The Mongrel: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Hunter's Moon Book 1) Page 28

  “This is just not my day. Evading target lock.” Costa flew through a series of dashes, feints, and swoops meant to throw off the targeting bot. He returned his attention to the HUD where new highlights flashed. The micro-burst missile had splashed down near the crab-walker Sergeant Guerreiro was trying to annoy.

  He had been coordinating his attacks with support fire from one of the Strikers' heavy weapon's squads. Switching between Sergeant Guerreiro lobbing twenty millimeter ion grenades and the squad's crew served blaster, they were heaping a truck load of annoyance at the mech. Its shields were holding until Costa's missile blew them apart.

  The mech was now retreating with the help of the far Vindicator, lobbing mortars to dissuade the lancers from blowing it into spare parts.

  Costa was quick to coordinate. “Initiate top scan of battlefield. Push to Striker Lead and all marshals. Con? What is that at thirty degrees at two kilometers? Magnify.”

  The view in his HUD pushed out, searching a growing dust cloud in the distance. An overlay warned of another target lock.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah! I see we're about to get blowed up. And yes, I know blowed is not a word!” Costa argued.

  The image on the magnification was of a platoon worth of bots. The combat coordination AI began to assign designations to known models.

  “Striker Lead, this is Delta Hotel 4-2. We have incoming.”

  A chair flew down the hallway, tumbling end over end while it ricocheted about. It collided against the walls nearest to where Corporal Savoya had been running. She ducked the debris from the doomed furniture, darting into a side passage.

  Sister Leeuwen was running behind her at full steam. While her bionic parts were capable of sprinting at vehicular speeds, the corporal was much faster. Savoya had jumped up from her repair cycle, not bothering to dispatch the sister. She knew had to catch Tom before he could do whatever he was trying to do. Even limping, he had a considerable head start. She needed every second she could steal to catch him, even if it meant letting the cyborg live.

  Leeuwen rounded the corner. Airflow readings combined with her enhanced hearing picking up heartbeat rhythm and breathing all combined to flash warning signals to her. She ducked a fraction of a second before the corner of the wall detonated into shards of adobe. The corporal had been waiting to clothesline her with her forearm. She didn't wait for a counter attack as she broke into an all-out sprint. Leeuwen recovered from her near decapitation to match her opponent's speed.

  Savoya ran into the room at the end of the hall. Its original function had been lost to time. Now it was exposed to the elements with a view of the valley beneath the fort. In the center of the room was a sword embedded in the floor. Just beyond it, Tom was looking through the blasted-out section of the wall.

  Grabbing Tom by the shoulder, Savoya moved him close to the gaping hole. She clutched a handful of webbing before hoisting him into the air. “That’s far enough, Sister!” Savoya cried into the hall.

  Leeuwen walked just inside the door, a ray of sun dancing across her armored boot. “Tom?”

  “I’m good. Just hanging out.”

  Savoya laughed. “Not bad, Lieutenant. Almost funny. Where's the ICOM?”

  Tom struggled against her grip. “It's in the corner.”

  The corporal turned just a hair to see the computer resting against the wall. “I'm going to walk over there and retrieve that. You are going to stay where you are, Sister. Otherwise, Tom, here, is going to see if he can fly.”

  Savoya watched Leeuwen nod as she put down her victim. She strolled over to the ICOM and hoisted it like a burglar might inspect a bit of ill-gotten loot. “Wrong move, Lieutenant. Removing the magic wand like that. You didn't think I would notice?”

  Tom looked genuinely afraid. He took a step to the side in hopes he would not be easy to push into the expanse. A grimace on his face betrayed that his injuries were enough that standing took effort. He took a halting breath and changed the position of his feet. His right leg came back, with both hands raised at chin level. His chin was tucked against his left shoulder. He had never been good at the blocks of instruction on boxing. It was his least favorite of the “required” study subjects at the academy. While he could score some hits on his opponents, those assigned to combat arms specialties were always able to steal the win from him. Every once in a while, he would do well against some of the non-combat cadets, but it was clear that Tom Surran was there to out-think his opponents rather than beat them into submission.

  Savoya laughed. “Really? I have some of the most advanced nano-enhancement robotics on board. They are feeding me real skills in combat disciplines I haven't even studied. I want to hit and they make it so that I have the skill of a Xang boxer. How in the Hells are you going to compete with that?”

  Tom remained motionless while Leeuwen looked on. He was clearly in pain, but he'd resigned himself to not be beaten by this woman. He knew he couldn't beat her physically, but there were other ways to win.

  “Lieutenant. Tom. Give me the wand.” Savoya said with malice in her voice.

  Leeuwen knew what she was getting at. The magic wand was a term used by techs to refer to the slender data cores common in ICOMs. They were typically black with some sort of lit display on one end. If Tom had the wand from the machine, they could insert it into any computer to undo what the corporal had wrought.

  “Sorry,” Tom said matter-of-factly. The battered lieutenant used the last bits of strength he could muster and jumped from the room into the open air.

  “No!” Savoya raged as she surged forward in an attempt to grab the lieutenant before he fell. Where before she had held him with the threat of dropping him, now it was everything to catch him. Her hand was a hair's length away from the grab before he fell out of sight.

  Anger crossed her face as she turned to see Leeuwen holding the tattered remnants of her shirt. She pulled away, tearing the fabric so she could cross the space to look out of the hole. Lancer Costa was soaring away from the cliff face. He had the lieutenant under the arms, and was angling back to the main force.

  “Nice one. No reason for me make it to the front door when I can run out the back.” Savoya commented.

  Leeuwen circled the corporal. “You are not leaving here.”

  “Agree to disagree.”

  Savoya went to jump through the hole in the wall. Leeuwen was a bit faster, latching on to her ankle. The corporal went down hard, face first onto the floor. Leeuwen continued to circle, placing herself between the makeshift exit.

  A sobbing chuckle came from the floor. “You just don't get it, Sister. If I stay, I'm dead. So I am leaving. Even if I have to go through you.”

  She rolled over to discard another injector. Digital whirring filled the room. The nanites pushed Savoya from prone to standing in less time than it took to blink. There was no talk. No posturing. Just an overwhelming attack.

  A brilliant display of close combat ignited the room during the first few seconds of the fight. Rapid-fire punches and kicks were levied by both sides as neither could score a direct hit. Savoya managed an arm grab followed by a foot sweep that put Leeuwen on the floor. The sister fell to her back, using her unencumbered foot to arrest a stomping attack that followed the throw. She blocked the leg, using her other foot to knock it aside, allowing her to kick upward. Savoya collided with the ceiling, showering the room in fractured adobe.

  Sayona landed a few paces away from the monk, crouched to launch toward the drop. In a millisecond, Leeuwen's cybernetic combat assistant plotted the course and techniques necessary to cut off the escape. She rushed forward with the speed of a racer jet.

  Savoya spun in place rather than jumping through the blown-out wall. Sister Leeuwen never had time to dodge the brilliant ignited blade that Marshal Truveau had left behind only a day ago. The energy sword spiked through her face, scorching it to ash.

  >>> BOOT LOAD – RAPID START FOR COMBAT OPS

  >>> LOAD COMPLETE

  >>> ACCESS BATTLE-NET SUB
MENU

  >>> CONFIRM NET PURGE

  >>> PURGE CONFIRMED

  >>> ACCESSING BATTLE-NET

  >>> 214 LANCERS IN COMBAT OPERATIONS

  >>> 47 KIA – 21 WOUNDED

  >>> 48 KIA – 24 WOUNDED

  >>> LANCER STATUS CRITICAL

  >>> ACCESSING BATTLE ROSTER

  >>> LANCE SERGEANT D'MARCO INJURED

  >>> ECHO-47-WHISKY / ECHO-49 ZULU CONFIRMED IN SLEEP

  >>> HOT START & BOOT LOAD WHISKEY & ZULU

  >>> SYS-CONFIG FOR ALTERNATE MODEL OPERATIONS

  >>> LOAD COMPLETE.

  >>> BEGIN RECOVERY OPERATION LSD

  >>> BEGIN COUNTER COMBAT OPERATIONS

  >>> EXECUTE

  “Today just sucks!” Mara cursed. The wave of spike-runners that was threatening to overwhelm them began to hover a few centimeters above the ground. Behind the marshal’s back, her fist was clenched and upside-down.

  Sergeant Bolaji and his lancers showered the area in blaster fire, obliterating the tiny bots in place without setting them off.

  “How many of these things did Striker Company bring?” She barked.

  Bolaji smiled. “Enough to get the job done. Not enough to say that they ever ran out.”

  Mara took a steadying breath after her use of the Way. “So... all of them. Good to know. Doc? How long until you can move His Majesty?”

  Lance Sergeant D'Marco was being strapped to a backboard. He already had a c-spine collar around his neck, keeping his head still while his myoprene suit was locked with an inhibitor to protect his back. “Words hurt, Marshal.” He sounded sleepy. It was a good bet that the doc gave him something.

  “Okay. Now this is just wrong!” Corporal Shane pointed over to one of the Striker APCs near the communications array. Inbound were four mules. The four-legged robots did not resemble the Old Sol animals after which they’d been named in any way. They had a boxy chassis with spindly legs, standing nearly one and a half meters tall. Carry capacity and climbing ability for this model of mech made them the perfect choice to carry crew-served weapons, heavy equipment, and extra food and ammo.

  The CR-2180 load-bearing mechs bounded into the wadi like a pack of deer. They disappeared for a brief moment before jumping back into view, trampling several of the lancers in the process. The four machines were traveling in a wedge formation side-by-side, heading straight for the squad of lancers protecting their boss.

  “CR-55s need to lob some grenades into that mess.” Shane murmured.

  One private was thinking along the same lines; the telltale poot sound of the launcher came as it spat its contents at the trampling bots. A massive wave of fire and concussive calamity met them. One bot was destroyed in place while the others were blown meters apart.

  “What was in that grenade, son? Why aren't you sharing?” Corporal Shane barked.

  The chargers attempted to right themselves, only to be scattered by a new airborne threat. The scream of reversed repulsors and the sputter of dying thrusters declared air cavalry was on station and ready to work. Lancer Costa landed beside the skirmish line in his battle-frame. “Ears off. LT! Cover up!”

  The heavy blaster rifle Costa carried ripped across the wadi, ensuring the downed mech was finished while tagging a corner of another. He fired, using his other arm to toss Lieutenant Surran onto the ground.

  Corporal Shane was quick to snatch the LT into a kneeling position. He gave the superior officer a good shake while staring intently at his eyes. When they focused, he knew he had the lieutenant's attention. “Morning, sir. I trust you enjoyed your flight. No time for pleasantries. I take it you have something for me?”

  Tom was panting, clearly in pain from an injury. His voice was raspy, pointing to the most probable culprit being a broken rib somewhere, or everywhere. It had been a strange day. “I had to improvise,” he said through a sharp pain, handing the corporal the slender data core.

  “Oh. This is... nice. Thank you, sir.” He turned to get Sergeant Bolaji's attention over the mech-killing blaster fire coming from Costa. He rolled his eyes while inhaling a cleansing breath so as not to insult the injured officer when giving a situation report to the sergeant. Bolaji leaned back, indicating Shane had his attention.

  Shane leaned into the lancer sergeant, conveying the info he needed to know to get thejob done. “We have the data core to that ICOM we needed but not the actual machine. I don't have anything here to run it. I need something to patch into the Battle-net so I can isolate the necessary malicious algorithm and conjecture an anti-viral process to purge the remaining infected systems.”

  Bolaji stopped firing to give him a blank stare. The true test of the man's ability to belittle a subordinate came in the expression being clearly readable through his helmet.

  Shane huffed. “Me need other computer box to stick in magic wand. Me go clicky clicky to find cure for virus and make machines happy again.”

  Truveau pointed. “What about the Devil Hunters' Shuttle? Your system seems to have been unaffected during the outbreak.”

  Shane nodded. “Techs were working on the com relays. No net access when it happened.”

  “And now?”

  The corporal threw his hands to the side. “Someone's going to have to cover me so I can get to the shuttle and patch in. Then I can counter code the virus and push it out over the net.”

  “Lancer,” Mara nodded to Costa, “get the corporal over to the ship!”

  “No can do, ma'am. If I leave, those mules will over-run us. Plus, I can only lay into it with my rifle. That plating is thick, but I am going to need the rest of my munitions for what's coming. Just in case.”

  Bolaji hit the calf of the frame with his rifle butt. “Hey! What's coming?”

  “The short answer is that all those bots that went missing during the Hidek-Surando massacre just showed up and are moving this way.” Costa said while taking pot shots at the enemy mechs. “Of course they're infected, too. Lance Sergeant Locke is working it out now.”

  The squad froze as the thunderous thrum of a large engine sounded behind them. Two X2-Echo gun rovers were cutting a wide arc around the battle, kicking up a rooster tail of dirt and grass through their tank-like treads. The two machines came to an abrupt stop, forming the bottom two corners of a triangle, with the squad at the apex. They had total target acquisition on the lancers with their dual-mounted machine blasters. The squad would have to split their fire in three directions to fight them: two sections to fire at the new drones with Costa continuing to fire up the mules.

  A third mech slid on a repulsor-driven glide along the same path. A RIM-VI mech, outfitted with its M-1170 heavy machine blaster thumping away at the incoming mules. Along with the suppressive fire from Costa's heavy blaster, the mules were caught between a curtain of energized destruction.

  The RIM-VI messaged the squad through the Battle-net.

  >>> WHISKEY & ZULU MECHS TO PROVIDE COVER AND COMBAT SUPPORT AGAINST CR-2180 MECHS.

  >>> ECHO-44-UNIFORM WILL SAFEGUARD CORPORAL SHANE TO LANCER APC

  >>> LANCER COSTA MAY CONTINUE RECONNAISSANCE FOR ANTI-MECH OPERATIONS.

  D'Marco's eyes fluttered. “I was hoping to see you again.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Savoya took a moment to steady herself and pant after Sister Leeuwen hit the floor. Everything hurt. She was not used to being on the nanites for this long. Her training with them was only for tiny periods of time every few weeks. The blaster shots she took from the lieutenant had taken a lot out of her. She was probably going to sleep for a week.

  She turned to jump onto the outside of the fort, planning to climb down the cliff and escape through the valley below. She pulled up a virtual menu, her nanites acting as an on board cell-com. She selected a primed message marked extraction and sent it into the ether. Now all she had to do was make it to the rendezvous point.

  She stepped over the blasted-out wall, testing her footing on the outside. Bringing the rest of her body outside the wall, she reached her foot d
own for the next foothold.

  A mechanical hand dropped onto the top of her head. Talon-like blades accented the unyielding grip that plucked her from the stone. While dangling in the air, hundreds of meters above the ground, she fought against this mystery attacker, trying to force open its fingers.

  The duradium plated paw struggled against Savoya trying to free herself. A voice that sounded like digital gravel voiced its displeasure. “Interesting that the morsel is so strong. Tenderizing suggested.”

  Savoya was thrown back into the room by her head. She smashed into the far wall near the door with a wet slap. Blood seeped from her mouth and nose. She crumbled to the floor like an old doll discarded into the corner by an angry child. She rolled over to see what had assaulted her and was greeted by a metallic nightmare slithering into the breach.

  Doom-Snuggle moved into the hole, taking up most of the space. It moved like a real panther stalking prey it had pinned into a corner. Tendrils came from its back, slamming into the roof and wall. Debris fell behind it, sealing most of the hole. The mech moved slowly, giving its combat resolution matrix time to assess the threat.

  Savoya watched the horror of metal and composite move while her bones knitted together and reset. Cuts closed and wounds sealed as the bleeding stopped. She slowly stood. “I'm going to pound you into slag.”

  “You'll do nothing until you tell me what I want to know.” Lasher stood in the doorway, a violent silhouette ready to unleash itself on the coporal. He was holding his weapons without them being ignited. Better to sneak into the room without the sound or light they generated tipping her off.

  Savoya sighed. “I can't believe you're still alive.”

  “Believe that if you don't give me the name of the person who hired you, I am going to feed you to my friend here, one piece at a time.” Lasher nodded to the panther mech prowling about the room.