave.

  The Major paused and looked back over his shoulder. “I’m on a tight schedule, Private. Out with it.”

  “I’m sorry about Zimmer,” said Ritter. “He died so I could make it home. I can’t help thinking I could’ve done more.”

  “Have you figured what you’d do differently if you could relive that mission?” Collins asked.

  The question caught Ritter off guard. “Not exactly.”

  “Then find the answer,” said Collins. “And when your next chance comes, act on it.” He strode toward his waiting helo.

  Max ran his hand along the Thor Prototype’s blackened right side. “Classic EGE strategy: We poke the Soc hive; then commit our forces to a snipe hunt. Come on, let’s get back to work.”

  Ritter ambled to the forward port side elevator where his Mab still stood with a chunk blown out of its left skirt armor. Collins’ admonition and Max’s cynicism toward the EGE swirled in his mind. His troubled thoughts and the constant noise on deck kept him from noticing he’d picked up a tail until an accented male voice spoke directly behind him.

  “Chevalier Tod Ritter?”

  “Yeah. Who…?” Ritter turned to see a man—a term he applied loosely since the stranger looked even younger than him—with brown hair tied back in a long ponytail and deep blue eyes. He wore a blue jumpsuit with a sleev
e patch showing two angels holding up a crowned blue shield on a field of white.

  “I beg pardon if I startled you. My name is Jean-Claude du Lione.”

  “The crown prince of Nouvelle-France?” Ritter sketched a hasty bow.

  Jean-Claude saluted. “And the grand master of your order.”

  “Oh. Right!” Ritter saluted back. “I’m a knight now.”

  “Doubly so, M. Ritter,” Jean-Claude said with a wry grin. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance now that you are awake.”

  “Likewise,” said Ritter. “Thanks for the medal.”

  “Thank you for your service to the EGE, and by extension, the nation of France.”

  Ritter shrugged. “I’m fighting to restore Neue Deutschland, but I don’t mind helping the French along the way.”

  “Your flippancy does not conceal your ambition,” Jean-Claude said. “As one who also seeks to liberate his homeland, I discerned a kindred spirit in Captain Darving’s account of your deeds. Will you see your duty through to the end, no matter the cost?”

  Ritter stood straight, squared his shoulders, and looked Jean-Claude in the eye. “Yes, I will.”

  “Such singular determination enabled the leaders of Mitrophan’s Crusade to reconquer Europe,” Jean-Claude said. “Those who distinguished themselves in battle and remembered the loyalty of their men were made kings—my forefathers included. The Supreme Patriarch called his sons to drive out the paynim. With God’s help, you and I shall drive out the Socs.”

  “I like your optimism,” said Ritter. “It’ll be a while before I lead anybody, though.”

  Jean-Claude laid his hand on Ritter’s shoulder. “A leader is one who serves from the front. Remember this, and all will be well for you.”

  “Got it,” Ritter said. “That’s the best pep talk anyone’s ever given me. Is that why you came over here?”

  “In part,” said Jean-Claude. “I also came to arrange passage to Moanda, where I have hired a transport plane.”

  “What for?”

  “Though I do not question Admiral Omaka’s competence,” Jean-Claude said, “I am doubtful that her search for Dead Drop will bear fruit. I have resolved to make my own search, taking a different approach based on my knowledge of M. Dellister.”

  Ritter scanned the bustling deck and pulled Jean-Claude behind the Mab’s giant blue leg. “You know where Zane is?”

  “Not for certain,” Jean-Claude admitted. “But I kept company with M. Dellister long enough to know that he shares a strong bond with his combat frame—a sentiment with which I sympathize. I understand that Dead Drop was damaged in Kisangani. Zane will seek to make Dead Drop whole and so become whole himself.”

  “The Dolphs took out one of Dead Drop’s maneuvering thrusters,” recalled Ritter. “It won’t be hard to replace. The damage to its plasma cannon is another story.”

  “Dead Drop’s cannon is damaged? I had heard it shot down a shuttle.”

  “You should’ve seen what it could do before,” Ritter said flatly.

  “To my knowledge,” Jean-Claude said, “there is only one arms trafficker on the continent who would deal in such advanced military hardware.”

  A name popped into Ritter’s head along with some serious reservations. “Carlos the Scorpion.”

  Jean-Claude’s tanned face brightened. “I was not misinformed when I heard you knew Africa better than anyone in the EGE. Will you accompany me to search for M. Dellister? I fear for his safety traveling the Dark Continent alone.”

  Ritter suppressed his misgivings for Zane’s sake. “Sure, if you can get me out of my current assignment.”

  “General McCaskey has already granted my request for transportation and personnel,” Jean-Claude said. “You are now assigned to my search team. Come, we depart at once!”

  Sieg swooped down toward Kisangani. Anti-aircraft fire raked the clear blue sky, but the Type One weaved through the hail of shells in a fluid aerial dance to the music of booming guns.

  The city was an inverted oasis of stark steel and concrete towers in a sea of green. Farther south in the city center, the spaceport straddled the muddy river. There Sieg would find transport back to space, where he would confront Sekaino Megami and perhaps earn a chance at redemption.

  But first he’d have to avoid being blown to molten scrap by the five Dolphs the base had just launched. Five red lights flared in the sky a klick above the spaceport, missing Sieg and giving away the advanced combat frames’ positions.

  Sieg pressed the Type One’s speed advantage, accelerating toward the concrete canyons below. Windows exploded in a shower of crystal as the prototype CF broke the sound barrier thirty meters above the gridlocked street. Right turn. Veer left. Boost over that skywalk. Sieg cheated fiery death only because the deceptively nimble CF translated his thoughts into action as fast as his hands could move.

  Six blocks ahead, the skyline dwindled from looming towers to wide open flats. The Dolphs would be ready to ambush him as soon as he left the cover of the buildings. Sieg wouldn’t have fired a plasma weapon into a crowded city, either. Luckily, his CF was packing a ramjet rifle loaded with smart rounds.

  Sieg had a clear line of sight on a pair of blocky blue Dolphs hovering over the spaceport. The Type One’s fire control system locked on, and he pressed the trigger twice. Two laser-guided shells streaked up between the surrounding buildings. A bright ball of fire erupted from each Dolph’s chest, and both fell to Earth.

  The Type One blasted out of the city center and across a kilometer-wide pavement ringed with gigantic scaffolds. All three remaining Dolphs hung clustered together to concentrate their fire. Sieg pulled up and pushed his CF’s engines to full power, nearly doubling its already insane speed. Plasma bolts pockmarked the airfield below him with glass-lined craters. At least the AA guns stopped firing.

  Sieg rocketed into the midst of the Dolphs’ close formation. He drew his two-handed sword before the Soc pilots could back off. Sieg pressed and held a red rubber-coated button as he swept the stick 180 degrees. The recessed rocket nozzles in the blade’s spine fired, adding brutal force to his already crushing swing. The carbyne edge bisected all three Dolphs like a chainsaw tearing through piñatas.

  Now I need to steal a shuttle, thought Sieg. But a sudden realization forestalled his search. The guns haven’t started up again.

  Sieg reflexively raised his blade just in time to shield his cockpit from a plasma bolt that would have reduced him to shreds of charred meat. Instead, the impact set off his front airbag and rattled his spine. Not a plasma bolt. Two.

  The smoke cleared, revealing the enemy CF hovering right in front of Sieg. It looked like a Dolph, but darker blue with flared pauldrons and a backswept crest above the black v of its sensor array. It gripped a metal staff in its right fist and bore a tapered shield on its left arm.

  “Sieg Friedlander?” a fevered male voice cackled over the comm.

  “Yeah. Who’s asking?”

  The custom Dolph’s pilot laughed. “I serve Miss Megami. She asked me to confirm your identity before I duel you.”

  Sieg gritted his teeth. “So you’re an assassin sent to remove a threat to the queen.”

  “You misunderstand.” The custom Dolph held out its staff. “I’m to make sure you’re worthy of her.” The staff’s tip ignited, forming a red plasma blade as big as the Dolph’s arm. Megami’s assassin flourished the incandescent spearhead in a mock salute.

  Sieg swung the Type One’s two-handed sword. The plasma emitter atop the Dolph’s spear split in half, forming two parallel blades. With a smooth motion of its wrist, the blue CF caught Sieg’s sword between the plasma fork’s tines. Sparks flew as the carbyne-infused steel blade took on a deep red glow. Sieg ignited his sword’s boosters. The rocket-driven blade forced the plasma fork aside.

  The Dolph gripped the fork’s shaft in both hands and pistoned it forward. The twin plasma blades slid down the Type One’s sword and burned through the clenched fingers of its right hand. Sieg re
leased the booster switch too late. His sword flew from the Type One’s weakened grip, spun through the air, and crashed into a fueling depot at the spaceport’s edge with an explosion that engulfed a city block.

  Sieg fired his retrorockets and pressed his ramjet rifle’s trigger twice. Both shots fragmented against the custom Dolph’s shield, leaving dark smudges on the convex surface.

  Megami’s assassin leveled his shield, revealing a pair of plasma cannons mounted inside. Sieg dived a split second before two crimson muzzle flashes burst from the chisel tip.

  I can’t beat this guy head-on. Sieg Pulled out of the dive and circled the spaceport counterclockwise, flying sideways to keep the dark blue CF in sight. He sensed the pilot was about to fire again and opened the throttle. Twin red flashes blew off the top of a launch tower the Type One had been in front of an instant before.

  Sieg charged his foe, who answered in kind. The Type One’s sensors acquired a target lock, and Sieg fired twice more but aimed slightly over the custom Dolph’s head. As expected, the blue CF dipped slightly instead of presenting its shield, from which it fired another double plasma burst. Sieg pressed onward but bent his CF’s legs at the knees. The energy bolts melted the tips of the Type One’s feet.

  The two combat frames collided with a force that crashed Sieg’s forehead into his screen. A lesser pair of impacts on his CF’s sides told Sieg that the custom Dolph’s stronger arms had grabbed the Type One.

  Sieg smiled to himself despite the warm blood trickling down his face. You Socs are all the same, he thought as the cracked monitor showed his shells homing in on the Dolph’s back.

  The Dolph spun, switching places with the silver CF in its arms. Sieg’s mind reeled as he fought with the controls to break free, but his own shells blasted into the Type One’s back. Alarms blared as red text scrolled across Sieg’s spider webbed screen warning him the main thrusters were gone.