Metal Legion Boxed Set 1

by C H Gideon

  “Do you know what this is?” Jem asked lightly, but Podsy suspected this was a pivotal moment in the conversation.

  Styles nodded. “It’s Zeen. We encountered them on Shiva’s Wrath where we engaged Jemmin.”

  “Zeen,” Jem repeated approvingly as it looked at the hologram reverently. “They were the Jem’un’s first failure. Their homeworld was destroyed by our carelessness. My forebears, the Jem’un for whom I am the last living legacy, were stewards of the last surviving Zeen. Zeen bio-diversity and social harmony, despite their fundamental differences, was so exquisite…so unparalleled in the cosmos…that the few specimens we preserved were barely sufficient in number to reproduce. We deposited them on a life-bearing world before coming here in the hope that they might arise once again, but before we left them behind, we bestowed upon them two gifts.”

  “The first was the knowledge of this place,” Styles ventured, drawing an approving nod from Jem.

  “Indeed. And the second, Lieutenant Podsednik?” Jem turned expectantly to Podsy, and at this point, Podsy saw that the hologram’s features had taken on a decidedly human appearance. No longer asymmetrical and elongated, they seemed midway between human and Jemmin. They even featured eyes with pupils, which all by itself seemed to make the creature half-human in comparison to a true Jemmin.

  Podsy thought he knew the answer to the hologram’s question, but he faltered briefly before giving it. What Jem was discussing was nothing short of an interstellar war which would soon be waged between many, if not all, of the starfaring nations known to the Illumination League.

  And it seemed the Terran Republic had a significant part to play in this coming war.

  Podsy mustered his wits and cleared his throat before replying, “The second gift was your gravity-cannon technology.”

  “Correct,” Jem said with another nod. “Given the extremely low rate at which Zeen reproduce, we surmised it would take them eleven or twelve thousand of your years before they could develop a functioning gravity cannon, but we could not give them Jemmin’s location for fear the Zeen would be destroyed by a cleverer, better-positioned adversary. And we were not heedless of the dangers of giving our most prized and dangerous technology to a species understandably consumed with hatred for the destroyers of their homeworld,” Jem added, and its shoulders slouched in resignation. “We simply saw no other option. Had my forebears traveled the cosmos, found a distant star, and attempted to rebuild in the hope of defeating Jemmin ourselves, Jemmin would have inevitably found and eradicated us as it did the rest of our society. We had no choice but to incorporate the Zeen and then come here to await their ascendance.”

  “I do appreciate the history lesson,” Styles said cautiously, “but how does any of this help us? We came here for evidence of the Jemmin conspiracy, but all you’ve given is hearsay…which we already had from the Vorr and Zeen.”

  “Evidence I can provide.” Jem nodded approvingly, and a panel silently receded into the wall opposite the door through which they had entered.

  A seemingly endless hallway stretched deep into the darkness beyond that open panel, and a faint whirring sound filled the room as a meter-wide disc-shaped platform floated up the tunnel and came to an unnervingly gentle and precise stop just inside the chamber. The panel returned to its place behind the disc-shaped platform, upon which rested a pair of tinted but translucent four-sided objects measuring about forty centimeters on each edge.

  “Please.” Jem gestured to the device on the left. “This is yours, as it has always been.”

  Podsy stepped forward, still crouching below the two-meter-high ceiling, and peered into the tinted panel. His eyes widened when he saw its contents: a human skull.

  “My forebears,” Jem explained, “were specialists in the field of biopreservation. Their studies took them across the galaxy, where they observed the great tapestry of life on a thousand different worlds. They catalogued notable species, collecting samples for documentation and preservation. This particular male,” the hologram pointed to the skull in the triangular box, “possessed a peculiar genetic mutation that proved immensely beneficial to immunological function. His offspring survived epidemics that eradicated entire populations unequipped with his particular genetic device. His remains have been preserved to the best of our ability, and should provide satisfactory evidence to corroborate the fact that the Jem’un visited your world long before humanity mastered the written word.”

  Podsy’s attention shifted to the second four-sided box, which Styles was already intently studying. It was an irregularly-shaped piece of metal or possibly some kind of ceramic, a part of a larger apparatus; possibly a data processing system of some kind.

  “This,” Jem continued, “is a component which was salvaged from the Nexus. It is hundreds of thousands of your years old and features architecture from which much of your current technology was derived. It is impossible to conclude otherwise empirically,” the hologram declared with absolute conviction. “With these two artifacts in hand as evidence, the only challenge left to you will be keeping Jemmin’s cohorts from intercepting and destroying them before the truth they represent is known to all of your people. But I must caution you…” Jem added, holding up a hand. “To reveal this now would be dangerous not only to you, but to the Vorr and Zeen as they prepare to play their part in our Correction. I spoke to the Vorr during their brief visit here, and they said that Terrans are a splinter faction of humanity. Is that correct?”

  “It is,” Styles agreed.

  “They also said,” Jem said intently, “that the rest of humanity lives in a star system called ‘Sol,’ and that unlike the Terran Republic, Sol is functionally subjugated to Jemmin.”

  “That also appears to be true.” Styles nodded grimly.

  “Then together with these gifts,” Jem gestured to the four-sided boxes, “I would offer a means by which you might, be it however unlikely, spare your Solarian cousins the fate Jemmin has wrought upon humanity’s predecessors. My forebears’ field of study taught them one thing above all else: life is a fatal struggle that is usually lost. But it is the act of defiance, the will to survive made manifest in the actions of the living, that propels life forward in all its chaotic glory. If you wish to offer such an act of defiance in defense of your Solarian cousins, knowing full well that it is likely to fail despite your best efforts, I would give you the greatest gift my forebears left to this universe.”

  Podsy and Styles shared a wary look before Podsy took the plunge. “What gift would that be?”

  The bright red crystalline ‘dot’ at the bottom of the hologram’s bowl-shaped projector slowly rose, causing the troopers’ rifles to reflexively train on the device as it gently levitated above the floor. Measuring five centimeters in diameter and approximately fifty centimeters long, its ruby-red depths seemed somehow alive with flickering movement.

  The shaft of crystal slowly rotated until its length was parallel to the floor, and as it floated toward Podsy, Styles motioned for the troopers to lower their weapons.

  Podsy reached beneath the device, which gently lowered into his hands. It was surprisingly heavy, but not unmanageably so. As he examined its multi-faceted surface, he noticed that not a single bit of light reflected from it, yet it shone with a light of its own, which he assumed to be some kind of optical illusion.

  “The gift,” Jem bowed deeply, drawing both Podsy and Styles’ attention back to the increasingly human-looking hologram, “is me.”

  19

  A Continuum of Martial Morality

  “Good to see you could make it, Roy,” Xi greeted her CO. “What’s your status?”

  “Glad to be here, Elvira,” Jenkins replied across the static-laden line. “Clover Battalion has eleven battle-ready Razorbacks, four down-checked requiring field repairs, and twenty-six wounded in need of medevac.”

  “Roger, Colonel,” Xi acknowledged, forwarding the pertinent info to base camp on the Gash’s south slope. “Medevac inbound, ETA sixteen minutes.
We’ve routed the eastern front and will proceed south. Are those fancy Razorbacks of yours capable of flanking the enemy formation from 260 degrees at ten klicks?”

  Jenkins chuckled. “At ten klicks we might be able to make 240, Captain.”

  “The sharper, the better,” Xi replied, impressed not only with the new mechs’ technical specifications but with her CO’s calm under fire. Mere minutes earlier his people had been under the most devastating knife-fight imaginable (one which Xi had not entirely accounted for in her otherwise solid battle plan), but here he was joking around like nothing had happened.

  He had the heart of a warrior, and Xi could only hope not to disappoint both him and General Akinouye in the next phase of the operation.

  She looked to the north, where the Bahamut Zero tore eastward back to a supporting position over the dig site. General Akinouye had spent sixteen Blue Boys in defense of Clover Battalion, and Xi suspected that represented the entirety of the Zero’s stock of such weapons.

  “Dragon Brigade, this is Elvira,” she called over the open channel, which now included the ferocious Clover Company. They were now moving at 120 kph as they made to flank enemy forces consolidating to the south. “Prepare for Operation Cutback.”

  Of her twenty-five charging mechs, only two had fallen out of formation and headed back to base-camp to receive expedited repairs. Combined with Colonel Jenkins’ eleven Razorbacks, Xi was confident they could wipe the southern field clean of Finjou before their northern and eastern counterparts could regroup for a second attack.

  Jenkins’ mechs moved into position west of the Finjou faster than she had expected, and for a moment it looked like she would fail to assemble Dragon’s mechs into a reasonable formation north of the enemy before her CO reached his flanking position.

  Thankfully, she got in under the wire and spared herself the inevitable ribbing during the after-action briefing.

  With her two-pronged attack prepared against a still-scattered group of enemy vehicles, she gave the order. “Dragon Brigade, execute Operation Cutback.”

  Elvira’s guns were the first to clear, sending HE shells downrange a quarter-second before the rest of Dragon’s artillery roared in unison. The mechs formed up on Xi sprinted toward the enemy position, loosing a swarm of eighty-three SRMs. Most of the Dragon mechs had already exhausted their supply of missiles or the volley would have been twice as potent.

  The Finjou vehicles spat counterfire, launched interceptor drones, and scrambled desperately to avoid the mixed artillery and missile barrage. Terran shells exploded amongst the enemy vehicles, scrapping a handful in the opening seconds while the Finjou missile interceptors did an admirable job. Sixty-eight of the eighty-three SRMs were intercepted by the last-ditch missile shield, and of the fifteen Terran warheads which slipped through, only five cratered their targets. The rest missed or struck previously-neutralized vehicles.

  Twenty-seven Finjou droid carriers survived the opening volley, and each of those vehicles unleashed a horde of attack droids that scattered uniformly across the Finjou position.

  “Smart.” She grunted, loading another set of HE shells and sending them into the northern edge of the Finjou formation. The Finjou droids quickly moved out to cover nearly a square kilometer of ground.

  “Gunslinger,” Xi raised the Sam Kolt, forwarding fire orders as she spoke, “give me a ditch.”

  “Unpacking my shovel,” the Kolt’s Jock acknowledged as Xi’s and Jenkins’ mechs scorched the perimeter of the Finjou position with artillery fire. After fifteen seconds of a sustained barrage, a perfect ring of artillery-impact craters surrounded the enemy formation.

  “Preacher,” Xi commanded, “give me four Purgatories to the following coordinates.”

  “Purgatories inbound,” Falwell acknowledged.

  As Preacher’s missiles took to the sky, the Sam Kolt fired its capital-grade railgun. A bolt of tungsten tore across the circle of artillery craters, carving a meter-deep ditch almost completely across it. Two hundred assault droids were vaporized, and dozens more were hurled aside as the ground heaved violently.

  From orbit, it probably looked like Xi had just carved the universal human symbol for restriction in the Brick’s terrain. The symbol looked almost identical to the “no smoking,” “no littering,” or “no whoring,” graphics, except in this case Xi’s message was “no Finjou.”

  It was a message the Purgatory-class missiles delivered nearly as effectively as a nuke would have.

  All four Purgatories erupted twenty meters above the ground, conjuring a quartet of raging infernos that immersed three-fourths of the assault droids in the circle in a fiery baptism. Not only did the fire fail to wash away the droids’ sins, but it was also one the fearsome devices did not survive.

  As the four clouds of black smoke rose skyward, they merged into one, leaving a field littered with fallen droids. A few of the assault droids survived, perhaps as many as one in ten, but those were quickly engaged by Jenkins and Clover Battalion as they arrived at the enemy position with coil guns spewing Terran fury at the few remaining Finjou.

  The droids fought valiantly, if such could be said of unthinking machines, but the Terran attack was too effective and well-executed. Xi had herded the enemy precisely where she wanted them, caught them in a pincer, and then mercilessly annihilated them with overwhelming firepower.

  It was the Metal Legion’s way: try not to start a fight, but if there was a battle, finish it as quickly as possible with as much as it takes. Only by demonstrating martial superiority could a warrior effectively dissuade would-be challengers from indulging their aggressive impulses. By eradicating the eastern and southern Finjou formations so ruthlessly (and with a little artistic flair thrown in for good measure), Xi knew she was sending a universal message any military commander would understand.

  But the demonstration wasn’t over yet.

  Even as the last of the droids fell to Clover’s coil guns, Xi’s mechs were already sprinting to the east, where the enemy looked to have nearly completed their consolidation. The Bahamut Zero had returned to effective support range of the dig site, but General Akinouye’s mega-mech was not close enough to engage the enemy formation at peak efficiency.

  The dig site was more exposed than ever. If her guess was right, as soon as the northeastern Finjou contingent began its charge, the last of their aircraft would take to the skies with every intention of filling the Gash with several megatons of fusion-fueled fire. They probably didn’t know why Armor Corps was down there, and by now they probably didn’t care. “Whatever your enemy wants, seek to deny him” was an axiom as old as conflict, and the Finjou had demonstrated themselves to be fierce and savvy combatants on the Brick.

  They would have no qualms about annihilating every exposed Terran, which meant Xi needed to support the dig site as soon as possible. The majority of her fixed defensive positions were either ammo-dry or close to it. She still had eight of Captain Chow’s Vipers on the ground, but they and the Bahamut Zero represented the only credible anti-aircraft systems in support range of the Gash outside of the Mole Hill.

  “Dragon Brigade,” she called to every non-Clover mech on the ground as they sprinted northeast toward the dig site, “resume defensive assignments ASAP. Lieutenant Winters, how’s the Mole Hill?”

  “Standing at twenty-two percent ammo, Captain,” Winters replied promptly. “All platforms stable and fire-ready.”

  Barely enough for one more interception flight, Xi thought grimly. “Copy that, Generally. Gunslinger, that was some fine shooting back there,” she praised. “Climb the Mole Hill’s western face and prepare for an encore.”

  “Acknowledged, Captain,” replied the Kolt’s Jock.

  If her read was right, the Finjou would be ready for a concerted assault in just under nine minutes…and it would take the bulk of her mechs seventeen minutes to make it to their defensive positions at the Gash.

  “Havoc, Elvira,” she raised the general’s mega-mech.

 
“Havoc here,” Akinouye replied.

  “We’re going to need to lean on your anti-aircraft systems for eight minutes, General,” Xi explained.

  The general chuckled. “I can still read a tactical plotter, Captain. We’re bingo Blue Boys, but have plenty of everything else. Take your time; the party will be here waiting for you when you’re done playing with your hair.”

  “Roger, Havoc,” Xi acknowledged with a grin.

  Had anyone else said those words she might have taken offense, but coming from General Akinouye, it was a badge of honor to be ribbed on the open air.

  “Clover Actual,” Xi raised Jenkins on a P2P.

  “Go ahead, Elvira,” the colonel acknowledged as his mechs raced across the terrain nearly thirty percent faster than Xi’s.

  “Advise you flank east of the Mole Hill,” she explained. “We’ve got some pop-ups and mines dug-in between there and the Gash as a last line of defense should the enemy ground forces break through. I’d hate for you to sprain an ankle charging through there.”

  “Copy that, Elvira,” Jenkins replied graciously as his mechs adjusted course a few degrees. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  After that, the minutes ticked by until, with mechanical precision, the enemy regrouped and commenced what would probably be the final charge of the engagement.

  One way or another, this was all about to end. From Xi’s perspective, it looked like it might turn out to be a slaughter in the Terrans’ favor.

  Despite her having masterminded the Gash’s defensive strategy, she had mixed feelings about the prospect of killing every single Finjou on the Brick. The last thing the Terran Republic needed was more enemies, but as far as she could tell, there was no other path to victory. The birdbrains were giving her no choice.

  Jenkins’ mechs surged toward the charging Finjou vehicles from the south and tore past the Mole Hill at 130 kph, and soon after that, they sped by the lowlands where some of Winters’ slower and more badly damaged mechs were still stationed.