The Black Hammer’s silhouette loomed before the red glow of the sunrise. We were almost there. Just a few seconds more…

  An alarm blipped, alerting the pilots that a missile was closing. We swerved to the side and ejected a swarm of countermeasures. The missile hit a nearby tree and sent a cloud of black leaves into the air—but the alarm didn’t go quiet.

  A second missile was locked onto us.

  The fighter jerked as an explosion ripped one of its wings. A piece of shrapnel pierced the fuselage and whizzed past me. The Turul was barreling down toward the forest.

  I regretted I didn’t have my jetpack, but beggars can’t be choosers. I punched the eject button on my seat. As I rocketed upward, the damaged Turul plowed through the forest and crashed against a bunker.

  I needed to cross about 200 meters to get to the Black Hammer. The entire penitentiary complex was a warzone. The andros were fighting valiantly, but they numbered only 5,000 against several divisions of necrorgs—and the latter were not pushovers.

  The ground quaked as titanic legs crushed the trees behind me. I whipped around.

  The colossus was closing in. I could see red light coming from its plasma guns aimed in my direction. My enhanced-reality imp analyzed this gigantic war machine and displayed all relevant information on my HUD.

  [Type: GCC Pentapod]

  [Class: Titan]

  [Model: TPX-67]

  The specifications went on and on—armament, fire angles, armor, speed, weight, maneuverability, etc. The TAG kicked in and displayed a full analysis of the potential strengths and weaknesses of a pentapod.

  Weaknesses, it had none. This mechanical monster had been designed to be an unstoppable walking tank. Most walking armored vehicles had an obvious weakness—their legs. Take one of them out of action, and the vehicle tumbles to the ground. That’s why most walkers are long-range mobile artillery or, occasionally, light vehicles used for recon and guerrilla tactics.

  Heavy biped walkers were used chiefly to pacify civilian populations on conquered worlds, because they were so scary that non-professional combatants simply threw in the towel and ran for their lives when they saw such monstrosities. This terror tactic had lost much of its effectiveness since the Great Galactic War, however, because such machines were actually pretty ineffectual against a well-organized and determined foe.

  The pentapods, however, were another story. A pentapod could walk even on three legs. The two others were redundant, so the opponent had to destroy at least three legs to take the pentapod out of action. Each leg had several layers of armor, including LS barriers and internal thermostatic fields, the sort of protective barriers you would find in battleships. Throw a nuke at it, and the pentapod would survive.

  I quickly zigzagged toward the colossus, hiding behind tree trunks, debris, and smoldering bunkers. The crew of the pentapod couldn’t get a target lock because of the jamming device integrated into my battle suit, but that didn’t prevent them from raining hell on me.

  Gatling railguns opened the festivities. Streams of tracers slashed everything in their path. Supersonic bullets cracked all around me. Then the blasters roared. A wave of heat propelled me forward as a plasma bolt exploded behind me. I rolled on the ground and immediately resumed my race.

  Another blast erupted ten meters in front of me. A scalding shockwave slammed my face, throwing me to the ground. My senses were assaulted by the smell of burnt rubber and the taste of ash.

  Again, I rolled on the ground to make myself a difficult target, sprang to my feet, and sprinted to the pentapod.

  What can I do against this blasted walker without a jetpack or drones?

  I only had my imps and the gear integrated into my battle suit to rely upon—it had to be enough.

  I leapt upon the nearest leg and activated the molecular-adhesive coating on my gloves and knees. I climbed the colossus in a few well-timed leaps, jumping from one leg to another like a spider. The trick was to always stay in the dead angle of the Gatling turrets.

  When I reached the cabin, I activated the anti-baryonic drill integrated into the forearm of my suit and made a tiny hole in the armor next to the hatch. Then I thrust a hacking line into the hole—a thin, long snake that found the nearest info-cable inside the cabin and plugged itself into it.

  The encryption system of the pentapod was too tough to crack, so I settled for hacking the mechanism that controlled the hatch. As it whirred open, I rushed into the cabin and shot the four necrorgs with my RC-66B.

  Good. Now let’s see what this baby can do.

  I hopped in the gunner seat and examined the controls. There were two sticks and not one, but three virtual control panels floating in the air, one above another. My enhanced-reality imp helped me make sense of it. One stick controlled weapons, the other cams. I gripped the sticks and interfaced with the control panels so they would obey my mental commands.

  “Non-authorized personnel detected,” the onboard AI intoned. “Leave this vehicle immediately.”

  “Shut the blast up!”

  I lobotomized this primitive non-sentient AI by scrambling its most advanced data-processing centers. I needed it only to move this heap of metal and operate some basic routines.

  As there were no windows in the cabin, I had to look through the external cams of the vehicle to assess the tactical situation. My TAG alerted me to threats and highlighted targets in various colors, from red for the most immediate threats to yellow for targets of opportunity. Friendlies were highlighted in green.

  “Let’s shake the heavy metal.” I’d picked up this expression during an infiltration op on New Atlanta.

  I set my pentapod on autopilot so I could focus on the weapons systems while the AI was driving. The reds were tripod walkers—mobile artillery—with their stocky, heavily armored legs solidly set into the ground. They were mercilessly shelling friendly positions, and their railguns could do some real damage to my pentapod, if they switched to armor-piercing ordnance.

  Anti-tank blasters were the most adequate weapons at my disposal to deal with armored vehicles. The cabin vibrated as I fired both of them simultaneously. Two tripod walkers turned into balls of fire and shrapnel. The severed barrels of their guns flew above the battle zone.

  The energy bar for the blasters was completely drained. Its refill was painfully slow. Using too much power had been a mistake. The turrets of the remaining tripod walkers turned toward me. The energy bar wouldn’t have time to fill up before they unleashed their salvo.

  Autopilot off.

  I hopped into the pilot’s seat and raised the forward leg to use it as a shield. A volley of armor-piercing shells pounded my vehicle, a staccato of loud thumps. My tactics worked—the cabin was protected from direct hits.

  Returning to the gunner’s seat, I aimed the now fully charged blasters at the tripod walkers, set power to 25%, and shot them one by one in rapid succession. Pillars of fire and smoke rose from the walkers as they collapsed to the ground.

  A column of Scorps moved my way. Their tails, carrying railguns, rose above the forest like the necks of dinosaurs. I set my blasters to 10% and sprayed the column in rapid-fire mode. The first tanks blazed and came to a halt, blocking the way for the rest of the column. Easy pickings for the Turuls.

  Another red shape appeared on my HUD—a huge one. A pentapod of the same model as mine appeared from behind the Black Hammer. It walked on four legs, its front leg folded under the cabin.

  The battle of titans was about to begin. I was at a disadvantage, as my blasters were still recharging. I needed a few more seconds, so I set my pentapod on autopilot and ordered it to move sideways, like a crab. The goal was to use the Black Hammer to shield me from enemy fire.

  The opposing pentapod opened the festivities with a volley of armor-piercing missiles. I released anti-missile defense drones. Two bangs shook my pentapod as a couple of missiles found their way through the defensive barrage. While the blasters were recharging, I locked all weapons on the enemy pentapod and riposted with my own missiles. My target also released defense drones; in addition, its Gatling railguns sprang into action and shot down the few missiles that had escaped the vigilance of the drones.

  The hostile pentapod had a full crew, while I was on my own. I needed to turn this confrontation in my favor or the battle would end swiftly, and my life with it.

  What else have I got? I examined the list of weapons at my disposal. Ah, Thoron rockets! Perfect.

  “All attack fighters,” I called on the channel of the Resistance fleet. “Sergeant Reggs on board a GCC pentapod. Request support. Target painted.”

  “Copy, sergeant,” a calm male voice responded—surely a veteran who would not crack under pressure.

  The enemy pentapod fired its blasters at full power with a thundering roar. The flash from the plasma bolts illuminated the battleground. My pentapod shuddered and stopped. The onboard AI informed me that one of the legs had been severed.

  “On my mark,” I said to the pilots. “Three, two, one, mark!”

  Two Turuls shot air-to-ground heavy rockets at the enemy colossus while I was releasing Thorons. The opposing pentapod sparkled with defense drones, and streams of tracers slashed through the air around it. A walking fireworks platform. Three explosions concluded the display when my Thorons found their target.

  Yet the colossus was still standing, and one of the Turuls barreled to the ground, hit by the Gatlings. I squeezed the trigger of my blasters, but all I heard was the impotent wailing of the generators. Damage report: weapons systems were down due to energy-distribution failure.

  That was the end of it. I had lost.

  Or had I?

  I hopped into the pilot’s seat, disabled the autopilot, and pushed the acceleration pedal all the way down. My pentapod shuddered, but obeyed and moved forward on its three remaining legs. Again, I used the forward leg to shield the cockpit.

  My vehicle shook as the opposing Titan unleashed the full force of its weaponry against me. The cabin filled with sparks and smoke as overloaded relays short-circuited. The onboard AI switched to secondary, redundant circuits and ensured that the colossus kept on moving.

  The opposing pentapod was now so close that my cabin almost touched it. Enemy weapons could not lock on at such close range. I lifted the forward leg of my Titan and sent it crushing down on the cabin of the GCC colossus.

  At that moment, one of the three legs my pentapod was standing on gave up and the weight of the machine was transferred onto the forward leg. The pentapod wouldn’t retain balance for long.

  I overloaded the generators, armed all the remaining rockets, and dashed out of the cabin through the hatch.

  I ran on one of the pentapod’s legs to gain momentum and leapt into the air as the vehicle exploded behind me. The shockwave hurled me against the wall of the Black Hammer.

  My head hit the wall and I lost consciousness for an instant, but I reflexively activated the molecular-adhesive layer of my suit, saving me from the fall.

  When I turned my head, I saw the two pentapods engulfed in a colossal blaze. Now they were nothing but a monumental heap of twisted alloy, joined forever in death.

  41. Black Hammer

  Getting inside the penitentiary tower wasn’t easy. I had to climb it like a spider until I reached a landing platform, then I hacked the door to sneak inside.

  I wondered how our fleet was doing and connected to the feed from one of the external cams on the rebel flagship. All ships in the battlegroup were decelerating at full throttle. Bright blue beams shot from the thrusters toward Abyss. The GCC battlecarrier was not visible yet, but I saw the trails of the missiles it had launched. The rebel ships fired everything they had at the missiles pursuing them—defense drones, EMP cannons, rapid-fire blasters, and Gatling railguns.

  I cycled between the cams of the ships to get a better idea of the tactical situation. One of the Karkadanns controlled by the renegade andros and the two Black Dragons that escorted it headed toward the Tiamat. The Karkadann cruiser had taken a beating, and its frontal shield had sustained so many hits that its edges had melted. The Dragons had taken hits, too. I wondered how they would fare against the GCC space monster.

  Now I needed to get my priorities straight. I hacked an IT terminal and located where the prisoners were held. My feelings urged me to rescue Tess first, but I needed to think strategically. I was no longer a simple sarge in charge of a squad, but the leader of a rebellion. Keeping a cool head, I decided to free the Xian Dao master first.

  I sneaked to an elevator that took me to the floor where he was held. The level was defended by a company of necrorgs, and I doubted I could defeat all of them on my own. I opened the hatch in the ceiling of the elevator cabin and climbed on the roof. As my jammer was still active, I hoped no one would be able to detect me.

  “Sergeant Reggs to landing party,” I called on the comm of the Resistance fleet. “Request support. Black Hammer, landing platform 82-Delta.”

  “Copy, sergeant,” a gruff voice replied. It was the veteran of the 301st legion. I couldn’t have dreamed of better backup. “We’ll give them steel, right, boys?” he told the rebels under his command.

  Through the external cams of the Black Hammer, I saw a fleet of dropships descending toward the tower. The Turuls had cleaned the GCC complex of all anti-air turrets, missile launchers, and flak tanks, so the landing phase was go. One dropship hovered above the landing platform I’d designated while the commandos were hopping out.

  The red dots on my mini-map moved toward the platform to meet the intruders. Only 20 necrorgs had stayed behind to guard the prisoners. Now the odds were in my favor.

  I jumped into the elevator cabin, grasping my RC-66B. Thanks to my scanners, I could see the hostiles even through the walls. As soon as the doors opened, I leapt forward and shot the four zombies guarding the entrance to the cell block. When my feet touched the ground again, they were dead meat.

  I ran through the corridor to keep my momentum and capitalize on the element of surprise. The guards rushed to intercept me, but I blasted them without even slowing down.

  An officer was barking orders. He wouldn’t bark for long. I erupted into the command center and silenced him with a single shot to the head. Now that the necrorgs were left without supervision, the rebels would have no trouble breaking though their defenses.

  I interfaced with a console and opened all the cells; then I rushed out of the command center and reached the cell where the Xian Dao master was held. He was sitting on his bunk in the lotus position, clad in a white kimono made of natural cotton. His bald scalp reflected the dim lights of the cell. His wrinkled face was perfectly serene, as if he were oblivious to the battle that raged in the tower.

  “Master?” I asked.

  He raised his brown eyes at me and gave me a soft smile. “I was expecting you, White Tiger.”

  I stared at him blankly. “Another nickname to add to my collection? No one has called me that yet.”

  The master stood up in a quick, supple movement that belied his age. “Now we free your friend.”

  “How did you know?” I asked, bemused.

  He was already moving toward the elevator, his bare feet so swift that I had the impression that he was walking on air.

  I dashed to catch up with him. “You can see the future?”

  “Your mind can know everything that is knowable,” he replied with an enigmatic smile. “One who opens their senses to the flow of time can know the past, the present, and the future.”

  We took the elevator to the level where Tess was being held without encountering any resistance. The tower was filled with the noises of close-quarter fights—the rattling of railguns, booms of shotguns, staccato of automatic pistols, explosions of drones and grenades, and screams of wounded soldiers.

  The Xian Dao master seemed oblivious to it all. He walked through corridors ravaged by the fight with a serene expression, as if it were his monastery.

  We reached the interrogation room where Tess was still tied to a chair. She was unharmed, at least by comsynt standards. As I entered, four members of my former squad pointed their weapons at me—Lancer, Kodiak, Jake, and Chai.

  Chai immediately lowered his rifle when he saw the Xian Dao master. His face and his shoulders sagged in an expression of guilt and shame. “Please forgive me, master. I…I didn’t know they would—”

  As Chai stepped forward, the master moved closer to him and set a hand on his shoulder in an appeasing gesture. “No need to be ashamed. You follow your path, wherever it leads you.”

  Lancer pointed his AA-67 at Chai. “Private Chen, stop fraternizing with the prisoner! That’s an order!”

  Chai gave the corporal an absent-minded glance. “I’m not following your orders. Not anymore. How low can you possibly sink? Imprison a Benevolent? A master, at that? Go ahead, shoot me. I won’t lift a finger against a holy man.”

  Kodiak lowered his rifle. “I am with Sergeant Reggs.”

  Lancer stepped back and aimed at Kodiak, finger tight on the trigger. “You’ll all be shot for that!”

  “I’ve seen him fight on Phlegethon,” Kodiak growled, pointing his thumb in my direction. “Reggs is no traitor, nor is he a coward. I’d rather die by his side than serve those scheming Venatici bastards.”

  “And you, Jake?” I asked my ex-partner.

  “She killed Mae!” he snapped, pointing his rifle at Tess. “Did you know that, Reggs?”

  I nodded slowly. “I did. This is war, Jake. Ask yourself, will your parents be proud of you when they learn that you serve a repressive, tyrannical regime? Vega Tres used to be one of the strongholds of the Federation. Have you forgotten what the Federation stood for?”

 

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