Alien War Trilogy 2: Zeus Page 3

  Even though the steering was his, Sky continued to handle the autonomous aspects; for example, the AI fired the gyroscopic jets regularly, ensuring his descent was stable.

  Rade glanced at the tactical display and counted the blue dots of his platoon mates; everyone else had successfully navigated the debris field, and they were plunging toward the planetary surface alongside the wreckage. He placed the vitals of his team mates in a stacked column on the left side of his vision. All green.

  “Well that was one hell of a ride,” Grappler said over the comm.

  “I’ll say,” Keelhaul returned.

  “Hang on tight boys and girls, because the ride is only beginning,” Bomb said.

  “Excuse me a moment,” Harlequin said. “Surely you meant only boys. There are no girls with us.” There was a triumphant note to the Artificial’s voice, as if it was very pleased with itself for catching Bomb’s mistake.

  “I meant exactly what I said,” Bomb replied. “You’re the girl I was talking about.”

  “You fell right into that one, Harlequin,” Manic said. “Gotta learn to keep your mouth shut.”

  “You’re the other girl,” Bomb said.

  Rade fired a burst of lateral thrust, bringing his Zeus closer to the main group. Better to close the distance while in the air, than on the ground.

  “Are we on track for the original drop site?” Rade asked Sky.

  “Surprisingly, yes,” the AI said. “Though I would recommend applying aft and lateral thrust at the following levels for one point six seconds.” Two indicators overlaid his vision, along with a fuel estimate.

  Rade transmitted the data to the chief, who ordered the platoon members to make similar adjustments.

  When it was done, the wreckage of the Intrepid resided a kilometer behind them, and continued to drift away. Rade glanced down, but the planet hadn’t appeared to grow any closer. A deception, he knew.

  “Tell me again why the robo gets a mech?” Bender asked all of a sudden. He was referring to Harlequin, of course.

  “The robo gets a mech,” Facehopper said. “Because we have more than enough to go around.”

  “But an AI, piloting an AI,” Bender said. “Seems kind of redundant, don’t it?”

  “Some would say that was a good thing,” Lui transmitted. “Dual level redundancy.”

  “I’d have to agree,” Tahoe said. “Especially considering these damn models have never actually been field-tested.”

  “Anyone picking up any booster rockets on their sensor scans?” Rade asked, wanting to steer the conversation toward something actually useful during the drop.

  “Negative,” TJ said.

  “Wonderful,” Fret said. “Though not entirely surprising, considering.”

  Without booster rockets, there was no way for the mechs to achieve escape velocity and return to orbit.

  “We’ll just have to hitch a ride with the Marines on the way back,” Trace said.

  “Assuming they have room...” Manic said.

  “Oh they’ll have room,” Fret said. “Given the house-to-house fighting we expect down there? Probably a lot of room, actually. Especially if we encounter anything near as nasty as what we found on CF III.” That was what the platoon members had taken to calling 11-Aquarii III. It stood for Clusterfuck III.

  “What about body bags?” Lui said. “Need room for those.”

  “Somehow I doubt there will be any bodies left to bag,” Fret said.

  “Nah, you’re wrong,” Manic said sarcastically. “It’s going to be a cakewalk down there.”

  Rade felt a shudder, and glanced down. The aeroshell heat shield had deployed. Growing flames licked the edges until the video feed became entirely orange. Perspiration slicked his forehead, and he felt the sweat ooze down his ribcage. Air friction caused the mech to slow rapidly, and Rade felt the Gs intensely for a moment.

  The orange saturation abruptly faded, along with the Gs. The aeroshell fell off so that the planetary surface was once more in view. He could see the brown-black bands that represented the scorched forests and grasslands. The former Franco-Italian settlement resided directly below, gray buildings marred by blast craters.

  Above, white trails indicated the descent of his companions. Farther away he spotted the Intrepid, her two halves glowing a fierce orange, like large meteors. Pieces began to tear away from the wreckage, until one half broke apart entirely. The remainder followed shortly thereafter.

  “And thar she blows!” Bomb said over the comm.

  A sudden notice appeared on Rade’s HUD.

  Warning. Incoming infrared laser detected. Warning.

  four

  Sky—” Rade began.

  “Already initiating evasive maneuvers,” the AI returned.

  Rade pulled up the damage report. The Zeus had a small bore drilled into its leg. No systems were damaged, luckily.

  “Do we know the source of that laser?” Rade asked.

  “The settlement,” Sky returned.

  Rade’s eye was drawn downward by motion from below: something had exploded underneath him, not far away. Another object detonated to his left.

  “Getting hot out here,” Trace said.

  “Looks like they’re using the base’s defenses against us,” Rade said. “Utilize your lateral thrusters, people. Descend in a classic three-dimensional zig-zag. Randomized.”

  Sky evaded a second laser, and almost steered the mech into another detonating projectile.

  “Watch the flak,” Rade said.

  “Doing my best,” Sky returned.

  His missile alarm flashed.

  Rade launched the Trench Coat countermeasure and fired a long burst of latitudinal thrust. A rocket with the yield of a Hellfire H-7 or H-9 detonated not far behind him, and the blast hurtled him forward. The world swung dizzyingly around him.

  “Sky, stabilize...” Rade said as the G forces threatened to knock him out.

  The world quickly returned to its proper place below him and the rough descent resumed. Sky continued to randomly fire the left, right, back, and front thrusters, occasionally boosting the output to avoid an infrared laser. Flak detonated around him. Once more he had to launch the Trench Coat countermeasure to avoid a missile lock, but thankfully the detonation occurred farther away that time.

  The ground came up mercifully fast, and the incoming fire ceased as he apparently descended beyond the enemy sight lines. It looked like he would touchdown roughly a kilometer from the staging area, which itself was three klicks from the town. He made some final course corrections based on the topography below to ensure he landed on level ground. A quick scan of the overhead map confirmed there were no other UC ground troops in the immediate vicinity that he had to worry about squashing.

  Sky engaged the air brakes and fired the aerospike thrusters in the feet assemblies. When Rade hit, surprisingly his legs remained straight—he was used to his knees slamming into his chest upon impact. Apparently Zeus units could slow down enough to prevent that. A small puff of dirt expanded from the touchdown site. The outer skin of his Zeus became black and gray, imitating the landscape of soil and burnt trees around him.

  Rade scanned his surroundings, looking for signs of ambush, as well as places he could use as hides. The sky of the terraformed world was blue-purple above. The sun was a subgiant, a little smaller than the size of his human fist when viewed from the surface. He thought the planet should have been closer to the star, given the temperate environments of the world and how much cooler subgiants were compared to main-sequence stars, but then he supposed other variables factored into the equation, such as the carbon dioxide content of the atmosphere.

  When he looked directly at that sun, his photocromatic filters darkened the output considerably. The size of the sun might prove useful in the coming fighting, especially if the enemy didn’t have a way to reduce the brightness. He made a mental note to “attack from the direction of the sun” as often as possible.

  “Muster, mates!” Facehopp
er said over the comm.

  Rade finished his coup d’oeil assessment of the immediate area and glanced at his overhead map, noting the flashing beacon Facehopper had marked. As this was Rade’s first time actually walking in the new unit outside the simulators, he first took an experimental step. Then another. It required a few good moments to acclimate to the slightly odd balance of the Zeus—the center of gravity seemed lower down than he was used to—but the gyroscopes in the mech helped counter his mistakes, and soon he was marching steadily. He was just glad there were no other members of the platoon around to witness his teething pains, though he supposed his brothers were enduring a similar adjustment period.

  Rade arrived at the muster point and waited with Facehopper for the rest of the platoon to gather. When everyone had arrived, Facehopper stepped forward in his Zeus to address them. With that sagely beard decorating his mech, the chief looked like a wise man addressing a crowd of followers. Except the mouth of his Zeus never moved—didn’t even have one, really.

  “The Lieutenant Commander tells me he is well,” Facehopper said. “He’s joined the MARDIV HQBN.” Marine Division Headquarters Battalion, responsible for the command and control of the entire division. “I’ve marked Companies C and D of the 2nd Assault Battalion on your maps. Bravo has already agreed to join C. That leaves us D. I’ve had a talk with them, let them know we’ve arrived. Real cheery folk.”

  “Who, Bravo or D?” Bender asked.

  Apparently the sarcasm wasn’t lost on Facehopper, because he said: “Both.” He pointed toward the staging area. “Assume marching formation, mates! Ten meter separation. Zig zag pattern. “

  The platoon proceeded as requested, keeping a ten meter spacing between units. After marching for one klick, they reached the outskirts of the assault division. They moved between the various brigades, passing groups of Equestrian and Abrams tanks, troop carriers, combat robots, and mechs.

  When they reached D Company, Facehopper called a halt. It appeared the company was composed of armored troop carriers.

  “I’m sending the frequency and encryption keys for our shared comm band with D Company,” Facehopper sent.

  Rade accepted. A moment later a female voice arose over the line. His Implant identified the speaker as one Major Maureen Walters.

  “So there you slow-ass mofos are,” Major Walters said. “We were wondering when your damn high-and-mighty MOTHs would deign to join us, Face Chopper.”

  “Facehopper,” the chief corrected. “And nice to see you, too, Major. As I mentioned earlier, we had a little trouble in orbit.”

  “We all had a little trouble, but look around you, does it look like any of us were late to the party? Anyway, for the record, I just wanted to state that we have no need of your babysitting.”

  “There appears to be some sort of misunderstanding,” Facehopper said over the common line. Rade was glad he wasn’t chief in that moment; if he was the one interfacing with the Marines, he would have had a hard time keeping his outrage in check. “We’re not here to babysit. We’re here to assist. We’re essentially under your command.”

  “In that case,” the major returned. “Sidle on up to the back of the company. You can overwatch from drag.”

  “Will do, Major,” Facehopper said over the main. “Chief out.”

  At the head of the division, a battalion of artillery units bombarded the settlement from three kilometers out. Smoke billowed from several areas. B-9C Lancers occasionally roared past overhead: the AI-piloted bombers dropped two-thousand pounders in multiples, adding to those plumes. That they could make those bombing runs meant the settlement’s air defenses had finally been taken out.

  Rade zoomed in on the distant buildings; he couldn’t see any signs of resistance. Near the outskirts of the city he spotted UC gunships unleashing barrages of missiles in concert. Rade zoomed out again and glanced skyward. Barely visible directly overhead, MQ-91 Raptors circled like vultures at fifteen thousand meters, another testament to the UC’s air dominance.

  Smaller, fist-sized HS3 units hovered in droves directly above the entire division, ready to provide their reconnaissance and scouting services, not to mention serve as network repeaters for communications and enemy tagging.

  “Thought we weren’t supposed to nuke the place,” Fret commented when the ground rumbled after a particularly powerful bombing run. Fresh smoke plumes erupted from the settlement.

  “We’re not,” the chief said.

  “Well,” Fret continued. “This is about as close to nuking a place as we can get, without actually nuking it. Wouldn’t you say?”

  “I would,” Chief Facehopper agreed.

  “Something tells me our Franco-Italian allies aren’t going to be pleased about this,” Lui said.

  “I’m sure we have some of their officers in the ranks,” Tahoe said.

  “Oh I’m sure we do,” Lui replied. “And they probably have no say in the matter. This is a UC military gig.”

  “Do we have any reports on what kind of enemy presence to expect yet?” Rade asked.

  “We do,” Facehopper said. “The LC finally released some footage taken from the initial invasion by the Franco-Italians. In it, scorpion robots similar to those we faced on CF III have been identified. As have a few bioengineered weapons.”

  “The hammerheads?” Lui asked.

  “No,” Facehopper said. “Something new. Larger.”

  “Something larger?” Manic said. “The hammerheads were already damn large. Details please, Chief. Pictures. Videos.”

  “That’s all the information the LC has shared with me for now,” Facehopper said. “I get the feeling he and the other commanders are worried about spooking the troops.”

  “Nothing spooks a MOTH,” Skullcracker said.

  “I realize that,” Facehopper said. “But you know the lieutenant commander. When he tightens his lips on something, it’ll take a blowtorch to unlatch them.”

  The barrage continued for another half hour, and then without warning the firing stopped and the bombers stopped making runs.

  Several more minutes passed. Some of the smaller plumes of smoke above the settlement began to clear. No enemy artillery fired in return from the city.

  “The lieutenant colonel tells me all enemy activity in the city has ceased,” Major Walters said over the comm. “Looks like the artillery has done its job. And now that they’ve softened the enemy up for you boys, we’ve got the order to proceed.”

  The division rolled forward. Alpha Platoon took its place behind D Company.

  The battered ruins of the settlement slowly approached. The closer he came, the greater the dread Rade felt growing in the pit of his stomach. There was something menacing about those toppled walls and broken buildings.

  And then Rade realized what it was.

  The ruins, at least from the current angle, looked like jagged teeth.

  “Got a bad feeling about this,” Fret said.

  We all do, Rade wanted to say. But he held his tongue.

  five

  The war machines of the Marine division slowly crunched into the city. Treads rolled over the debris of collapsed buildings and vehicles. Robot feet pulverized marble that had collapsed from blast-cratered walls, and snapped rotors that had fallen from the wreckage of passenger quadcopters.

  D Company entered the settlement with the other armored companies that were part of the 2nd Assault Battalion; Alpha Platoon followed, while immediately behind them came the headquarters and service company responsible for command and control of the battalion, led by one Lieutenant Colonel Harry Kailua.

  Base de Radiance was the official name of the settlement: Radiance Base. However, describing it as a “settlement” was a bit of a misnomer, because when Rade thought of that word he visualized a small frontier town of low-slung wooden or concrete houses, maybe geodesic domes, not the sprawling stylized city that lay before him.

  First of all, according to the map data on his Implant, provided courtesy of the HS3s
and aerial drones, the settlement was the size of a small metropolis.

  Secondly, most of the intact buildings—at least in the current neighborhood—were made in the Franco-Italian “New Baroque” style. The intact blocky buildings rose as high as twelve stories, with outer facades of exquisitely carved marble or travertine. Bronze or gold outlined the arched doorways and windows. The entrances usually had a columned portico. Wooden shutters veiled the upper windows, allowing the occupants to gaze down upon the street in privacy without passersby seeing them, as was the Franco-Italian way—the FIs were known for their voyeur culture. Ahead of the division, HS3s darted in and out of buildings and ruins alike in an outwardly expanding pattern, like flies searching for meat to lay maggots in. On Rade’s overhead map, buildings turned green in turn as they were marked as clear by those scouts.

  Jutting up behind the rooftops, the glass and steel skyscrapers of the downtown core with its multiple layers of stacked roads provided a jarring contrast to the nearby buildings. Those were the office towers of the financial district, and they overlapped the yellow-brown mountains that dominated the lower half of the skyline beyond. From his current position, Rade saw that one of the towers had collapsed onto an adjacent building, and together they formed the shape of a precariously-balanced lowercase n.

  As Rade continued his advance, he saw different varieties of the marble and travertine buildings thrusting from the ruins around him: stadiums, theaters, forums, homes. Cornices trimmed every wall, porticos every entryway, frontispieces every window. But even the standing buildings were damaged in some way: a blast hole here, a toppled wall there. Even so, Rade could understand why the Franco-Italians had wanted to preserve the place so badly. They definitely wouldn’t be pleased when they learned the extent of the destruction. Then again it was very likely most of the damage Rade witnessed was caused by the invaders, with maybe ten percent attributable to the UC. That was what the politicians would tell the Franco-Italians, anyway, whether or not there was any truth to it.

  He spotted graffiti marring the walls of a few buildings. French, it looked like. Because of his upbringing Rade could speak Spanish, and while French was a romance language that had the same basic form as Spanish, the vocabulary was completely different. Not that it mattered: Rade’s Implant displayed the translation above every scribble. Some of the graffiti was political: “Death to the UC!” “Freedom for France!” “Separatists unite!” Other works were obviously written by hooligans: “Radiance, where the wine is cheap and the pussy loose.”