CUL ROSS shrugged his shoulders, pushing himself back into the pilot chair. It still hadn’t fully adjusted itself to his body shape. Usually that wouldn’t bother him if he was just testing the Pike, but he was going into combat and wanted to make sure he was as snug as possible.
Artillery pounded the enemy positions before him. The contract had stated there would be one thousand shells in support. Which didn’t seem to be all that much considering the extent of the fortifications and trench lines. There was never enough artillery. No matter how many shells were fired, infantry had a habit of crawling out of their holes to continue the battle. But there was still beauty to what he was seeing. Especially the counter-measure smoke.
TORRY BURN “Gods that’s beautiful. What evil bastard went for vermillion counter-measure smoke?”
BAL GOWNIE “Thought that was a nice touch. Someone with class.”
CUL ROSS smiled. It was good that they weren’t too nervous for a bit of banter. He took another sip of tepid water, wishing for the millionth time that he could afford to get a chilled water bladder fitted to his combat suit.
Maybe after this battle, he told himself. Also for the millionth time. Reaching out, he sent an all units ready status confirmation request using the command network.
“Smash Bros, Twilight and Who’s your daddy in place. Where’s CUL ROSS?” that was the command of the MBT - main battle tank – platoon. Squat, hairy, built like the tanks he commanded, he was cool and efficient under fire. All of his people respected him for never asking them to do anything he wouldn’t, and for putting their welfare before his every time. There wasn’t anyone CUL ROSS didn’t respect more in the ‘verse.
BAL GOWNIE saved him from having to send another message. “Special tasking from the boss. Don’t let it bother you. Concentrate on the task ahead. He’ll rejoin us when he can.”
The infantry commander was next. “Squads Alpha, Bravo and Charlie good to go.”
None of the infantry had armour heavier than a standard combat suit. Squishies was one of the nicer nicknames mecha pilots had for them. But even lightly-armoured infantry could kill a mecha if they worked together. And you couldn’t hold land if you didn’t have infantry. No matter much war evolved, boots on the ground were the only way to take, secure and hold territory. And no matter how big a mecha was, it was still vulnerable to attack from the ground if it didn’t have squishies to back it up.
CUL ROSS opened up the command-level text channel again. Using his retinal monitor he was able to “type” with his eyes far faster than his hands.
++Voice comms down. Follow my lead, standard formation.
“Dammit boss, all systems were good to go,” cursed ENGC. “Want me to run a diagnostic?”
++No time. Will discuss later.++ responded CUL ROSS, feeling a pang of guilt at the worry in ENGC’s voice. She always took the greatest of care in her maintenance routines, no matter whether it was a mecha or simply stripping down a pulse rifle. She’d be sweating bullets until he got back out of the battle, and since there was a risk that she might be involved in combat, he prayed to Xerxes that she be kept safe.
Shoving that guilt down, and turning his mind back to the task at hand, he blink-clicked another message.
++Advance to Waypoint 1++
He marked WP1 on the unit map. Every sentient under his command would see it on their retinal monitor. Under his command. That gave him pause. Then he shook himself as the tank platoon advanced in a vee formation, MBTC on the right wing. As soon as the tanks were two hundred metres ahead, CUL ROSS took a step forward, the mecha’s actuators mimicking the movement and translating it into a step for the mecha. Two hundred metres behind him, the infantry advanced. It was Tanks advance in a Vee, with the mecha knight behind them, and the infantry in another vee behind that. Two hundred metres separated each element.
It was a slow method of advancing but allowed the tanks to get into a good position where they could engage the enemy, whilst also setting them and the mecha up as targets, allowing the infantry-carrying armoured vehicles to advance relatively unscathed. That was the theory, anyway. Whilst he’d always cared for the sentients in his company of freelancers, they’d always been his friends and colleagues. Not his people as they now were. The thought brought sweat to his brow. As did the cravings. Sucking on his water bladder didn’t help get rid of his dry mouth.
Kinetic and energy fire flickers towards them from the enemy lines. Battle is joined.
Twilight is hit. Turret blown completely off. One crewmember manages to eject. CUL ROSS takes out the battery which destroyed it. The bombardment ends. Enemy fire increases.
MBT Command “Tyrannamechasaurus! Eleven o’clock!”
CUL ROSS looks over where the enemy dino-mecha has been tagged. It roars out a challenge. CUL ROSS sounds his own sirens, lowering his lance. He sends a ripple of missiles. Some armour piercing, others ECM. They stagger the enemy dino-mecha, blinding it momentarily as he waits for his lance to power up. He couldn’t do it previously as holding the charge rapidly over heats mechas, bringing them to a halt on the battlefield until they cool down.
It fires back, beam laser scoring its way across his mecha’s chest, right where he is. Systems flash. Sparks. The mecha rocks. Heat levels rise rapidly. He fires his own lance as he dodges sideways.
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TORRY BURN and BAL GOWNIE add their battlesuit’s, known as Squires, fire to his. Their weapons are mostly energy-based, designed to over load enemy mecha with heat. Even bio-mechanic dino-mechs can over heat.
Another hit from the dino-mech rocks him. His mecha fires off heat cores, they are designed to soak up heat before being ejected. Warnings sound in his head.
TORRY BURN “Get yourself together boss! You’ve got to keep moving!”
CUL ROSS doesn’t respond. Can’t respond. It’s taking everything he has to keep his mecha in the fight. He fires more missiles, emptying the launcher. Printer starts making more, but it’s going to take time. Time he doesn’t have.
A warning flashes as an enemy emplacement locks on to him. He fires ECM, then uses his suit’s 100mm cannon to destroy it with three well-placed rounds.
INF Commander “We’re in the trenches, HACKERS trying to get into bunker two-five-alpha. Need backup!”
CUL ROSS acknowledges by text again. His lance chimes as his heat sink launcher fires off more. He’s drenched in sweat. Firiing the 100mm cannon he targets the dino-mech’s head. Sparks indicate good hits, but the enemy is stll in the fight, opening up with a 30mm laser which destroys his cannon. Laying his lance on the dino-mecha’s head he fires.
Faster than thought, or so it seems, the lance’s beam stikes the dino-mecha’s head, destroying it completely. The mecha explodes, destroying the enemy fortifications for tens of metres around it.
++Tankers, advance to breach and hold. AFVs, support.++ CUL ROSS sends.
TORRY BURN “Good kill sir! Moving to support armour.”
BAL GOWNIE “Moving to support armour”.
CUL ROSS doesn’t respond, but throws up from too much heat and fear.
INF Commander “Bunker taken! Defences powered down.”
CUL ROSS acknowledges. Enemy troops start to flee the area. He uses his anti-personnel weapons to kill as many as he can. Each kill is worth ten credits for a regular soldier, 50 for a battlesuit. Killing the dino-mech, and one of that class, was ten thousand credits. And taking the objective was another one hundred thousand. Just enough to pay everyone their dues.
His people would also be earning credits with their own kills. Those who died would have their credits sent to their families. Those who were wounded would have their credits used to help pay for anything their insurance didn’t cover.
Moving to where the holo banner hung over the objective, he replaced it with the Golden Hawk on Blue of his BOSS’ House.
Cheers fill his comm unit. Other friendly units race forward to help exploit and hold the ground they’ve taken.
CUL ROSS over a private channel “TORRY BURN and BAL GOWNIE, we’ll gather the commanders and tell them the truth back on our ship.”
+++
CUL ROSS frowns as a message appears on his comm.
++Your presence is required at Objective Thirty-five Kilo. Lord Robinson wishes to speak to you.++
He acknowledges, copying the message over to TORRY BURN and 3.
BAL GOWNIE “Oh shit, we’re dead. Fucking dead.”
TORRY BURN “Not really. Everyone already thinks his voice comms are down. And the suit has taken a pummeling. All you have to do is take whathever it is big balls wants to give us, and we’ll leave. Our contract is fulfilled.”
CUL ROSS thought that was simplifying things a bit, but didn’t have much choice.
Striding towards the objective, he fights the shakes that threaten to override his command of the mecha. Ever since Keene Five they’d been getting worse. As had the nightmares. Downers weren’t doing it, and the phantom pain in his stomachs were barely touched by the meds he was taking. Illicit meds. His skin itched, and he craved another tab.
Time between each does is getting shorter and shorter, he thought. And they told me they weren’t supposed to be addictive!
He bit down down as his gorge rose again. This time because his body was craving its meds.
“Sir BOSS,” said Lord Robinson as he stood on his ten-person mecha’s gantry. “Well fought today. You bear the scars of battle well.”
++Thank you my Lord, happy to serve. Comms are still down I’m afraid++
Lord Robinson frowned as he read the message. “Understood, I’ll keep this brief then. You killed Sur Sam Rai, a Lord Captain in the enemy’s forces. You have done me a great favour. And I should like to do the same. A thousand credit bonus to all of your company who survive. And I shall pay for the repairs to your mecha, and your wounded.”
CUL ROSS gives a courtly bow of the mecha, gorge rising once more. A notification pinged, informing him of the money being deposited in to the company’s account.
++Could have done with that before the boss died++ BAL GOWNIE comms privately.
***
CUL ROSS wiped at the sweat dripping from his forehead. TORRY BURN and 3 had got to him before he’d been able to get to his stash. They were in the BOSS’s HQ pavillion
MBTCommander, INF commander, ENGINEER Commander and the Captain of their ship, the only one to remain entered as a group, slapping each other on the back, celebrating their good fortune.
MBTC “Where’s the boss?”
Silence descends as CUL ROSS scratches an itch that will never go.
CUL ROSS remains silent, mouth dry, every fibre craving his next fix.
BAL GOWNIE steps forward, leaning on the command holo table. “He’s dead.”
Stunned silence.
INFC “But how? The suit wasn’t that badly damaged.”
ENGC “One hour in the hands of Lord Robinson’s people and it’ll be fixed. Cockpit wasn’t even damaged.”
CUL ROSS “His lungs. He died, before the battle.”
All three start shouting.
TORRY BURN over their comms, max volume. “Shut up! Keep your fucking voices down!”
The volume physically rocks them.
TORRY BURN makes shushing gesture. “Keep your emotions in check. Boss died before the battle. We couldn’t afford to default, so CUL ROSS took the reins.”
INFC “Who else knows? Are we going to be strung up because this fucking junkie stole a mecha?”
BAL GOWNIE pulls a vibro-knife, “This junkie pulled our arses out of the fire, killed a knight, and got us a fucking bonus. Show some gratitude.”
INFC backs down.
SHIPC “What the fuck do we do now? There’s a victory feast tonight.”
CUL ROSS “We settle our debts. Fuel up. Get off planet. Once we’re in the aether, we can work out what we need to do. Speak to everyone.”
SHIPC “I don’t have a crew.”
BAL GOWNIE “I kept tabs on your old crew. None of them have got a job yet. Seems that deserting a ship mid-contract doesn’t look good on your C.V.”
TORRY BURN “We took enough money to settle all debts and pay our people, or their families.”
BAL GOWNIE “Butcher’s bill was light. Twilight was two KIA, and we have ten WIA in the infantry. Couple will need cybernetic implants, but we got off lightly. If CUL ROSS hadn’t killed that dino-mech, we’d have been up to our necks in guano and dead people.”
INFC “Fair enough. But we’ve got to get a shift on. We need to be off-planet a-fucking-sap.”
CUL ROSS “No argument there. Prep your people, SHIPC and BAL GOWNIE round up your crew, pay them half what’s owed, the rest to be paid once they’re onboard. Move people. I want be off this shit hole within two hours.”
He clapped his hands, more to hide their shaking than anything else. His addiction was a poorly-held secret in the company, but he didn’t like to see the disgust on their faces when it was made apparent.
Like they don’t have their own fucking vices, he thought bitterly.
Opening up an all-hands channel, he issued the order to prepare to embark.