By: CamTarn
Notes on communication within the CORE and ARM:
Radio messages (eg between Command and troops, or between spaceships
- long distances.)
Message headers are enclosed in square brackets ([ and ])
x = message sender
o = message recipient
Actual message is enclosed in { and }.
Short-range messages (short distances within a mile or so in atmosphere, two hundred kilometers in space) are simply represented as speech.
The veteran gazed at the horizon. "I've killed before, yeah."
"How many?" The Maverick beside him sounded impressed. "You've got
to be a good fighter."
Garth shook his head, the Shooter battlesuit responding to his movements.
"I don't know how many...hundreds. I don't fight."
The rookie looked puzzled. "What?"
"I don't fight. I just stay alive. That's all there is to it, staying
alive. If you make one mistake, well, that's it. Number 27, your time is
up - come in now."
Even through the mask of the Maverick's faceplate, Garth could sense
Paul's face sinking. "What about the bravery? The honour?"
The veteran grunted, spitting out of his open helmet. "What bravery?
It's just people trying to do their job. Honour's for those that don't
fight. Like that Commander."
"Don't say that! Commander Jones is a fine man!"
"Oh, he's a fine man alright - fine for a desk job. Not a fighter.
He's got the same sense of self-preservation as a lemming."
As he looked to the side, Garth could see the rookie's shoulders slump.
Poor guy, he thought. All his ideals destroyed in seconds.
He sighed. "Man, you've just gotta survive. You're a soldier now. Live
up to it." He clapped the Maverick on its metallic back, his armoured gauntlet
making a dull boom as it hit the Maverick's carapace.
"We've gotta send in those troops! We're underarmed, outnumbered and
outmanuevered. You've got thousands of troops sitting in your base not
doing anything."
"We can't send them in. That's suicide."
"You fool! We're going to get killed anyway! What have we got to lose?"
Jones cowered under the fierce glare of Commander Murdoch, his bushy
eyebrows filling his vision. He was not cut out for this, he thought. Why
of why did I have to go sticking my gun out when it was not needed?
"We'll stand to lose valuable resources if nothing more, Murdoch. Now
please sit down!" Stead was angry now, her presence filling the small meeting
chamber like a thundercloud. The Supreme Commander was not someone to be
trifled with, and both Murdoch and Jones sat down reluctantly, with glances
in the SC's direction. "Now, both of you, we need a strategy to use those
units of Jones's. Halstead, you're supplies. Jones, you assign targetting
info, and Murdoch, you'll be planning the assault. I have twelve AWACS
to offer, and we have a few reconsats to launch. If you'd care to take
over, Booth?"
The Commander referred to as Booth silently stepped out from behind
a glass tactical information screen, where she had been standing, unnoticed.
She sat down at the replica-mahogany planning table and touched the control
buttons. Above the heavy round table, a holographic planet, the planet
of Goran, sprang to life. The planet had a faint wireframe around it, and
Booth waved her pointer towards one area. The whole planet came alive with
miniscule dots - radar traces, some faint, some strong and pulsing.
"This area is where we will be attacking. It is a main Core base, as
you can see by the strong radar trace. Over here - " she moved the pointer
slightly and highlighted a small area almost free of radar traces - "over
here is the Core's main fusion and energy-metal conversion area. It is
heavily radar-jammed, but with our newest reconsats we have been able to
pick up slight radar traces.
"This will be the first area to go. We'll hit it hard and fast, using
shock troops. Jones, you have a question?"
Jones had put up his hand, slightly reluctantly. "How many units will
you be using, and of what type?"
"I was just getting to that. Now, Jones, I understand you are in charge
of the largest base on this planet?"
Jones nodded.
"As from now you will be relieved of that duty, which will be passed
to Commander Ralstead of the 4th Navy Task Force. You will move all your
units under maximum jammer cover to a secret location here, and you will
establish a full strike base. Since your current base is on the edge of
a large body of water, Commander Ralstead will set up a navy yard to give
you naval support. Once you have built the base, it, together with all
but a select few of your units, will be taken over by Commander Murdoch
here."
Murdoch sneered at Jones. "Good choice, sir."
"Cut the crap, Murdoch. Now, Jones, you have a more important job to
do. You will be assigned six Advanced Construction Kbots plus a squadron
of Atlas transports, and you will set up a fully jammed forward observation
base 100 klicks from the Core base. The base will have three Advanced Radar
towers, plus all the defenses you find neccesary. Once that is established,
your orders will come through by data-sealed packet.
"Are you both clear about your roles?"
Two answers of "Yes, sir" were given. Booth smiled; a cold, hard and
humorless smile.
"Now, get to work. I will check on you in six days."
[Top]
Part 2
Destroyer AROY-00988079 shuddered to a stop outside the newly-commissioned
naval yard with its floating shipyards and spinning tidal generators. After
a short period of disorientation he knew who he was, then where he was,
and finally *why* he was.
The glittering water rushed around the streamlined hull of the destroyers,
massive cannons fixed and deactivated. Everything was peaceful...
"Base calling...SHTR-235, MAV-010, are you there? SHTR-235, MAV--"
[Top] Part 3
[xCENTRAL COMMAND UNIT CCU-66983779beta]
[xASSAULT SQUAD SERGEANT GOL-22482357]
"Here we go at last!" Assault Squad sergeant GOL-22482357 revved the
engines of the massive Goliath tank, propelling the enormous slab of armour
forwards. Behind her, the twenty Goliaths responded, crawling forwards
slowly. The Goliaths were the heaviest tanks in existance, unsurpassed
by anything the ARM had.
Now Black-Dragoon was surrounded by other ships he felt a lot safer.
Skeeters, Crusaders, a few Lurkers patrolling below the surface, all of
them on the alert for anything out of the ordinary. The murky brown waters
were still, though. Nothing moved in the lazy heat apart from streams of
nanobots, busily building an advanced shipyard. The hill above the base
was almost bare at this time of year, apart from a thin forest cover. Experimentally,
he pointed his cannons at the forest, noting how his view changed.
"RJK-001 to GOL-110, you're too near to the edge of the canopy. Move
twenty metres inside the canopy, please."
Hellfire streaked over the landscape in his Hawk, feeling the air on
his wings as a cool, pleasant sensation. At the back of what he considered
his body - his airframe - the Hawk's twin massive turbofans burned brightly,
a transparent cone of sueprhot gases streaking out of it. Just to show
off, he flicked his wings and sent the Hawk into a tight corkscrew roll,
vision alternately showing the sky and the ground as his wings cut through
the air.
[Top] Part 4
"Arm missiles....lock on...fire on my mark..." Tuscany's voice came
through the radio and Hellfire complied. Missile launch racks unfolded
from the underside of the Hawk, and air-to-air missiles swung out on their
pylons before locking into their positions on the stealth fighter's wings.
The twin heavy air-to-ground missiles scanned for targets and Hellfire
heard a buzzing. Locked on. He waited...
"What's that?"
The twenty AG missiles hit with a dull thump, explosives propelling
a three-foot titanium-uranium rod into the weak armour of the AA units.
A fraction of a second later, the AA units disintegrated in small black
and orange fireballs as the missiles' antimatter payloads detonated, the
energy blasting the missile trucks apart like damp tissue paper. Shards
of metal clattered onto Gol-224's armour. But there was no sign of the
missile trucks. Or the attackers...
"We showed them! Right, Tuscany?"
"Gol-224 to Flakkers - sweep your fire over 20 degrees. Attack vector
is predicted to be 57 degrees - I want a wall of fire there. They're not
going to get us that way again..."
"Target...oh sh1t! Hawks, divert! Pull up! Now! Now! Now!"
"Gol-224 to all units - move out! We're going to get there, no matter
what they send at us." Her voice was grim as she contemplated the loss
of the missile trucks. But she would not let that get to her...
The flare of engine exhaust alerted the weary Gol-224 to the arrival
of the Valkyries. Vamps streaked across the sky until the Valkyries landed,
and they started patrolling.
[Top] Part 5
Wearily, Jones lifted his nanolathe for what seemed like the billionth
time to assist in the construction of a Flakker flak cannon. His internal
computer informed him it was 12:15 in the morning and that it was the eighty-nineth
time he had used his nanolathe. Not a billion, then. Felt close enough,
he though.
[xCENTRAL COMMAND, COMMANDER FALKEN, CCO-99182739]
[ATTACHED BEGINS]
Jones gulped. "Normal troop punishment" was something he had not heard
of for a long time. And it was not pleasant - death by reclamation. From
the legs up so the victim could watch...
"Hey, Paul, what about you? What's your guess on our orders?"
The hush was almost unearthly as the CORE vehicles slowly climbed the
hills to the north of the base. No radio chatter any more - even the radar
jammer had switched to using HUD positioning symbols to indicate the radar
jamming envelope. Gol-224 could see Hawks circling above the base they
were meant to hit. They would be no problem now, with the group's new Slashers...but
Gol-224 still felt uneasy.
Lieutenant LUR-782, or Lagoon-Crawler, slid almost silently through
the murky waters of the naval base. A warning on his visual told him of
a shipyard up ahead, and he banked the sub slightly, fins diverting the
long metal craft around the structure.
Over the water, spouts of brine splashed over Black-Lagoon as the explosive
package dived out of its depth-charge rocket. The rocket itself self-destructed
seconds later, its burning carcass splashing down into the water. A muffled
rumble told of the depth-charge's exposion and his sonar registered one
less enemy. Over by the shipyard, he saw a flash of greenish underwater
light and a float disintegrated, the shipyard tilting over and sending
a newly-built Skeeter to its watery grave. A Construction Ship hummed into
action, nanolathe rebuilding the destroyed float unit.
Gol-224 watched her visual jubilantly. The diversion had worked!
[Top] Part 6
Klaxons screamed through the air of the base for the second time within
minutes. "ACTION STATIONS! ACTION STATIONS!" The voice rang out from the
speakers mounted on the radar tower as short-range beam radar broke through
the jamming to reveal the column of Goliaths heading towards the base.
Turrets swung towards the massive tanks, Guardians, Sentinels and the long
missile launch racks of the Defenders targeting the enemy.
"What the f**k was *that*?!" The radar officer was on his feet now,
staring at the screen. "We've just lost three f**king *Guardians* and we
don't know how?!" Two more blips disappeared from the screen, a cluster
of radar signatures turning into rubble which was ignored by the officer.
A camera near a cluster of Defenders told of one reason - a gang of Goliaths
roaming through the anti-aircraft defenses, missiles bouncing aimlessly
off their thick hulls. Plasma shots rang out from the lazily-rolling tanks,
and suddenly three Defenders were gone, disintegrated by the searing plasma.
A missile tube flew past the camera at high speed, closely followed by
the base of the missile tower. Then a piece of shrapnel hit the camera
and everything went black.
"Go, go, go!" Gol-224 swivelled her turret over to a clump of tall spindly
Defenders and fired her massive cannon, the six-inch plasma round punching
the towers into the ground. The shot carried on through the earth, burrowing
past a Sentinel laser tower. The tower was useless anyway - turrets sliced
off by stray shrapnel. It groaned and toppled over, power pack shattering
in a shower of blue sparks.
The plasma rounds flew through the air, baleful yellow light illuminating
the wall of Cloakable Fusion Reactor 7Beta as plasma splashed over its
meagre armour. The solitary crewmember inside punched desperately at the
emergency cloak switch and the reactor shimmered out of existance for a
second before reemerging with a gout of flame from its cloak generators.
The Goliaths were doing their work. On the screen of the dismayed radar
officer more and more blips disappeared from view. They were losing everything.
The control building would be next. Already they had no more radar - only
the IFF codes showed up on the screen, and they were disappearing too.
Time for back-up...
Through the crackly radio link, Black-Dragoon heard the desperation
in the radar officer's voice. "Come now, for God's sake! We need you now!"
"Gol-224! Please get out of there ASAP. We've got a radar signature
that looks uncomfortably like a battleship with full escort coming at full
steam towards you. There's nothing left that you need to destroy - Meteor
squad can do their duty. You've certainly made it easy for them," remarked
MOR-920, the mobile radar attached to their group. She surveyed the balsted
wasteland that had once been an ARM base with slight distaste. Distaste
because of the wholesale destruction - this had been *meant* as a surgical
strike. Of couse, if by surgical you meant painful, messy and with a lot
of spilt blood, the description was apt...
Black-Dragoon braked hard, reversing thrust to avoid crashing into the
bulk of Turtle's ship. Beside him three Skeeters shot past, slim hulls
throwing up spray as they grounded themselves on the rocky beach next to
the base. He could hear a stream of curses from Turtle's radio link before
it snapped off.
[Top] Part 7
"Damn!" the Supreme Commander shouted. "Why now?" Trust the CORE to
mount an assault right now, she thought. Just as her plans were going critical.
At least Murdoch and Jones' squads were still intact...or at least she
hoped so.
Supreme Commander Stead clicked her nails on the comm-console's hard
casing as the message was sent. Murdoch should receive the message - she
checked her wrist chrono - around the time he usuallly ate. Stead smiled
coldly. Perfect timing, as usual...
[xCOMMANDER MURDOCH, CBS-235774907]
Commander Murdoch jumped to his feet as the chime on his comm-console
sounded, signalling a message. He cast a regretful glance at his newly-opened
dinner tray, sitting cooling on his desk, as he crossed his office rapidly
to the comm-console. Impatiently, Murdoch keyed his ID in and the message
opened. He noticed the message's sender and groaned. Another message from
Stead, and a long one too. He walked back to his desk to get his dinner,
resting the sturdy plastic tray on the comm-console before scrolling to
the message.
[Top] Part 8
"Commander Jones here. All squads, report in."
Putting the Shooter onto automatic, Garth turned to the Maverick beside
him and sent a short query as to who the pilot was. The Maverick turned
to face him with ites faceplate up. For a second, Garth did not recognise
the rookie, then he looked again. Paul? He grinned as Paul noticed Garth's
name-plate. "Hey there, rookie. Still confident about the Commander's decisions?"
[Top] Part 9
Ouch...that hurt. Jones opened his puffy eyes and felt his body rocking
from side to side. He switched vision to an external camera, the video
feed coming through his neural implant. He could see himself being carried
by two Kbots - a Maverick and a Shooter..
Gol-224 rumbled over the crest of a small hill into her home base. That
was seventeen more kills for her, so she was well into veteran status by
now. A message flashed onto her viewscreen.
"So, still think the Commander's the almighty, then, Paul?"
Commander Jones listened to the heated exchange happening over his head
and cringed. Because it was true - he was unfit for this, an incompetent
relic somehow thrust into the upper ranks of command. He remembered all
the times he had been bawled out by Stead for being too complacent, a bad
Commander. The realisation was almost crushing. At least he could do something
to prove he wasn't soft...
[Top] Part 10
"All Shooters activate cloaking devices. Radar jammers, report in."
Jones ignored the pain in his leg - the medilathe nanobots were doing their
work, but not fast enough. The radio crackled as the radar jammers reported
in: all operational.
"Troops, regroup next to me - we're going in again."
A loud screech announced the arrival of the second wave of plasma, and
the ground shook with the multiple impacts. Thick smoke billowed up from
the forest, burning steadily and giving even more protection to the Shooters.
Only the iridescent blue beams pierced the smoke, and only the sounds told
of what was happening below.
[Top] Part 11
"Hurry up, troops, we're almost there!" Major Grant watched the
long column of units trundling along behind him. Above, Hawks screamed
through the air, streamlined bodies only visible for a fraction of a second
through the dense forest cover. Following after his massive Bulldog assault
tank, 59 other Bulldogs creaked and clanked their way through the forest,
pushing aside ancient trees like matchwood to make a path for the other
vehicles. Occasionally they came to a stubborn tree and would have to call
their construction vehicle to come reclaim it. But they were making progress.
[Top] Part 12
Paul was thrown against a tree as the sky turned white. His audio sensors
overloaded, just before the computer shut off all his sensory inputs to
protect him. He could still feel the immense heat burning through his weak
armour, and his back hurt like hell from the impact. The computer rapidly
flashed statistics up in front of his eyes - "Heavy Armour systems shut
down. Regular armour strength at 7%. Recent damage due to massive anti-matter
explosion anologous with Commander backpack imploding. Secondary explosions
attributed to fusion complex. Casualties: 240 friendly, 1092 enemy. Suit
heavily damaged - advise no motion for next two hours to allow servos to
cool and self-repair."
"Paul?" The voice came from outside...muzzily, Paul opened his eyes.
Sleep was a luxury - he had not slept for almost thirty hours. He tried
to activate his faceplate by thought command, but no response. He twisted
round in the soft cocoon that was the Maverick's cockpit and pulled his
neural link out of its neck socket before easing the faceplate open. It
was Commander Jones standing in front of him.
[Top] Part 13
Bleary eyes, waking up to the sound of motors thrumming and the whisper of nanolathes spitting their tiny loads onto powered skeletons, building bit by bit. A blur resolving into clarity, but no feeling of completeness, no sense of systems running smoothly and cleanly...
Gol-224, squad leader and captain in rank, rolled her tank towards the others. The massive Goliath left heavy imprints behind it in the soft ground, churned up by the tracks, wheels and feet of many units. A soft rain was falling, spattering on her newly-made and still-cooling hull, dripping off in little streams and rivulets. Another day...
[Top] Part 14
"Gol-224, this is crazy! We don't even know where they are!"
Paul struggled with the makeshift stretcher train, its wooden poles creaking under its burden. The Maverick suit he had taken from the battlefield was almost intact, and it was doing most of the work, but the hauling was clumsy and he was tired. The Shooter on one of the stretchers groaned weakly and Paul could hear retching coming from the commlink. He quickly put the poles that served as a harness down and hurried to open the Shooter pilot's faceplate. Being sick could be very risky in a combat suit, especially with the facemask worn while in combat. Choking on your own vomit ranked pretty high on Paul's list of horrible deaths, not far below explosive decompression. He tried to open the faceplate, failed, and grabbed his nano-cutter, slicing through the shielding clumsily. The faceplate gave way and he pulled at it, throwing it aside. Paul turned the Shooter on its side to allow the pilot to be sick, then belatedly remembered the facemask. He rolled the suit over again and removed the soft plastic mask just in time for another bout of retching.
Six minutes later, Paul was sweating hard, his bodysuit soaked. The smell inside the battlesuit was not pleasant, despite the air filters and his open faceplate. It was not so much the dragging of the stretcher - his memcomposite suit muscles handled most of that - but the clambering over trees, under fallen logs, through dense copses and over streams. It really got to you after a while, especially as his suit's muscles were not as fit as they could be after taking damage from a chance laser shot. [Top] Part 15
The roar of the Fink's engines startled Paul into wakefulness. He was still running through the forest, his suit on autopilot, dragging the stretchers behind him like a train of barges...he shook his head. Need to be awake...
He looked up just in time to see three small aircraft fly across his vision - *under* the canopy this time... twisting and turning among the branches to avoid tree limbs. As he watched, one pilot lost control and sliced through a creeper, his - its - aircraft rocketing up into the air and into a solid tree branch. The fiery explosion rocked the forest and he spotted a flash of flame...
"OK, sir, we got your fugitives. One of our Finks is about to tag them on frequency twenty-four, so you should have no difficulty finding them."
The Fink screamed down towards them and for a moment Paul thought it was going to suicide. At the last moment it spat something at him and pulled up, rocketing out of the canopy in a shower of leaves and tree-bark. The something hit him and he heard a wet splut as it attached itself to his suit. He looked at his chest.
A gluey web of...something, and in its center a...
Gol-224 revved her motors and the Goliath rumbled over a tree, the weight of its body pulverising the wood. Smashed trees and splinters lay behind them, but who knew what lay in front?
It was starting to rain.
[Top] Part 16
The sky was purple with the swollen rainclouds as the wind whistled through the rainforest. Rain was falling, steadily and heavily, like little steel ball-bearings dropping out of the sky and smashing on Gol-224's hull. The drumming was getting on her nerves, so she switched her external speakers off. Blissful silence.
The rain beat down on Paul's shoulders and soaked his sweat-sodden bodysuit as he lugged his one remaining stretcher over a moisture-slicked treetrunk. Behind him, Jones's Shooter suit found handholds and slowly made its way up the large treetrunk, hauling his stretcher behind it.
Commander Ralstead woke up, head throbbing. Pain...he blacked out.
[Top] Part 17
They emerged from the edge of the forest, filthy and exhausted. The bright sunlight shone down onto the flat, green plain and glittered off the Shooter Kbot and the weapons of the party. They had made it...at last.
Paul slumped down against a tree, dropping his twin Gaussrifles beside him. "I never thought we'd make it, not after all that," he said. He looked at the combat knife strapped to his thigh, spattered with blood of all colours, then dropped it alongside the rifles and closed his eyes.
Commander Ralstead woke up. The pain was gone now, but his limbs felt stiff and heavy. Muzzily, he opened his eyes. Daylight...how long had he been under for? He tried to lift his arm to see his wrist chrono, but it was too much of an effort and he let it fall to the floor. His eyelids drooped and he fell asleep.
Mav-010 didn't feel anything as it lumbered through the rainforest at the fastest run a Maverick could manage. The AI wasn't meant to be capable of feelings, only of rational thought, if it could even have been called that. Mostly, the AI just followed orders.
Ralstead woke up. Again. This time he felt a little better. He lifted his arm to take off the medilathe ring and set the white collar on the floor. How long...? He looked at his chrono. Two days, ten hours. A long time. Suddenly a thought struck him. His battlesuit...was it alright? Must be. If it had been destroyed, he wouldn't have lived through the explosion. So... Part 18
The Maverick hefted the fusion knife in its hand for a second, weighing it. The suit touched a few controls on the knife - currently off and looking like a small torch - and held it out in front of it. Finally, the suit plugged a lead from its backpack-mounted fusion reactor into the knife and twisted a small control...
The bundle of leaves hissed and crackled under the glare of Jones's handwelder, turned low so as to dry the leaves and the logs underneath them out. It was rapidly getting dark, and even this far away from the forest, things hunted. He shot a quick glance back into the cave they had found, where Paul was chatting to the survivors. A small flame caught his eye and he turned back to his task. There!
Ralstead's Commander suit lifted its nanolathe again to help with the fusion reactor that was being constructed, the massive building towering almost a hundred feet above him. The nanolathe hummed gently and shot a stream of glowing nanobots towards the structure where four shadowy ACVs were already working. The construction site was illuminated only by the green shimmer of the nanolathes, giving everything a slightly eerie edge.
It was dark, and Black-Dragoon's hull bumped gently against that of his neighbour. Their sole construction ship was still working on its first shipyard, short on resources even with the tidal generators and metal extractors it had put up. But soon... [Top] Part 19
Jones took another sip from the steaming cup in front of him. Some kind of herbal drink, he thought. What had she called it again? Tee or something... [Top] Part 20
The Maverick patted the earth down where the tripwire crossed the cleared path between two tall trees. It paused while its internal sensors mapped the surroundings then hurried towards another tree, trailing a rope of knotted vines behind it. [Top] Part 21
Gol-224 felt uneasy as she steered her Goliath aound the large rock in the path. Something didn't feel right. She opened a radio channel to the mobile radar.
Christ, she thought. "Gol-224 to squad, be verrrry careful out there. Gol-897's just...urgh. He's gone anyway."
The Maverick tensed its artificial muscles. They were almost here...
"Gol-224, I've got movement on...no, it's just birds."
Come on! The Maverick waited impatiently, or at least as impatiently as an AI got. The knife was shaking as minute movements ran through the memcomposite, and the vine was getting more and more stretched by the second...
A rumbling and another blue blip disappeared from Gol-224's screen. An emergency signal lit up briefly and disappeared. Sh1t.
The barrel of the Goliath poked around the rock. A quick glance upwards to make sure all the logs were still in place, then...
The ten massive treetrunks hurtled diagonally down from the canopy, snapping limbs from trees, guided by vine ropes. The first slammed into Gol-224's turret, the wood exploding into a flurry of chips. Another hit in the same spot, and another...
[ARMOUR SYSTEMS AT 10%!! CRITICAL DAMAGE!! ARMOUR...]
The explosion blew the Maverick backwards, and the suit flung out an arm to catch a tree limb. Its audio sensors were reporting an overload as the Goliath's field generator (turret-mounted, it recalled - a bad move) malfunctioned and streams of plasma jetted out of the barrel...
[REACTOR MELTDOWN ALERT! REACTOR CONTENTS EJECTED]
The Goliath disappeared in a globe of pure plasma with an incredible explosion as its main armour generators gave way and antimatter came in contact with the rapidly disintegrating shell... [Top] Part 22
The Galactic Gate opened with a roar of not-sound, a beam of nothingness shooting out from the Gate probe and engulfing the Commander in a roiling sphere of light. For a second all sound from the outside cut off and all LDF-20981770 could hear was the creak and groan of his suit's memcomposite systems straining to keep the thirty-metre suit fully upright. He could see the outside, faintly - leaves and dust turning into plasma as they contacted the incredible energies the Galactic Gate was outputting. He quickly checked his systems - power at full, all systems go. The energy readout for the base was falling rapidly as the GAAT and Viper laser turrets disintegrated the enemy units. In a few seconds he wouldn't have enough energy to complete the connection and send himself through the Gate.
Koch drove the Panther at breakneck speed over the small hill, treads whirring in clear air for a second before the tank set down with a bonejarring crash. He checked all the nutrient feeds to his clonetank were still intact and fired a salvo of missiles at the Galactic Gate he could see powering up in the distance. Explosions cratered its shiny red surface and for a moment the projection beam was thrown off target. He revved his motors and slewed the tank around, aiming his lightning cannon at a GAAT turret that was eating away at his armour. A few shots from the powerful lightning gun and the turret exploded, shrapnel clattering off his dustcovered hull.
"NOW!" The Commander screamed as he saw the Rapiers crashing, burning on the ground below.
Koch cursed as he saw the Galactic Gate brightening. His radio crackled to life.
"3..."
The explosion blew him forward and he ploughed into the metal below him, the thirty-meter battlesuit toppling onto its knees as pure energy roared over his skin. Then it stopped...
Then it stopped. Koch tried to reactivate his sensors but most of them were gone, simply vaporised by the heat. He pushed his backup visual sensors from deep within his hull and switched them on, the black-and-white picture revealing a dead landscape.
"Welcome to Goran, Commander. What is your designation?" [Top] Part 23
"Hypergolic propellant feed online, sir." [Top] Part 24
"Jones! Come quickly!"
By the end of the video Jones was amazed. Four tanks skewered in deep bear-trap pits, one battered by ten logs falling from the canopy, another rolled into a crevasse and two more buried under treetrunks wedged into the earth. He made a mental note to have this AI checked out when he got back to base. For 'when' read 'if', he thought soberly. If he got back to base...
Paul finished his task and switched the handwelder off. He read his handiwork with satisfaction - six names carved into the stone wall of the cave, Paul Thomson, Rhona Ferguson, Dave Eyrie, Lhos Shomwar...then just Jones. Underneath he had carved the date, then lower down a crude gravestone. "For the memory of all the brave people who fell in the War, and for a good man, Garth Paulson."
Commander LDF-209's padded metal 'feet' thudded on the floating platforms as he strode around the naval base. Naval, in almost every sense of the term - the Lieutenant had infomed him that the base was in the middle of a large ocean on the surface of this planet, Goran. The base was mostly made up of large water platforms, anchored to the sea floor by three-foot thick cables under high tension, all of which could be detached by firing explosive bolts in emergencies. The entire base was equipped with eight fusion reactors and outfitted with gigantic engines - in essence, a gargantuan ship. [Top] Part 25
The cloud of dust on the horizon alerted Koch to the incoming science crew. In a few minutes he could hear the rumble of the Atlases' massive engines. The transport aircraft set down their loads and took off again to land elsewhere. Overhead, ten Hawks screamed, but there was no danger now - the CORE were extinct on this planet.
Wood shavings flew from Rhona's knife as she whittled away at the rock-hard branch. Already it was starting to take shape as Jones watched, fascinated. She looked up and grinned at him, pausing to push a lock of hair out of her eyes.
The orbital shipyards were coming along quite nicely, thought Ralstead. Already he had six orbiting attack satellites on standby and a lot more reconsats busily watching the CORE's bases. A few spacefighters were circling the yards as well, plasma-fuelled engines glowing against the dark background of space. He shut off the holovid display as a transmission came through, and turned to the commset. It was Murdoch. [Top] Part 26
"Gol-224? Can you read me? Gol-224?"
[PATTERN INITIALISATION COMPLETED]
Beep... [Top] Part 27
"Major Koch. We have extrapolated the data needed from the Gate wreckage. Please call the transport for us."
The massive armoured windows in the Gate control complex glinted in the sun as Koch pulled into the base at last, covered in dust. How nice of the Commander to personally send an Atlas to take him back, he thought sarcastically. As he was preparing to take his Panther in for repairs, a radio message blared through his thoughts.
The air screamed as the beams sliced through it, connecting with each other to form a massive line of...something, not glowing but almost absorbing light from around it, like a tame black hole. Leaves whipped up and burst into bright plasma as they touched the surface of the distortion. Then a single green beam of antilight fired into the middle of the distortion and it twisted somehow, turning into a line of searing blackwhite void that hurt the eyes to look at. The void widened and its lips opened - the roaring was deafening now as the Commander turned his torso towards it. One of the techs broadcast something just as the Commander started to step through - [Top] Part 28
The plains stretched for miles around the six weary travellers as they fell to the ground next to the waterhole. The sun had been hot that day, and they were exhausted. Birds circled overhead, and their greasy black feathers did not give much hope, nor did the raucous cries. The heat had dried the waterhole up to a mere puddle, the plains becoming more like desert under the hot red sun. But it was water, and after one had checked it with a minisensor, the group splashed it liberally on their bodies, pulling shirts off to sprinkle the greenish water over parched skin.
The glittering starfield was momentarily obscured by a shape, rippling the background like some impossibly transparent piece of cloth. As the starship sighed into existance, cloak generators still glowing from the tremendous energy needed to operate them, fusion exhaust erupted from eight massive engines and the Arm Starship Takkumen moved into geostationary orbit, miles above the planet Goran. [Top] Part 28
The plains stretched for miles around the six weary travellers as they fell to the ground next to the waterhole. The sun had been hot that day, and they were exhausted. Birds circled overhead, and their greasy black feathers did not give much hope, nor did the raucous cries. The heat had dried the waterhole up to a mere puddle, the plains becoming more like desert under the hot red sun. But it was water, and after one had checked it with a minisensor, the group splashed it liberally on their bodies, pulling shirts off to sprinkle the greenish water over parched skin.
The vulture-like birds, disappointed, haark'ed and flapped away slowly, their wing muscles tired from hours of circling. The prey obviously wasn't going to die yet. Rhona watched them go, too tired and thirsty to even speak. Her tongue felt like sour, dry felt in her mouth, like a gag stuffed in there by a kidnapper. She glanced anxiously over to where Jones was slowly running the water through a spare shirt to try and filter it. She tried to lick her lips but her tongue lay, unresponding, glued to the roof of her mouth by the dry, unrelenting heat.
The weather had become hotter and hotter over the last day as they passed from grassy plains to cracked, red, almost Mars-like earth, and their water had run out later that day as well. Finally Jones was finished. He handed her an improvised cup, made from an empty carbohydrate bar wrapper, and she drank deeply, the warm brackish water slipping down her throat, the best-tasting drink ever. She let out a sigh of relief as Jones pulled his thin shirt over his head and dipped it in the pool. The rest of the water went into his rucksack for later.
"Guys, do we want to stop here? Other things might use this waterhole." The first sound for what seemed like years, apart from the occasional haaark of the 'vultures' and the mindless shuffling of feet that had passed through tiredness long ago.
Rhona forced the sounds from her mouth. "Yeah. I think we should go on. We need to find shelter anyway - it's bound to get a lot colder by the time night falls." She turned to Jones - Ian somehow didn't seem right for him, even though...he didn't seem like an Ian. Jones suited him more. "How far to the base?"
He looked at her. "Navcomp says twenty kilometers."
"One more day, then. We can make it."
Lhos watched her. She didn't look confident.
"It's not far now...we just need to find shelter. Then we can go on."
Lhos nodded. "Come on. Not too long before dark."
They struggled to their feet, and stumbled towards the edge of the waterhole. Rhona's shoes squelched - she had dipped them in the water to try and soother aching feet, but it had not helped. But soon they'd find shelter, and rest...
The glittering starfield was momentarily obscured by a shape, rippling the background like some impossibly transparent piece of cloth. As the starship sighed into existance, cloak generators still glowing from the tremendous energy needed to operate them, fusion exhaust erupted from eight massive engines and the Arm Starship Takkumen moved into geostationary orbit, miles above the planet Goran.
The conference room was brightly lit, the light seeming to radiate from every surface. Walls that looked as if they were made from some kind of fabric housed twelve huge windows looking towards the planet outside. At the head of the long, slightly curved table, black-topped and lined with interface pads, the avatar of the clone known as Chia tapped her long fingers on the hard surface. The room was empty.
A shimmer, and it was full - of massive, blocky pixels that quickly resolved into nineteen smart, almost perfect people. ACSS-209 looked around with interest at the room. This was a new scenario, he thought - their captain, Chia, must have been working on it for a while. The seats were good, too. Still no smell, though, he thought. Virtual reality smells were the hardest...
"Are we all here?" A redundant question, especially from the Captain, but it got attention.
"Now, crew, we have not been into action before. This will be the first time we engage in combat."
Excited whispers.
"Combat? Cool - we might..."
"Any danger to..,"
"Where?"
"I thought..."
Chia held up a hand for silence. "Yes, combat, in the loosest sense of the world. We are going on an orbital bombing mission, and the target is the main CORE base on this planet."
More whispering.
"They don't know we're coming, which is a good thing. No air-space missiles, nothing, not until they realise what's hitting them. At the moment, we're five hours from our orbital standpoint. In five hours and five minutes, we fire our railguns. Five hours ten minutes, we're out of there and burning our way back to secure position."
ACS-209 opened his virtual mouth, but Chia spoke first. "No questions right now. You'll find your briefing file on your notepads now."
On the table, a screen chimed and text appeared on its flat face. He picked it up and keyed out...
[Top]
This story copyright Andy Walker AKA CamTarn, 1999. If you want a copy for a site, please ask. HTML formatting by CamTarn.
The single clone who inhabited the destroyer floated motionless in
a tank of body-temperature liquid, never to go outside. It twitched slightly,
useless muscles responding to some unknown signal from an unknown entity.
Its brain - the only body part developed beyond birth size, fed by nutrient
systems and life-support - registered the arrival of a data signal. Neurons
pulsed their insistant chemical messages through the brain and in turn
to neural links, interpreted by the destroyer's computer systems. A pulse
went out in reply to the signal and a massage downloaded.
[DATA PACKET: ENCRYPTED. SIG REQUIRED]
{sig: aroy-00988079 **************}
[ACCEPTED]
[PACKET OPENED: SIGNAL DECRYPTED]
{receiving...}
{received}
[CONFIRMED]
{display packet contents}
[BEGINNING:
"Welcome to the ARM, Destroyer AROY-00988079. Your official designation
will be AROY-009 of the Beta fleet. You will immediately proceed to coordinates
073-928 and go to standby. Listen out for further orders.
Do you wish to choose a callsign?
[USER INPUT REQUIRED: YES/NO]
{yes}
[CONTINUING...]
You may choose any callsign not already used in your fleet. What is
your choice?
[USER INPUT REQUIRED: TEXT]
{black-dragoon}
[CONTINUING...]
Welcome, Destroyer AROY-0098079, OfDec AROY-009, Callsign Black-Dragoon.
From here onwards you will be referred to by any of these names.
Now proceed to the coordinates above. Do so now."
[MESSAGE ENDS]
Inside the massive ship, hundreds of tonnes of high-grade alloys and
plasti-ceramics, the most important component of all was thinking.
This was life? As he had no memories he had nothing to compare it to.
But he certainly *felt* as if he was feeling...enjoyment? Satisfaction?
Maybe...
Black-Dragoon settled into the water and activated the two massive
stern engines, the maneuvering thrusters shutting off and withdrawing into
the hull. Light played on the shiny metal of the destroyer's hull as it
sped quietly away from the naval base, into the rising sun...
"We're here, we're here! This is Sharp-one reporting for duty, with
Renegade on channel. What is it?"
"Action call. We're going into the field at last. Unfortunately for
you and fortunately for us, you're taking Jones with you."
"Oh...where do we meet?"
"Muster point is heavy laser battery 001, base entrance. You'll find a squadron
of Atlases waiting on you there, along with a rather annoyed Jones. He's
still shouting at us for not getting the construction guys here fast enough."
"Construction? What're we doing?"
"Don't ask me...I don't know. From what I've picked up, it's some kind
of forward observation base, or that type of thing. You won't be under
heavy enemy fire, though."
"Sounds good. At least we're doing something."
"Your new controller will be EAGL-337, callsign Eagle-eye."
"Eagle-eye?" Garth's voice broke into the call. "I remember that name..."
There was silence for a moment, then Garth spoke again. "Yes...Eagle-eye
worked with me on the Antharrus campaign, yeah?"
"Yes, I think so...I can put her online if you like, as long as you
make sure you're going to that rendevous point!"
"Yes, sir!"
[oASSAULT SQUADS "CRUSHER", "HAILSTORM", "METEOR"]
[content: ORDERS]
{goliath squad "crusher" proceed to point 122.11:334.09 at speed 24kph,
guarding mobile artillery units. mixed aa squad "wing-clipper" surround
and fire at will. morty squad "hailstorm", guard "crusher" squad. mobile
artillery squad "meteor" follow behind "crusher" squad. On arrival, "crusher"
squad lockdown and prepare for defense duties. "hailstorm" squad lockdown
and attack radar installations. "meteor" are assigned to knocking out any
defenses. after engaging defenses and radar installations, "meteor" and
"hailstorm" are free for fire support.}
[oCENTRAL COMMAND UNIT CCU-66983779beta]
[content: TEXT]
{orders received and understood. proceeding.}
The radio crackled to life. "Gol-224? It's Maa-002. You there?"
She recognised her short identifier and keyed her radio on. "Maa-002?
We're here and rolling. You?"
"We're rolling all right. Problems, though. The mud's too thick for
the Diplomats. They're stuck. Can you assist?"
"We can indeed. Wait a few, I'll come myself. What about the other
squads? They on the move?"
"Yeah, I can see Hailstorm and Wing-clipper moving. They're having
no probs. Can you come ASAP?"
"Already there..."
The Goliath wheeled round on its treads just as a rumble of thunder
on the horizon spoke of aircraft. Immediately the SAM trucks of Wing-Clipper
squad stopped and twenty missile launch racks pointed at the sky. Nothing...
Now the Diplomats were out of the mud and the crocodile of units reassembled.
"Gol-224 here - move out!"
Mud churned as the vehicles and Kbots rumbled towards their destination.
More rumbles came from afar, but Gol-224 was too busy to notice them. They
stopped soon anyway...
For any normal human, even a clone like himself, the task of managing
the massive destroyer would have been impossible. Even if they were able
to handle the twin cannons and depth charge rockets, the task of looking
after sonar, radar *and* twelve camera views would have been beyond them.
That was why he had been created, Dragoon thought with pride. So what if
the full-human clones got names? He was happy with his callsign. Anyway,
who wanted to be in a soft human body? The thought almost disgusted him
- imagine having to deal with that limited sensor input and those clumsy,
clumsy limbs...
A destroyer was much, much better.
"Is that better?"
"That's fine now."
"RJK-001 to MAA-091, you're heading towards the outside. Please correct
your course.
"Thanks for the info..."
"Thank you..."
"DIP-230 to MOR-920, could you please get out of my way?"
"Oops, sorry! There you go."
"MAA-019 to DIP-012, could you try not to drive me into that river,
please?"
"Am I? Sorry..."
"That's OK..."
"RJK-001 to DIP-921, you're getting too close to the back. Please increase
your speed."
"Thanks, RJK-001."
"No prob."
"Has anyone not got their paintwork dirty yet?"
"RJK-001 hasn't, not yet anyway."
"That's right, I haven't. Sorry, hang on..."
"RJK-001 to--"
The constant stream of radio chatter filled GOL-224's audio sensors
and she switched the channel to priority messages only. That was better.
They were almost at their destination now - only 20 klicks to go. Shouldn't
be too long now, if no more units got stuck. Unfortunately, they did that
with annoying regularity. And of course, the Goliaths had to pull them
out. It was a long and boring job, and even the chirpy chatter of the Slashers
had long since stopped. Nothing at all was on radar.
Who was it who said: "It's quiet...too quiet"?
"Hellfire, cut it out! We're on a serious mission here and I don't
want you crashing. Again." He recognised Tuscany's serious voice. She was
his squadron leader, capable and a great flyer when it came to the crunch...but
she had no idea of what other people liked.
He immediately stopped the roll and straightened out. "Alright, alright,
I know! I'm just bored, that's all."
"Don't be. Watch the skies!"
If he had been fully human, Hellfire would have rolled his eyes. As
it was, he put on an exasperated tone of voice and sent a reply. "That's
what I *have* been watching. They're boring."
He could hear a sigh from Tuscany. "So, what's your idea of not boring?"
"Something other than this."
Obviously Tuscany had given up on him because the radio clicked off.
He scanned the skies. Again.
Hang on...
Hellfire flicked the link open again. "What, exactly, are we out here
for?"
"We, Hellfire," came the reply, "are out here to kill some units. What
did you think?"
"What kind of units?" he said, suddenly interested.
He could almost hear the unspoken "Oh God. He's a combat junkie." as
Tuscany replied. "An attack squad - only a few Goliaths, that's all."
"No air support?" Hellfire was disappointed. Dogfighting was what he
liked best.
"Trust me, Hellfire, you would *not* like real combat. That is, combat
where when you die, you actually *die*. We're engaging those units then
getting the hell out of there."
He sighed and offed the radio. "Great."
"MARK!"
Twenty jets of flame erupted from the Hawks, the heavy missiles dropping
away before shooting towards the enemy. The Hawks banked and turned tightly,
shooting up into the clouds as the missiles streaked towards their targets...
"What's what? I can't hear...oh."
"Gol-224 here - what the hell is that?"
"INCOMING!" The mobile radar vehicle attatched to Gol-224's squad sent
out a klaxon which shocked Gol-224 into wakefulness. She scanned the skies
for the tell-tale missile trails...there they were.
"Gol-224 to Mbu-001 - can you track the targets?"
There was a pause while the radar extrapolated the missile flight paths.
The voice, when it replied, was hushed. "They're aiming for the AA."
"We're gonna die..."
"GOL-224 TO ALL AA - HEADS UP! FLAK GUNS, FIRE ON MISSILES!"
The heavy anti-aircraft cannons thumped steadily, in the vain hope
they would knock out a few missiles...
"Shut up, Hellfire. Just be alert. We're going for a low pass, taking
out the radar..."
Bad-temperedly, Hellfire set his radar altimeter for fifty feet and
pointed the Hawk's nose at the ground.
The AA guns barked insistantly, yellow roses of fire blossoming on
the blue sky in a random pattern. As soon as one explosion dispersed, another
took its place. Almost solid fire blocked out the terrain behind...
Tuscany scared? She was almost incoherent. Why would...what the...Je...
Hellfire's thoughts were cut off as the Hawk flew straight into a detonating
flak shell and was ripped to shreds. Seconds later the last Hawk, desperately
rolling in an attempt to get away from the impenetrable wave of explosions,
was consumed. The AA cannons stopped firing and the only sound was the
echo of explosions and the tinkle of shrapnel falling onto metal...
"Base to Gol-224 - we heard the demise of your units. We're sending
in a few squadrons of Valkyries plus Slashers and a few Vamps. ETA one
hour - just keep moving."
"Gol-224 to base - we will. We'll slaughter those ARM ka'tuks. Whatever
the cost."
"Good going. Base out."
"Squad leader Vam-010 to Gol-224. We're here!"
"Glad to have you. Very glad, actually. How many Slashers you got there?"
"28. How'd you like your Arm bases? Rare or well done?"
"Baked to a crisp, of course." Gol-224 chuckled at the old CORE joke.
"Great to have the extra Slashers. Are you going to transport us there?"
"What else? Line up and we'll get you in."
Quarter past midnight and the air was still, only disturbed by the
chirping of insects and the buzzing of the nanolathes. Around Jones, tired
contruction Kbot pilots stood still, as their nanolathes constructed more
glowing green buldings. Jones jerked awake from a slight doze as his med-system
injected a stimulant, and suddenly noticed the flashing message icon on
his HUD. He clicked it open.
[oCOMMANDER JONES, CBS-23578807]
[content: TEXT]
[attached: TEXT]
{jones! why aren't you there, scouting that base? that has been three
days we've given you and so far you haven't done anything. do something
soon or you will be demoted. further message follows from supreme commander
stead.}
[xSUPREME COMMANDER STEAD, SCBS-80927938]
[oCENTRAL COMMAND, COMMANDER FALKEN, CCO-9918273]
[forward: COMMANDER JONES, CBS-23578807]
{listen up, jones. you get out there and start fighting or i'll push
you so far down the ranks you'll be underground. get out of that commander
suit that you're not fit to wear and climb into the shooter kbot you are
about to nanolathe. if you disobey these orders regular troop punishment
will apply.}
He hurried over to the Advanced Kbot lab and started nanolathing the
gaunt frame of a Shooter.
Standing around the area light column, the Kbot pilots were chatting
casually, most of them outside their suits except for the "siac" - spam
in a can - clones. They had deactivated their towering suits but their
heads were still feet above the humans.
Garth jogged Paul's elbow and jerked him back to the real world. He
looked at the expectant faces for a moment. "What?"
Garth sighed. Typical rookie - daydreaming as usual. "Paul, what do
you think we're doing out here?" he said, slowly and clearly as if explaining
to a dunce.
Paul reddened slightly. "I don't know. If the Commander said the orders
are secret, don't you think they're meant to stay that way?" Instantly
he sensed he had said something wrong. The others moved away from him and
he could hear mutters of "Sucker" and "Ass-licking rookie..."
"What did I say?" he shouted at their retreating backs. No response.
"What's got into them?"
The Valkyries were gone now - not long ago, they had dropped off Gol-224's
units and were now back at base. It was too risky to attempt a close-in
drop with those Hawks about.
She could feel a tingle in her that was nothing to do with her internal
systems. Something was going to go wrong...something big...
An echoing pi..ng...ng...ng...ng... reached his ears, comforting and
familiar. The harbour's sonar buoys scanning the waters for any enemies.
But
there was something else there...he listened hard.
Pi..ng...ng...gling...gling...ng...ng...
Something there! Crawler pushed the sub into a steep dive and settled
into the bottom murk just as a slim shape sailed by overhead. A pulse reached
his ears. Enemy sonar...
Crawler heard the klaxon rip through the base, alerting personnel to
enemies. He revved the electric engines and took the Lurker up behind the
black shape in front of him, arming one of his torpedo tubes open...
Ahead, a long white shape corkscrewed out of the front of the enemy
submarine, curving around towards the shipyard. The torp tube irised open
and his bulky torpedo swam out, soundless, and headed for the enemy. It
picked up speed...
Crawler felt the explosions as twin crushing impacts on his body -
first the sub-killer's guided torpedo hitting the shipyard then his own
torp. He armed both his port torp tubes and fired, the black shapes heading
towards the enemy, now falling towards the bottom...
Crawler heard a sound behind him and probed the water just in time
to reveal a slim white shape moving towards him. "Sh1t," he said.
The torpedo rammed the Lurker, sending it into a spiral towards the
muddy bottom. But Lieutenant LUR-782 was already dead, nutrient feed to
his undeveloped body cut off by the shock wave.
Another enemy gone...another friendly along with it. D@mn! Only two
of the powerful Lurkers left, and three Piranhas. He could see at least
two Snakes down there, plus a sole Shark. Wreckage littered the seafloor,
or at least the wreckage that hadn't been blown apart by the massive anti-matter
charges in the torpedoes.
Next to the shipyard, a torpedo launcher that had been under construction
finished building. The green wireframe disappeared and its underwater torpedo
tubes pivoted around to face the enemy submarines. Four torpedoes rumbled
from the launcher in quick succession, all four hitting the submarines
dead-on. Smoke rose from the floating launcher as a guided torpedo hit
it, and it rocked on its pontoons until the contsruction ship finished
repairing the shipyard and came over to heal it.
Now all the submarines were gone... But no-one looked over to the hill
above the base. Not yet anyway.
"Units, forward! Follow orders - all long-range units lock down here,
while the combats engage. Move out!"
The Goliaths crested the hill and started down towards the base, turrets
rising out of their supports. Gol-224 bled plasma from her reactor into
her containment chamber until it was full, readying for full combat. Behind
her, she could see the Diplomats unfolding their missile gantries and the
Pillager mobile artilleries drilling themselves into the ground before
extending their supports. The massive guns of the Pillagers started to
rise towards the sky, preparing for the order to fire.
Beside them, half the Slashers parked themselves in a circle around
the heavy units, opening the heavy turrets on their rears to reveal racks
of gleaming, white missiles. The racks pointed towards the sky and they
were ready. The other Slashers readied their missiles and chased the Goliaths
downhill into the base.
The "Hailstorm" squad of Morties quickly dug a shallow trench before
lying their squat Kbot frames down in it, only the long mortar launchers
poking through the earth. A sensor periscope was extended above the dirt
wall to supply targeting information to the mortar Kbots.
The five Goliaths that had been assigned guard duty locked themselves
down with drill-clamps, covering their vunerable undersides from fire.
Now more squat then ever, the gigantic slabs of armour covered the ground
as the rest of the Goliaths rumbled down the hill towards the base...
Beside the harbour, a battery of eight Guardians swung their gigantic
barrels around to face the intruders, plasma rounds scorching the air as
they flew towards the target. One Goliath disintegrated violently, as its
armour failed. The plasma rounds continued to hit its corpse until nothing
was left but a deep pit in the ground, scarred and glazed by the heat.
But the Goliaths had got far enough. From over the hill, under radar-jammer
cover, twenty Diplomat heavy rockets burnt their way into the sky with
a earsplitting roar. Jet engines powered the white cylinders up into the
air until they reached the clouds, then turned them towards the base. Radio
signals bounced back and forth from the Diplomats to the rockets, before
the mighty rocket engines activated and sent the rockets down towards base
defenses.
The room was silent, until the radar officer sat down with a thump.
In a hoarse whisper, he said what everyone else was feeling. "Sh1t..."
A stray anti-matter sliver round from a mobile artillery crashed through
an energy storage building, power cells releasing their load with a screaming
sound. Arcs of electricity leapt across the ground, earthing themselves
on a Defender which shattered like crystal. Its ammo cooked off and shot
out of the turret, ploughing into the ground with a shriek.
A massive explosion and the crewmember was thrown like a rag-doll out
of the emergency hatch. The body hit the ground, already dead. Sparks flew
from the damaged cloaking circuitry and grounded on a Goliath, barbecuing
it instantly. The entire output of the fusion reactor poured through the
Goliath, overloading its computers. The internal reactor went critical
and plumes of plasma flipped the tank over onto its side before it violently
exploded, sending up a cloud of vapourised dirt.
"Code 9 in Sector 4! Code 9 in sector 4! All personnel evacua-"
Too late. The Code 9 emergency - a fusion reactor going critical -
had just happened. White light filled the sky above the base for three
seconds. When it faded all that was left of Cloakable Fusion Reactor 7Beta
was a deep, glassily-walled crater...
"Coming now." The voice of Turtle, his officer, came through the link
loud and clear. The battleship that housed Turtle's mind started its engines
and began to move, massive slab of grey metal surrounded by ships. He gunned
his drives and began to follow the battleship towards the ravaged base...
"Gol-224 here. Coming. Just let me..."
Another boom echoed from below and Mor-920 guessed that was Gol-224's
last word in the battle. Beside Mor-920 the last rockets took off from
the Diplomats and the PiIlagers stowed their barrels before lowering themselves
back onto their treads. Nothing was left of the base now - the last transmission
Mor-920 had intercepted was useless. The battleship would find nothing
but remains...
The base was gone. Just like that...nothing left. No shipyards, no
fusion reactors...nothing. He spotted the tank tracks leading down the
hill and swore violently.
"Troops, we are going to extract our revenge." Turtle sounded almost
calm... just an undertone of rage in his voice showed through. "We are
gonna SLAUGHTER the f**kin' k'tuks for what they did to our friends!" Black-Dragoon
was almost deafened by the shout. Then Turtle came through again, quieter
now. "I will give anyone who wishes a chance to opt out that chance. Anyone
opting out?"
No reply.
"All in favour of slaughtering those..."
He didn't even need to finish his sentance before the chorus of "Aye"s
came in, a torrent of voices all agreeing to revenge...
SC Stead turned to the comm console and directed a message to Murdoch,
by now almost certainly residing smugly in the base Jones had built. And
of course Jones would be preparing his own little 'surprise' for the CORE.
[xSUPREME COMMANDER STEAD, SCBS-80927938]
[oCOMMANDER MURDOCH, CBS-235774907]
{content: TEXT - RATED HI-PRI]
[request: HI-PRI MESSAGE RECEIPT NOTICE]
{So, Murdoch, how goes the base? I assume you have it under full jammer
cover like I instructed? Your orders follow.
A: Build two batteres of six "Big Bertha" Long-Range Plasma Cannons
thirty miles north and south of your base. They will, again, be radar-jammed
and will of course be covered by all neccesary defenses.
B: You will build units for a counterstrike to the CORE base Jones
is about to scout for us. This attack force will consist of:
40 MERL heavy rocket crawlers;
60 Bulldog heavy plasma cannon tanks;
30 Panther medium skirmish tanks;
15 Shooter long-range cloakable sniper Kbots;
20 Maverick heavy support Kbots;
30 Fido heavy assault Kbots;
40 Samson anti-aircraft trucks;
10 Phalanx mobile heavy AA cannon;
Plus any other units you deem necessary, including air or sea support
from bases Epsilon2, Delta6 or Alpha9.
Once these are built report back to me.}
The comm-console beeped and her receipt came through. Good. Now all
she coulod do was wait...
[oSUPREME COMMANDER STEAD, SCBS-80927938]
[content: DATA]
{0970276981082356: Message received 02:10:9928-10.15.56, read 02:10:9928-10.16.28
by COMMANDER MURDOCH, CBS-235774907, authorisation accepted and confirmed.]
Reading the first paragraph with a forkful of nano-assembled protein
mince half-way to his mouth, Murdoch was surprised. Stead being civil?
The was a new one on him...ah, orders. That was more like her.
He glanced down the list of units, quickly totalling them...245 units!
That really would be an attack to remember. One to tell the grandchildren,
he thought. Or grand-clones.
Now to the task of getting the units made... Murdoch keyed the base
radio on and opened a channel to his chief engineer, an advanced construction
Kbot.
He heard a stifled belch as the channel opened, then Rainer spoke.
"Rainer here...what's up, sir?" The strong Glasgow accent was hard to miss.
"Ok," said Murdoch. "I want three more advanced Kbot labs set up in
the rear compund, and four more advanced vehicle plants beside them. Also,
another advanced air plant. Build one advanced construction Kbot to nano-assist
each factory, then I'll forward you a lost of units to buld. You assign
the build queues - I haven't got time."
"Yes, sir."
That wasn't strictly true, thought Murdoch. He did have time to assign
the build queues, he just couldn't be bothered with the long, boring jobs.
Commanders were made for battle, he thought, not driving desks.
Kicking his booted heels onto the office desk, Murdoch examined the
unit list, adding his own units - a support squad of forty Brawlers and
sixty Hawks, plus two Scarab anti-ballistic missle Kbots. One tap on the
flat-screen notepad tand the list was forwarded to Rainer for sorting.
Murdoch rubbed his hands together. This would go down in history...
As soon as he issued the order, the radio crackled. "'Phantom' squad
all present and correct, sir." Phantom was a combined squad of Mavericks
and Shooters, with a single radar-jammer like the other squads.
"'Ghost' squad here, sir. No-one missing." Another Maverick-Shooter
squad with a radar jammer.
"'Poltergeist' squad here...one person missing. Private Paul Thomson,
Maver...oh, he's here. All here, sir."
Over the radio link Jones could hear the Private being bawled out by
his sergeant. He shifted uncomfortably in the modified Shooter battlesuit,
with its new light nanolathe. The battlesuit was not as poweful as the
Commander suit, and he missed the towering Kbot. But there was time for
that later. He pushed his discomfort to the back of his mind and keyed
the radio on again. "All squads, move out."
Three "Yes, sir!"s came in and the small group quickly exited the base.
Jones checked the radar jamming coverage, noting with relief that all four
radar jammers were operating properly. They would need those jammers if
they were going to carry out the plan...
Paul looked slightly hurt until he realised that Garth hadn't meant
it as an insult. "Uh...hello, Garth."
"So, what's up?"
"Nothing much," the Maverick said. He turned to look at Garth. "Why
is it every time I mention the Commander people walk away from me?"
Garth frowned. "Tightbeam," he said, flicking his radio to suit-suit
comms. Paul looked surprised then flicked his faceplate over his face.
Garth did the same.
"Garth, what are you doing?"
"The Commander may be a fool but he can still reclaim you for talking
behind his back. I don't want to be dissolved from the feet up, not yet
anyway."
"What?" Paul frowned.
"How shall I start? The Commander, as I think you may have gathered,
is a complete fool. Of course, being a new pilot, you're conditioned to
think anyone above you in rank is superior to you."
"But aren't they superior?"
"See?" Garth grinned, coldly. "Fact is, they're no better than you,
and most of them are worse. Look at Jones. He only got into the Commander
position because he was the last standing at a famous battle. What does
that tell you?"
"That he's brave? That he's good at fighting?"
Garth shook his head in disbelief. "Of course not. You can't survive
by being brave. What he did was found a nice big rock and hid behind it
until the battle was over. The only kills he's got are two Thuds which
he accidentally pushed off a cliff, and a Goliath."
"A Goliath?"
"Yeah. Well, it was almost dead. I should know - I was shooting at
it. He was just lucky enough to fire the final laser shot that actually
killed it."
"Uh. Right."
"The-"
Garth's voice was drowned out by the klaxon that blared through their
helmets. "Shooter 1 under attack! Shooter 1 under attack!"
Helmets snapped into place and locked, all combat units unfolding their
weapons and going into combat poise. Paul hefted the mighty Gauss cannons
clumsily, looking lost. At the front of the group, a Pyro was busy toasting
Jones.
"Shoot, you idiot!" Garth sounded enraged. Paul's computer took over,
swinging the Maverick's arm up towards the Pyro. He watched, helpless,
as the Gauss pistols aimed themselves at the squat unit and just had time
to brace before the recoil flung him into a tree. His suit absorbed the
shock and he sprang to his feet as the lead Shooter disappeared in a ball
of plasma.
"SH1T!" Now the whole group was firing, but more Pyros were appearing
through the trees. The forest was burning now, illuminated by the crackling
flames and by the blue lancelike beams of the Shooter weapons.
"Jones here - I'm OK."
Paul breathed a sigh of relief. The Pyros were gone now - all that
remained were a few piles of metal. But their cover had been blown. How
long until more enemies came?
"Shooters! All cloak! New squads - all Shooters are now Phantom squad,
all mavericks are now Butcher squad. Two radar jammers each. Split up and
go to nav-point Epsilon-Alpha."
Paul staggered towards the rest of the Mavericks, the group lumbering
through the blazing forest...
"Armour strength at 50%, suggest repair. All systems go." Unheard,
the computer activated self-repair systems and started to patch Paul's
more serious dents. The Maverick was completely black, scorched by the
forest fire. Now on radar Paul could see more contacts approaching...
"Ah, sir. You're up." Garth resisted the temptation to add 'at last'.
Jones groaned. "Yeah...what happened? All I remember is being attacked..."
"You assigned us attack orders then blacked out, sir. I used your nanolathe
to patch your suit up."
"Thank you, soldier. What's your name?"
"Lance-Corporal Garth Paulson, sir. Shooter-35530875."
"Good work, Lance-Corporal. Can you put me down, please?"
"I don't think you're fit to stand, sir."
"Nonsense..." Jones tried to move and felt excruciating pain shoot
through his body. "On second thoughts..."
"I should have told you, sir. Your nanolathe ran out of resources after
repairing your suit. The resource teleportation mechanisms were damaged
in the attack so I couldn't completely heal your body. If you remove your
suit..."
"I'm not taking my suit off."
Scared of what might happen to him, of course. What kind of a Commander
got into an attack and just stood there? And blacked out afterwards? Too
used to having people do things for him, Garth thought bitterly.
"Alright, sir. We are almost at the CORE base now. We encountered another
Pyro squad, but took no casualties."
"How long till we reach the base?"
"Well, Nav-point Epsilon-Alpha is around half a klick from the base,
and we're fifteen meters away from it now, sir. The Shooters are already
at the nav-point."
"Good, good. Regroup into original groups and proceed to CORE base."
"Gol-224, due to your veteran status, you have been assigned a weapons
upgrade. Report to nearest construction facility for work."
Great! Gol-224 had been waiting for that for a while. She wheeled the
massive Goliath tank around and headed for an idle Construction Vehicle.
As it unfolded its nanolathe arm and started to reclaim her old cannon
she relaxed, chatting to her fellow tanks.
The Maverick turned towards him and looked at Garth. "Surely he's not
that bad?" Paul shifted his grip on the Commander's Shooter battlesuit.
"Of course he is! God... When we were attacked, did you notice what
he did?"
There was a short pause while Paul thought. "Um...I couldn't see."
Garth rolled his eyes. "Because he just stood there, that's why. In
the middle of a forest, with Pyros flaming him, he didn't even move."
Garth paused to let Paul reply, but there was silence from the Maverick.
"See? The guy is useless. No combat experience. Only fit to drive a desk."
The reply was unexpected and sudden. "So you think you could do better,
is that it?" Paul sounded angry. "I don't think you could have. Could you
organise all the troops, build and stave off enemies?"
"Yes."
"No, you couldn't. You're just a fighter. Bitter because you haven't
been promoted. The Commander may be bad, but you're no better either."
"Shut up, rookie." The voice was almost threatening, but Paul ignored
it.
"No. I will not shut up. You so-called veterans are all the same. Remember
what you told me? You said 'I don't fight. I just stay alive. That's all
there is to it, staying alive.'" The voice was mocking now, sneering. "And
then you blame the Commander for 'staying alive?'"
"He didn't get away! He didn't move!"
"He stayed still to let us kill those Pyros, and you know it. You just
want someone to blame."
"Thank you, Corporal and..." He realised he didn't know the other soldier's
name.
"Paul, sir. Private Paul Thomson, Maverick-01419425."
"Yes. Thank you, but I think I can walk now." He ignored the stabbing
pain as they lowered him to the ground. Better not to say anything about
the conversation. Pretend he never heard it - they certainly hadn't meant
him to hear it anyway. He felt almost guilty at eavesdropping on their
communications... Wasn't a Commander meant to keep tabs on what his or
her troops were thinking? Yes, his mind said, but not like this. Not picking
up suit-to-suit conversations. But why had they given him that ability?
He didn't know.
His thoughts were cut off by the lance-corporal announcing their arrival
at the base...
"Good. Mavericks, proceed under radar jammer cover to ridge south of
the base and hide there. Us Shooters are going to take out those pesky
defenses for you."
"Mavericks, moving out." The Lieutenant in charge of the Mavericks
closed the radio link and Jones watched him stumping away, his bulky suit
brushing through the low branches and pushing them aside with ease.
"Shooters, follow me." He started moving, his cloaking device compensating
for the motion by upping its energy consumption. HIs vision rippled slightly
and he switched to an external view, the computer automatically filtering
the view to straighten it out.
As Jones topped the small hill, the entire CORE base spread out in
front of him, lit by bright sunlight. Attacking in darkness would have
been useless - the CORE could see the entire spectrum and the ARM soldiers
would have been at a disadvantage. But he still felt uneasy...
"All Shooters, pick a target. Toasters first, then Punishers. No Intimidators
here, thank God. Don't fire until I say so, and as soon as you fire, get
out of there. Move back into the forest towards our radar jammer, using
any cover possible."
Stealthily, Jones crawled forwards, unfolding his massive laser. The
long barrel just poked over the top of the shallow ditch, and through the
targeting camera he could see the group of Toasters he was trying to take
out. Looking around at the outlines indicating the nineteen other Shooters,
all of them aiming their laser cannons.
"OK, people. Disengage cloaking device and fire on my mark..."
A Shooter changed position slightly and a twig cracked, disturbing
the silence...
"FIRE!"
Twenty Kbots suddenly shimmered into existance and a searing blue beam
of pure energy leapt from Jones' laser cannon. The beam struck a Toaster,
melting its trapdoors shut. The other five plasma cannons jolted into life,
trapdoors folding into the base. Thick barrels telescoped from blocky heads
and the plasma cannons started to aim themselves. Now the rest of the Shooters
fired, the beams scorching the air as they passed. Five toasters became
five holes in the ground, then five craters as plasma tanks imploded violently.
"Move! Move! Move! Let's get our butts out of here while our legs are
still attached!"
The Shooters scrambled to their feet and sprinted towards the forest
as the echoing boom from a Punisher reached Jones' artificial ears. A white-hot
plasma shell arced overhead, ploughing through the earth with a screech.
Jones leapt over the trench, a quick glance back to make sure the other
Shooters were keeping up. Shells filled the air, contrails criss-crossing
each other. But Jones was in no position to appreciate the picture; a creak
beside him alerted him just in time to dodge a falling tree, trunk scorched
from a plasma impact.
The tree toppled over and landed just in front of him, a branch breaking
over his battlesuit's head as he scrambled over the massive trunk. He thrust
his metal hand into the hard wood like a pickaxe, lowering himself to the
ground behind the treetrunk.
"Troops, any casualties?"
Three other Shooters dropped to the ground beside him, shortly followed
by two more.
"None dead, one wounded, sir."
"Who's the wounded?"
"Lance-corporal Harper, sir."
"Bring him over here and I'll see what I can do."
Minutes later another Shooter came round the tree, its fallen colleague
over its shoulder. The Shooter dumped its load next to the kneeling figure
of Jones, and the Commander activated his nanolathe. The green stream of
nanobots washed over the injured Shooter, healing it and rebuilding the
damaged areas. As the nanolathe beeped a warning - energy low - Jones turned
to the tree beside him and reclaimed part of it. That was better...back
to the repairs.
The nineteen other Shooters assembled round Jones, then shimmered into
invisibility as their cloaking devices engaged. Back into battle...
"Commander! Incom-" A scream followed and was abruptly cut off as metal
shards hurtled past the Commander. He squirmed, trying to bury himself
deeper into the shallow trench, as another volley of bright globules soared
over his head. Suddenly he found himself on his back as earth spewed up
from behind him. He felt the heat on his body penetrating his battlesuit
and heard mroe cannons roaring behind him...
Behind him?! He was *facing* the base...
Jones looked round, almost scared of what he might find, and looked
into the double barrels of a Thud. One of its barrels recoiled and the
plasma round hit him square in the chest, his suit's gyros giving up the
ghost as he slammed into an earth wall. Jones lashed out with his laser
cannon and was surprised when the long barrel connected, his suit shaking
with the impact. Gyros online again, he noted, as he bunched his gun-less
hand into a fist and rammed it into the enemy Kbot's chest. The Thud took
a step back and tripped over a treestump, landing on its back. Seconds
later a blue beam of light turned the Thud into a pile of scrap and Jones
turned back to his task.
In front of him he could see smoke rising into the air at the CORE
base. Jones' squad doing their work...
"OK, we're here. All long-range units set themselves up with jammers
under plenty of cover. Shooters, you go off and do your own thing - just
take out as much as you can and try not to shoot us. Mavericks and Fidos,
behind the Bulldogs. Panthers, I want you in a line in front of us. 5 of
you Phalanxes, you guard the long range units, and the other five come
with me. Same for the missile trucks - 20 to come with us, rest spread
out and guard. Let's go!"
Grant watched in satisfaction as the platoon carried out his orders
swiftly and smartly, and he wheeled the assault tank round to take it into
the base. As he revved up, accelerating slowly, six Panthers rumbled by
him, raising dust from their tracks. As they passed him, they armed their
weapons and the powerful pseudo-baryon cannons, more commonly known as
lightning guns, unfolded from their turrets.
In a cloud of dust, the attack force rolled down the hill into the
base, and Grant could just see the chaos Jones was creating on the other
side of the shallow crater that housed the base.
"OK, troops, attack any defenses first! That's your priority. If you
spot the Commander, give him a plasma shell up the ass from me. Long range
units - I want you to give fire support. Look out for us, OK? Anything
engages us, fire upon it. Now let's kick their shiny metal asses."
Grant aimed his twin plasma cannons at a Punisher and fired. His tank
rocked back and the two globules of plasma arced towards the stationary
plasma cannon, white-hot gases splashing over its armoured hull. The cannon
turned towards him, slowly just as three heavy rockets smashed into it
at Mach 3. Grant's tank shook for a second from the explosion and he felt
the gentle rain of shrapne against his hull as he revved his tread motors.
Panthers shot past him, treads whirring, and surrounded a GAAT laser turret.
The sounds of war, laserfire ripping through the air and the zcheeop of
lightning cannons mingled with Grant's own cannon fire, globes of plasma
floating in slow motion through the air. His shell hit the laser turret
square-on, ripping it from the ground and sending it flying across the
base. He braked hard and swung the tank round a corner, clipping an energy
storage unit.
The implosion dragged his tank towards the storage unit, lifting it
off the ground for a second before he regained control. More plasma...
"Armour status at 75%. Suggest--" He cut the computer off and lobbed
two mroe plasma shells at a GAAT turret. Pain from his hull suddenly registered
and he blacked out for a second. Thank God he wasn't one of those "natural"
clones, he thought. They wouldn't have survived this.
A whoosh of plasma and unbearable pain as a Pyro stepped in front of
him, flamethrower raised. He tried to brake to avoid it but couldn't..his
tank barreled into the squat Kbot, driving it into the ground as he rolled
over it. His tank thudded back to the ground as the Kbot exploded, fountains
of plasma burning a nice rose pattern on Grant's tank in black.
"Watch out, Major! Sumo!" He snapped his view back to what was ahead
of him just in time to see the white girders of a Sumo's leg right in from
of him. The tank smashed into the towering Kbot and bounced off as Grant
helplessly tried to target it. He heard the Sumo's laser powering up and
cringed as the searing heat spread over his hull. One plasma cannon exploded
in a shower of shrapnel, the plasma field generator malfunctioning and
creating a hail of plasma bullets splatting onto his hull. More pain...
A bright explosion and Grant was pushed back twenty feet. Where the
Sumo had been, all that was left was a crater.
"There you go, Major. Lieutenant Cuttle at your service, sir!"
He turned to see the Maverick behind him. "Thanks, Cuttle."
The Maverick snapped a quick salute, before lumbering off in the other
direction. One plasma cannon left... Grant fired at a fusion reactor, plasma
scorching the towering building and leaving round scars on its outer walls.
Two Panthers skidded from behind him, taking a corner on on tread before
thumping back to the ground. Missiles shot from the launch racks above
their turrets and thudded into the fusion reactor just as a ripple of light
in front of Grant alerted him. "Warning! Cloak in operation!" For once
the computer was saying something useful. He inched forward until the ripple
became a blur, then solidified into the even more terrifying form of a
Commander. Grant swore quietly.
"All troops, attack targetting tag Alpha." He aimed the tag launcher
at the still slightly transparent form of the Commander, currently facing
away from him, and fired. The small cylinder attached itself to the Commander
and began transmission just as the massive Kbot turned to him, D-Gun raised.
He could see the orange glow of the huge weapon then heard the grating
boom as it fired...then he saw and heard no more.
Twenty minutes...
Paul closed his eyes and drifted off into welcome sleep.
"Paul? Thank God. Almost everyone else is dead. There's nothing left.
Can you open your suit?"
Paul tried. It was fused shut from the heat. "No. Can you help?"
The Commander lowered his nanolathe and started to reclaim the suit
from around him. Seconds later, he landed on the hard earth and stared
in wonder at the barren landscape before him. Glass. The earth fused solid
by the incredible heat, nothing left of the base that had been there.
At last he spoke. "Is there anybody left?" After a second he added
"Sir?"
"Don't bother. I'm not fit to be a Commander, no matter what you say."
Paul held his head in his hands. "You heard that argument?"
The Commander...Jones...nodded sadly. "Yes. Thank you for trying to
defend me, but Garth really is a better man than me." He sighed. "At least
I try..."
"Any other survivors?" Paul repeated his question.
Jones looked ashen through the Shooter's open faceplate. "Yes. A few
others...most of them are on their way back to base."
"Is Garth alive?" Paul asked.
There was silence for a second then Jones spoke, softly. "No. He was
next to me when he died. I shouted for him to get down but he was firing...I
ran away. Hid in a shellhole... They all died, all my men." He fell silent
for a few minutes. "I've never really experienced war before. I'm out of
my depth. I wish you were right, and I was a good person. But I'm not..."
He sighed and opened his suit. "I haven't been out of my suit for fifteen
years, you know?" He climbed down the few feet to the ground and slumped
against the Shooter's leg. "This is me in my full glory. A weakling, mentally
as well as physically."
Paul didn't say anything during this until he looked at the Commander,
knees pulled up to his skinny chest. He sighed. "You could be great, if
you tried more. Why do you fail?"
Jones considered for a few moments. "Never had the courage, I suppose."
"You don't need courage to survive. Just the will to live. Bravery,
honour...nice concepts but..." He suddenly realised he was quoting Garth.
And he'd never made up to him... He buried his head in his hands. Garth...dead.
He might be cloned again but it wouldn't be the same...Garth wouldn't know
him, wouldn't recognise the face of the keen rookie who had seen battle...
It would be horrible.
He straightened up. In the memory of Garth, he thought... he had been
a good teacher. How to survive... "We...need courage. We need something
to fight for... Why do we fight?"
Jones looked confused. "I don't know...we fight for..." His expression
was anguished. "I don't know why we fight. But we do."
"We fight because of our ideals. Our side is in no way blameless but
the other side is worse. We fight because of hate, rage against the once-people
who have been killing for millenia...but most of all, we fight to survive.
Now, we must continue fighting. For all those dead souls up there somewhere."
He waved vaguely at the sky. Unspoken, he added, For Garth...
Green glow over vision...of course. Being nanolathed...then the green glow goes and for a moment everything is black. Now there is a feeling of warmth...all systems go. Rolling out of the factory onto what feels like soft ground, weak sunshine glinting off other...things...in front of what seems to be a radar tower. More knowledge...the other things are Goliaths, super-heavy tanks. CORE tanks. So, this is CORE. Now a name...
Goliath. Goliath-22482357...Gol-224. Knowledge comes flooding in, almost crammed into the matrix known as brain. Memories...of fighting, of leading a squad, of promotion, of more fighting...of death. But even death is not permanant these days...
Flashback of her death...bright, bright light, then visual sensors shutting down...a sensation of speed, then reflexes automatically speeding up in reaction to danger. Now everything is in slow-motion. A ball of intense white light growing bigger...and bigger, and bigger, the wall of the hemisphere speeding towards her at terrifying pace, even as slow as this. Crackling energies, almost unguessed-at, within.
Now it overtook her...a feeling of incredible heat, then black. Cool, calm black...then nothing.
She snapped back into the present, scanning around herself in confusion. She had died. And now...
"Com-003 to Gol-224. I see you're back. You've noticed your promotion?"
For a second, she was confused. "Promotion?"
There was an audible sigh. "You mean you haven't noticed you've skipped about five ranks to Captain?"
Amazement registering, Gol-224 replied. "Captain? How...who..."
"Your outstanding behaviour in the last raid on ARMBASE-012. Remember?"
And she did. The base. Now gone, thanks to her...
"Yes, I do..."
"And your record in defending our base 019. We received notice that you have got more than three hundred kills to your name, in only two previous incarnations. So, you're now a Captain."
Gol-224 suddenly realised what it was that had seemed strange to her.
"Uh...Commander? You sound...unusual. Human, almost. More than normal, I mean."
There was a chuckle from the other end. Even more unusual..."Don't worry. I'm a new prototype. Central Consciousness decided we Commanders needed more feelings, more intuition. So, here I am."
A Commander with feelings?
"Now, your orders will come through in a few minutes. Feel free to take a tour of the base."
"Shut your trap, OK? We do know where they are - " Almost. Well, pretty near. OK, so they only knew the enemy, a small group of ARM units, were somewhere in the forest, twenty square miles, but... "Anyway, we'll find them soon."
"Are you sure they won't find us first? After all -"
"Shut it! No more doubts. Just keep moving."
Gol-224 was silently glad of her new second-in-command, Lieutenant Turner. He was definately good at the troop side of things. Was he as good as combat? While she thought this, Turner's Reaper rolled up beside her, crashing through a tree in its path.
"Oops." His voice was slightly amused.
"Try not to do it again, Turner," she said. "We *are* meant to be approaching in secret here." Indeed, they had a radar jammer covering them from behind. But the trivial tone of her voice concealed her worry. What if they didn't find them? Or the hiding units did find them first?
No time for that, she thought. Suddenly, Gol-224 was interrupted by a squawk from the AWACS circling them overhead.
"Enemies sighted! Fink on its way...hang on. Approx one klick in front of you." There was a slight hesitation. "I think there are two of them...there are other faint radar signatures that match organics, but I can't be sure if they're animals or human. Two major signatures consistant with battlesuits, though."
"Thank you. When's that Fink getting here?"
"ETA four minutes, sir."
"Good...set it to scan at treetop level. I want to see what's in wait for us."
"Thank you..."
The pilot suddenly retched again and Paul rolled the suit to the side just in time for the pilot to be violently sick.
"Do you want me to remove your suit?"
A mute nod from the pilot. He opened the access panel and keyed in Comm...Jones's personal codes, the suit opening with a hiss. It was still hard to think of Commander Jones as just Jones, even after five hard days searching for survivors together.
The shaken pilot climbed out of the Shooter with Paul's help and sat down on the stretcher. "Thanks a lot..." The pilot looked up, and Paul saw the pilot's startling blue eyes staring at him. "I'm Raas. Raas Horeman. Corporal. You?"
"Uh...Paul. Private Paul Thomson."
From behind him, Jones stepped forwards. Paul jumped slightly - he hadn't noticed him there. "Make that Sergeant Paul Thomson, then. You've deserved the promotion."
"Uhh...thanks, sir," Paul stammered. Sergeant? Him? Stunned, he looked at Jones. The man seemed perfectly serious.
"OK, Sarge." The pilot was grinning at Paul's obvious discomfort. Then his expression returned to neutral.
Jones made his way back to his stretcher and started hauling again. "Come on. We need to get out of here before they find us."
Paul picked up the harness-like arrangement and fitted it around his shoulders, straining against the weight of the stretchers. The wooden constructs dragged through the earth behind him...
He heard a rumble in the distance and stopped. By his side, he could see Jones doing the same. Then it grew louder...seconds later, a blur screamed overhead, the sonic boom ripping through the treetops and showering the small convoy with fragments of creeper and bits of decaying wood.
Beside him, Jones swore loudly. "I was recording that...slowed it down. It's a Fink. That means..."
He didn't need to say it. Paul paled. All they had was his guns to defend them. Jones's Shooter laser would be all but useless, and the only other relatively-intact Shooter was hundreds of metres behind them, discarded as soon as its pilot climbed out.
The Fink must have spotted them, because its sonic boom rang out again a few minutes later. Jones picked up his harness and started to run, Paul following in a desperate lumber...
"Quick, Jones! We've gotta get out of here. Fire."
He saw Jones look back over his shoulder and start running. Paul speeded up from his jog and followed him, stretchers bumping and rustling over the dark ground.
"Thanks." Gol-224 retuned her tracker radio to the frequency and noted the blip that appeared on her HUD. It was moving fast - obviously the tag had not been deployed yet. There it went, a sudden jerk and then the tag's motion slowed...
She resisted the impulse to cry out loud. They had their targets!
Paul swore violently. "Jones, we got a problem. I've got a tracker on me. What chance do I have of getting it off?"
"Nil. The glue on these trackers is too strong. I can't burn it away either without endangering you - the trackers contain anti-tamper devices."
"Anti-tamper? Like, explosive?"
Jones nodded grimly. "Try and reclaim one of those, you'll find youself with a hole in your chest. And that extends to the webbing too."
"Crap..."
Paul cracked his suit seals and tumbled out of the tall maverick. He programmed an evasion program into its autopilot before opening its backpack and leg holsters to take the guns and survival rations. The four-foot-long Gauss rifles were almost impossible to lift in one hand, and they wouldn't be much use when their internal power supplies ran out, but it was a start. He slung the rifles over his back tied to vines, and started to pile the emergency kit onto a stretcher...bandages, rations, locator...ah, laser-rifles. Three.
Paul distributed the rifles among the fittest survivors and snapped his suit shut. Sadly he saluted it...he wouldn't see that Maverick ever again.
The tall Kbot broke into a run and headed off to the west. Paul started running again...
"Mru-001, what's our status on those runaways?"
"Uh...we've got two radar blips, sir. One heading towards us from the East and another going due North out of the forest, on a bearing of twenty degrees from us. I can't see any other blips."
Silently, Gol-224 cursed. They must have separated. "We'll go after the contact that's heading out of the forest. The other is probably a decoy force sent to distract us. Where is the tracker signal coming from?"
"Uh...hang on a sec, sir. Yes, it's the contact to our East."
"They must have discarded the tagged suit and set it to attack us."
Another voice. It was Aav-203, Slasher. "How long is this going to last, sir? They're going pretty fast."
"Don't worry, Corporal. We'll be back in a few hours..."
Famous last words? she thought...
"Paul, do you want to stop and make camp?" Jones sounded tired, even with his suit.
"How much further have we got to go?"
"We've got...only a mile to go, actually. There's another hour before sundown."
"Come on, then. We can make it."
Jones landed on the soaked earth with a small squelch and retrieved the stretcher from the top of the treetrunk. All of the survivors who were being carried were asleep now, dosed with tranquilisers and painkillers. The wounds were horrific. Limbs missing, massive gashes...it reminded you what war really did to people.
Behind Jones, three raggedly-dressed survivors climbed gingerly down from the log, laser-rifles slung over their backs. Paul's Gauss rifles were weighnig heavy on him now, but they couldn't stop...
He looked down at his leg, black now from the tops of his heavy boots to his hips from climbing through bogs and swamps. He flicked an engorged leech off his skin with a wince, the blood flowing from its wound. Useless gesture - there were at least eight others there. The rain washed it away in a few moments, but the mud was thick enough to remain. His hands were covered in it, too, and...well, everything that was not sealed was covered in mud, bark, slime or blood from any number of wounds. The combat knife especially - the rainforest was not friendly. At all.
A few seconds later...the light stung his eyes as it streamed through the crazed, shattered glass of the command center. He levered himself up on one aching arm and looked around him in a daze, noting the charred and burnt patches where plasma shells had landed, and the long carbonised streaks from lasers. Then his vision slowly faded to black and his arm collapsed under him, his body thudding back into the debris-strewn floor again.
Blinking, with a splitting headache now, but he could move at last. The medical chest...something for the pain. He tried to move his leg and screamed. It was agonising...he looked down to see the leg broken - no, smashed, bones protruding and flesh torn. A permacrete block, lying crumbling beside him.
Don't look at the leg...he used his arms to clear a path across the floor, dirty sunlight streaming in through the ceiling windows. No outer windows - the heavy armour generator must have failed. Yes. The explosion of the outer armour must have been enough to convince the enemy the command center was destroyed. Ralstead smiled grimly for a second, painfully, as he opened the med-chest and rooted around inside for the emergency medilathe collar. Stupid him - it was mounted on the lid. He slipped it on and gave in to the pain as his mind descended into blissful blackness...
The Shooter opened with a hiss, and the skinny form of Commander Jones climbed down to sit beside Paul. Over by the Shooter, the three fittest survivors were tending to the fourth, renewing bandages and cleaning the wounds. Paul got up to help them while Jones fished in his shirt pocket for a ration bar. He peeled the foil off and bit a chunk from the greyish, tasteless mass. Right now nothing had ever tasted so good.
Paul walked over to the injured woman on the stretcher behind Jones's Shooter. The other stretcher he had pulled all the way lay beside her, its occupant solidly asleep, dosed with tranquilisers and painkillers. He walked over to the Shooter and got its emergency medipack from a compartment, slipping the medilathe ring around the woman's neck. They had enough energy to operate it now, as the solar panels on the Shooter were working hard in the bright sunlight. Another medilathe ring went round the neck of the sleeping casualty, bright nanobots disappearing into the man's body, scanning for damage.
Finally Paul walked over to Jones, sitting under the shady tree. "It's not over yet. We need to find someplace to camp for the night."
Jones stopped eating. "You're right...I never thought. I think the company needs a rest, though."
Paul nodded. "We'll start for shelter in an hour or two." Turning to the others, he said: "Get as much sleep as you can. We'll be marching through the night."
Currently, its orders were to go in a certain direction until it found an enemy force, and then to attack it in any way possible. Not very clear, thought the AI. The very least they - and they encompassed everyone who was not an AI - could do was provide it with decent orders. Without even thinnking about it, the Maverick hurdled a log and landed solidly on the other side, continuing to lumber through the forest.
Seconds later the bulky Kbot skidded to a stop and stood, swaying slightly, in the middle of a clearing. Something in sensor range. Something...big... Very big. A tank...a Goliath tank. Briefly, the AI regretted its lack of weapons. It would have to make do with what was around it. Which, at the moment, was trees - a lot of trees...
The AI had been programmed with a lot of human thought and ingenuity. In fact, it was almost a pattern in itself. Of course, the ARM did not refer to it as a pattern - it was an "artificial construct" instead. Still...
He got to his feet, slightly unsteadily, and managed to stumble over to the private elevator on the opposite wall. He leaned against the cool wall to catch his breath before placing his hand onto the palmlock. Light swept across the reader and a small nanolathe took a DNA sample from his blood, analysing it. The door beeped and opened.
Ralstead stepped into the elevator and pressed Down...
[Top]
Suddenly the clearing lit up with the fierce white light of the plasma inside the knife. A fusion knife worked on around the same principle as the plasma cannon - a white-hot plasma was contained inside a projected magnetic field to produce a "blade" that ate through anything it touched. The Maverick gazed at it for a second then whirled, slicing the trunk of a tree almost in half. The blade screeched as the wood was broken down by the plasma and for a second the white shimmering blade turned red. The Maverick didn't stop - it plunged the knife deep into the tree, then put a shoulder against the massive trunk. A creaking, then a thunderous crash as the bulk of the tree forced its way down through the thick canopy. A hole was left in the mass of leaves above as the Maverick went to work.
Twenty seconds later it was done. The Maverick twisted the knife off and the beam disappeared with a sucking sound, the plasma being safely sucked back into the reactor. The knife went back into the Maverick's pack and it knelt next to the pile of sharpened stakes that had, seconds ago, been a massive tree.
If the Maverick had a face, and if the AI that ran it had had emotions, it would have grinned evilly...
"Paul, it's working!"
Paul ducked under the low arch that formed the cave mouth and came over to Jones. "Brilliant. This should stop any animals, or at least scare them off until we wake up. Come back into the cave - we've got dinner on."
"Dinner? Sounds good..."
Ralstead turned to the coast, his nanolathe still working. He ignored the omnipresent digital readouts from his suit and gazed at the black, inky sea, gently lapping at the shore only a few thousand metres away, wondering what *did* happen to those lost ships...
Soon...the murdering CORE would get what they deserved, courtesy of one Black-Dragoon...
Opposite him, someone shifted. The five of them had been chatting for hours, Jones and the four survivors they had brought from the CORE base. Rhona, that was her name.
"Jones, do you want more tea?" She leaned over to him, her profile showing in the dim light from the storm lantern.
"No thanks. I've got enough here." He took another mouthful to prove his point, feeling the warm liquid in his stomach.
Another person turned to him. Michael. "What about you, Jones?"
For a second he was puzzled. Michael repeated his question.
"What kind of thing do you like doing?"
"Like?" He didn't know. He'd never really had time to like anything, really. "I don't know..." The crackling fire at the cave entrance cast flickering shadows on the cave wall behind them, massive shadowy figures, distorted and wavering.
"Neither do I, really. No time."
The others nodded. The war was everything. No time for play. Mike asked the other two, who had been silent for a while now. Dave was the tall, almost spectrally thin one. The tough-looking woman was...? Jones struggled to remember her name. She'd only said it once at the beginning. Lhos, that was it. Neither of them had any interests either. The war was their life.
The fire was crackling nicely now, and the cave was warm as Jones climbed into his sleeping bag. The other four were already asleep, and Paul had gone out to sit by the fire.
The sleeping bag was warm and comfortable, and Jones curled up inside it before reaching out his hand to click off the light.
Through the sparks and smoke, Paul saw the light in the cave click off. He shifted his body on the rock he was sitting on and rubbed his eyes. God, he needed some rest. He took another swig from the mug beside him, the scalding herbal drink pleasantly burning his throat. It was getting cold...
He woke up with a stiff back, and the fire in embers before him. He must have fallen asleep. Rubbing his back, Paul sat up and gazed into the fire, a wisp of smoke escaping the glowing charcoal and spiralling up into the inky black sky. A few stars, here and there. He'd come from one of them, once, a long long time ago. He leaned back and looked at the stars, white, twinkling points of light...so far off.
Would he ever get home?
Paul thought about this for a while. Then another question slipped into his mind. Did he even have a home any more? Cloned so many times, so many places he must have called home, but none which he could remember. Friends, maybe. People who remembered him...
"Paul?"
He jerked and looked around him. The voice came again.
"Paul? Are you there?"
Then he caught sight of the fire. A figure above it...growing...
"Paul, it's me..."
Garth. It was Garth. Paul tried to speak but nothing came out.
"Paul, you've gotta keep going. Never give up, don't become like I did. Don't become...tired."
Tired?
"Of life, Paul. I gave up on life. But you...you've got...it."
The figure was fainter now.
"Paul, you gotta keep fighting."
A flame flickered among the ashes. He could see it through Garth's feet, then it died. Garth's body was fainter now, his voice a mere whisper.
"For...me..."
Then he was gone.
As it went, it thought: This should be good.
Jones woke sleepily, the weak sunlight trickling through the cavemouth. The fire there was long out, but he could see the still-sleeping body of Paul beside it. He checked his wrist-chrono: eight in the morning. He turned to see Rhona cooking herself breakfast over an improvised stove made from a hand-welder on low power. It smelt good and he wandered over to have a look.
Rhona heard him and looked up. "Hey. So you're up at last."
"At last? It's eight o'clock!"
She laughed at his expression. "I know. I've been up for four hours, getting wood and food for us."
He hastily changed the subject. "What're you cooking there?"
"Oh...just some stuff I got from around the cave. It's actually prot-paste with some herbs and so on." She grinned. "I've no idea what it'll taste like. Want to be the guinea pig?" She picked a lump from the pan and gave it to Jones.
He raised his eyebrows. "I never knew prot-paste was this nice."
Rhona laughed again. "Is it nice? I haven't tried any yet."
"You should. Anyway, I'm going to wake Paul up. He's going to be stiff as hell after that night spent outside."
"He's been outside all night?" she asked, concerned.
"Yeah, I think so."
"Poor guy. Musta been tired."
Jones nodded and walked to the entrance, brushing a few vines aside as he went outside. He tapped Paul's shoulder.
"Paul? You still asleep?"
Paul groaned and put a hand to his back. "How did I wind up out here?"
Jones shrugged. "I don't know. You must have fallen asleep."
"Is Rhona up already?"
Jones rolled his eyes. "Yep. For four hours, as well."
Paul groaned again. "Well, I think we should get moving. Got to get back home sometime." He paused. "Jones, your Shooter. Is the transmitter still working in that?"
"Yeah, it is, but if I use it we'll give away our positions. It's next to the rock wall at the moment, so the radar can't see it, but if the CORE intercept a radio transmission they can track it to see where we are."
"What about--"
"No, the tightbeam transmitter took damage from a laser. I can't get it working again."
Paul looked resigned. "Looks like we'll just have to make our way back by ourselves, then."
"Looks like it, kid."
Ralstead's nanolathe was glowing red-hot with the workload as he climbed down from his battlesuit. The suit's AI kept the nanolathe pointed at the construction as he climbed down the ladder mounted on the Commander suit's massive leg. Ralstead watched the nanolathe spewing out its particle stream into the construction, then he looked up...and up...and up...
The gantry reached almost eight hundred metres into the air, the massive building towering over the rest of his base. Around it, busy construction units were dwarfed by the towering gantry. Ralstead leaned forwards to peer through the insubstantial construction, gazing downwards this time. More building below the ground, too. This building would be one of the first of its kind in thousands of years of warfare. The blueprint had only been used once or twice before, when the ARM felt the need for...that little something extra. And this would provide that extra.
Ralstead turned to walk to his quarters; behind him the bulk of the Canaveral Orbital Construction and Launch Facility dominated the skyline...
"Gol-224 to MRU-001, is there anything - apart from us and the trees - in the vicinity?"
"Mru-001 here. No, there isn't. Why?"
"Nothing."
Another voice cut into the conversation. "Gol-224, I don't know if you can see this, but there's something ahead of us. I spotted it on sensors." Gol-897, the tank in front of her.
"OK, 897. I'll keep a look out."
As she watched the treetops, the Goliath in front of her activated its turret and speeded up.It turned to go between two massive treetrunks. With an almost soundless 'twang', it rolled over a small mound of earth and the vine rope concealed underneath. The Goliath disappeared in a massive cloud of dust, leaves flying up around the massive tank. A few seconds later all was quiet and Gol-224 found herself gazing down into a deep pit. The Goliath had been skewered on six treetrunks bound together like a grotesque kebab.
A flurry of replies.
Carefully Gol-224 drove around the pit. How had Gol-897 activated the trap?
"Squad, look for any tripwires or anything. Slowly now..."
A flicker of movement...she snapped her cameras towards it. Nothing.
There!
A flock of birds launched themselves from the treetops, screaming as Gol-224 mentally jumped.
But there was nothing behind them...
It readied the crude knife it had made out of chipped rock and placed it on a vine rope.
Almost...almost...
"224, to your left!"
"Where, 275?"
"Left!"
"I can't see anything. Recalibrate your sensors."
A muted apology.
The tanks rumbled on, Gol-224 more and more nervous. Twigs breaking under the immense weight of the Goliaths...
Snap.
Big rock ahead. "Team, take it slowly here. Something doesn't feel right."
"Should we split up?"
"Good idea, 275. Split up and meet me two hunded metres north."
Rustling...she swung her camera around to see...nothing behind her. Still rustling...not leaves, either.
Snap.
The Goliath rumbled on...
The Maverick cut the rope.
Movement...there. Gol-224 swivelled her sensors upwards...no, there. She thought she saw a foot disappearing behind leaves, or something else...another flock of birds erupted from the canopy, shrieking and chittering, and swept past her. The wings obscured her vision sensors as she struggled to see what was happening...
Above her...a little forward...there...
Oh damn, she thought.
Green nanobots spurted from internal repair systems, fading and dying in the air. The Maverick watched, silent...
Gol-224 revved her tread motors to try and escape, only succeeding in driving herself deeper into the mud. The last treetrunk slammed into her turret with earthshaking force and her screen blanked out...
[ARMOUR SYSTEM FA...]
The forest was alight now, as another explosion battered at the Maverick's hold on the tree. It sensed itself starting to tip up and held on tighter...another sound, like a rocket this time...
The Maverick didn't stop to wonder. It leapt to the next tree and fell short, the Kbot smashing against the iron-hard wood of the rainforest trees on its way down to the ground...
[POWER LOST! EMERGENCY BACKUP ACTIVATED]
[WARNING! INTERNAL TEMPERATURES DANGEROUSLY HIGH]
[WARNING! SYSTEM FAILURE IN PROGRESS]
[WARNING!]
[WARNING!]
[CONFIRM CORE EJECTION (y/n)]
{.........}
[DEFAULT YES...]
[COMMENCING QUANTUM MATRIX EJECTION.]
[WARNING! CORE EJECTION IN PROGRESS!]
[SHUTDOWN COM...]
Five seconds later all that was left was a crater...and a rocket trail leading straight up into the sky.
"How long have we got?" he said over the fading commlink.
Through the static he could just make out the words "Fifteen seconds!"
He hadn't sent a destination code, he remembered. He just needed to get out of there as soon as possible. "Use all available energy! NOW!"
The swirling ball of...whatever it was around him grew brighter as more energy was poured into it. Warnings screamed across his interface from the fifteen fusion plants about overheating...
Beside him raced a Bulldog at full speed, over thirty miles per hour. It turned its turret and lobbed twin plasma shells at another GAAT before ramming a Punisher Koch had not spotted. The tank sheared the plasma cannon's turret off, plasma spurting from the base as the Bulldog corkscrewed into the air landing on its side. Its treads screamed, trying to right itself, then the pilot swung the turret around and the tank thudded back upright, accelerating off in a cloud of dust.
Koch swerved to avoid a Samson as it fired its rear-mounted missile pod at a Vamp circling far above. Two heavy missiles cratered the earth in front of Koch and his tank lurched as his targeting AI ripple-fired eight missiles at the fighter. The Samson behind him exploded violently as four Vamps divebombed it, their missiles leaving white streaks in the shrapnel-filled air.
He cursed as he spotted the bulbous shapes of twenty Rapiers powering over the horizon and readied his lightning cannon. Missiles screamed from their launchracks as three more slid into his pod from his internal 'lather. He armed them and targeted the lead Rapier, the missiles flaming as they shot up into the sky and curved round towards the bulky aircraft. Roses of yellow flame erupted across the body of the gunship and it ploughed into the ground near to him. He finished it off with a shot from the lightning cannon and it disappeared inside a sphere of plasma from its reactor, leaving a glassy crater seconds later.
"We're *trying*, sir! We're running out of energy!"
"Shut down all production in the energy grid! I need out of here as fast as possible!"
The tech sounded dubious. "You sure?"
LDF-209 swore at him. "Of course I'm sure! Hurry up!"
He saw energy consumtion decrease and stored energy rose as factories gave up their vital jobs all over the planet of Solumoet. He couldn't see outside now.
"Connection acheived, sir. Ready to transmit."
"Transmit now!"
"Starting transmission sequence, sir."
"Troops! Attack the Gate, priority target! Go, go go!"
He steered towards the gigantic structure, sprawling over nearly half a kilometer. Arcing electric discharges sprang from the lightning gun and missiles flew from his turret as he rumbled over the uneven terrain. His treads crunched over the skeleton of a Crasher, flattening it and tossing it aside as the Gate disappeared in a cloud of separate explosions. Another Bulldog pulled up beside him and fired two plasma shells at the gate...
LDF-209 readied his D-Gun. He didn't know what would be on the other side of that gate.
"2..."
Bright plasma splashed over the outside of the sphere that contained him - nothing could get through to him yet.
"1..."
Yet...
"Transmitting da--"
The world went white...
Koch's vision sensors shut down momentarily as the Galactic Gate exploded with the energy of a small sun. He felt the heat sweep over his hull as comms antennae were vaporised and his ammo cooked off in his own turret, blowing it apart. His radio was filled with static as he sensed the tank being thrown backwards by the shockwave...
"Guys, we missed him."
Silence...
For a moment he was too stunned to reply. He sent a databurst with his statistics.
"We weren't expecting you, sir. I'll send a fast-repair crew over to you immediately, sir. Is there anything else you need?"
"No thank you, uhm...?"
"Lieutenant, sir. PME-09456729 of Naval Base Epsilon-45, sir."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. Do you currently have a Commander?"
"No, sir. We were waiting for a Commander to be transferred through from Core PRIME for us, sir."
"Looks like I'm in time, then, doesn't it, Lieutenant?"
"Ignition sequence started, sir."
"Sir, we've got a malfunction in the cooling systems. We'll need twenty minutes to fix it, sir."
"We--"
The reports flooded onto Ralstead's comm-console, and the constant beeping was driving him crazy. He delegated an officer to deal with the techs and shut off the console, swinging his chair around to stare out of the window of the Command Bunker. The Canaveral OCL Facility blocked out the skyline with its menacing bulk, the four rockets ready to launch looking like something out of a science fiction book. One of the cheaper ones, he thought. The massive quad engines of each rocket were silent at the moment, but in a few minutes fuel would pour into them, the special compounds igniting as they mixed. The rockets would shed their gantries and soar into the sky, giving new hope...at least new hope of finally triumphing against the CORE in this little backwater of a planet.
His console pinged, and he rolled over to it, keying it on.
"Commander?"
"Yes?"
"It's Captain Green here, sir. Just to say that all four rockets are primed and ready to launch, sir."
"Nothing on radar?"
"No, sir. We've got a dense network of spotter planes - both Hawks and Peepers - looking out for incoming."
"Good. Alright, commence launching, one rocket at a time."
"Yes, sir!"
Ralstead flicked the console back off again, its screen fading as he wheeled his chair back to the window, lifting a pair of binoculars from a ledge. He put them to his eyes and the rangefinders lit up, figures scrolling across his vision. He switched the binocs to visible light and zoomed in until he could clearly see the engines of the rockets. Condensation dripped from the cooled skin of the first craft as warning sirens rang out on the launch pad. Techs doing last-last-minute checks scurried from the pads into their bunkers as hypergolics were pumped into the rockets to prime the engines. The countdown rang out, faintly audible even here.
"Five..."
"All personnel clear the launch pad!"
"Four..."
"Repeat, all personnel clear the--"
"Three..."
"--launch pad!"
"Two..."
"Launch pads clear, prepare for ignition..."
"One..."
"We have ignition..."
"Zero. T-minus zero, we have lift-off!"
Flames swirled around the rockets as fuel was pumped steadily into the four gigantic combustion chambers. Slowly the rocket lifted, steadily rising into the air as the superheated gases scorched the watercooled launch pads. Steam and smoke momentarily obscured the rocket and Ralstead flicked the infra-red overlay on, the white-hot shapes of the engines visible above a tower of churning flame cooling to red where it hit the launchpads.
Faster now as the rocket gained altitude, shedding its first stage. The second and last stage took over now, pushing the rocket towards its orbit as it became just a speck in the sky atop a curving white line of smoke.
The ARM controlled space now...and soon they would control the world.
Sleepily, Jones forced his eyelids open and sat up. He felt fragile. "Who...what is it?"
"Uhm, you've got a message, Jones. On your commset. In the Shooter."
He raised his head painfully and gazed up into Rhona's face.
"What the...oh."
"The oh?" She looked puzzled.
"The Maverick, remember?" He reached for a pair of trousers and pulled them on in his sleeping bag. "I sent it out as a decoy. What does the message say?"
"I don't know," she said, ignoring his awkward attempts to dress. "It was encoded. I think you're meant to decode it."
"God, that's the last thing I need at..."
"Two o'clock in the afternoon?" she finished smoothly.
"It's two...already?" He shook his head then decided that was a bad move.
She grinned at him. "Alright, so you were up until five am...I was only joking, alright? It's only eleven."
He made embarrassed signs towards his clothes. Rhona laughed and turned her back so Jones could dress, which he did quickly, pulling on his boots as he walked out of the cave.
The Shooter was standing, motionless as usual, against the cliff face. Jones climbed into the cockpit - sweatstained and musty-smelling, he noted - and switched the commlink on. The one message that was there was encoded with his own personal code. Jones input the password, watching the progress bar crawl across the commlink's small screen with irritation. Finally the message opened.
"Commander Jones, this is Mav-010 reporting for duty. If you are receiving this message I am already in a state of deactivation. I have set a trap for the tanks who are pursuing you. Enclosed is the video of this trap. Goodbye, Commander."
The Maverick? It sounded...almost intelligent there. More than almost. For a second Jones felt slightly guilty at sacrificing it, then the feeling passed and he wondered what he had been thinking. He opened the video and watched in anticipation as the Maverick meticulously prepared its bait...
One day it would be his name on a gravestone...Paul shuddered and turned away. He didn't want to think of that right now...
LDF-209 was impressed. The sheer scale of the thing was almost unbelievable - if he hadn't been standing on top of it, he would have dismissed it as exaggeration. PME-094's voice broke into his thoughts.
"Commander, would you like to go for a quick tour?"
"Course I would. Are you the guide?"
"In a sense, sir. Just transfer to FNK-08945729. I'll meet you there."
A Fink? On the water? Oh well...it promised a good view anyway. LDF-209 shut down his Command suit, the suit's legs locking into position, and transferred his consciousness to the Fink unit.
For a second he was blinded as his pattern interfaced with the Fink, then he heard PME-094 'beside' him.
"Commander, currently we're at Airfield 409."
"Airfield?"
"Yes, sir. Built on the water platforms. Our Captain came up with the idea. We've even got Punishers on the platforms. The Captain modified a lot of blueprints so we could build them just out of the water - torpedo launchers, for instance. Now subs can't attack them but they can attack subs."
"Brilliant man. Who is your Captain?"
"Was, sir. Her name was ACS-452. She was killed three months ago, which was why we were waiting for a Commander-class unit to come through."
"Oh," LDF-209 said, as PME-094 activated the Fink's engines and they rose rapidly above the airfield. The Fink's radar arrays began to scan the surroundings and LDF-209 was amazed at the number of units on the base. His battlesuit's radar had picked up a lot of him, but without him being hooked into the command matrix he hadn't realised there were more. The base was massive.
"And you move all of this as one unit?"
PME-094 chuckled. "No, sir. We moved this lot as one unit, it'd take around ten days to accelerate to twenty kph. It splits into eight complexes, each of which has its own reactor and forty engines, ten to a side. The complexes take three hours to accelerate to fifty kph, and two hours to slow to zero from that speed."
By this time the Fink was on the outskirts of the base, and LDF-209 gazed down at the glittering water lapping at the high metal walls at the edge of the base. Spray flew over massive gates closing off canals which led to shipyards, and GAAT cannons stood sentry over the whole thing. PME-094 threw the Fink into a steep bank and his view swung around to the center of the base, with its targetting facility and bank of Intimidators.
"Sh1t, incoming." muttered PME-094. He threw the Fink into a steep dive, almost vertically towards the waves. Twenty thousand feet...nineteen..fifteen...twelve...eight...four...
Just as LDF-209 was preparing to shout "Pull up!" PME-094 pulled the Fink's nose up and fired his VTOL engines, slowing their descent until the light scout was less than twenty feet above the waves.
"Christ, you scared me," said LDF-209, shaken. He could almost sense PME-094's grin.
"Don't worry, only bombers, sir. We weren't in any danger."
"I didn't mean from the bombers!"
"Sir, we are a sea base. The Fink is equipped with seaplane capabilities."
"Yes, but can your Fink survive being plunged into the sea at over Mach 6?"
"No, sir." PME-094 stifled a chuckle.
"Did you do that on purpose?"
"Would I do such a thing, sir?"
Koch drove his Panther over to the waiting Advanced Construction Kbot, and the APC with its crew of scientists.
"Welcome to what was once the CORE base," he transmitted.
"God, what a mess. Who's the commanding officer here?"
"That would be..." he looked around. "Uhm, me actually. Major Koch at your service, sir."
"Hm." The voice didn't seem too pleased. "There's no-one above you here?"
"Sorry. The only other high-ranking officers here were destroyed by the Gate implosion."
"Well, you'll have to do. Heckland, Niels Heckland. Can you show me the wreckage of the Gate?"
Koch paused for a second. "Well, there isn't much wreckage to--"
"It doesn't matter. Whatever there is, we can scrounge."
Slightly miffed, Koch revved his engines and drove towards the crater where the Gate had stood. The APC followed him, tracks kicking up dust. The AC-Kbot lurched along behind it, its nanolathes folded.
"Here we are. The Gate was here - I think we destroyed it just as it was activated."
A noncommittal grunt from the scientist as the APC rolled down the sides of the crater, stopping at the bottom. All that was left of the Gate was a faint deposit of metal and a few parts scattered here and there.
"Thank you, Major. I believe I can take it from here."
Dismissed, just like that, Koch thought. What a nice guy.
"So, Jones...what *is* your name anyway? And why does nobody know it?"
Jones laughed. "I've been waiting for the day when somebody would ask me that. It's Ian, Ian Jones."
"But why keep it a secret?"
"I've just never used it. Don't ask, because I really don't know."
For a second Rhona thought she detected...something, there in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by the familiar glitter. Obviously he wasn't telling the whole story.
"OK, I won't ask." She smiled at him.
Jones grinned and continued walking. They were trekking across the flat empty plains towards what Jones's navcomp told him was the nearest ARM base. He had stripped every useful system out of the Shooter, with the help of Lhos, who had turned out to be a very good engineer. The bulky computer was currently residing at the bottom of his rucksack while they walked.
In front of him, Paul slowed and fell in beside him to check the navcomp. He took off his backpack and tightened the straps holding the massive Maverick Gauss rifles to it, before taking off his cap and wiping the sweat from his forehead.
"God, what I'd do for a combat-suit right now. How long's that we've been walking?"
Jones checked his wrist-chrono. "About three hours, I think. Why, do you need a break?"
Paul grinned. "Nah, just curious." He glanced over at Rhona, still carving. "What's that you're making there?"
She held it up. "Nothing much, just a little ornament."
He nodded and speeded up again to lead the party. It was funny, Jones reflected. The former rookie leading the party, and the former Commander at the back chatting like...well, like any normal person.
What a pity he couldn't put his own legs on automatic and have a nap.
"Commander? The latest attack you sent to the CORE base has completely failed." Great opening line, thought Ralstead. Typical. He could see the smirk on Murdoch's face and hear the unsaid 'Told you I should have commanded that one.'
"Thanks for the news, Murdoch. So, what prompts this call apart from the chance to gloat over my misfortune?
"
Murdoch rolled his eyes. "Me, gloat? Never. Anyway, I called to say that we've detected an incoming CORE attack wave. Well, more of an attack ripple if you like - there are around ten units. Seems like the CORE are around as good at attacking as you are," he sneered.
"Murdoch?"
"Yes?" said the floating head above the holoplate innocently.
"Shut up."
"I just thought you'd like to know."
"Oh, thanks. Never mind the fact that I've already detected it, a good three hous before you did, Commander."
The holoplate blanked out and the commset fell silent.
"Jumped up little..."
Actually a voice...a person? Was she in the ARM now? But they knew her name...
She slowly tried to activate her sensors, but nothing was working. Red digits blurred and solidified in her vision, not making any sense. She tried to reply but she could not speak.
"She's gone, sir. Should I switch off the systems?" A different voice this time - lighter and sounding more nervous.
No! a cry of soundless protest...
"No, Private. She's not gone yet. Look."
Scraping noises then the Private's voice again. "Oh...what about initialisation?"
"Can we do that without endangering her pattern?" Uncertainaty...
"Sir, if we don't she'll get wiped anyway from power failure. There's a good chance it'll work."
"Private, do you know what you're doing?" Now the superior's turn to sound nervous.
"Yes, sir." Clicking noises - switches? Contacts? She wanted to shout to them that she could hear them, but nothing came. Signals streamed out from her into nowhere. She couldn't even hear her own voice.
"Alright, then."
Black...then nothing.
[PATTERN BOOT IN PROGRESS]
[RESTORING: MEMORY BANK]
[10%... 20%... 30%... 40%... 50%... 60%... 70%... 80%... 90%... 100%... COMPLETE]
[RESTORING: SENSES]
[10%... 20%... 30%... 40%... 50%... 60%... 70%... 80%... 90%... 100%... COMPLETE]
[RESTORING: SKILLS]
[10%... 20%... 30%... 40%... 50%... 60%... 70%... 80%... 90%... 100%... COMPLETE]
[RESTORING: LOYALTY CIRCUITS]
[10%... 20%... 30%... 40%... 50%... 60%... 70%... 80%... 90%... 100%... COMPLETE]
[BOOTING SYSTEMS - PLEASE WAIT]
[OS HAS DETECTED CHANGES IN SYSTEM]
[OS IS UPDATING YOUR SYSTEM FILES. THIS MAY TAKE SOME TIME]
[COMPLETE]
[BOOTUP FINISHED]
Beep...
Beep...
She screamed, a long ear-shattering sound seeming to go on for ever. Fire burned into her hull, impacts shattering her...her vision blanked out and suddenly she was in the ARM base...plasma streaked from her turret and a Sentinel exploded in flame, its base denting her shiny hull as it flew past...mortars hit the fusion plant, cratering its armour as she added her own explosive payload. She gunned her engines, trying to get out of there before...more darkness...a battlefield, littered with wreckage...plasma flying from her turret, a massive eighty-inch shell coming towards her...she looked up as the shell ploughed through her...
Silence. The echoes of the scream bounced around the small dark chamber and she tried to activate sensors that wouldn't budge from straight ahead. She could see, at least. Nothing.
Seconds later two Kbot frames straightened up from where they had been crouching, terrified, on the floor. The one marked with a medtech's logo came gingerly towards her and plugged a lead into somewhere below the level of her sensors. She could see! She swivelled her sensors around to see herself in some sort of...transport or something. What had happened to her? Massive hanger...and a rumbling that sounded like, yes, fans. A hover transport, then.
So, she was on a hover transport with two medtechs and without her Goliath. In...in a survival pod, she thought. She remembered her first memory...
Treetrunks slammed into the rapidly disintegrating Goliath, its turret flying off and plasma spewing from overloaded containment tanks. Treads digging into the ground then warnings, fusion reactor overloading...then just gray static.
So, she was alive again...was that good?
One of the medtechs spoke, at last. "Thank God you're back. You're OK?"
She bit back a terse reply. "Yes, I'm OK. Thank you. What happened to me?"
"You don't remember?"
"I do. That's the problem. I remember dying..." She felt cold. "What happened afterwards?"
"We found your capsule, on the plains. Well, actually a patrol came across it, but we were half-way there anyway, and when they recognised you as..."
Gol-224 broke into the explanation. "Who's 'we'?"
The Private spoke to her, for the first time."Uhm...Commander ZRK-119," he said nervously. The scream was still rining in his head. "And an invasion fleet. I don't know much."
The other medtech waved him away. "We are a convoy from Landmass #0829. We're trying to set up some firebases around the main ARM base here. The Commander ordered you resurrected."
"So you're..." She paused. "Why?"
"We've only got three Commanders on this planet. We had four, but another was destroyed recently - I believe you were involved in the base defense?"
Another painful memory for her. "Yes, I was. So, why was I brought back?"
"The late Commander, MIN-560, carried most of the able patterns, the warriors, because of his closeness to the ARM front. He was one of our best. The other patterns are mostly level one pilots, Kbot operatives and drivers. We needed you."
Great, she thought. Just brilliant. "So..."
"Yes. You're promoted again, to Major this time."
"And?"
The medtech sighed. "You're expected to lead an invasion against the ARM base. The one that supplied the units for the base attack."
"And we know where that is, do we?"
"I don't. The Commander does, though." He pushed a datacard into a slot below her sensors. "His address."
"Thank you," she said. Gol-224 scanned the address and switched. In a millisecond she was gone.
The voice was cold, imperious. Koch focused his sensors at the blank side of the APC for a few seconds. If sensors were lasers...but he rolled his Panther over to the APC and radioed for the air transport to come in.
"So, Heckland, what have you found?" He adopted a warm, friendly tone in the vain hope that the scientist might hear it and loosen up.
It didn't work. "Major Koch," the voice said coldly, "just get us back to base. You don't need to know any of this."
For a moment Koch regretted not having any hands. He'd have loved to thump his cockpit wall hard, just this once. He settled for revving his engines briefly and angrily so his treads ground the stones below them. The rumble of the air transport's engines spared him any further thought. The APC was loaded first, then another Atlas swooped down to lift the Advanced Construction Kbot that had salvaged most of the debris. Koch waited for a transport to come and take him back to base. Of course, none came and, with steadily growing bad temper, he spun his treads and headed for home.
"Gate Control to Major Koch, do you read?"
He sighed. "Yes. I read you loud and clear."
"Well, make your way over to the Gate. You're part of the invasion team."
"What's the des--" The radio cut out with a click as he drove slowly to the Galactic Gate where a small army was already assembling. In the middle of it, a Commander stood, D-Gun outstretched and glowing with suppressed energy. The generation coils at the back were pulsing as the containment fields did their job. In other words, loaded and very very dangerous.
"All right troops," the Commander boomed, torso swivelling to face the assembled tanks and Kbots. The extended D-Gun arm swooped around, fifteen metres above Koch's missile pod. Impressive, he thought idly. It's probably some wizened old one-hundred-and-eighty-year-old in there. He stopped as the Commander started to speak.
"Troops, today you will be going on one of the most dangerous missions most of you will ever face. And I'm going on it with you. Everything you face, I will face. Every obstacle you have to scramble over, I will have to climb over too. We stick together, we fight together. Your buddy is your best friend - he gets...indisposed, you're going down. Remember that. We don't retreat - after all, where have we got to retreat to? Keep pushing forward. We fight for peace, we fight for freedom, we fight for *people*." He raised his D-Gun into the air, and the other arm crooked up towards his massive head in a sort of salute.
"FIGHT FOR THE ARM!" The D-Gun roared as it spat a glowing ball of pure energy into the sky, ripping the air apart as it went. The air collapsed on the vacuum tunnel with a thunderclap almost as loud as that of the D-Gun.
Every single unit in the army turned their speakers to maximum and yelled "FAR MAY THEY REACH!"
And they were ready.
"Commander! We've got a reading of 90% water on the other side of that Gate!"
The Commander paused and shouted back - "Rubbish! Gates can't be built on water! Correct your instruments!"
He stepped through the Gate, and Koch revved his engines to follow him...
The vulture-like birds, disappointed, haark'ed and flapped away slowly, their wing muscles tired from hours of circling. The prey obviously wasn't going to die yet. Rhona watched them go, too tired and thirsty to even speak. Her tongue felt like sour, dry felt in her mouth, like a gag stuffed in there by a kidnapper. She glanced anxiously over to where Jones was slowly running the water through a spare shirt to try and filter it. She tried to lick her lips but her tongue lay, unresponding, glued to the roof of her mouth by the dry, unrelenting heat.
The weather had become hotter and hotter over the last day as they passed from grassy plains to cracked, red, almost Mars-like earth, and their water had run out later that day as well. Finally Jones was finished. He handed her an improvised cup, made from an empty carbohydrate bar wrapper, and she drank deeply, the warm brackish water slipping down her throat, the best-tasting drink ever. She let out a sigh of relief as Jones pulled his thin shirt over his head and dipped it in the pool. The rest of the water went into his rucksack for later.
"Guys, do we want to stop here? Other things might use this waterhole." The first sound for what seemed like years, apart from the occasional haaark of the 'vultures' and the mindless shuffling of feet that had passed through tiredness long ago.
Rhona forced the sounds from her mouth. "Yeah. I think we should go on. We need to find shelter anyway - it's bound to get a lot colder by the time night falls." She turned to Jones - Ian somehow didn't seem right for him, even though...he didn't seem like an Ian. Jones suited him more. "How far to the base?"
He looked at her. "Navcomp says twenty kilometers."
"One more day, then. We can make it."
Lhos watched her. She didn't look confident.
"It's not far now...we just need to find shelter. Then we can go on."
Lhos nodded. "Come on. Not too long before dark."
They struggled to their feet, and stumbled towards the edge of the waterhole. Rhona's shoes squelched - she had dipped them in the water to try and soother aching feet, but it had not helped. But soon they'd find shelter, and rest...
The conference room was brightly lit, the light seeming to radiate from every surface. Walls that looked as if they were made from some kind of fabric housed twelve huge windows looking towards the planet outside. At the head of the long, slightly curved table, black-topped and lined with interface pads, the avatar of the clone known as Chia tapped her long fingers on the hard surface. The room was empty.
A shimmer, and it was full - of massive, blocky pixels that quickly resolved into nineteen smart, almost perfect people. ACSS-209 looked around with interest at the room. This was a new scenario, he thought - their captain, Chia, must have been working on it for a while. The seats were good, too. Still no smell, though, he thought. Virtual reality smells were the hardest...
"Are we all here?" A redundant question, especially from the Captain, but it got attention.
"Now, crew, we have not been into action before. This will be the first time we engage in combat."
Excited whispers.
"Combat? Cool - we might..."
"Any danger to..,"
"Where?"
"I thought..."
Chia held up a hand for silence. "Yes, combat, in the loosest sense of the world. We are going on an orbital bombing mission, and the target is the main CORE base on this planet."
More whispering.
"They don't know we're coming, which is a good thing. No air-space missiles, nothing, not until they realise what's hitting them. At the moment, we're five hours from our orbital standpoint. In five hours and five minutes, we fire our railguns. Five hours ten minutes, we're out of there and burning our way back to secure position."
ACS-209 opened his virtual mouth, but Chia spoke first. "No questions right now. You'll find your briefing file on your notepads now."
On the table, a screen chimed and text appeared on its flat face. He picked it up and keyed out...