Intro Chapter 01 . 02 . 03 . 04 . 05 . 06 . 07 . 08 . 09 . 10 . 11 . 12 . 13 . 14 . 15 . 16 . 17 . 18 . 19 . 20 . 21 . 22 . 23 . 24 . 25 . 26 . 27
I run the status on Mary Mayking one more time. Jump will be any time. Soon Mary, my armor, will be the only thing between me and the blue sky I'll be launching into -- or whatever color the sky will be on this world. Mary is the "outer me." -- she's what matters most where we're headed now. "The bus" has been dodging it's way in for the last twenty minutes. I felt some hard knocks earlier, but I'm still alive and we aren't floating weightless, so the signs are good. Getting us down is a hard ride, but few complain about the knocks on the trip in -- if you can bounce away from the bus, there's nothing to complain about.
Sometimes these knocks screw up the suits, but so far the diagnostics show no change. I watch the tactical channels and start another diagnostic...
There are three close-spaced shudders. My stomach tells me I'm floating. This is bad, the bus has stopped dodging. I check: the comm lines are dead. This is really bad. "Everybody out!" I shout into the platoon link and I hit the Red Emergency release button. There's a slam, and the groan of tearing metal. "Shi...." and I'm out! Behind me is a fireball where the bus had been. They don't get any closer.
A scan shows three of us out. This is bad, five of us aren't going to bitch anymore. I pull up the external scanners on the suit display while I look around visually. The scanners tell me Chin and Al made it. My eyes tell me I'm floating high above a blue planet with white clouds.
Damn! Why didn't that space jockey launch us twenty seconds ago, I'd have a full squad, and this battle would have been a cake walk. What happened? Now I'm going to have to earn my living. Just once I'd like to see one of those Remote Jockeys come down on a live run. I don't live for this kind of excitement anymore; these kinds of screw-ups get old.
The three of us are going down in a shower of debris from the immolated bus. "Leave 'em off," I order on the short range channel. "We'll play dead." For the moment we leave the ECM's off. We're still 50 kilometers up, and if we look like dead meat, then maybe we won't attract any more attention.
Around us stars are shining and below the planet is coming up. There are brief flashes in the distance -- some barely a flicker, others too brilliant to watch. There are too many brilliant ones. I go to long-range scan and link back to Landing Control. The news gets worse. Control isn't saying so, but it's a merc's nightmare: we're getting hung out to dry. The invasion is over. The capital ships are leaving, and our butts are hanging out 46, correction 45 kilometers, up.
"Back to the bus." I order.
"What"
"Back to the bus!" Chin and Al know I won't say it a third time. It's unusual, but these are unusual times.
"The capitals are pulling out; there'll be no suppression. The wreck is our only cover." We use our stabilizers to jet back. The bus is now a slowly spinning hulk surrounded with a starburst of straight rays of hydraulic fluid mist. The mist rays are starting to bend and soften in the thin atmosphere, but there's still not enough air to support combustion or break our fall. We latch on like fleas, burrow deep in the wreckage and wedge in with only seconds to spare.
"This is our express ticket down. If we float we flame too."
"Got it." said Chin.
The bus slams into the upper stratosphere and deceleration takes us to over 40 G's in a fraction of a second. Before the second is complete we're back to one G and falling free at subsonic speeds. The suits can take it, barely. We can take it within the suits, barely. The bus has dissolved into a fireball of plasma behind us.
It takes a few seconds to recover. The suit is all screwed up with a layer of metal and carbon over everything. The sensors hardly function. I can hardly see out the faceplate. But this is not time for bitching. We're well to the west of target and over a young mountain range in the temperate zone. The range is snow covered. I spot a round, ice-free lake in a volcanic cauldra below us. Al and Chin are floating my way. I motion at the lake, and down we go.
At five hundred meters up the streamer chutes pop. They're still fun to watch. The chute deploys progressively has ground level is approached, the effect is a progressive deceleration. The chutes are diaphanous affairs made of a fabric that oxidizes spontaneously on contact with air. After thirty seconds the chute immolates and I look like a mini Hindenburg wreck. Before it burns up the chute breaks me to a landing speed of about a 50 kilometers an hour; after it burns up there is no sign I ever landed.
Ice-free lakes tend to be deep. That's why I pick it, we can come down fast and disappear quickly by simply hitting the water and slowing down underneath. I splash. After I splash I swim towards the edge -- if one can describe going through breast stroke motions in power armor as swimming. I reach the slope, it's steep, almost vertical. I climb up towards the surface. Climbing isn't hard, but the slope is covered with huge logs covered with sheddy bark. The bark slips in my grip and fills the water with dense mud. Once a log shifts. The logs aren't heavy enough to crush, certainly not buoyed in this water, but if I get caught in a dozen-log avalanche, it could twist off an arm or leg.
I'm at the surface. Al and Chin are a hundred yards away. They motion up, then for me to come their way. I high sign back, then walk their way at the five meter deep level.
We meet. They head down. I follow. At ten meters down they head into a hole. Hey, what's this? Air? At ten meters down? Smart guys! They've spread out a reserve chute covered with a tarp under some crisscrossing logs and made an air pocket by filling it with compressed air from the armor. I crack my helmet. It stinks but it's breathable.
"Diagnostics." I say with a sigh, "Let's find out where we stand."
"That was some hammerin, Frank." says Al, "My armor's at 80%. Ammo's only 60%. A lot shook off. I've got rockets, but I lost the heavy laser."
"Scanners?"
"Mostly shot. But I think it's this bus gunk. If we get that off, a lot may come back."
"Start at it."
"The big problem is mobility." Al patted his suit, "Jessie's balance is all shook up. It'll be a couple hours for her to fix."
"A couple hours? How'd you get her to go this far?"
"It's like I've been piloting one of the training robots, man -- I made every move myself. That's why I set up this shelter. I knew with Jessie in the shape she's in we weren't going anywhere fast."
Chin was mostly desuited now. She had blood running from her forehead and maybe her nose. "Se-jong's okay." she said, "a couple hours is all he needs. I've got weapons, but the left arm's mangled. I'm not about to use it for a while."
"How about you?"
"Concussion, but the bone's okay and the drugs will be enough to control the cranial swelling."
I look at my diagnostics and read aloud: "sensors: heavy damage, armor: 70%, comm link: inactive, mechanical: light damage to left and right legs, heavy damage to right arm, medium damage to gyros, weapons: functional, ammo: 25%."
"Shit, did we finish this war or just land?" asks Al. He's scrubbing the sensors vigorously and chipping off flakes of ex-bus. Chin was doing the same, but slower -- concussions don't brighten one's day. I join in. One thing never seems to change in this or any man's army: you still clean things forever.
"You catch any news while you were topside?"
"Yeah, we were on the news, but it was too early to tell anything other than something was real wrong. They were still into patriotic songs and stock footage." If the jump had gone as planned, they wouldn't even be putting that crap up, we'd've had the comm stations by now.
"Well, I guess this is no temporary glitch. We really are on our own." I was working over the laser sights. "How do you want to proceed from here? We can take the suits and go out in a blaze of glory. We can leave the suits and go out as mountain men. We can wimp out, although as I recall from the briefings these people run to the fanatic side."
"They always tell us that." said Al.
"True, but sometimes they're more convincing than others. I guess we need to watch some more news to find out. Speaking of which, can you rig an antenna up?"
"Sure," said Al. He suited up and jumped down the hole. I moved over to Chin. She scrubbed diligently. Gently I stopped her and pulled her to face me.
"What's the matter?"
"This headache..."
"It's more."
She stared at me. "How much longer?"
"Hell of a time to bring that up."
"If not now, when?"
"When we're off this rock, of course."
"That'll be too late. You'll be locked back into the system again. Now. We decide now. Now, while you're free to make a decision."
"What do you mean not free?"
"Think about it." She pulled away and continued cleaning. I went back to my armor and did the same... and started thinking. Our power came from this armor. While we had it we were invincible. Oh sure, there were conventional weapons that could wear us down if we were stupid, but if we used this stuff like it was designed to be used and if it was in good repair we could dodge what hurt and overcome the rest. How many defense facilities had I taken out? I couldn't count any more.
That was our job. The power armor came down first. We're the first wave, and chaos is our game. There aren't many of us -- fifty came down this time -- but we're fast and mighty hard to stop. We create confusion in the defense, and destroy anything on the ground that would take out a landing transport. While we do that, the capitals take out everything up above. While the defenders are so screwed around that they can't tell which end is pointing up, the transports bring in the security forces to consolidate. We help out if needed, but it's mighty expensive to keep this stuff on the move, and usually the landing of transports is quickly followed by the arrival of the silver-tongued diplomats, and the fighting is pretty well over.
That's what usually happens, but the "Boy General" has really fucked up this time and now we were down, on our own, with suits looking like the end of a battle not the beginning. It's just incredible! No general walks away from the first wave. He won't survive this, no other merc will follow him now, but the real question is: how will we?
Al surfaced again, "Here we go." We plugged into the antenna and started monitoring planetary news while we cleaned and patched.
"... The invasion has been completely crushed; the plotters uncovered. The enemy was surprised by the approach of the 2nd Planetary Fleet under loyal Vice Commander Riswalki, and they withdrew. The handful of invaders that reached the surface have all surrendered and been rounded up. The president has scheduled a special announcement for ten o'clock tonight."
"When is that?" I asked
"Six hours." said Al. There were a stream of pictures of distant sky battles, screeching rocket launches, rumbling tanks -- most of it stock stuff except for the scenes of two of our merc's surrendering; being pulled out their armor and bullied into a ragged prisoner line. I felt myself snarling. The Boy General had really screwed it up this time. Mercs never get treated like this! The enemy should never get a chance to treat them like this. The mercs should die first. But then again, no one drops a first wave and walks away from them, either. Fifty had dropped and two were left to suffer this indignity. I had seen these two around: Gunter and Johanne. Young, wild ones, still full of piss and vinegar.
The pictures and sound switched to man-on-the-street stuff. I worked harder on the cleaning until all of a sudden I realized that Al and Chin had both stopped. The man being interviewed was wearing an outlandish costume of the sort that said clergy. "...of course there are those who hold that Ka-sharma is unnecessary and they may be there to demonstrate, but it seems quite obvious to me that our faith has served us in good stead. When we burn the inner and outer devils, our glory is assured."
The pictures showed a series of burnings at the stake. People were being roasted singly or in groups. Some spectators were cheering, a few others protesting. In a scene that was probably a classic on this world, one of the protesters got too close and was thrown on the fire by a pair of enthusiastic supporters. He jumps off and disappears into the crowd. The picture cuts to a large plaza where the captured power armor is being buried under cordwood and a platform for the two prisoners is being built over the top.
"This is a merc's worst nightmare." said Al.
"They're getting raped. They don't deserve this. Frank, we should nuke'm rather than let this happen." said Chin.
I stripped off the last of the bus gunk and moved to help Chin, "Weren't you just talking about getting out of this?"
"Later." she was moving slow. I checked her vitals. The drugs were loosing ground. The pressure in her skull was rising. She needed to relax.
"Take thirty and dream happy dreams." I said.
"Bullshit."
"Look at your chart." She did. Rubbed her forehead; climbed into the suit and slept. Within seconds the cranial pressures were dropping. It's like magic if you give it a chance. You've just got to know when the chance is. Al and I work on her suit.
"We could nuke'm, Al. Take over one of their missile stations and shoot 'em with their own stuff."
"That's being generous. You'd certainly relieve Gunter and Johanne of their worries, but it wouldn't do much for ours. We'd just replace them at the stake."
"We should nuke the Boy General for putting us here."
"We won't have to. When word of this gets out, he'll never command another first wave. I wonder what he was thinking of?"
"Support from some sort of rebel group, I gather."
"They're probably still out there. Maybe we could join 'em."
"Right. Join a failed plot? What group of people could you find that would be more nervous about strangers? Even if we could find someone willing to admit to being part of it, they'd love nothing better than to turn us in to show their patriotism. Next idea.
We finished Chin's suit. Al stretched, "Well, if they can't take a joke, nuke'm."
I smiled. "You know, Al, I think we've got a spectacular rescue to enact."
Al switched to his best bandito imitation, "Ah, Franky, I love it when I see that gleam in your eye. It means a plan, a good one, no?"
"Those newscasts speak of rounding up all the invaders. They don't even know we exist, but we know where they are don't we?"
"Six hundred kilometers from here, at a provincial capital -- a heavily guarded capital."
"Can we get there in time?"
"We'll have to hijack something. Where's the nearest town?" We check the battle maps. There's a suitable town an hour away.
We hop in our suits for a "cat nap", wake up Chin; and start hoofing.
This is the fun part of the job. We come out of the lake onto a stunning scene. The sun is low, shining through a giant lenticular cloud. It doesn't cut the brightness but softens the shadows. We lope up the cauldra slope. Sometimes running, sometimes swinging like Tarzan through the trees. Snow is everywhere, but the vegetation's thick and chlorophyll-based, so this is probably winter.
We mount the crest and look upon a forest-covered slope that descends to a flat, cultivated plain. Our destination is a settlement that lies at the edge of forest and plain. Our scanners show air traffic in the distance, but nothing seems to be tracking us -- not that it'd make much difference at this point. We're in our element and now we're mad and bad!
"Lets show these folks what being a merc' is all about." I mutter and we lope down.
Twenty minutes later we're on the outskirts. On the way in we IR scan the uphill outskirts for heat plumes. We pick a cluster of likely targets. If these people have nouveau riche instincts, we'll find that subclass up here. The first couple of heat plumes are over hovels -- we pass them by. But bingo, the third's just what we're looking for! The place is four stories high, ostentatious, mostly glass, and blowing out gobs of heat in this winter clime. We pause a moment for an acoustic scan.
"Look at that, twenty or thirty ground vehicles." comments Al, "Party time?"
"For real? What incredible luck! They're probably celebrating our defeat. We'll certainly make this a celebration they won't forget."
"There's still people coming. Yeah, these're the people we want. Look at those costumes."
"I hear activity on all four levels. Lets start at the basement." I say.
"This thing's mostly above-ground. I put the important ones at the top." says Chin.
"The top?"
"Some cultures like the view. That's why they have all that glass."
"Sounds weird, but logical. We'll give it a try."
You can open doors in armor; you can even pick up eggs. But if you do, enemies giggle at you. Enter the Theater of Terror -- I love it. We really get to clown around. I walk through the front door scattering glass right and left. Chin jump-jets to a porch and Al shows off by dropping straight through a two foot square skylight -- he loves that sort of stuff.
I shoot the place up a bit with my projectile weapon -- much more dramatic than the nearly noiseless lasers -- and motion everyone to the floor. It works quite well, in seconds I have twenty bodies prone from which to pick hostages.
Hostage picking is something of an art. Each culture reacts differently to hostages in general and to different classes of hostage specifically. Some will roll over if you threaten the chief; others will rise up to a man if you do. Some don't care what people you take, but will do anything you want to protect a sacred object. I've found the best clues lie in their popular entertainment: who or what do their "bad people" threaten?
"Okay upstairs?"
"Situation stable. I'm going down to the basement." said Al. There was more crashing and glass-breaking.
"Lets get 'um all down here, Chin. There's a comm console in this room. I want to find out who we've got here."
"Right."
"I walk over to the console and tap it gently. Then I motion over the crowd for a volunteer to operate it. After a bit more motioning and a shot in the wall, a young woman finally gets up and sits at the console. Volunteers: the best kind of hostages.
Our translators are quite good, but I crank the output ability way down and way weird and the volume way up. After all, I am the alien from space on this world!
"I want to know: Who is in this room? You can tell me or you can use the machine."
The girl starts babbling so fast the translator can't keep up, but the comm console in front of her can, and from it I'm getting quick bios as she mentions each one. Volunteers can be incredibly efficient!
And we were right. Mid-level leaders of all sorts where there that night. Business leaders, religious leaders, political and even some military. Ahah! a military pilot shows up on the screen. I look up. There he is, and I'm in luck. He's young, handsome, and he's got his arm over a woman in a protective fashion. I motion both of them to come forward, we have our second hostage. As Chin brings the others down, somebody mumbles, "It's the governor." and our final choice for hostage is made.
"Enough." I tell the young woman, "Is your boyfriend here?"
"I don't have one."
"Your father?"
"No."
"Who'd you come with?" After a moment's hesitation, she points to a woman in the crowd. Chin pulls the selected woman up to my left.
"Now, point out the governor's wife."
"Right there." Chin puts the wife and flyboy's girlfriend on the left while I line up flyboy, the girl volunteer, and the governor on the right and handcuff them.
"Chin, manacle the secondaries. Al, time to go."
"Right." says Al. There's more crashing in the basement as he heads out for the front.
I crank the output ability to medium, I want to be sure I'm understood. "People in this room: These people are our hostages:" I motion to my right, "These hostages come with us. Hurt us and you will hurt them." I point to the three on my left, "These hostages stay here." Chin is working on the woman, the governor's wife, and flyboy's girl friend. She cuffs their wrists behind them and fastens around each of their necks an elaborate collar with flashing lights. "Those who stay are being equipped with time bombs set for 20 hours. These bombs are tamper-proof and proximity-sensitive. If anyone else gets within ten feet of these people, they will loose their heads, literally. If these people get further apart from each other than ten feet, they will also set the bombs off. I would suggest to you, and them, that no one move around much... and you may want to think a moment before calling your police force."
"When our mission is complete, we will give you the deactivation code. Pray we complete it within 20 hours."
It's been less than five minutes since I crashed through the door. We bound out -- gently, since each now carries a hostage. Phase One complete and it's beginning to feel more like one of these missions is suppose to feel.
Intro Chapter 01 . 02 . 03 . 04 . 05 . 06 . 07 . 08 . 09 . 10 . 11 . 12 . 13 . 14 . 15 . 16 . 17 . 18 . 19 . 20 . 21 . 22 . 23 . 24 . 25 . 26 . 27