The Mongrel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 1) Page 23

  “So you think I did that?” Tom looked genuinely frightened. Rumors of Exile Cyborgs were enough to fuel multiple stories across a myriad of media. Decades later and the metallic monsters still fired the imagination. While her demeanor suggested that she was a reserved person with a passion for investigation, her cyber-shell identified her as having the combat potential of an army infantry squad.

  “No, Lieutenant. Looking through PDT records from your cell-com, we can see that access from your codex into the Battle-net was not always at the same time as you were present or able to do such things. For example, a rapidly thrown bed pan to the face during one of...”

  “Hey! That was a kidney pan!” Surran yelled.

  Leeuwen pointed at the duo, “Don't!”

  Both tech and tactical officer looked at Leeuwen as she yelled the single word. Tom looked clearly perplexed while he pondered her meaning. Did she mean that she wanted none of his explanation? Was he whining? His mother did tell him he had a tendency to complain. He followed the sister's gaze beneath the table. His eyes widened a second before he gasped. Two half-meter-long blades had protruded from the top of Sister Leeuwen's hand. A slight hum from them sounded above the cooling system from the ICOM in the center of the room. He took notice of Corporal Savoya, seeing that she had halted an attempt to grab the pistol from her hip.

  “Why?” was the hurt whimper that came from Tom. “I hand-selected you out of tech school. I made sure that you got everything you needed to fast track you to where you are now.”

  The corporal's face writhed with contempt. “You also wouldn't listen. It was always talking with you. Unless it was mission-critical, you didn't want to listen. You didn't care when my junkie brother racked up a bunch of debt he couldn't pay off. You didn't care that I assumed that debt to get him out of trouble. You didn't ask me about my leave when I came back. It was emergency leave to go to his funeral after the overdose.”

  With each accusation, Tom's face fell more and more. Each was a blow to the ego that was already fragile after his encounter with the mongrel. As Savoya went on, he felt the weight of her pain. He felt the weight of her desperation. And he felt he deserved every bit of her contempt.

  “I tried to tell you that someone had bought my debt. I tried to tell you that they started demanding things. I stopped trying to reach out to you after they said my debt was paid, but I was already in too deep. Instead of telling me that I would either continue or get thrown into an Elysian jail cell, they did something I didn't expect. They started paying me. More than the army ever could.” She put her head down. “The sad part is, all that money is never going to be able to wash off all the blood on my fingers or bring my brother back.”

  Tom looked to the Vernai. “What do we do?”

  Before she could answer, Savoya took a deep breath. “There's nothing you can do. Execute Order Gemini.”

  There was a low-pitched ping from the ICOM in the center of the room. The corporal sat back in her chair to wait.

  Twenty-Three

  Lance Sergeant D'Marco strode up to a trio of hard men, watching the goings-on of a company of lancers. Commander Hylaeus was first to notice him, pointing out his advance to Brand and Gerard. “Good to see you, Lance Sergeant. I trust that your mission to walk and talk was successful?”

  “Aye, sir. We lancers like to think we're made of prosteel, but in the end, we're still just people. A good word now and again can keep a lance sharp and in good order.”

  Hylaeus nodded. A grin played across the scar as the early morning sun began to tease its way across the horizon. The brisk morning air was already moving the grass in a sound that was reminiscent of the ocean. While many lancers pined for home, men like Hylaeus, Gerard, Brand, and D'Marco were happiest when deployed. They were content to hear the grasses sway in foreign lands, knowing they were doing their part to keep their charges safe.

  D'Marco caught the rush of a jogging person in the shadows, moving toward them. “This can't be good.”

  Mara Truveau came up to the group. “Gentlemen, got some good news, contrary to the doom and gloom the good lance sergeant is spouting.”

  “Sorry, ma'am. Someone running in the dark is usually a sign things have gone bad. At least in my experience, anyway.” D'Marco said through the digital grit of his lid.

  “I have to agree, Lance Sergeant.” Captain Gerard said. “I usually hear boots tripping on loose sand and rocks because they can't see anything, right before they deliver a bucket full of bad juju.”

  “Juju?” Mara intoned.

  “Old word for the magic you Templars believe in.” The captain continued. It can be good or bad. Usually, someone running in the dark means it's bad.”

  “Back to my point,” Mara interrupted. “We have the location of your ship, sir.” She gestured to Commander Hylaeus.

  The force commander's grin played itself into excitement. “Is it a hard lock?”

  “TMC is putting it at the Surando mesa not far from here. I could take a fly by and see if they're still there? If they left the ship to throw us off the scent, the least I could do is recover your ride.” Mara offered.

  Gerard let out a puff of air. “Most of the boys just settled down for a nap. Glad I don't have to wake ’em.” He reached across the assembled group and tapped Truveau.

  “Hold a sec, gents and lady. Seems we have another runner in the night.” Commander Hylaeus pointed back toward the fort. A young private in Elysian Army fatigues came rumbling down the hill from the building. He was carrying a sling-pack, which sounded like a badly constructed wind chime. Clearly it was bearing tools and parts of some sort. The young private stopped at the assembled troop of officers and the high ranking NCO. He immediately saluted, trying not to lose his cell-com or his pack in the process. “Sirs. Lance Sergeant. Good morning. Just passing by.”

  Mara recognized the young trooper. “Hey, weren't you back in the command center with Tom, er... Lieutenant Surran and Corporal Savoya?”

  The young private nodded, attempting to catch his breath. He was clearly not used to running. “I was, ma'am. But the LT sent me to check on the broadcast dishes past the landing pads. We're having trouble reaching Kabran City.”

  Mara added, “That's why I brought the coordinates out here myself. They couldn't reach you through the Battle-net because of some technobabble Tom was spouting about crossed wires across different systems being affected by solar flares. Plus, I still don't have my earpiece to log in to Battle-net.”

  “Carry on, Private.” Marshal Brand nodded to the young man. The trooper gathered up the gaggle of gear he had with, jogging off toward the airfield.

  D'Marco was first to say what they were all thinking. “That boy needs some serious PT.”

  The group laughed at the back of the private picking his way through the grasses in the pre-dawn, half expecting to hear a crash or a cry for help as he hit the wadi close to where the vehicles were parked. Only the faint sound of clinking from his backpack signaled that he was fine with whatever the dark terrain had in store for him.

  “Anyone else?” Gerard snapped to no one in particular. “Good. I'll message First Sergeant Trask and have him get the force up to alert condition just in case this commo glitch is a thing. Any specific instructions, Marshals?”

  All looked to Commander Hylaeus. “Have your men ready to ask for peace but primed for war.”

  The captain placed his helmet onto his head, fully enclosing his armor. As he walked off in the direction of his APC, he issue the necessary orders.

  “That's my cue.” D'Marco placed his own helmet on his head before taking his leave of the marshals. He took a single step toward finishing this mission when he caught an icon flashing in the side of his HUD. It was an incoming message from Echo-44-Uniform. He highlighted the icon and opened the message.

  >>> SUBVERSIVE PROGRAM TRYING TO TAKE CONTROL OF THIS UNIT.

  >>> WILL SHUT DOWN TO PREVENT UNNECESSARY DEATH TO LANCERS.

  >>> ADVISE ALL AI ASSISTED UNI
TS SHUT DOWN IMMEDIATELY. REBOOT TO PURGE MALWARE.

  >>> IF FRIENDS RE-SKINNED, THEY WILL BE UNAFFECTED. THEY ARE YOUR BEST CHANCE.

  >>> GOOD LUCK, FRIEND

  D'Marco activated his external speakers, simultaneously pushing his message out across the Battle-net. Turning to the marshals, he began his broadcast. “This is Lance Sergeant D'Marco. I am calling for a company-wide system shut down of all AI-assisted devices. This is not a drill. Reboot immediately!”

  As the lance sergeant was ready to repeat his command, he fell silent. The marshals waited for a moment to see if there was anything more to follow. The NCO was standing completely motionless. Brand moved closer to his top sergeant. Without a word, the marshal went to work by grabbing the armored pauldron. He shifted the armor until he could get at the quick release that would uncouple the armor in the event of an emergency.

  “What's happening?” Mara shouted.

  “His armor is locked. Look around. All of their armor is locked!” Brand shouted.

  The marshals gazed over the impromptu motor pool and assembly area the 2-9 had co-opted from the landscape. The lancers that were on guard duty or moving about in their armor were frozen in place. Some had been caught in mid-stride, falling over into the grass or soft sand. Unarmored troopers were already coming to their aid to free them as Brand was doing.

  Brand slammed the quick release on D'Marco's armor, causing the upper body to eject the right arm and open the breast plate along the side of the body. The NCO shrugged off his gear, coming free from the lifeless set. He ripped off his helmet, holding it in both hands like a ball. He looked inside and flicked something.

  “Ninety seconds before my helmet resets, we won't have the Battle-net and assorted functions to keep the 2-9 linked up. We'll have to use internal short-range comms. Armor is locked. Hard reset is going to take a few minutes. Anything that was connected to the Battle-net when that malware burned is either locked or under enemy control.”

  Brand stood up after hitting the reset on D'Marco's armor. “What enemy?”

  Hylaeus watched lights flicker on and off throughout the assembly area. “Something tells me that we are about to find out.”

  “You have got to be kidding me!” Williams roared as he slid into the space under an APC. Spider-mines were crawling from one of his equipment bags. The fifty-centimeter disks were crawling along the ground toward the vehicle he was under. “Jacobe! Get clear of that...”

  As the private from First Squad went to run around an adjacent APC, one of the spider-mines jumped and magnetically locked itself onto the exterior. A second later, there were three beeps. Then two. Then an explosion that rocked the vehicle, wrecking one side to include the repulsors. Private Jacobe was too close to it when it went off. The force of the blast snapped his spine and burned the entire right side of his body.

  “No!” Williams flipped his selector lever to single shot. “Like Lance Sergeant D says, 'One breath, one death.'” The private went to a place that all lancers can tap into. A place of calm in a sea of chaos. The eye of the storm. Trained to focus beyond all distraction, they were a fighting force where one man was more than a combatant. Where other fighters were dogs, the lancers were wolves.

  Round after round left the barrel of his CR-51 rifle. Each bolt collided with a spider-mine, wrecking it beyond function. When the five remaining mines were destroyed, he rolled to his back to make sure nothing creepy and robotic was above him. He slid free of the APC, rifle leading the way.

  A company wide message broke through the downed comms in his lid. “All-com. Break. Break. This is Devil 1-2. AI enhanced weapons are not responding to demo commands. Shoot on sight to disable.”

  Message bubbles floated by a string feed on the left side of Williams' HUD. Striker Company got the message. He was working on some tech out of his armor when he got the call from Lance Sergeant D'Marco. He grabbed his helmet and began cycle-up routines for the armor, when he noticed the mines going berserk.

  “Will!”

  Williams spun about to see LaGarron and the rest of the Devil Hunter First Squad. They slid over and took a knee. All about them was a maelstrom of chaos about the camp. Weapons and armor were malfunctioning. APCs were being shredded by their own tech. After a small series of popping explosions on the far side of the field, a stream of auto-fire swiveled First Squad's heads.

  “Tell me that isn't what I think it is,” Williams said to LaGarron.

  The thumping rhythm of a heavy auto-blaster lit up the night near Captain Gerard's APC. Several lancers from the 2-9 were torn down by the wave of red blast packets as they shredded tech, tents, and troopers alike. The thump-thump-thump-thump signaling another burst caused the squad to move in unison behind the current APC.

  “All right, troopers. We have our rifles, our helmets, and our bad attitudes. Battle-net-linked gear should be considered hostile. Armor is rebooting on the lot of you, I hope.” LaGarron was taking command. He was a quick study under the lance sergeant and had been assuming more and more responsibilities. He took in the nods and determined looks and continued. “Good. Before we armor up, we're going to have to make things difficult for the baddies. That means we have to go do something about that heavy gun ripping up our boys. We are nine out of twelve.”

  “Ten out of twelve.” The squad turned to take in the painted helmet of Lance Sergeant D'Marco. “Squad's yours, Sergeant.”

  LaGarron looked puzzled at being called a superior rank.

  “We'll make it legit when you lead us out of this mess,” D'marco promised. “What do you say, Sergeant?”

  The squad beamed with pride. Battlefield pins were less rare in the lancers than they were in the Elysian Army, yet it was an honor that could make a career. A promotion of this type led to more promotions within. The squad as a whole would be able to shoulder the pride of such a thing for a while.

  The confidence of his leader combined with the gravity of the request was not lost on the corporal-turned-sergeant. “Lids on tight, boys. Here we go.”

  Sergeant Bolaji strained against his locked armor. He could turn his head, but the joints were frozen. If he could reach his hip, he could hit the disengage button that would disconnect the endoskeletal frame from the power source. It would be as heavy as a rhinosaur, but he would be able to move enough to get out of the armor.

  He looked over to see Corporal Shane down on the ground. The young trooper had taken a hit from a surveillance drone that had slammed into his head. He had been out of his armor doing a field strip and clean of his viewfinder, when everything went to Hells. Bolaji heared him groaning through the helmet. Good, he thought. The kid was alive.

  He strained to rotate his neck further, catching sight of the mayhem that surrounded them. Lancers from Striker Company were dying in droves from auto defense turrets and drone attacks. Shield generators blew up when troopers got near. Vehicle auto-drive systems would randomly engage to crush or mow down the unaware as they sought cover.

  Bolaji turned again to call Shane, as a diamond-shaped plate slammed down into the sand, throwing fragments of earth in all directions. The sergeant had been watching for signs of life in his junior. He hadn't noticed the four massive struts making their way down the loading ramp of the commander's vehicle. Things had just gone from bad to suck.

  Crab-walkers. CR-1141s. The bigger companies carried them for when mobs of unruly dissidents were unwilling to comply with the rule of law. Four massive legs supported a crab-like bot frame. Attached to each leg was a diamond-shaped plate formed of twenty centimeters of pure duradium. Enhanced by power field technology, the CR-1141 was a game changer for lancers trying to advance on a dug-in position.

  Two of the bots descended down the ramp to stand at the rear of the vehicle. The 1141s raised auto-blasters above their back and began gunning into the crowd of running lancers. Bots similar to the Prowler model descended the ramp behind the walkers. Larger and more heavily armored, the CR-335 Vindicator featured a thicker chassis as well as a hi
gh-grade power core to help run the heavy blaster rifle it carried.

  The mechanized parade moved past Bolaji, not even bothering to acknowledge him. They stomped the grass flat, kicking up dirt with their movement. It seemed to the downed sergeant that they were heading for the fort. It also seemed this day was off to a rough start.

  “This vacation of yours is great.” The voice was strained and soft. Bolaji felt something rummaging under the belt on his hip. The motor lock. A quick pop disengaged the drive frame built into the armor from its power source. Movement returned, allowing him to roll to his side.

  Shane was there, laying next to him, looking up into the brightening sky. “Next time, I want to go to the beach, Sergeant. We never get to go to the beach.”

  Bolaji opened his face mask. “You always want to go to the beach. It's not all it's cracked up to be. Sometimes there are monsters.”

  Shane did a partial sit-up, pointing at the gruesome mechanical foursome making their way to the fort.

  Bolaji nodded. “Point taken.”

  The sergeant did a quick release of his armor. He knelt in the sand, taking the battle harness from his chest plate to have close at hand. After spinning the harness onto his torso, he checked the energy capacity in the magazine he currently had in his weapon. Reaching over to flick the reset on his helmet, he asked, “Other than four mechs...”