Machine World (Undying Mercenaries Book 4) (13 page)

The footing was uneven at best. I didn’t have more than a second or two before I knew it would reshape itself and send me crashing back down to the ground. After that, I knew it would swallow me.

Stabbing at the controls, I let my grippers fold back. Twin, high-powered force blades sprang from my dragon’s arms.

Up close, the machine was more complex and bizarre than I’d realized previously. It had cameras—lots of them. Like a spider with eyes clustered between its legs, the cameras were nestled all over the place between the plates. There must have been a hundred machine-eyes watching me as I tore a hole in its armor.

Three times, I slashed. I didn’t get fourth try. Plates flew off, clattering and clanging to the ground. A good-sized hole had opened up, but I didn’t know if it would be enough.

That was as far as I got before I was unceremoniously dumped on the dirt. A great flap of the outer rim rose up, the whole machine shivered forward—then everything went dark.

I was underneath it, being crushed down. The underside of the machine reminded me of a roly-poly from my grandma’s backyard. There were hundreds of gray metallic feet and churning legs. They clacked and sparked on my dragon’s armor. The experience left me with a panicky feeling. I knew this was how Carlos had died.

As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I could see tools hanging down from the insides of the machine. Tools mounted on arms that moved independently. I could tell already that when these steel pipes, spikes and blades got through my dragon’s hull to the soft meaty center, it wasn’t going to be a happy moment for old James McGill.

“Squad!” I shouted on the com channel. “Can you hear me? I’m inside the machine, underneath it. If I use my launchers, I’ll blast myself apart.”

“Hang on, Vet,” Sargon said. “We’re mounting a general attack.”

“Go for the hole that I cut in the thing’s hull,” I said. “Try firing grenades in there.”

“We might blast you if we do that, Vet.”

Thinking about it for less than a second, I made a hard decision. I was going to have to get lucky to live this time. The luck might as well come right now.

“I know,” I told Sargon. “But I’ll be toast anyway in less than a minute. Go for it.”

I waited, cringing, while the machine tried to eat me. Hardened steel can take quite a beating, but right now I was wishing I’d opted for shielding and heavy weaponry rather than faster legs on my dragon’s load-out.

A white flash boomed, overloading my optic nerves for a second. I was glad my ears were well-covered because the noise was deafening under the enclosed surface of the machine’s outer hull.

I guessed one of my squad had gotten a grenade inside the machine. More explosions soon followed. It sounded like a rain of boulders on top of a metal roof.

Finally, the machine gave up on eating me. It peeled itself off my dragon and shuffled away. A dozen primitive legs thumped and clattered over me, and I was out in the open again.

Kivi’s dragon helped mine to get up, but it wasn’t any use. My mount couldn’t walk.

“I’ve got a bad leg actuator,” I said, going through a quick diagnostics check. “The left one won’t take any weight.”

“Get out of the cockpit,” she said. “The rest of the squad is chasing the machine, but it might turn on them at any moment.”

“What about Carlos?”

“He’s dead. I checked.”

“What the hell am I going to do on foot?” I asked.

“Climb on my back. Watch for the heat fins, they get really hot when I run.”

I knew all about that. The heat generated by a dragon in combat was excessive, and they had fins rising up out of the back to help relieve it.

Ejecting myself from my mount, I climbed up onto Kivi’s dragon and perched there like a man riding an over-grown ostrich.

“Sargon!” I called over the squad channel. “Come back, we’re getting out of here.”

My squad didn’t need any more encouragement. They returned a few minutes later, and we all ran together. We didn’t stop until we were far from the machines.

I reported in, and Leeson was pissed.

“You left
two
good dragons in the field for some machines to chew on? What do you expect to ride around on tomorrow, Veteran?”

“I know we have a few extras back at the lifter, sir.”

“That’s negatory, McGill!” he shouted. “Your flesh is nothing. That dragon is worth ten of you! Halt and wait. I’m coming to your position with Harris and another platoon. We’re getting your machine back—Carlos’ too.”

I didn’t think I could argue him out of it, so I didn’t even try. I figured it was pointless, and I also kind of wanted some company in my neck of the woods.

About two minutes later, the whole unit showed up. We advanced at a run toward the last position where we’d made contact with the machines.

When we got there, we found the dragons—but we found something else, too.  A few hundred meters away were at least a dozen of the large machines. The machines were piled up in a mound. At first, it looked like one massive mountain of trembling metal.

“McGill,” Graves said, “you didn’t describe these machines accurately. That mass looks to be a hundred meters high.”

“No sir,” I said. “I don’t think that’s one machine, that’s about a dozen of them all piled up.”

“What the hell are they doing?”

“Well sir, I’d be guessing, but I’d say they’re eating the one we damaged earlier.”

“Nasty,” Graves said thoughtfully. “They’re cannibalizing the weak. They look like beetles gnawing on a bone.”

“We don’t want to be here when they finish their meal, sir. They have quite an appetite.”

“Roger that,” Graves said. “Get three dragons on each of our broken-down vehicles. Drag them behind you on tow cables. We’re bugging out of here right now.”

We beat a hasty retreat, and I’d never been happier to run away in my life.

-17-

We were putting together an after-action report about an hour later when an unexpected guest showed up and burst in on our unit meeting.

Graves, Kivi, Leeson and I were all talking over the battle in our command tent when Primus Winslade himself swept in and sat at the end of the table. He sniffed the air as if it smelled bad—which it did.

“Primus,” Graves said. “I’m so glad you could join us on the front lines.”

Winslade wrinkled his nose. “There’s a special scent in the air, Graves,” he said. “It’s the smell of failure. I’d know it anywhere. Why is your advanced scouting team bogged down out here? You’ve had a full day to cross a river, and yet here you sit in your encampment.”

“The river is trapped, sir,” Graves said. “We’ve encountered underwater systems specifically built to cripple machines. They’re all over the local waterways. They’re crude but effective. As far as we can tell, the machines feed on each other, and we’ve been trying to—”

“Let’s stop the nonsense,” Winslade interrupted. “I mean the part about ‘trying’ to do things. I need action, Graves. I was told you were a man who could provide it. That’s why I put you in charge of this advance force. The Solstice troops we’re trying to rescue might all be dead by now due to your indolence.”

Graves rarely became openly angry, but I could tell Winslade was pushing his buttons like a pro.

“Is that right?” Graves asked. “Well sir, can you enlighten me on how things are going with the rest of the cohort? Are the majority of your units still sitting in your camp under the lifter?”

Winslade gave him an unpleasant smile. “No. Not any longer. We’re all here—just outside, in fact.”

Graves looked surprised. “When did your orders change?”

Winslade threw his hand into the air and twisted his mouth.

“Imperator Turov arrived at the site several hours ago. The location had been deemed relatively safe, so
Minotaur
disgorged all of Legion Varus at my base camp.”

Graves nodded. “So, let me see if I understand the situation. As soon as the imperator landed, she realized your cohort was sitting around and kicked you out to the front?”

Winslade was displeased. He gave Graves a hard stare for a moment before speaking. “Tactless, as always. I see now why you’ve been stuck with the rank of Centurion for half a century.”

Graves’ face was stone. “What are your orders, sir?”

“Turov has ordered all of us—the entire auxiliary cohort—to cross the river
today.
We’re to advance
to the last known position of the missing troops. I intend to follow that order immediately. Everyone, pack up and move out!”

That was it. There wasn’t much of a plan, or any argument for that matter. Turov’s orders were often like that, and I wasn’t surprised Winslade operated in the same fashion. We stood up as a group and headed to the dragons.

Before we saddled up and rode out, I was issued a fresh dragon by the cohort quartermaster. Spare machines had been brought in with a lot of other critical supplies on the backs of our drones. The drones, or “pigs” as we called them, were like fast-marching mechanical oxen. They didn’t move as quickly as the dragons, but they never got tired and could independently carry several tons of weight each over any kind of terrain.

As we gathered our equipment, I pressed Graves to let me choose a better load-out. I wanted heavy weaponry.

“Agreed,” he said. “Speed might help when escaping those machines, but you can’t win a fight by running from everything.”

Grateful, I ordered my troopers to mount heavy guns on their dragons. We went without shielding as this new enemy didn’t seem to be keen on shooting projectiles at us. Within an hour I found myself sitting in a dragon with a single cannon mounted on the spine, heavy generators and extra cells. This setup wasn’t as fast, but it was lot more dangerous, and it could operate for an extended period of time.

When we finally reached the river, I don’t think any of us were looking forward to the crossing. Behind us was a long train of drones and the dragons. The group slowly lined up along the shore. Most of the cavalry wore heavy kits now. Spinal-cannons were everywhere. The quartermaster had complained he was out of back-up units if we got any of these weapons damaged.

“Leeson, McGill,” Graves called to us.

“Right here, sir,” Leeson reported.

“In his infinite wisdom,” Graves began, “Winslade has seen fit to have our unit be the first to ford this river.”

I nodded to myself in my cockpit. Graves
had
kind of flipped off the new primus when the man had crashed our little meeting. I could have told Graves how that was going to turn out. Winslade had been a vindictive little cuss when he was powerless. Now that he wore the insignia of a primus—well, it was time for payback.

“I volunteer, sir,” I said.

“Excellent, but you’ll need backup. Harris, I know you’re listening. I need an experienced man behind McGill.”

“On my way, sir.”

About ninety seconds later I found myself marching into the silvery liquid.

“You just had to do it, didn’t you McGill?” Harris complained in my headset. “Itching to die on yet another new planet? That’s you in a nutshell.”

“That’s me, Vet.”

“All right, enough bitching,” Leeson said. “McGill, spread out your squad and cross at a walk. Harris, follow with your machines right behind them. Your job is to pull McGill’s squad mates out of traps. Try to walk due west, everyone. If any of the dragons gets across without a problem, we’ll mark the path and everyone will follow. Go!”

We had our orders. I was the first man into the river. I didn’t feel fear, not really. If the river didn’t get too deep—

“Vet!” shouted Gorman. “I’m down! Dammit.”

We hadn’t gone twenty steps. The other side was still an unknown. For all I knew, we had five kilometers to go.

“All halt,” I ordered. “Can one of your men get Gorman out, Harris?”

“We’re on it.”

There was a brief delay before they had Gorman up and operating again. We’d learned by this time to cut off the trap and discard it. We kept going.

There was a trap encountered at intervals of about every ten steps. I could tell this was going to be a long day.

Watching my HUD, I began to frown. I was noticing a pattern. “Leeson, sir?”

“What is it, McGill?”

I was mildly surprised to realize he was in the river with us. He was in the rear, to be sure, but he was only ten meters behind my dragon.

“Sir, did you notice the last four traps? They started with Gorman, then Kivi, then—”

“Get to the damned point, McGill! Winslade is already crawling up my butt on officer’s chat.”

“Roger that. Sorry sir, but I think this might help.”

“Keep talking and keep walking. You’ve got thirty seconds.”

“There’s a pattern, sir. The dragons that have hit a trap so far are finding them in a diagonal pattern. The first man hit was Gorman, the next one hit the man next to him, then—”

“I get it,” Leeson said suddenly. “I see it on my HUD. By damn, you’re not as dumb as a bag of hammers after all!”

“Thank you, sir.”

Leeson barked out orders, telling people to regroup and move at a forty-five degree angle to cross the river. We marched like that for a full minute without running into anything.

“We can predict this,” Leeson said excitedly, “and we’ll get through it. But you have to tell me McGill, what kind of trapper fills an entire riverbed with traps using a perfectly even pattern?”

“A robot trapper, sir? They’re nothing if not methodical.”

“Another thing makes sense to me now,” Leeson said in an uncharacteristically thoughtful tone. “This riverbed is dead-level. Right here, where the river has a natural shallow area, someone lowered it. They flattened this region of the riverbed out to make it more attractive to anyone trying to cross.”

“Good thinking, sir,” I said, and I meant it. “I think you’re onto something there. All part of an efficient system of capture and—”

That was as far as I got before something strange happened. A surge of liquid methane came downriver and rolled into us. It didn’t submerge our dragons, but it did rush over our knees in a wave that was at least a meter higher than normal.

“What the hell—?” Leeson squawked. “Where did that wave come from? What—?”

He got his answer in a physical form before I could say anything. A vast machine rolled up out of the mist. It came down the river behind the wave it had created.

I knew right off we were trapped. We could run back to the shore behind us, but if we continued on a diagonal course, we’d have to rush right into the machine that was bearing down on us.

“You asked who made the minefield, sir,” I said. “I think there’s your answer.”

“Put a hole in it!” Leeson shouted. “Unlimber those spine-cannons. I want a volley on my mark. Target the center of mass. One, two…
Mark!
”

We all fired. There was a roar and a brilliant barrage of streaking lights. Smoke trails hung in the air behind our projectiles for a frozen second before the impacts began to rain down.

The looming machine must have thought it had caught dinner and was going to feast on our metal carcasses. But it got the surprise of its life—which promptly ended.

The shells hammered through the plating and crashed into the guts of the machine, where they exploded.

The machine shivered and deflated like a vast balloon that had been punctured. The platoon shouted and roared in the victory. I had to admit, I felt a surge of relief as well.

But, I had to ask myself, what would be the repercussions of these clashes with the natives? Could we really expect them to be tolerant of invaders?

A part of me, too, wondered if this machine was the mama machine for the playful tikes I’d met and tried to communicate with at the nearby village. Would they go hungry now, without a parent to fend for them?

It was all very confusing, and I wasn’t sure how I should feel about it.