Whiskey Throttle

By Shane Rogers

Part II of the Stamina trilogy.It seemed like a good idea at the time...Now, after three months of hot pursuit by armed to the teeth and vindictive Monger Incorporated security Mechs, tore up Eager Battalion is wallowing in regret and relishes the precarious chance of a longed-for cease fire.But even Eager's prophesying commander has no idea of the comical clash of personalities and drama that awaits them in the backwater frontier town of Wrangleton. Here they're confronted with pugnacious and volatile war-hardened townies; irate and punched-out fame-seeking militias; deluded, brainwashed visitors from the city; privateers with secret agendas; a ridiculous collection of misfits and maniacs; and, once again, killer Mechs at every turn.Agreement is hard to come by amongst the fractious militants and townsfolk, and as the corporate armies close in it becomes increasingly clear that they'll all need to cooperate or perish in a ferocious shit-show.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TellwellPublishing
• Release date: Dec 18, 2024
• ISBN: 9781068973741

Book preview

Table of Contents

Stamina: Hot Pursuit Recap

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Stamina:

Hot Pursuit Recap

Eager Battalion, wrung out and disheartened after three months of hot pursuit through the wilderness, made one last stand and landed a solid punch in the mouth to their nemesis Monger Inc before limping into small town Wrangleton. At long last they settled into relative safety while waiting for a cease fire.

In the meantime, naive City boys Oban and Winslow, still recovering from third-rate and inept mind-control by their Induction provider, arrive in the strange town after a week in the wilderness, hungry for free-mind life on the frontier.

Skulking and sulking privateer Cam Lok, hoping to spring a long lost friend from imprisonment and reunite him with his daughter, has pulled every string he can to draw Eager Battalion into Wrangleton, knowing that unstable Colonel Levy won’t be able to resist the sensational mission.

Colonel Grip, leader of the stalwart Gold Battalion, sensing that redemption may be at hand, is intent on using the formidable collection of assembling militias to settle a long-standing beef while he has the chance.

The plan: rest and reinforce, punch through Mega-Corp’s line with the fellowship of militias, release General Koda, and make the long run to sanctuary.

The problem: sensational Dahlia Ronick and her rowdy platoon have launched an impetuous attack, potentially drawing Eager Battalion, and the City boys, into a fight they can’t win against Mechs they don’t understand.

Here we go…

Chapter 1

The blacked-out Bitch platoon trucks snaked their way north into no-one’s-land, the dangerous country separating sheltered and secure Wrangelton from hostile Mega-Corp country. Motivated by the uninhibited and mysterious forces of youthful aggression and pugnacity—but foremostly alcohol—they sought out the corporate tower gestating so close to Wrangleton, to topple it before it could draw its breath and spread its lies—but foremostly to disgrace the Golds.

The convoy moved in a tight file, swerving from one side of the road to the other to skirt the windfallen trees and branches on the sealed off and rarely used northern highway, and on occasion unintentionally swerving well off the road due to egregious and extravagant impairment. The lead vehicle, steady and sure, was driven by straight-edge Sergeant Tint with fired-up Dahlia riding shotgun. Mina stood in the gunner’s position and fumbled to light a cigarette; her face sporadically illuminated by the sparking flint.

No smoking. Tint watched Mina’s short, stocky legs in the rearview mirror and saw her lighter flickering in the open gun-turret above. Mina dropped down from the turret and into the back seat. Her hair swirled like a witch’s in the whirling wind.

I can’t light the fucking thing no-how. Where are we? She leaned forward to look at the vehicle display in the warm red light of the interior.

Tint kept her eyes on the road. Seventeen klicks to the junction, time to sober up.

Dahlia scoffed. There’s not enough time for that.

Well at least quit drinking.

Mina lunged between them to turn on the music. Shut it. I fight better drunk.

At the end of the line of vehicles, following close behind the bumper of a gun-truck with three Bitches seated precariously on top of the open gun-turret, Oban and Winslow rode along with Mitzi and her squad-mate Shar. They sprawled comfortably in the open box of the Technical, a converted pick-up truck with robust armor and a mounted machine-gun. Against regulations, good sense, and fair play, Shar had filched a pile of heavy, protective, fragment resistant gunner coverings from unattended Eager gun-trucks and had built a comfortable nest with the blankets in the steel box behind the cab and beneath the Ma-Deuce. Tucked away under the canopy of the encroaching forest they looked up at vivid stars as they passed under them.

Winslow felt transported by the aroma in the night air and the glimmer of the stars. He looked at Oban who was at his shoulder. This is what I want to be doing, he yelled over the wind.

Going to a tower party?

Moving—under the stars. Around living, breathing, people. I feel like I’ve missed so much up until now.

Oban nodded his head. Maybe we’re back to our default factory settings now that we’re not Induced. We don’t need Induction—or anything—to be happy.

Winslow agreed as he downed another beer. Free at last. He crawled on his knees over to Shar and Mitzi and pulled a can of beer from the box nestled between them. He looked at Mitzi and crawled closer to her, moving his face in close to hers, studying it in the dim starlight; again, she looked him straight in the eyes.

Incandenza.

Mitzi kept his gaze, It’s Mitzi.

No silly. The position of these freckles. He lightly traced the freckles on her nose and left cheek, trying not to poke her eye with his unsteady finger in the swaying truck. They’re the same orientation as the Incandenza constellation, and here is the star Slothrop even.

Mitzi reached out and held his hand. Will you remember me—remember this night—forever?

Forever.

And will you think about me?

I will.

Really?

Yes. He looked at Shar, who was staring up at the sky, and then back to Mitzi, and he whispered, I really want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?

I want to kiss you too.

Winslow leaned in gently, and their lips touched and parted, again and again, as the truck weaved around the road’s obstacles. At last Mitzi grabbed Winslow’s shirt and pulled him in tight and kissed him properly, and after the passionate kiss their eyes locked, and a flame arose in Winslow that spread like a garage fire. He felt a blissful, natural desire that was novel for him, and his hand brushed Mitzi’s hair away whenever it blew into her face, sweeping it away from her eyes to protect and prolong the spell they had cast upon him. Anticipating the manifestation of that which he so desired, and knowing that she had to feel the same longing, he explained, I’ve never done this sort of thing before.

Don’t worry, just keep your head down and do what I do.

Okay. I’ve seen it online and stuff.

Well in real life, it’s a lot messier, and if you fuck up—deadly. You’re going to be terribly scared when it pops off.

Winslow bobbled his head but continued. I’m embarrassed to admit it; I’m a little scared right now—but I feel I’m going to bust I want it so badly. An unexpected growl from Winslow intrigued Mitzi.

Wow, you are fierce. It’s going to get weird fast though. Just try to keep up.

Oh, I’ll keep up. Winslow bit his lower lip, gave a coy nod, and widely missed a sip from his beer can when the truck ran over a fallen branch.

A dim red glimmer from the lead gun-truck’s interior was the only sign of the Bitches’ approach to the Mega-Corp tower installation. They arrived as directed by the flashy billboards that touted Mega-Corp’s towers at regular intervals, and after having turned right at a prominent arrow festooned in marquee lights, continued two klicks down a dedicated, well graded gravel road until the glare of lights from the tower two hundred yards away could be seen through the trees.

Dahlia’s vehicle rolled to a stealthy, silent stop, barely crunching the gravel on the approach road. The second gun-truck, piloted by Corporal Sabitini, who was seemingly unable to converse with someone without looking at them, lustily rear-ended Dahlia’s truck with a resounding prang, and after the rousing overture of the collision, there was a stirring drumroll of Bitches upended from the rim of the gun-turret as they tumbled off onto the roof, hood, fenders, and finally gravel. Cackling Sabitini was in turn rear-ended by Nular’s gun-truck. Laughter spilled from the open windows and hatches of the trucks.

All of the Bitch Battalion militants, with the exception of tightly wound Tint, were in various states of intoxication. Some were nearly sober, while others were unpleasantly drunk, but a good many—a solid majority—were perfectly drunk, and after climbing out of the gun-trucks the militants immediately gathered in a circle and continued with their drinking, smoking, and lying.

Winslow and Oban didn’t know the finer points of how to acquit themselves when thrust into a throng of women, and with the beating of Gold’s Sergeant Olson still fresh in their minds, when they saw the males Corporal Banks and Private Vasa of Eager battalion, they gravitated over to them.

Banks, fabulously drunk, worked hard to focus on Oban’s face until it registered in his memory. The City guys. You’re here? He doubled over laughing, and then somehow doubled over backwards to guffaw towards the stars while he pointed at the boys, and they laughed along.

With a wink, Oban said, We’re not missing a tower party.

Vasa, standing a head taller than Banks, seemed to be as happy as a person could be, energetically grinning, a vessel of stored mischief. He raised a flask in tribute. Fuck. You guys are hardcore. Respect.

Sergeant Mina yelled at full volume, Keep it down, for fuck’s sake. We don’t need to advertise the fact that we’re in the neighborhood. Her voice carried far off into the night.

Lieutenant Dahlia started to pull the platoon into a tighter circle, grabbing troops by the shoulders. Squad leaders front and center. Where’s Bondo?

Mina said, Out— She hiccupped and held her hand up to her mouth for a moment before continuing. Out of action.

Why?

Passed the fuck out. Mina waved her hand in a way that implied Bondo was fucked up beyond all repair.

Dahlia, as drunk as most but not so much as the best, rolled her eyes. Sounds about right. She held her finger up, moving it slowly forwards and back again in emphasis. The objective…a tower— probably behind a fence or something—right, Sarge?

Sergeant Mina tried to focus on her device. Yes sir—standard eight-foot-tall chain link with concertina wire, front and rear access for equipment an shit—right, Tint? Mina swung her head right and left looking for the competent sergeant. Tint!

Tint was standing right beside her, and with her chin tucked into her neck she glared at Dahlia and Mina from under a lowered brow, hissing, Yes. It’s all on your devices if you looked. And stop yelling, you confounded idiot.

Mina squeezed her eyes shut, pursed her lips, and gave an understanding series of nods before turning to the assembled platoon with a finger pressed against her mouth, Shhhhhhhhhh— everybody.

Dahlia held her hand behind her ear to silence the platoon. We’ll set up positions on…did you get this uploaded…like our positions?

Tint walked over and grabbing her by the sleeve lifted Dahlia’s device arm to up under her face, and then keeping her grip, tugged Dahlia away from the circle of militants.

Permission to save your useless ass?

Who the fuck do you think you are?

Tint pulled Dahlia even further to the side. Maybe that’s a question you should have been asking for the last month; I bet you don’t even know my name, and I’m one of your sergeants. I’ve been watching you cock-up everything since I joined this chicken-shit outfit. You don’t know tactics worth shit. You’re just another pretty face for the battalion—I don’t even think you’re that good of a dancer.

Dahlia gasped at the last cheap shot. You better shut your mouth—or you’re through here.

I-do-not-give-a-fuck. Tint held her face dangerously close to Dahlia’s. I survived for three years in the kind of shit you’ll never see; I know how to fight properly. Then I join the almighty Bitches just to spend months playing fucking games for your aggrandizement, only to have you set us up to die on a drunken raid against the real fucking deal? No fucking way.

I’ve been in plenty of scraps.

All of them tomato cans; anything to make you look good online—right? This is different, and you don’t know what you’re doing. I call the shots or I ankle it. Tint crossed her arms. I’m sick of your shit, and I know that you aren’t up for this sober, let alone drunk as a frat girl.

Thanks for emptying your whole fucking knock-off purse on me. Dahlia felt that every cruel thing that Tint said was true; she was a fabrication, and everyone knew it. But she perceived that Tint’s righteous wrath wasn’t directed at her as much as towards the manufactured character that she’d been playing, and Dahlia realized that she was a fool to defend this false persona, protecting it as if it were the most important thing it the world. The creature that Tint despised wasn’t even her, only a thing built by a child; her anger evaporated. Stick with me. She dragged Tint by the arm back to the circle of militants, which had reverted back into a babbling party.

Before we move forward for a scout, let’s talk this through. The only thing we have to gain from this is the pleasure of watching those wads in Gold be humiliated by us Bitches—oh—and me getting my boots kissed. Sergeant—Dahlia looked at her name badge—Tint, is going to relay our tactical strategization. Lieutenant Dahlia invited her to speak with a sweeping wave of her arm.

So, first—we take no chances. Fire and reposition until you’re sure you’re in good cover and don’t move forward unless you’re absolutely sure you can exploit—and do not under any circumstances get pinned down—make sure you have an exit route. If there’s artillery and mortar units in there—and Sectel says there is—and they range you, you’re going to be obliterated, so keep out of sight until we can smoke it up. If they come at us with a drone swarm, form up and retreat back to this position and we’ll bug out ricky-tick—that’s a deal breaker.

Winslow’s and Oban’s faces screwed up as they tried to make sense of all the talk of artillery and drones, and the drunken Bitches went back to talking loudly amongst themselves.

Dahlia hissed, Everyone shut up.

Tint cleared her throat and continued. We’ll come in through the gate eventually, but not until we’ve softened them up and they show their hand. Nular’s Charlie squad will take positions outside the wire left of the main gate, at nine o’clock, up on the crest of that little hill. Tint looked up from her device and pointed into the darkness. Nular, keep stealthy and set up near the pin I dropped. You’re going to anchor this whole assault, so get your squad squared away. Tint looked around, Sabitini—position Alpha squad at twelve o’clock, behind the rear gate. You’ll need to hump all the way through C-squad’s position and then find cover in the rocks beyond. Contour lines show an elevation of forty feet above the compound, same as Nular, so if you can find good sight lines you got something to work with. Make sure you bring plenty of ammo to feed the pig.

Tint reached into a little gathering and pulled out a petite corporal, towing her by the headgear on her helmet. Lin—take your squad and work up into the hill to cover C-squad’s right flank. Your job—when ordered to do so—is to creep in as close as you can to the compound, close enough that Mechs won’t have time to shoot down your rockets, but not so close you can’t fire over the fence. If you can get into a good position just stay concealed until the time is optimal. Patterson—Delta squad will stay in reserve back with command. If all goes according to plan and we can reduce them to nothing from outside the wire, then we’ll blow the gate and set charges on the tower.

Dahlia said, Did everyone get that? There was a chorus of ayes. Load up on all the frags and smoke grenades that you can hump. We have no EMPs at all, so forget it. We’ll hit their sensors first and then any indirect fire Mechs. If we have to, we want to be able to retreat cleanly and not get bombarded if they get eyes on us. Be listening for target assignments.

Winslow and Oban exchanged confused and worried looks as it began to sound more like a war than a party, and they felt a little underdressed for the occasion.

Tint continued with the battle orders, Sabitini, when your squad is in position at the rear of the compound, open up with the SAW. But use fire discipline, we may not be able to get any ammo to you. If we lose communication, it’s a blue flare retreat—any casualties, pop a blue loom. Charlie and Bravo squads—don’t let any Mechs get out the rear gate and roll at Alpha, or they’ll be pinned down, cut off, and butchered. This is a zero-casualty raid so don’t stick your necks out. We shouldn’t even be here. Tint looked directly at Dahlia.

Dahlia looked aggrieved. Hey! We’re Bitch Battalion and we’re hard chargers. You males here, keep to cover, and if you shift, move fast, that’s how we do it. If you’re not fast, you’ll get stranded, and we don’t backtrack for dicks. Pick your jack of choice and a Bitch buddy. Dahlia faced Tint. Ace job—battlefield promotion—boom! Dahlia made a hand explosion.

Oban was now wide-eyed and well informed of the current situation and as a result was covered in a sheen of sweat. I don’t understand what she said—at all!

Winslow turned in circles looking for Mitzi. What do we do? I don’t have a communicator. What’s a defilade? I don’t know what to do!

Mitzi and Shar plied Winslow and Oban with armloads of gear. Don’t worry, just stay with me. I’m your Bitch buddy. She batted her eyes.

I don’t have a Bitch buddy. Oban rubbed his hands together nervously.

Shar, take this hunk, would you?

Shar laughed. Oh shit, no.

Oban pleaded, Please!

Where’s your jack?

I can’t jack.

Your weapon, ya nozzle.

I can’t…I mean, how do you even work it? I have no idea what’s going on. Should we go back to the trucks, or hide somewhere? I really think that maybe that would be for the best, all things considered. Oban tried to smile but botched it with a quivering lip.

You’re safer with us. Here—load up with these. Mitzi handed Winslow an open crate of grenades.

Winslow stared into the crate. What are these?

Shar chuckled. You guys are so funny. She passed Oban a heavy bag, some belts of ammunition, and a rocket launcher. You’re a Pack-Mech now. Shar looked at Oban, appraising him. Don’t mess up because I am not sticking my neck out for you.

Alright. Okay—I can do this. Oban took deep tactical breaths.

Then it’s on. Shar stepped behind him, grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face the desired direction. Move. She followed three steps behind him. I’ll be standing right behind you the whole time—so don’t worry.

Lanky Private Younger knocked on the door of Lydia’s trailer. Captain Koda the colonel needs you.

Lydia opened the door and then turned back around to pull on her jacket, What’s up? Are we mobilizing? Her hair was piled up in a massive tangle.

No sir, it sounds like the Bitches are headed out to stir things up with Mega-Corp. They just blew through Gold’s northern checkpoint.

Well, I don’t give a damn. Let Gold handle them.

It gets worse. You need to see the colonel.

They walked through the circus towards the command vehicle which stood with its door open and light spilling out. Lydia walked in with Younger following her.

What now?

It’s those goddamn Bitches! They’re on a pissed-up tower raid in Mega-Corp country—and in a shitty little twist—Mega-Corp is now owned by Monger.

When did this happen? Monger owns Mega-Corp? Right at our front door? Lucky that we have a ceasefire!

The ninety-nineth has no idea what they’re getting themselves into—stop them before they embroil themselves.

What are they thinking? Are they all smashed or what?

In this order: they flipped the guard house the bird—threw in a smoke grenade—and then mooned them. So yeah, they’re piss drunk. Get a platoon together, find them, taze the living shit out of them, and detain them. Then give Lieutenant Bohica the same treatment.

Colonel Levy flopped back into a lying position on his couch and stared at the ceiling with his arm across his forehead—already his hangover had started.

The dismounted Bitch squads crept closer to the tower, stalking along the verges of the gravel road that ran towards the front gate of the compound in a long, gradual curve. The half-obscured facility was brightly illuminated by high intensity lights mounted on the three-hundred-foot steel tower that brutally dominated the gentle coastal mountaintop. The compound surrounding the tower sat upon the only level piece of land on the hill, enclosed on three sides by steep rock outcroppings that sloped up and away into mossy, undulating oak meadows that continued on forever.

After walking for five minutes towards the tower Charlie squad split off from the platoon and abandoned the road to work their way uphill through the black forest towards their designated position. Corporal Nular laughed. Oh man, this is crazy. She closed her highly dilated eyes and bounced to the music in her head. I could go for some fries. When we get back to town—fries. Okay—who’s on point? Nular seemed pained with the cognitive load of making decisions, but then her eyes narrowed. Shar, you twat. Because of your drink stealing behavior—take point.

Well—that’s chicken-shit.

Corporal Nular said, Wait—how wasted are you?

I’m alright. Shar reached for the headgear on her helmet but grasped at air. She rolled her eyes upwards looking for it and then made a second failed attempt.

Good—which way? Nular reached over and slapped Shar’s goggles into position for her.

Shar shook her head in disgust at Nular’s disorientation and rolled her eyes under her goggles. She gestured at her communicator then pointed in one direction, looked again, turned around and then pointed in another direction. She leaned heavily, listing suddenly towards the direction she was pointing until Nular grabbed her by a bandolier of ammunition. Winslow and Oban followed behind, fumbling with armloads of equipment, trying to manage the heavy load they’d been burdened with.

Corporal Nular waved her arm over her head, signaling the squad to move forward. Diamond formation—cause diamonds are a girl’s best friend.

The six-person squad moved towards the lights of the tower visible through the trees, tramping up into an uneven hillside covered in thick patches of broom bush and tall arbutus trees. The illuminated top half of the tower was visible from their position, but they would have to crest the low hill in front of them before they could get a line of sight on the compound.

Private Sally, still mad at men in general after Sergeant Olson’s instigation at the tavern, sidled up to Corporal Nular. We should get those dicks on point not Shar. Why is Shar out there?

Corporal Nular stopped in her tracks as Shar bumbled ahead and straight into an easily avoidable patch of brambles. Sal, you’re sooo smart. Corporal Nular made a pouty face and tilted her head at Sally. Shar, come back.

Shar spun her leg around mid-air to reverse course and then fought to disentangle herself from the thorn covered leaders of the blackberry bush.

Sally looked back at Oban. You—City guy. You look so strong! You must work out. Right?

Oban smiled and approached Sally. No actually, genetics mostly, I often—

She plopped night vision goggles onto his head and roughly attempted to adjust the fit. You’re on point.

What do I do? What am I looking for? Is this dangerous?

Shar put her hand on his shoulder, and she held her finger pointed at his nose. Nooooo. Do you think we would endanger you? Just walk in front, you don’t need to do anything. If you see anything just hold your fist up—like this.

Everyone behind her, except for Winslow, froze.

Mitzie shook her head, and stripping some of the heavy gear off Oban she said, Shar is inebriated. If you see anything, just drop.

Oban pleaded, See what? I mean, what am I looking for here? What am I going to see?

Winslow grabbed Mitzi’s elbow. Hey, I’m going with Oban.

What? Mitzi moved in close and put her hand on Winslow’s chest. Oh no, no, no, just stay with me. I feel safer with you by my side. Mitzi moved her hand onto Winslow’s shoulder, directed him forward, and followed three steps behind him as the squad moved forward into the forest.

Oban provided a running commentary on the astounding, and to him surprising, capabilities of the headgear in a low visibility environment, spending a lot of his time explaining that nobody would believe it. Then he saw how many more stars could be seen with the night-vision goggles and he was distracted and a little unhinged until they reached the summit of the hill, when the full tower came into view and Shar dragged him down into concealment.

The compound was brightly illuminated by the tower that loomed over it, and the tower itself reached into the darkness far above the height of its brilliant lights. The only evidence of its tremendous height was a single flashing red light far above them. The compound enclosing the tower was delimited by an eight-foot-tall chain link fence topped with concertina razor wire that ran around all four sides and was only interrupted in the front and back by closed, rolling gates of a similar construction. A gravel border about three yards wide surrounded the compound just inside of the fence perimeter, and a similar gravel roadway traced the outside perimeter, providing an obstruction-free field of fire around the entire place. There would be no defensive cover for the Bitches once past the rock and brush that spilled down onto the gravel clearing from the surrounding low hillsides.

Adjacent to the base of the tower was a concrete structure with the curving roof of an anti-missile bunker, it had no windows and deeply recessed, blast-proof doors. From Charlie squad’s position behind the rock outcropping, it could be seen that there was a large fuel storage tank and generator building, and two garage sized cinder-block out-buildings. To the left of the gated front entrance there was a low, small, concrete bunker that faced down the access road, and just beside the bunker were two temporary work trailers on cribbing next to some parked work trucks and heavy equipment. Charlie squad sheltered just behind the outcropping and looked down on the compound.

Nular said to Oban, Hey shut off your head gear, they’ll zero right in on that and blow yer head off.

Shar chuckled. Oh yeah—forget to tell you. She crawled forward, beyond Oban and Nular, slinking over a grassy hump until she had a clear view down to the chain link fence that ran to their left fifty yards towards the back gate and fifty yards to their right towards the front gate. She kept herself plastered to the ground and didn’t move a blade of grass as she worked her way back to drop behind cover again.

Their position is so fubar! We can actually do this, I think.

Nular grimaced. We don’t really know what’s in there though, do we? Good ground for shells back here though, soft, not too rocky. Nular paused to listen and then said, Sabitini.

The five Alpha squad Bitches were moving in a low crouch and hardly visible, but they could be heard twenty yards behind the position as they hung up on branches and their equipment banged off of rocks. Before long A-squad had moved beyond them and into the night with only a couple of empty beer cans to show where they had passed invisibly, a stone’s throw from the perimeter fence.

When Sabitini’s Alpha squad arrived at their positions, they lay prone just behind the forward slope of a rock face looking down into the rear of the quiet and seemingly abandoned compound. Sabitini army-crawled along the thin line of her squad-mates, checking on the squad automatic weapon, which was already set on its bipod atop a moss-covered lip of the little hill, poking through the gap in a big slab of granite. From their firing position the SAW gunner had a view of the entire compound with the exception of the far side of the bunkers and outbuildings, and an unobstructed field of fire across the back side of the compound with the exception of two concrete protected positions. Sabitini resented the solid defensive parapets constructed at three corners of the facility. The far corner south of the gate was still nothing but an excavated trench, and Sabitini wished they could have set up opposite that corner and exploited the vulnerability. It was a mistake by the platoon leader; they should have reconnoitered it.

The tower’s corner defensive positions were standard chest-high concrete walls a yard thick and ten yards long. Shaped like a chevron, they inclined backwards and were intended to provide protected firing positions for the tower’s defenders. Sabitini was relieved to have equally good protection behind the slope that they were perched on, and it attenuated her long-standing fear of fighting outside of the gun-truck to a degree. The more that she saw, the more Sabitini was tempted by the compound. It was situated in an ill-considered position, one that could be safely fired down into from three sides with almost full cover for the attackers. The only commanding field of fire the enemy had was at the front side of the compound where they could shoot straight down the road a hundred yards. It was going to be tough to take the front gate with the ample defensive cover of the firing position situated to the left of it, and the low bunker that sat to the right, ten yards inside the double gates.

Sabitini turned to her right, and her goggles picked up the heat signatures of heads that were supposed to be concealed on the low cut to her right. Two men without helmets or body armor. Sabitini could see that it was a good place for Charlie squad to be positioned. It would hard for Assault-Mechs to negotiate up the hillside. A sortie of Mechs would need to pass through the front gate and into the sites of Delta squad down the road, or out the rear gate and into the fire of her squad. If they sallied out the rear gate to attack, they would have to follow the wide graveled drive that encircled the fence, taking fire from three positions, and then scramble up to the reverse slope that concealed the attackers of C-squad. The incline was steep and loose, no Mech would make it up there quickly, if at all.

Sabitini wasn’t as confident in her position at the rear of the compound as she was with Nular’s. They had good protection from any direct fire from the compound, but on both of their flanks the little rock hill they had situated themselves on petered out, spilling to the same level ground that the compound sat on. Legged, tracked, or even wheeled robots could easily traverse it, quickly hook around, and come in right behind them on either side. It was a protected position, but as Tint had said, it was a precarious position; if anything came out the rear gate that they couldn’t stop in its tracks, they would have to fall back quickly.

Sabitini crawled backwards through the brush and grass on the hill, making certain that she wasn’t sky-lining her silhouette to any sensors, and when she was concealed, she rolled on to her ass and pulled her goggles back on to view the terrain that rolled away behind their position. It was undulating ground, scattered with boulders, fallen trees, and outcroppings of bedrock; there was excellent cover everywhere. Sabitini could feel her fear and dread making way to desire; this was a doable mission and could be her tenth demolished tower. Finally—and unexpectedly—she might level up tonight. Adrenaline diluted the alcohol in her blood; its fog was lessened, and her mind sharpened as she crawled beside the gunner who was staring down the open sights of the SAW. To her right the grenadier waited, sorting her bags of goodies. And five yards away, to the left of the squad automatic team, two rifleists watched through scopes, and a pair of rocket launchers and bag of rockets sat a little to their rear, ready for use.

They waited until Dahlia broke the silence on the comms. Alpha, open fire.

Being drunk, the jumpy gunner reacted without waiting for Sabitini’s order. In spite of a boozy handicap, the gunner’s machine-gun fire was so accurate that only two tracers from her long burst sailed past the target: a sensor array mounted on top of the main building. The targeted array danced violently as heavy slugs crashed into it until it disintegrated and the sparking, smoking pieces of the destroyed transmitters and receivers crashed down onto the roof of the building.

High above the compound all the spotlights on the tower turned off simultaneously, and the only thing that was left visible to the militants was the sputtering orange fire of the sensor array. The Alpha squad grenadier launched an illumination flare high above the compound, and it slowly drifted downwards, the brilliant flickering light revealing no movement or activity. Sabitini wondered if the facility was abandoned, but a second sustained burst from the squad’s automatic into the fuel storage tanks, and the resultant thundering fireball, was enough to flush a half dozen people from their sleeping quarters in the trailers, and they ran half-dressed towards the bunker near the front gate.

Outside the front gate, from a ditch that ran along the outside corner of the access road, Dahlia watched through binoculars while the technicians scrambled for protection in the pulsing glow of the fuel fire that burned furiously after the initial fireball. She knew that A-squad didn’t have a line of sight to her side of the compound and couldn’t see the trailers and bunker, so she spoke to the platoon through her radio. Alpha cease fire until the meat gets to cover.

The last worker stumbled into the bunker, and after a fearful look around to see what they were up against, closed the steel door. As soon as the workers were secured in the bunker one of the large, reinforced doors on the main bunker facing C-squad’s hidden position slid open. From the darkness of the interior two Assault-Mechs—tall, chunky, multi-gunned Palookas—sprung out and sprinted to the defensive rampart situated in the rear corner of the compound between Alpha and Charlie’s positions. C-squad promptly opened fire on the fast-moving Mechs, and sparking ricochets lit up their top plates while spouts of dust followed their path until they squatted down behind the cover of the parapet as it too erupted in ricochets and cratering bullet hits. Both of the Mechs’ periscopes peeked up, scanning in all directions, and then their light machine-guns popped up to fire short aimless bursts over the top of the concrete walls.

From the main fortification, drones launched from hangar ports and sped off in opposite directions. In response, the Alpha grenadier threw their own drone into the air, which then flew off in pursuit. She then picked up her grenade launcher and shot three smoke grenades into the compound towards the two sheltering Assault-Mechs. Two of the grenades were shot out of the air and flew off target before they had made it even halfway, but one landed a few yards behind the Assault-Mechs and began to billow blue smoke. The frustrated Mechs really wanted to pick it up and throw it back and sorely lamented being mere basic models and un-equipped with graspers.

On the main building the large door slid open for a second time, and a mini-bus sized Heavy-Mech rolled out, and after kicking up a cloud of dust in a hard right turn accelerated towards the rear of the compound. Tubes emanating from gaps in