Breaker's Ruin (The Wrecking Squad Book 6), page 30
Those who reached the doorway wished they hadn’t. A second unit appeared, eyes swirling, and flicked out its arm weaponry.
Here it comes.
She closed her eyes. Unprotected bodies versus a warbot’s machine gun wasn’t going to be pretty.
There was a fizz, a crackle, the smell of ozone nearby and she looked again. The warbot nearest to her had zapped four of the fleeing men, their clothes bearing a blackened scar, and more lay at the feet of the second bot. They stirred, moaning, one screaming. But they lived. No blood and bone spray or metal tang on the air.
Hendricks rubbed at her sore eye and sighed. Stupid but alive. AD units did not understand restraint, could barely discern human from machine, let alone the enemy from one of their own side without comms contact. Yet they had identified the threat, prepared for minimal force, and applied it accurately. The worm in her gut squirmed, no longer fed by the miasma in the room, but by a creeping dread.
The warbot clomped over to the first of the smoking men, jabbing at them before rolling them over. The red eyes pulsed, sensors, Hendricks knew, analysing for life signs. Satisfied, it went on to check each in turn, including those the second warbot had taken down.
Once at the door, the AD unit reversed, sweeping the hangar. “Comply and live,” it said. “This has been a warning.”
The door slammed behind as the warbots left, locks ramming home. Hendricks felt eyes on her. Kurt’s, she thought, and glanced over, but it wasn’t just him. All in the room were gazing her way, and she couldn’t comprehend why. Nothing had been said when she was dragged in. Just dumped, and she had spoken to nobody else except a weird and strangely endearing old man. There was recognition in those looks, a knowing nod, and people seeking a little hope in the dark.
If only they knew she was hoping for some too.
She pushed herself off the metal wall, ignoring the gazes, and headed for Kurt, dropping to sit back on the cardboard.
“You is either dumb, brave, or dumbly brave,” said Kurt, and he reached over and squeezed her biceps. “But I am guessing you didn’t get these from steroids and posing in no fucking mirror.”
She grimaced, eyeing him. “No. Am I that obvious?”
Kurt sniggered. “Ma’am, you just stood three metres from the warbot from hell and didn’t even flinch. You knew it wouldn’t go for you.” He jabbed her arm. “You knew. Me? I’d have been shitting my pants.”
She flinched.
SYP. Or on good days, just Piss Your Pants. By the gods, I miss Arin.
She tapped the knee he’d drawn up beneath him, locking eyes. “I ain’t dumb. But the AD units I know wouldn’t have been able to do that. You know, break up a fight like that. Well, not without killing every last one of them. Nothing fits, Kurt. They’re the ones that should be dumb.”
And if the Butcher had full control of them, they’d still be cold-heartless killers.
Chapter 47
On the way into Burnham, the second town the Breakers had been designated to hit and hit hard on Bustan 8, they had encountered ambush drones. Heavily armoured and dual machine-gunned, they popped up out of the undergrowth. No armour and you were fucked. Stay still long enough and the sheer number of rounds would find a weakness. The Bustans used them efficiently, or their AI did. They lay in wait and only triggered when surrounded, spinning for maximum kill percentage as they sprung up. Jungle demons, forest fuckers, desert devils. They had a lot of names depending on where they were fucking you over.
Those the Butcher had secreted in the muddy ground about the base were Almaarian versions. Copies. Smaller engines due to the lesser grav, but no less well-armed, though they had lacked the gruesome efficiency of an AI to run them. Had. Now they were occupied by ‒ what had Trem and Heki called them? Shards ‒ by a shard of the worst of the worst. An AI melded to the bottom feeder of human achievement, the Butcher of Almaar, and he had lived up to his name.
“Trem?” Rebekah said into her comms.
“Working on it. Oh, for the beautiful Sunstar and a system I know as well as my grumpy sister.”
“Unfair analogy. I’m the bright, cheerful one.”
“Up for debate, my twin ingrates.” Arin laughed, a wheeze of pain amid it. She had run two assessments on the senior tech. The first for active duty as their technician. The fact her Marine armour now fitted and would link to Hendricks’ suit testified her assessment was spot on. His wheeze, mid-laugh, a hint that she was as bad as the officer-nobles when it came to the second.
Patch them up, send them into the meat grinder.
Not that Arin would have taken an order to stand down.
“Savvo, sitrep,” she said, and checked his feed. The adjustment to the Marine HUD had taken a few minutes longer than she expected. The deets focused on battle-readiness, and scrubbing out all the unneeded background crap that interfered on a planet. The navy kit kept you alive in space, the Marine armour set you up to kill whatever moved. One for survival in harsh conditions, the other aimed at creating them.
Savvo’s camera displayed the drones’ positions slung across the ditch surrounding the base. More like a dip moat, designed for tanks and motorised vehicles to be forced into the dip and out, exposing their under armour and, most importantly, wheels or tracks. At the moment it was heavy with water, the ground in front ankle-deep in mud. The storm continued to howl, forked lightning lighting the dark every thirty seconds or so. The ditch, barely discernible with the rising water, was marked with three flags. Antennae.
“Got them,” she said, wanting to add ‘glad to have you back’ but knowing he wouldn’t appreciate it. Moody, difficult, but ever-reliable, she had missed him.
“Plan?” he growled. She ignored his tone, his worries about Hendricks plain to hear.
Trem cut in. “Okay. I have access to the schematics and battle assessment. In water, concussion grenades can briefly knock them out. Once up and active, then you need to crack that armour.”
“Fucking helpful,” said Savvo. “And rather obvious.”
“Rockets,” said Arin. “Explosive concussive impacts. We have two. Nawana and I can take out a pair if we adjust position.”
“She got a sharpshooter badge too?” snapped Savvo with a choked-back laugh.
“Har-bloody-har. Point and shoot and I got my lackey to sight them up for us.” There was a slap, as if he’d just let Nawana know how funny he was.
Rebekah sighed.
Savvo snorted. “Lackey? Lackey? Should have left you in that bunker moaning and groaning about the world.”
“Do it,” ordered Rebekah. She eyed the base. The hangar hung large in her mind, the curved metal roof familiar from Hendricks’ last message, the building beyond, the random detritus of occupation such as discarded boxes, broken and cannibalised transports. And of course, a fucking AD unit. Where there was one, Rebekah suspected there would be more. Keeping low, she scooted behind a section of overgrown foliage, browning now with the lack of sun, and dropped into a dip in the embankment. Muddy, but that’s life.
“In position,” Arin said. Nawana called in too.
“Savvo, we take out the third on your near side.” She flagged the target. “Arin, Nawana, you chosen your targets?” On the affirmative, she counted them in. “3, 2, 1 and mark.”
The rockets plumed, cutting through the drizzle, slamming into the ditch water as Rebekah’s finger pressed her second trigger. The grenade rushed towards her target, cutting into the already rippled water where Savvo’s explosive had entered. The dual eruptions spurted muddy foam into the air, bubbles rising laced with spurred casings and a twisted barrel. Then the drone emerged, antenna gone, no weapons slung below, one side cracked and water pouring out.
“Hold fire, Savvo,” she said. The drone spluttered, dipping once, twice, then crashed back into the ditch, swallowed by the dark. She scanned the other drone positions and swore. One hadn’t appeared, but the other was rising, a snapped antenna, casing scarred but intact. The dual guns whipped around, searching for threats and settled on her. The machine guns clicked as a second rocket smashed into the drone. It spun away, smoke erupting from a shattered side, guns spraying the lightning glow of the clouds until it crashed into the muddy bank beyond. Fire flared and immediately died as the drone half-sank into the soaking soil.
“Whap. Got the bastard,” said Arin.
“Second time,” said Savvo. “Downgrading sharpshooter to a peashooter badge.”
“Tough crowd,” Arin replied, a hacking cough following. Rebekah checked his bio signs; the deets of the suit’s chosen meds added to her concern.
“Movement,” said Heki, her voice urgent. “Rapid. It’s a warbot. An AD unit.”
“Spread wide. Arin, Nawana, you’re up. Savvo…” Rebekah eyed his feed. He was already on his feet, heading for the target area. His wet armour dripping mud, carbine synced, nearing the ditch and then dropping, aiming.
“Better have my back, funny man,” growled Savvo. He fired. Rounds seared across the yard to splatter the puddles in front of the AD unit. Where before the warbot had been walking, the pace rose, red eyes now lighting the damp air with an eerie glow. “Fuck, I hate being bait.”
The warbot’s lower limbs drove on, cutting across the yard, arrowing for Savvo. Its upper arms extended, machine gun flipping out, and began firing in short, tight bursts, forcing Savvo to the ground. More gunfire, and it neared the ditch. This wasn’t space. Gravity took its due on Almaar, and they knew warbots better than most. An AD couldn’t leap that far and would have to risk the slop of the ditch with its slippery banks and cloying depths. You needed any advantage you could take against the sheer power they encapsulated.
“Engaging,” stated Nawana, and a rocket speared across the divide.
The yard flared with flame. A burst about four mechanical limbs, a second beneath the torso, and the warbot was in the air, heaved upwards by thrusters, sailing across the ditch like no other warbot … except one.
Nawana’s rocket clipped its lower torso, the explosion uplifting legs, sending the AD unit headfirst into the bank four metres from Savvo ‒ its intended target. Head slavered in dirt, the warbot flailed briefly, then rolled, all the while Savvo backing away, slipping on the mud, sending one grenade after another slamming into the struggling unit. Rebekah knew he’d be aiming for the joints, servos, any weak points he could see. It wouldn’t keep him alive.
“Heki, now. Savvo, get out of there.”
“Trying,” he said, still backing away, attempting to reload the launcher on his carbine. The advantage of the Marine armour obvious, as he went through the motions without a glance, stark amid this battle. This is what they knew, and he was already aiming when the sky roared.
Cannon rounds slapped into the warbot, the dropship hovering behind them targeting a single point as it ducked and weaved. Rebekah’s heart raced, knowing she had committed children to the fight. Teenagers whose potential tantrum at being left out would have incapacitated her squad as they argued their right to save Hendricks. They had, after all, earned it.
The anti-aircraft emplacement spun, missiles engaging lock, and Arin took his cue. He was on intercept, and the battery erupted, explosions ripping across the hangar yard, blotting out the lightning glow.
“Savvo, get clear,” said Tremil. “You have 3, 2 …”
“I’m fucking running here,” he replied.
“1 and mark.” Tremil let a missile loose, the warbot’s thrusters engaging a fraction too late as the nose pierced its head between a set of swirling eyes. Savvo had gone to ground, six metres away now, mud splattered, sinking slightly as warbot shards peppered the area.
“She shoots, she scores, the crowd goes wild!” Arin said.
Rebekah moved towards her second, eyes on the shattered torso of the warbot, her HUD hinting it was in the red and no threat. Another glance to the base, and she saw movement. There would be more defenders coming, and the dropship would be vulnerable, exposed by its attack. No amount of Tremil tricks could keep the ship hidden.
“Heki, Tremil. Fuck ‘em up.” The dropship engines sparked, steam rising as the drizzle hit the heated air, weaving sideways while cannons spurted streams of metal towards the onrush of drones that had responded to the combat.
Savvo emerged from the mud, a sucking, slurping sound accompanying his rise to his feet. A powered glove wiped his visor clear, chin still thick with sludge.
“And the mud-man emerges from the sludge, barely evolved, angry at the world. A mudsicle, slimy on the outside, a volcano on the in.” Arin sniggered, though it felt half-hearted to Rebekah. His mind was on the hangar, his words a pained distraction.
“Next time, I shove the hook up your arse and dangle you over the side.” Savvo scraped his chin, pointing towards the hangar. “And watch that second fucking aircraft battery.”
“Copy that, corporal mudsicle.”
The rattle of gunfire, the whump of explosions, and Rebekah surveyed the hangar yard. The plan had always been to use the dropship, but it rankled, revealing their strengths that could rapidly become their weakness. An explosion on the far side of the hangar took some pressure off, Arin hitting the missile battery, and now Heki steered the dropship a little higher, angling its weaponry to sweep across the entire yard.
“Careful, Heki,” she murmured, but didn’t broadcast over comms. The girls weren’t aboard, remotely steering the dropship from aboard the Airstrike. More of Arin’s knowhow with a sprinkle of Savvo and a whole heap of the twins. The moments after their arrival had been tricky, the emotional purge, the release of their grief countermanded with their feelings of betrayal. They had shut those down, aware of Hendricks, but there would be a reckoning. Perhaps blasting the fuck out of the Butcher’s minions would help.
She stood next to a relatively dry patch, pointing, and Savvo took the hint. Mud flew from his legs as he powered into a leap, arms swinging, carbine in one, to land and roll with a splash the other side. The deliberate tumble took him through the dregs of the ditch, and finished the job of full mudsicle that brought a smile to her face.
Not the time.
With Savvo on cover, she repeated his leap, getting a mud splattered shoulder and back in return. But they were over, and weaving their way towards the hangar where Hendricks had last sent a signal. Above, the dropship covered, and they tore into the battle-torn yard, revenge on their minds.
Chapter 48
“What the hell,” muttered Kurt, turning on his sliver of cardboard, cocking an ear towards the metal wall of the hangar. “You hearin’ that?”
She was, but Hendricks was keeping a low profile, eyes on the far doorway. The dull thud of explosions reverberated against her ear, her head pressed against the cold metal, tuning in. She knew the layout, what was where on the yard as she had made her approach. The cameras, the guards. But not the drones. That was what she could hear now. Some airborne, more wheeled, all heading in one direction. Then the distant roar of an engine. Not the Airstrike, though it sounded familiar. The ack-ack of carbine fire, and then a missile erupting.
A dropship? Here?
Srenik, maybe. Finding his balls and saving people rather than striking them off the board.
Who the hell am I kidding?
She rolled onto her feet, squeezing Kurt’s leg on the way past, finger to her lips. “Shhh, old-timer. Keep it down. There’s panic coming, and these people are gonna need a calm head. Stroke your beard, calm that big heart of yours.” Hendricks smiled, though her own heart thudded, then pursed her sore lips as she eyed the other survivors. Murmurs were rising. They could hear the battle now. Asking themselves whether it was rescue or death that was coming.
Hendricks tiptoed her way through the throng, eyes falling on her, but she remained focused on the latrines, giving no hint of where she was heading. Memories seeped in. Of the Butcher, of the madness as he let his troops loose after victory. The murder of prisoners sat heavy on her, the rape, the sacrilege committed in the name of the victor. Amid the chaos she had held the Breakers firm, the other squads included. Been the wall against which the meaner bastards battered their heads. She had put squad leaders down that day, knuckles sore, a broken rib or two. But no one on her watch sullied the Marine badge except the Butcher himself.
The stink of the latrine hit her, but she ignored it, shifting the rags she kept from her pocket to her nose, and knelt beside the side wall, eyes only for the exit. Shadows played about the door edges. Feet, wheels. The squeal of explosions, until the rattle of gunfire battered against the hangar, rounds piercing the metal, shrapnel ramming into the far wall.
“Anti-aircraft,” she whispered, and the moans inside turned into panicked shouts, the odd cry of a child. A glance told her no one had been hit, but they were all shuffling towards the centre, Kurt now up, talking, cajoling, directing. The type of ornery old man who didn’t just complain, but acted.
Much respect.
The main hangar door clattered, bulged, a tear appearing three metres above the ground. More sounds crashed in now. Definitely a dropship, and it was strafing the yard, taking down whatever defenders there were. At least two AD units fought out there. Tough bastards, and these versions were clever.
She spun, feeling it coming. “Stay down!” she bellowed, and the upper half of the door crumpled, the second warbot backing into it, upper limbs outstretched, holding back an enraged tankbot. It fuzzed her mind, knowing this AD unit wasn’t ZZ3, that what it grappled was a mindless killing machine. Arin had fought one on Benetai. Simple, destructive and discontinued when the ADs came to the fore. This one had arms about the AD unit, limb weapons bared, and poured hot metal into the battling warbot.
Hendricks threw herself to the side, rounds clattering into the plas-crete floor, scraping, pinging off into the hangar. Cries indicated they’d hit flesh, and she acted. Grabbing the upper half of the shattered door, heaving it up. More gunfire, and her makeshift shield was peppered with shards of the AD unit, but it was fighting back now, jawed limb pummelling the tankbot, the other gripping its head unit, squeezing until the vision sensors popped from their sockets.
