Ferrum Corde

by Richard Fox

  Gauss fire dropped off down the line as a wave reached the trench. The Kesaht’s humans sprang into action once they realized there was an enemy within swinging distance. Their crude weapons were useless against the power-armored Rangers in the trench, who proceeded to crush skulls with their rifle stocks or use their fists and augmented strength to beat their attackers to death.

  Lesser armored sailors and techs scrambled out of the trench and retreated.

  “No time for mercy.” Cha’ril’s rotary cannon went full cyclic, spitting bullets as fast as her barrels could spin. Santos joined her, cutting through the wave like wheat to the scythe.

  “All Armor,” Gideon came weakly through the IR. “Move to sector red five.”

  “We’re holding back the tide here,” Santos sent back. “We move north and—”

  A grainy image came up on his HUD. A picture captured from orbit. The gates to Harmony City were open and Sanheel were pouring out. A second picture flashed; the mass of centaurs had grown and stretched toward the Union’s lines.

  “These are a diversion.” Cha’ril’s rotary gun snapped to a halt and she ejected a spent ammo canister. “Move. Move!”

  Santos followed her. The flash of battle in the skies above grew more intense, and he realized that the Kesaht had launched a final attack that neither he, Cha’ril, nor anyone else would survive.

  “We’ll make them earn it,” Santos said.

  “My hatchling,” Cha’ril said. “Man’fred Vo, my love. I just want to see them one more time.”

  Santos thought of his father and wondered how he would learn of his son’s fate.

  ****

  Cha’ril’s Mauser snapped, muzzle blaring a flash of light that lit up the battlefield like a strobe light with each bullet she sent into the Sanheel charging at her. Rounds ripped off legs, ore through flanks, and each single shot killed at least two of the densely packed aliens.

  She gripped the rifle by the red hot barrel, with her cannon hand, firing gauss shells while the rifle was braced across her chest as she slapped a fresh magazine into the Mauser. She backed up as a group of Sanheel hopped over their fallen and scrambled toward her.

  She killed the lead alien and shifted her aim to the next, when a bolt hit her in the shoulder, twisting her back and into a wall.

  “Think I’ll make it easy for you!” She parried a thrusting spear tip with her rifle and swung hit the Sanheel in the head with the backswing, crushing its face. She dropped her rifle and grabbed the dying alien and flung it into a Sanheel with golden tusks and feathers worked into its dreadlocks.

  A spear nicked her neck servos and she swung at her attacker, retracting her fist and stabbing with the punch spike housed in the forearm. The spike pierced its sternum and exited out its back.

  The sound of Mauser fire assaulted her speakers and once she pushed off the dead alien impaled on her arm, all she saw was dead Kesaht.

  Gideon and Santos, their rifle barrels smoking, were half hidden behind a broken wall.

  “I had them.” Cha’ril picked up her weapon.

  “Fall back.” Gideon motioned her toward him. “This line’s lost.”

  “There is no place to fall back to, captain,” she said as she jumped over the wall. A Kesaht fighter dove at them, firing twin bolts of plasma that stitched down the street. Cha’ril spun around, stopping between the rows of deadly energy as the fighter roared overhead. She shot from the hip and blew the fighter into fragments.

  “The hospital,” Gideon said.

  Santos skidded to a stop, his helm to the sky.

  “Look.” He raised his chin.

  Lines of fire arced toward Gold Beach, an orbital bombardment that the Armor was powerless to fight.

  Santos stood up straight and held his rifle low across his waist.

  The ground trembled as the first shell landed and a flash of light went up…from the north. More hits pounded a rhythm through the earth, all striking beyond the Union’s crumbling defenses, but landing along the Kesaht’s advance from their domed city.

  “Bad shots?” Santos asked.

  “Something’s coming in.” Gideon pointed to the sky. Twin gouts of flame broke low over the city, like sudden angel wings.

  “You two deal with that,” the captain said. “I think the command post is under attack.”

  Cha’ril checked the bullet count on her Mauser: two rounds. She’d loaded an older magazine. She touched the bottom of her torso, where spare mags were attached to her Armor, and found nothing.

  “I’m low,” she said to Santos as they ran past Union troops carrying wounded back toward the field hospital.

  “I’m out.” Santos locked his rifle on his back and unsnapped his MEWS from his thigh. The weapon morphed into a gladius.

  The thump of heavy weapons fire carried through the air. They were about to turn a corner, when a Sanheel body went flying past them and landed with a crunch.

  Cha’ril raised her rifle and stepped around the corner.

  Armor, clad in matte black, swung a katana and chopped the head clean off of a Sanheel. A kick sent the body into a pack of Rakka. Fire inside a building full of dead aliens and a handful of Union Marines lit up three more Armor suits, all killing Sanheel.

  Cha’ril froze, unsure of exactly what she was seeing. Then she recognized the markings on the Armor. Templar crosses.

  Ibarrans.

  She aimed her rifle at the nearest Armor and was about to fire, when Santos slapped her muzzle down.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

  “They—they’re here to—”

  “Here to help.” The nearest Ibarran stabbed a dying Sanheel through the back. He flicked blood away, then sheathed the weapons with a smooth, practiced motion.

  “Araki, Nisei lance, Ibarra Nation. Where is the Aeon?” he asked.

  “What?” Santos asked.

  “Tall. Green. Female. I doubt you’ve come across more than one in this hell hole.” He lifted up a hunk of broken wall and a dust-covered sailor scrambled out.

  “Yeah, we’ve got one of those,” Santos said. “What do you want with her?”

  “Shut up, you idiot.” Cha’ril brought the stock of her rifle to one shoulder, muzzle to the ground, but the weapon was at the ready. “They’re Ibarrans.”

  “And we have an Ibarran fleet.” Araki pointed to the sky. “One with room for more than just one Aeon. The Kesaht ships seem more interested in fighting each other than dealing with us. We took the Crucible with barely a fight.”

  “You…came for us?” she asked.

  “The Lady sent us for the Aeon. She didn’t mention the Union, though Admiral Makarov and the Black Knight made clear that we’re to remove you all from Kesaht’ka…unless you want to stay?”

  “She’s at the field hospital,” Cha’ril said. “Now how are you going to get us all off this rock?”

  “Really, Cha’ril,” Santos said to her, “I thought we’d play a little hardball with where Trinia was at.”

  Araki tilted his head slightly and a stubby antenna mounted to his helm lit up. His gauss cannon arm shot up to one side and fired, blowing through a wall and killing a Sanheel cowering on the other side.

  “Fall back to the landing pads for evac!” the Nisei broadcast from his speakers. “Fall back!”

  Union troops in surrounding buildings trickled out of their fighting positions, still maintaining discipline as the good news was repeated over and over down the line.

  “We’ll be the last off,” Araki said.

  “Black Knight?” Santos asked. “Isn’t that—”

  “It is,” Cha’ril said. “We need to get to Gideon before he finds Roland.”

  “But the captain wouldn’t—”

  “He would. In a heartbeat.”

  ****

  Roland snapped his Gustav rifle up and aimed it dead center of Gideon’s chest, his former lance commander returned the favort with his gauss cannons. Gideon snapped out his punch spike and readied it
at his side.

  Gideon side stepped, edging closer toward Roland, who stood his ground, back to the field hospital.

  “Using wounded as a shield?” Gideon asked. “How far you’ve fallen.”

  Trinia peaked around Roland’s side as he and Gideon continued the standoff.

  “Tell him what you told me,” Trinia said, “before one of you shoots.”

  “I don’t think he wants to hear that just yet,” Roland said.

  “That’s why?” Gideon bellowed from across the damaged square. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You’ve come for the Aeon. You Templar pretend you’re for all of humanity, but the second your matriarch demands you—”

  “The Ibarra Nation’s here for all of you,” Roland said, his rifle still pointed at Gideon. “Drop ships are coming in, enough to get every Union soldier off this hell hole and back home. Check your comms. Your soldiers will confirm it. So do you want to get off this shit hole or do you want round two right here right now?”

  Roland and Gideon kept their weapons trained on each other. Gideon said nothing, and Roland hoped that meant the other Armor was scanning comm freqs and verifying Roland’s claims that Ibarra Nation drop ships were evacuating Terran Union soldiers

  Gideon bent his cannon arm slightly, shifting the aim off Roland. Roland lowered his Gustav.

  Cha’ril and another Armor with the fleur-d-lys of the Iron Dragoons showed up behind Gideon and Roland pinged Nicodemus for reinforcements.

  “And what about Trinia?” Gideon asked.

  “I need her,” Roland said.

  “Sir, it’s that vision,” the new Iron Dragoon said. “It was the Aeon and you and—”

  “That’s enough, Santos.” Gideon stomped forward and Roland put slight pressure on his trigger.

  If this Santos saw the vision, then Stacey must have reached out to every Armor in the galaxy when she sent her message. She must have been under too much stress to limit the call to just the Armor loyal to her, Roland thought.

  “Your stupid visions don’t matter if the Ibarrans jettison us into the void the first chance they get,” Cha’ril said. “Of all the Ibarrans they could have sent…”

  “No,” Roland said, shaking his helm. “We won’t do that. You have my word.”

  “Your word?” Rage seeped through Gideon’s speakers. “You think for a second I’ll believe—”

  Roland raised his rifle.

  Trinia stepped around Roland and put her hand on his muzzle. She tried to push it down, but Roland held firm, so she moved directly between his and Gideon’s line of fire. Roland canted his Gustav to one side.

  “Gideon will remain my guard,” she said.

  “Then come over here,” the captain said, tilting his helm to one side.

  “And I will leave this place as soon as the Ibarrans bring down a ship,” she said. “I’m leaving with my ward—with all the wounded. Gideon, are you going to come with me or not? What’s more important—the warriors following you or your vendetta?”

  Gideon seemed to relax ever slightly.

  “He can’t stay with you,” Roland said. “You’re needed to—”

  Trinia spun around and leveled a finger at his chest. “Your damn ‘visions’ gave me up to the Toth.” She poked him in the breastplate and winced with pain. “You have no idea what they’ve done to me. Now your ‘visions’ bring you back here. Gideon stays with me. He will behave. He owes me.”

  “How long have you known him?” Roland asked.

  “Do you want my help or not?” she asked as her green face darkened several shades. Roland opted not to test her further.

  “Then…he stays with you,” Roland said.

  The sound of heavy footfalls came from behind.

  “Roland!” Nicodemus shouted. “Landing zone is secure and—”

  The other Templar skidded to a stop next to Roland. His rotary cannon snapped toward Gideon then locked back into its holster mounted on his upper back.

  “And you found Gideon,” Nicodemus said.

  Gideon twisted his gauss cannon arm from side to side.

  “Sir, do you not like that Ibarran either?” Santos asked.

  “That’s enough out of you,” Gideon said. “Dragoons, form a cordon around the Aeon and get her to the extraction point.” An antenna went up from his helm. “I’ll make sure the rest of our soldiers get off this hell hole. Trinia, go with Roland. I’ll catch up.”

  “Why isn’t he going with us?” Trinia asked as Roland guided her to a crumbling stadium.

  “He’s going to be the last one off,” Roland said.

  “He didn’t say that,” Trinia said, glancing over her shoulder several times as she broke into a run. Cha’ril and Santos caught up quickly and formed a flank to her left.

  “Doesn’t have to,” Roland said. “I know him too well.”

  ****

  Roland stood beside the ramp of an Ibarran Destrier as Union wounded were carried into the ship. A gaggle of a half dozen children—all wearing oversized breather masks, their eyes scrunched against the blazing sunlight—were led by a team of Strike Marines.

  Two of the Strike Marines caught his attention. One carried a little girl in his arms, and was too large for a standard human, with scaly skin and four fingers on one hand. The second Strike Marine was short, but with a larger helmet to accommodate his quills—a Dotari.

  A girl squealed and slipped the grip of a Marine as she saw Trinia. She bounded up the ramp and into the Aeon’s arms.

  More Strike Marines carried a gurney up to the ramp. The man strapped to it had no lower arms or legs and wore a makeshift mask over the gaping hole that was his jaw.

  Roland wanted to reach out and call to Aignar, but given the way the two had parted, he decided this wasn’t the time.

  “Last of the aid station,” said a Strike Marine lieutenant as he peeled off from the litter team. “This bird a priority evac?” He looked back at the dusty stadium pitch. “Still got a few more trickling in.”

  “All birds go wheels up at the same time,” Roland said. “Keeps the Kesaht from identifying high-value targets.”

  The roar of Shrike fighters continued overhead.

  “Sounds about right.” The lieutenant did a double take at Roland. “You’re one of…them.”

  “Roland.”

  “Hoffman. We’re not surrendering to you. We’re catching a ride.”

  “That’s not why we’re here,” Roland said. “You’ll be sent back to Earth. Eventually.”

  “How ‘eventually’?” Hoffman asked, shifting uneasily.

  “You’re riding space available. Soon as space is available to get you home, you’ll get home…Is that a Karigole in there? And a Dotari Marine?”

  “I don’t know how it is with the Ibarrans,” Hoffman said as he started up the ramp, “but the Strike Marines only take the best of the best!”

  “Group Dynamo, this is Shrike leader,” came over Roland’s IR, weak and broken. “Got a cleared vector back to the fleet. Break for orbit in two minutes. No second chance. You miss the pickup, you miss the pickup.”

  Roland backed up toward the cargo bay. The Destrier’s engines revved up and the deck shifted slightly against his sabatons as the anti-grav generators kicked on.

  “Gideon…” Cha’ril said, coming down to the ramp’s edge and joining Roland.

  “Do you have him on IR?” Roland asked.

  Cha’ril tapped the side of her helm hard. “Damn thing’s been malfunctioning since we set down. I…there!” She pointed to the ruins where Gideon had emerged at a run, carrying someone beneath one arm.

  The ship wobbled and lifted a few feet off the ground.

  “Pilot!” Roland shouted both through his speakers and over wideband IR. He flagged down a crewman at the other end of the cargo bay. “Pilot, wait! We’ve got one more!”

  The crewman touched his ear then waved his fingertips across his neck several times.

  “Got bogies incoming,” the pilot sent over IR.
“No close air support. Got to outrun them.”

  Roland looked at Trinia, huddled in a far corner with the girl on her lap, then back to Gideon, who was closing the distance rapidly.

  “Tell him to hurry,” Roland said.

  “I will shoot the pilot in the head if he doesn’t stop,” Cha’ril said, snapping her rotary gun up as the barrels spun to life.

  Roland chopped a hand against the rotary gun’s base, and it popped off her shoulder, rounds spraying from the ammo belt.

  “You bastard!” the Dotari armor cursed as she loaded gauss bullets into her forearm cannon.

  “Cha’ril!” Gideon shouted.

  The ship lurched forward and into a turn. It rose ten feet off the ground and flew back toward Gideon, giving him a berth of a few dozen yards.

  Gideon adjusted his course and hefted the man in his arms up in one hand like a rag doll. The ship rumbled past him and he threw the man…with too much force. The limp figure sailed over Roland’s head…and into Cha’ril’s arms.

  Roland fell onto his belly, the sudden impact of his many tons sending the ship bobbing like a dolphin. He unlocked his sword from his hip and unsnapped the blade. Grasping it near the tip, Roland thrust the hilt out toward Gideon as the Union armor broke into a dead sprint to catch up.

  The ship lifted up.

  Gideon leaped and got one hand on the hilt. His momentum carried him forward, sending stress warnings from Roland’s shoulder actuators across his HUD in giant red symbols.

  Roland braced a knee to the ramp and heaved back. Gideon flew up just enough to get a grip on the edge of the ramp then pulled himself up, the sword still in his hand. He looked down at the Ibarran blade, the same one that had so badly damaged his armor when he and Roland last saw each other.

  He dropped the blade and went into the cargo bay, not bothering to give Roland a glance.

  Roland scooped up his sword and got to the deck as the ramp closed with a bang. A crewman jabbered at him, clearly upset at the stress his ship had gone through. Roland turned his optics to the crewman’s face, then snapped his blade back into the hilt.