Reclaim: Books 1-3 Page 6

  "Don't blame me; blame the Zeal. Now drop the tough girl act and fall in. We've got a long day ahead of us." Teve released his grip on Mish and strolled past her without looking back. He listened as she got Moreno in line.

  A few minutes later, they arrived as a group at the armory to resupply for the next planned trip to the surface. As Teve refilled his ammo pack, a soldier stepped into his shadow.

  "Private Vargas reporting for duty, sir."

  "I'm not an officer, Private," Teve said.

  "Sorry, sir—I mean Sergeant. The name is Verne Vargas. I've been assigned to your fire team for the mission."

  Teve's brow screwed up as he crossed his arms and looked down upon the soldier placed under his command. "And what mission might that be?"

  Vargas shifted his eyes back and forth. "The mission," he said in a hushed tone. "You know, the rescue op."

  With a scoff, Teve slapped a hand over his own face. "You’re Adams' replacement? Another greenhorn civvy who thinks they've got what it takes to fight the Zeal. Does anyone see a problem with this logic?"

  Mish and Moreno said nothing as they loaded up their weapons.

  "Just come from the academy, Sergeant."

  Teve shook his head. He debated grilling the kid some more but realized he didn't have the energy levels to do so. "Well then, Vargas, join the fun. You're going to wish you never found me." Teve finished loading up and motioned for the team to follow him to the Humvee. The private dropped his mouth open to speak, but Mish stopped him with a slap on the arm.

  "We're in a different ride today," Teve said to Moreno. "No kickass coilgun this time."

  "What have we got instead?"

  Teve stared at the beat-up truck and pointed to the twin barreled fifty calibers sitting on top of an armored cabin. The weapon wasn't exposed like the coilgun, but it didn't have the same firepower or accuracy.

  "Hop on and find out. You're on the gun."

  Moreno nodded and tossed his gear into the back of the ride, taking out his rifle and ammo pack.

  "Where are we headed?" Mish asked. "The new kid seems to know more about this mess than we do."

  "You're driving. I'll explain on the way." He shifted his eyes to Vargas. "Private. Take the front passenger seat. Cover the right sector. I'll take the left from the rear. Moreno will cover us all. Mish drives. Got it?"

  Vargas' eyes bugged out and darted around. "Ah, yes, Sergeant."

  "Hey, don't worry, Private. You'll figure it out as we go. If you survive long enough, of course." Teve walked to the back-left seat and climbed inside as Mish got into the driver's seat. Vargas trailed behind and fumbled with his gear.

  Mish lurched the Humvee forward and sped off and up the exit ramp. After a few minutes of winding, they reached the surface. The sun poured into the reinforced windshield of the truck, bathing each soldier with a glimpse of light.

  "Rifle up, Private. Cover your driver. You're about to find out what it's like up top."

  Chapter Twelve

  Porter ran his hand over the rough surface of the cockpit of his rebuilt X90 Stalker. The ship had been through hell like the rest of them. Several hundred survived missions took its toll on the front-line machines, as sortie after sortie was flown to keep Earth supplied and the Zeal in check.

  As one of three carriers rotating service through the designated front line, the Andromeda spent six weeks as close to Earth and the Cyclones as possible, slogging it out with their seemingly unlimited number of Tritons until major repairs and supplies were needed—not to mention new personnel.

  On week six of the rotation, the Andromeda should have been leaving any day to arrive at a location full of supply and repair ships. With every mission pulled and rumors of a massive offensive quite likely, the ship might not receive the time it needed to prepare for the fight of its life.

  "Porter. Are you ready?" Garcia asked over the comm. She was sitting in the control room attached to the deck, equipped with everything she required to direct her pilots.

  "Ready as I'll ever be."

  "Not exactly what I'm looking for, but I'll take it. Now get your head in the game. I'm launching you in thirty seconds."

  "Holy shit," Porter said out loud to himself as he adjusted into position. He ran some quick preflight checks and smiled as each system flicked green. "Ready for your go, ma’am."

  "That's more like it. Launch tube Zero-Eight-Five. You are a go for slingshot in three, two, one. Mark."

  The pressure of the slingshot drive pushed him back into his seat. The launch hurt a lot more than usual as Porter gritted through the pain. He shot out of the carrier into space and felt control transition to his throttle and stick as he thrust the fighter twenty klicks out into the open. Kicking the maneuvering pedals beneath his feet, Porter pulled a fast 180 burn. The Stalker flicked him around and compensated for any inertial drift, dampening the thrust to perfection. He spiraled back toward the Andromeda and swooped in low over the top of the ship, no doubt pissing off some officers inside.

  "What have you got for me, Garcia?" he asked, making sure she knew what she was getting herself into.

  "Diving in hard, I see. Well, good thing I have something challenging to throw at you today."

  "Ready when you are, Captain," he said as he brought the fighter around to a relative stop in front of an observation deck.

  "Just need a minute. Try not to blow this Stalker up while I send out your training equipment."

  "I'll be here, ma’am."

  Porter ran a few diagnostics on the X90 and made some alterations to the previous pilot's settings, giving himself a bit more control over the dampeners. He liked his fighter to be thrown a bit off balance during a fight, feeling as if the chaos gave him an advantage.

  "Okay, Lieutenant. Here come your training partners." Three small practice drones shot out of the same tube and flew in formation around Porter's ship.

  "Drones?" he laughed. "Really?"

  "Yes, drones. Laugh all you want. These aren't your standard drill bots. I've spent the last few months with a team modifying their programming to create a more dramatic exercise."

  He continued to chuckle. "Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

  Without warning, the robots scattered in three directions at a speed Porter had never seen them move. "What the hell?"

  "What did I tell you? These things will make you think twice about doubting me. Now, pick a target and take it out."

  "Okay," he said, finding the closest drone. He tracked its signature and pushed his throttle three-quarters forward. He welcomed the rumble of the engine as it accelerated the Stalker up to 400 m/s to out-speed the fleeing object. The drone sped up and moved away from him.

  "What have you done to these things?"

  "Given them a kick in the ass. They can now outmaneuver any pilot in the MAF."

  "We'll see about that," he said as he hastened up to 600m/s. Within a few minutes, he closed the gap on the small drone. The metallic, triangular-shaped bot was smaller than his cockpit in size with only a fraction of a Stalker's range. The drones also had no weapons to speak of except a pair of non-lethal lasers used for training drills.

  Porter lined up the triangle in his sights and switched his load out to a practice module. If he fired his main cannon now, a streak of simulated fire would display in his HUD as he attempted to intercept the false enemy.

  The drone flipped on its end in half a second and flew straight past his X90.

  "Whoa," Porter said. "These things can move."

  "Feeling the pressure, Lieutenant?"

  "Not today, Garcia. I'm still warming up here." He flicked off a few safety settings on his fighter and shoved his stick all the way forward while stomping the maneuvering pedal to the floor. His ship flipped end-to-end with an unstable twist in less time than he could blink. The move brought him back around to the tail of the drone, letting him continue the chase.

  For the next two hours, the captain pushed Porter to his limits with a series of tests
courtesy of her new toys. He had never gone through such a rigorous session in all his years in the MAF.

  Garcia called him over the comm. "So, what do you think?"

  "This is amazing. These bots will push our pilots to the next level. Especially if we are going to hit the Zeal fleet head on."

  "I hope so. The coming weeks are—"

  The comm cut off. "Say again, Garcia?"

  A few seconds later, she spoke. "Return to base, Porter. Move your ass."

  "Roger that. What's up? Something I said?"

  "Command is about to announce something major in five minutes. I think they're going to officially discuss the battle to retake Earth's orbit."

  Porter's stomach found its way into his chest as he heard the captain's words. He uttered his understanding into the comm and rushed toward the Andromeda, following the three drones back home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mish rolled the Humvee down a half-destroyed road toward the city. She let the truck coast through a canyon in silence, only the sound of the wheels rotating on the street made noise until she needed some power to push over a mound of debris or work her way past a crater.

  "What are we doing, Sarge?" she asked for the third time since they hit the surface.

  "Recon. If we are going to capture one of these bastards, we need to figure out how they operate."

  Mish muttered something under her breath as the vehicle rocked left and right.

  "Got something to say, Specialist?"

  "No, Sergeant. Just thinking happy thoughts about this whole goddamn situation."

  "That's what I like to hear. Now, take us to the edge of the city and find a decent hiding spot. We'll trek the rest of the way on foot as usual."

  "On foot?" Vargas asked.

  "Yeah, Private. You got a problem?"

  Vargas glanced from Mish to Teve. "No, Sarge."

  "Good. Then keep your eyes on your sector. We'll be dismounting in less than ten mikes."

  The Humvee backed into a small pile of bushes eight minutes later. Teve, Mish, and Vargas jumped out and got to work placing camouflage over the truck while Moreno kept watch on the gun. Once they were done, he hopped down with his gear and inspected his rifle.

  "Moreno. Take point. Vargas. You're on our six. Keep quiet and stay at least thirty feet apart."

  Vargas seemed to be listening more than anyone else on the fire team. Mish had heard it all before while Moreno was beginning to show some confidence in his ability. They were not the dream team Teve was expecting to have for such a mission. Then again, he figured Miller wanted them to fail. The thought made him question the general's motives. Was he trying to screw up the rescue op to piss off Adams' father-in-law? Or was the task an extreme way to torture Teve for losing Adams in the first place? Either way, they were here to do the impossible.

  After a forty-minute hike, they arrived at the city's edge.

  "Moreno. What do you see?" Teve asked over the comm, opting for quiet communication.

  "Nothing, Sarge. Just a gentle breeze swirling some trash around."

  The sergeant raised his rifle and stared down the scope. He scanned ahead to find a small two-level building still standing. "Perfect," he whispered.

  "Orders?" Moreno asked.

  "The building at two o'clock. Take us there. Go a long way if you have to. We'll use it as an observation post."

  "Roger that."

  For the next ten minutes, the fire team crept along at a crawl, keeping as quiet as possible. Several Zeal drones buzzed around the area, each time out of range of their subtle movement. If they had chosen to walk in tall, the bots would have seen their approach and called for reinforcements to come clean up the problem. The four arrived at the building without raising any alarms.

  "Mish. Take Vargas with you to secure the ground level. Moreno and I will take these stairs up to the next floor and do the same. When you're done, come find us."

  She nodded and seized the private by the back of his shoulder. "Stay behind me. Don't shoot unless I start shooting. Understand?"

  Vargas acknowledged the order. Teve noticed the private's hands jitter on the rifle, so he grabbed one of his knuckles. "Vargas. Take a deep breath. It's just a quick sweep and clear. I guarantee the building is empty."

  Vargas nodded with too much emphasis. "Yes, Sarge."

  Teve jutted his head at Mish, letting her know to hurry up. He turned back to Moreno. "Stay behind me. We'll take the exterior stairwell up to the next floor. Sweep and clear. Easy stuff, okay?"

  Moreno grunted an understanding. His once shaky hands were perfectly still.

  Teve raised his rifle up, switching his weapon's fire mode to full-auto a second later. If there was a Zeal soldier inside, he wasn't going to risk wasting any time trying to aim properly. An entire magazine of burning, armor-piercing rounds would do the trick to put the Stilt back to sleep.

  The sergeant grasped the railing of the steps with his left hand while his right kept his gun up at hip height. The stairwell groaned and creaked in the breeze. The structure almost felt like it would give way to his bulky frame, but he continued to climb. Moreno followed close behind, adding his weight to the fragile steel. Years of explosions and constant fighting had left the building broken to its core.

  As Teve reached the top, he saw Mish and Vargas through a hole in the side of the wall as they entered the bottom floor. She kept her sectors tight while the newbie bumbled his way into the room the way a newbie would. Vargas swept his gun left and right at the slightest sound, almost on the verge of panic.

  "Goddamn greenhorns," Teve heard himself mutter. He pulled his focus back to the top level and stretched out for the handle to the fire escape door. With a quick twist, he found it locked. "Serious?"

  "What is it, Sarge?" Moreno asked a few paces behind.

  "Door's locked. No matter. I'll just grab out the spare keys." Teve slung his rifle back and reached for his sidearm. A second later, he pulled out a suppressor attachment and fixed it to his X919A2 pistol. The accessory would reduce each shot down to seventy decibels while also reducing the weapon's power.

  "Mish," he said over the comm. "Just opening up. Ignore the noise."

  "Copy that," she replied. Teve could almost hear her talk.

  He raised his pistol to the lock and squeezed off a single round. The metal bolt cracked into a few pieces and fell to the ground, causing more sound than the bullet. He holstered his sidearm and swung his rifle around, ready for whatever might be inside. The chance of finding a lone Stilt was pretty slim. The aliens always traveled in packs just like the UEF. The thought made Teve chuckle to himself as he opened the door with a shove.

  Indoors, he found the remains of an office space. Broken desks and chairs were scattered about, almost as if someone had lived in the area at one point. He imagined a ferocious battle taking place; the Zeal, no doubt, claiming victory. Of course, no bodies existed. The aliens always removed the corpses of both sides left behind.

  After a minute of sweeping through the five areas upstairs, Teve declared the top floor to be clear. He radioed Mish and got the same result from her. She ran up the internal stairwell a moment later with Vargas on her tail.

  "Now what?"

  "We each take a corner. Moreno. Vargas. Take the two corners pointing toward home. Mish and I will take the two facing the Zeal base. Find a hole in the wall and start looking for some Stiltz. Track their movements and take note of what they do. We need to find any routines or predictable behavior they exhibit and exploit it. If you spot anything worth mentioning, call me. Understand?"

  The two privates nodded and moved out to their corners, each setting up a position to be in for a block of time. Mish stepped to her quarter of the floor while Teve did the same.

  They spent the next three hours seeing nothing unusual. The occasional Zeal patrol would come and go in the distance while the drones buzzed onward in random directions. There seemed to be no consistent pattern. The Zeal moved in groups, never once stra
ying from the pack. They only ever stopped to stand guard over Zeal structures until a new group came along to relieve them.

  "Dammit," Mish whispered over the comm.

  "What's up?"

  "We've got a storm coming in from the west. Should be on us in the space of an hour."

  "Great. Just perfect. Not much we can do. Everyone put on your raincoats. It's going to get wet in here."

  Less than an hour went by before the heavy rain rolled in and came flooding through every hole in the roof. Water poured in via every available spot, forcing Teve to relocate a little from his corner.

  "Can you see much?" he asked Mish over the comm. Their visibility had been significantly reduced on all sides. The mission was a complete bust, and they all knew it.

  "Can't see shit. Should we call it a day?"

  He thought about what Miller would say and decided he didn't care. "Yeah, screw it. I'm calling this off. Moreno. Vargas. On me."

  The fire team regrouped and moved to the top of the stairwell after a brief discussion. "Time to head home," Teve said. "Mish will take point. Take us back to the Humvee. I'll cover our exit."

  They all showed their understanding and moved out after Mish. Teve waited behind for a second and took another glance out into the rain. He pulled a small device out of his belt and enabled it with a few button presses. He placed the small, circular tracking dot at the base of one of the walls and covered it with a broken piece of wood from a desk. The marker would give them the location to work with the next time they came out searching for Zeal. He brought the site up on his e-slate and realized there was a sewer tunnel beneath the building.

  "Sergeant. Get your ass down here. We've got—"

  Before Mish could finish her sentence, gunfire erupted outside. Teve swung his rifle around and charged down the steps to the streets. He found Mish crouched down by a half wall with Moreno and Vargas. They were firing upon a group of Stiltz up ahead.

  "Moreno. On me. We'll draw their fire." He grabbed the private up and dragged him across the road to the next section of cover. He couldn't risk clumping his fire team in the one spot.