Chariots of Iron: Mech Troopers, #2

By Charles Eugene Anderson

In a gritty, war-torn future, the Texas Republic fights for its independence against the oppressive might of the United Nations. Amidst the chaos, a brotherhood of elite mech pilots emerges as the last line of defense against total annihilation. Bandit, haunted by his past and driven by an unbreakable code of honor, leads his squadron of "Chariots" into the heart of the conflict. As they navigate the treacherous landscape of political intrigue and savage warfare, Bandit and his team must confront not only the enemy but also the demons within.
From the blood-soaked battlefields of Austin to the neon-lit streets of Dallas, Chariots of Iron is a pulse-pounding, neo-Western sci-fi epic that explores the bonds of brotherhood, the price of loyalty, and the enduring power of the human spirit in the face of impossible odds.
Strap in and prepare for a wild ride through a dystopian future where the only law is the law of the mechanized frontier, and the only justice is that which is forged in the heat of battle. Chariots of Iron is a must-read for fans of Mad Max, The Magnificent Seven, and BattleTech.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mad Cow Press
• Release date: Dec 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223355625

Charles Eugene Anderson

Charles Eugene Anderson lives in Colorado. Chuck is a former teacher. He now spends his time writing, hanging out with his pup, Champ, and learning how to bake. More about Chuck at http://charleseugeneanderson.com

Book preview

ONE

FIRST BLOOD IN THE LONE STAR STATE

The Texas sun beat me like the devil's fury, cooking me alive inside my mech's cockpit. Sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes and mixing with the grime and blood that seemed to coat my skin these days permanently. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt truly clean or the last time I'd slept without the sound of artillery fire ringing in my ears.

I glanced at the photo taped to my console, the edges worn and the colors faded. It was a snapshot of me and my squad, taken back when we were fresh-faced recruits, eager to prove ourselves in the fight against the Texas secessionists. Murder Nova, Princess, Dung Beetle... they were all gone now, blown to bits by Okie artillery or picked off by Lone Star snipers. Only Snowman and I remained two battered survivors in a war that had long since lost any sense of glory or purpose.

Bandit, you copy? Snowman's voice crackled over the comm, dragging me back to the present.

Yeah, I'm here, I replied, my throat raw and dry. What's the situation?

We've got movement at our 2 o'clock. Looks like a couple of scouts, moving fast.

I swiveled Big M's optics in the direction Snowman indicated, my fingers tightening on the controls. Sure enough, I could see two blips on the horizon, weaving between the dunes with a speed and agility that set my nerves on edge.

Think they're just curious? I asked, already knowing the answer.

Snowman snorted. When are they ever just curious? Those bastards are up to something.

He was right, of course. The Texas militia had a habit of luring us into ambushes, using scouts as bait to draw us out into the open. We'd fallen for it too many times, losing good soldiers to their tricks.

But what choice did we have? Our orders were to patrol this sector, to hold the line against the secessionists no matter the cost. And so, like the dutiful dogs of war, we pressed forward, our mechs kicking up dust clouds as we advanced on the enemy's position.

Then, I saw it - the telltale plume of red smoke rising from the scouts' position. My heart sank into my stomach as the realization hit me.

It's a trap! I yelled into the comm. Snowman, get down!

But it was too late. The ground erupted around us as the artillery shells rained down, the shockwaves slamming into our mechs like the fists of an angry god. I felt Big M shudder beneath me, her armor plating cracking and splintering under the onslaught.

Through the chaos, I saw Snowman's mech, engulfed in flames and listing heavily to one side. His screams echoed over the comm, a sound that would haunt me for the rest of my days.

And then, a deafening silence engulfed me. The oppressive stillness descends like a shroud over a battlefield, where the echoes of chaos fade into a hushed whisper, leaving a desolate landscape marked by the scars of destruction. In that silence, the absence of my comrades' voices hit me harder than the artillery's fury, a reminder of the solitude that now accompanied me amidst the ruins.

I slumped back in my seat, my vision blurring as the pain and fatigue threatened to overwhelm me. This was the reality of war, the ugly truth they never showed in the recruitment vids. There was no glory here, no honor or valor. Only death and suffering, an endless cycle of violence and destruction that chipped away at your soul until there was nothing left but a hollow shell.

But I couldn't give up. Not now, not ever. I owed it to Snowman, to Murder Nova and Princess, and all the others who had given their lives for this godforsaken war. I would keep fighting, keep pushing forward, until either the enemy was defeated or I drew my last breath.

With a grunt of effort, I forced Big M back to her feet, the servos whining in protest. The scouts were long gone, vanished into the dust and haze. But I knew they'd be back, and they'd bring the rest of their militia buddies with them.

Let them come, I thought grimly. Let them come and face the fury of the last surviving members of Uncle Sam's Mechanized Cavalry. We may be battered and bruised, but we're not broken. Not yet.

And so, with a final check of my systems and a whispered prayer to whatever gods might be listening, I set off into the desert once more, ready to face whatever fresh hell the Lone Star state had in store for me.

TWO

LIGHT THE FIRES OF LIBERTY

I cue a retreat path into Big M's navigation pod, then hesitate to press commit. Every circuit blares urgent to disengage before this whole hog stampede tramples my steel hide under smoking treads...but something righteous in my guts cries out to stand firm. Let these hellions dash themselves to pieces charging my barricades.

Snowman's drawl filters static through the busted com-link. Say again...missed that last...channel nineteen overloaded...reset....

I don't have time for tuning dials; my sights spin on high alert, seeking heat signatures of an enemy I'm outgunned facing. But the diagnostics still scrambled since that artillery barrage got us kissing dirt at ground zero. It could be a whole pack of Razorbacks with knives out, ready to play pin the tail on this dumb jackass mech. I cuss at the glitching screens showing nil.

The static rips again with Snowman hollering, Check your six Bandit! You got a convoy of hogs tailing your rear quarter hot enough to brand! I reverse thrusters, bringing Big M into a circling pivot seeking the threat, pulses redlining. There - dust plumes near the crater ridge we got blown off minutes ago. Three - no, five bikes barreling recklessly like they are chasing hearts more than harming my hide. I level the mini-gun and unleash a street-sweeping welcome mat of scything lead into their spokes.

Y'aaaaaah, plow them road bandits under! Snowman hoots approval over the staccato chainsaw chewing through metal and meat. Make these two-lane tenpenny Nazis second guess, crashing our Fourth July block party!

My barrels melt red, but the last bikers scatter quicker than coons from a brush fire. Breathing smoke, I try raising Snow, but now only a dead hiss answered. Never fails, first bought of whoop-ass get these yokels talking big rematch revenge once they went lick they wound… I mutter, scanning the hazy horizon for where the ghosts prowl. A cold dread creeps under the armor - without clear eyes, Big M's a lumbering buffet serving up easy ambush pickings. And them good ol boys sound cocky as a meth lab full of Alabama linebackers yelling my number up for piggyback tackling drills next...

My mini-gun rips metallic vengeance on a few closing Razorbacks before spitting empty defiance rather than hot lead.

These Road Warriors rejects got fool enough bravado to keep attacking despite the odds and danger. They got more balls than brains, picking a duel with heavy steel.

I unleash