Descent into Mayhem (Capicua Chronicles Book 1) (15 page)

At noon on that day Ian had withered under the maximum sentence of twenty lashes by the rod to his upper buttocks and lower back. Toni had received a more lenient ten.

The weals were still fresh and tender, and Toni had since been having difficulty focusing on even the simplest of tasks; the pharmacopeia of nootropics no longer seemed able to exert the same effect on him as it had before Friday.

He shook the thought out of his mind and tried to focus.

Sergeant Abner was already deep into his lesson and wading in deeper, and he kept pointing at a large inscribed triangle on the display-screen that dominated the wall. At the triangle’s pinnacle he could read PRINCIPAL POWER UNIT (GAS TURBINE), and it was at that inscription that the sergeant pointed next.

“We’ll begin with the PPU which, aside from the fuel supply itself, is the greatest single contribution to the Suit’s chassis. The power unit is the beating heart of our Suits, and most operational parameters stem from its capabilities. There were several initial power plant proposals, but a gas turbine was ultimately chosen for having the most favorable power-to-weight ratio of any hydrocarbon fuel-fed engine, as well as the lowest vibration, fewest moving parts and lowest lubricating-oil consumption. The Moca’s PPU burns almost any kerosene-type or naphtha-type gasoline, but diesel-oil and biofuels can be used in a pinch.

“The power unit’s main function as a compressor is to supply the adiabatic compressed air tank, aka ACAT, with highly compressed and dehumidified air. This air will then be used to engage the braided pneumatic artificial muscles, aka air muscles or PAMs, which will in turn move the Suit itself.

“The power unit also produces electricity to charge a lithium iron phosphate battery, aka LIP battery, which will power the OS, life-support systems, instrumentation and hydraulic interface, as well as control actuation of the air muscles themselves. And so we get to the bottom of the power distribution pyramid where, as you can see on the bottom-left corner, the PAMs will be consuming significant amounts of compressed air and electricity.

“This is necessary, of course. The air muscles require low compliancy to be able to carry heavy loads, and this implies moderately high pressure within the PAM sleeves. For that effect air is decompressed from a maximum of five hundred Atmospheres down to ten or so, or about three times higher than ambient pressure at sea-level. This gives us the 6.8 bar of overpressure which will provide lifting and moving power for a chassis with a loaded weight of over three tons. Do you have a question, Mr. Miura?” The old sergeant asked in irritation.

“Well, sir, on my father’s farm we have an air compressor. Every time he got it working, the engine made so much noise we’d have to keep clear of the shed. I was wondering, sir, just how noisy is the Suit?”

The sergeant clapped his hands together with glee and Toni realized that he was about to be stepped on.

“Well, as our friendly farmhand here tells us, compressors sure make a helluva lot of noise, don’t they?” He drawled, deliberately exaggerating Toni’s rural accent to the amusement of his classmates.

“Sir, sir, I think Cassel has a question too!” Ray suddenly said.

The statement caught Toni by surprise; he hadn’t noticed any raised hands from her side of the room. If anything, Sueli seemed even more surprised than he was. Abner, on the other hand, appeared quite delighted by the news.

She gave Ray an ugly look; the Leibenese grinned widely back as the sergeant marched purposefully towards her. The noise level in the classroom soon began to climb. Gordie made it clear to his groaning neighbors that, besides being hungry, he was in the imminence of passing some gas. Grimm and Yamato pored over the manual, trading technical observations without concern as Hannah traded observations of a very different sort with Rakaia. Ian consulted the manual in absolute silence, making occasional notes as he leafed through the pages. By the time the sergeant had thoroughly answered Sueli’s improvised questions and returned to Toni, he no longer had that malicious expression on his face. Ray grinned at Toni and gave him a confident thumbs-up.

“All right, Mr. Miura, I’ll answer your question now. The Moca’s PPU
is
quite noisy when it’s working; noisy enough, in fact, to compromise some tactical actions. As a result, the designer was forced to find a solution. The Suit’s ACAT can store four cubic meters of highly compressed air. That is enough to provide near-silent locomotion for over 10 minutes before the PPU needs to be reactivated. The ACAT is part of a closed system, meaning the high-pressure tank is fitted within a low-pressure tank that receives spent air from the PAMs for recycling. The ACAT then taps air directly from the low pressure tank, you see? This does away with the tell-tale hissing sound inherent to pneumatic systems, not to mention that there’s no need for the compressor to dehumidify the air since it’s already devoid of moisture. There is one last advantage to this layout: for a direct hit on the ACAT to succeed, the projectile would need to penetrate not only the exterior armor, but also the low-pressure tank before confronting the HP tank within.”

“But won’t damaging the outer tank just leave the Suit inoperable anyway, sir?”

“No, son, it won’t. What it means
is that spent air will then bleed out noisily from the system, not to mention that the PPU will take nearly twice as long to charge the ACAT due to the added need to dehumidify air. So your Suit’s combat radius is effectively halved after such a hit. Understood?”

There was a general affirmative. Sergeant Abner then promptly returned to his lesson and the morning began to drag along at an alarmingly slow rate.

*****

The shuttle braved the heavy winds, the cadets inside the vehicle clamoring joyfully whenever a more powerful gust came close to toppling it over. The road that linked their base to the MEWAC Suit Installations was embedded six meters below its surroundings, but the frequent curves sabotaged the measure meant to avoid crosswinds, creating powerful eddies which occasionally challenged the driver. As Toni and his mates cheered in favor of the wind, others shouted words of encouragement to the uneasy driver, his knuckles bone-white as they gripped the steering wheel.

The MEWAC Suit Installations loomed into full view, but Baylen was still forced to point it out to the platoon once he’d managed to shut them up. The structure they approached looked like nothing more than a particularly steep hill.

The elevation peaked sixty meters above the surrounding forest floor but Baylen explained that that was merely for show; observed from within the duralumin bracing-reinforced eggshell that enclosed them, the Stables rose no higher than thirty meters. The bracing structure’s exterior was comprised of faux rocky outcroppings and grassy extensions, and there were even a few small trees growing intermittently upon it. It was only when clued in to the deception that one noticed the illusion wasn’t quite perfect. The trees were stunted in comparison to those that surrounded the Stables, and the artificial cave entrance at its base was a little too regular to ever be confused with a real one.

Their transport entered the cave at a slow crawl, having only moments before been stopped at a checkpoint by a complement of RRU personnel. Toni had never seen commandos in the flesh before. They all wore soot-black uniforms, smart red caps and cold, cold, sleepy eyes. A residue of wind, still strong and chilly, had buffeted their heavy cloaks.

They had appeared wholly unimpressed by the collection of cheerful cadets.

As soon as the transport came rolling to a stop, Baylen began to bark orders. Forming the platoon into a double-column beside the shuttle, the corporal marched them through the overhang and into the cave, and then along the wide tunnel that stretched out beyond it. The tunnel soon opened out into a colossal cavern supported by a vast tangle of girders and struts, from where spotlights shone upon the main entryway to a monolithic wooden building.

Toni stood awestruck before what he suddenly knew to be the oldest surviving construction on Capicua. He had seen images of the facade in his History classes; the Adamastor’s crew had had no choice except to over-engineer their first structures on account of the Greats Winds. The History book, however, had not deigned to inform its readers about the building’s present purpose.

Baylen set off and they entered the Warehouse District’s former administrative building with a silence usually reserved for a house of worship. The building’s exterior wall was so thick that crossing the doorway’s threshold gave the impression of entering another tunnel, one barely wide enough for two men to pass through without their shoulders brushing. Everything appeared to be made of redwood and, despite the countless deep scratches that marred all surfaces, shone as if the wood had been polished.

Toni was surprised to find a large number of personnel at work inside. Moving quietly along the principal corridor, the cadets craned their necks to their sides, peering into office after office packed with soldiers and civilians. The impression Toni was left with as they exited the building through the other side was that there were still places in the CDF where people worked for a living.

They finally came face-to-face with the stables themselves, over which the colossal canopy arched and extended out towards the cavern’s opposite side. Each almost as massive as the building they had just left behind, the six stables had inward-facing entrances, three to each side, and an extensive concrete avenue ran along between them. Above the avenue he spotted a sturdy overhead rail system suspended from flanking steel columns. From the main line a secondary branched away towards each stable, effectively interconnecting them.

“You can close your mouths now, Sergeant-cadets,” Baylen drawled. “Now that you all see what you’ve gotten yourselves into, let’s make our way to Stable Three.”

They set off once again. As the group neared the buildings the corporal began to explain the setup.

“Stables One and Two to your left and right, respectively, house the two ASC platoons, one for each. Stable Three houses the Training Suits and is allocated to the SIC only in practice, since formally it’s under the ASC as the Operational Training Section. Stable Four houses the simulators and is an extension of the OTS I just referred to. Stables Five and Six house the Repair and Maintenance Section, also under the ASC.”

They passed the first two stables, observing with apprehension as a very solid-looking piece of hardware sailed over their heads and in through the entrance to Stable One. Beyond it, both walls were almost entirely covered in dense scaffolding, with intermittent gaps about four meters wide and twelve high along their lengths.

The titans lodged within were almost entirely obscured by their service gantries. He managed only to glimpse an enormous rotary-rifle resting on a forklift and surrounded by technicians before the stable’s exterior wall blocked them from view.

The platoon approached Stable Three and crossed the entrance’s threshold at a brisk pace. As with the previous compartment, it possessed a scaffolding structure along its side walls, beginning about a third of the way down and stretching out towards the opposite end about a hundred meters off. The space between the entrance and the scaffold appeared to be a sort of mustering ground for armored Suits, and the concrete floor was painted with faded squares to indicate each unit’s position in formation. The intervals in the scaffolding structure appeared to be smaller and a few technicians in blue overalls loitered where the first of them could be found. The cadets’ footsteps echoed in the great room as they closed the distance towards them.

“Heiya, guys. I’m looking for Ruka, she around?”

“Stall Three, Corp,” the most senior of them replied as Baylen’s hand was briefly shaken by the huddle.

“Yeah, sarge is checking the unit’s access-points,” another volunteered.

As Baylen was about to thank the civilians, an approaching figure motivated them to stand stiffly at attention. Baylen himself stiffened and fired off the smartest salute Toni had ever seen him give. The passing master-sergeant ignored the civilians and reserved only a slight nod for Baylen before he forged a path through the group. The sergeant wore no head-covering and his shaven skull was pock-marked with old scars and burn-marks. His pitted face held a tight but emotionless expression, and the last thing Toni noticed as the sergeant passed within arm’s-length was the Hitlerian moustache that decorated his upper lip, its whiskers abundantly streaked with grey.

The master-sergeant left the stable and the aura of menace left with him, and it was only as Toni observed the diminishing figure that he noticed how short the man was. He would never have realized that from the way he carried himself.

“Master-sergeant Devonport ...” the corporal explained as if the name alone explained everything, and then they set off once more. As the group passed by what Toni understood to be Stall One, he noticed the titans in the opposite stalls and realized that they were smaller than the Hammerhead.

In their present configuration, however, the Mocas looked far more menacing.

The training Suits’ proportions were much more similar to the humans who piloted them, their helms too, than the operational units. But more importantly, the Suits were almost entirely stripped of armor, exposing their glistening pneumatic air muscles to the world. The muscles gave the Suits the volume and appearance of a bodybuilder on a zero-fat diet, which, combined with the occasional jagged protrusions that jutted out from their mostly-hidden endoskeletons, made for a very intimidating sight indeed. Each titan stood a marble statue within its stall, partially obscured by its service gantry, standing watch as the cadets neared one of their brethren. Toni felt someone elbow him. Ray’s eyes were wild with barely contained excitement and he was pointing to his forearm where, to Toni’s lack of surprise, goose-bumps had erupted.