Using his command suite, he checked the ammunition states of his small force. Everything was getting low, and he knew it was going to be close. Soon, the plasma jets would be out of fuel and the machine gun hoppers would be empty, and then they’d be in serious trouble.
Suddenly, it was over. The flank attacks proving futile, the remaining deebees swarmed directly up the hill, clumping together to push through the wall of their dead. It took Jaswant a second to align his rocket pack and fire, and the swarm disappeared as the volley of six rockets detonated amongst them.
The three men sat in their exomechs for a moment, happy to be still alive after the onslaught, and then it was back to the business at hand.
“Hawk, Eagle, report,” Jaswant said quietly.
“Hawk intact,” Agun replied. “Heavy weapons empty, gun ammunition at five percent.”
“Eagle intact,” Kubai added. “Plasma gone, gun ammunition at nine percent.”
“And Crescent Moon intact,” Jaswant said. “Rockets gone, six rounds of cannon left.”
“We’re in no state to fight, father,” Agun said. “We don’t have enough ammunition to fight through to the Graves’ farmstead.”
“I concur,” Jaswant replied. “Let’s head for home.”
Sarah Donaldson was still in tears as she left the farmhouse she and her dead husband had turned into a home. She wanted to race to the battle, hoping beyond all hope that Andy was somehow still alive, but she knew it was less than futile…it would be suicide. Andy hadn’t been able to stay alive in Mariner, she’d have no chance in anything less than a fully-armed exomech.
Racing into the shed, she wheeled out a powerful motorcycle, one of the pair that was always kept fully charged for emergencies. Stuffing her overnight bags into the vehicle’s panniers, she climbed aboard and thumbed the starter switch, kicking the electric motor into life.
She had visited the Graves’ place regularly, and swung the rapidly accelerating bike onto the dirt road that ran towards the neighbouring farmstead, paralleling the Toolong River. She and Andy had always joked about the name, inherited from the initial survey report a century ago, and this time it really did seem ‘too long’.
Ahead was the concrete bridge that Andy’s grandfather had built, the old Donaldson crest on all four of the concrete support pillars. As she approached the bridge her eyes misted over again, thinking about grandchildren of her own that she and Andy would never have.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the rippling surface of the water or the sparkling gleam of alien bodies as they rose from the depths.
Three deebees leapt out of the river just as she pulled onto the bridge, knocking her from the bike and sending her sprawling into one of the concrete pillars. Even if she’d been wearing a helmet, the impact would still have knocked her out and it would have done her no good at all as a swarm of deebees burst out of the river and tore her body to pieces.
She died not even knowing that she was pregnant with Andy’s child.
The three exomechs held the line as best they could, using their long-range guns to slow down the advancing horde as they slowly retreated along the line of hills. Ammunition was quickly becoming an issue though, and they all knew they had fewer rounds than there were deebees.
“Hank, honey?” Beth cut in over the radio.
“Kinda busy, Beth,” Graves replied. “Unless you got news worth hearing, I don’t have much time to chat.”
“I got news, some good, some bad.”
“Start with the good,” Crazy Bill cut in, “I think we could all use some cheering up right now.”
“Okay,” Beth said. “Helen has re-routed some of her drones your way, carrying ammunition drums. “
“That is good news, honey,” Graves said. “I’ll be throwing rocks at them if this lasts much longer.”
“The drones can’t reload for you, only drop the drums close by.”
“That’s fine, honey, drop them close, we’ll do the rest.”
The three pilots switched to manual control and drew closer together as their sensors picked up the incoming drones. There were six, two each, and they were coming in slow and low… clearly, Helen had loaded them with as much as they could bear.
Which was good, they were going to need it all.
“Jake, how’s your ammo state?” Graves asked.
“Almost out of everything that matters,” Wright replied. “I got some close-in stuff left, but was really hoping not to need it.”
“Okay, you reload first, Crazy Bill and I will cover you.”
“Roger that!”
“And get the lead out,” Crazy Bill added. “I’m down to my last rounds as well.”
Carnigore fell out of the line, leaving Brutiful and Grampage to face the horde. Two drones passed over him, dropping heavy drum canisters into the soft ground within a few metres…one struck a rock and burst open, scattering autocannon ammunition everywhere, but the other canisters stayed intact.
One of Carnigore’s saving graces, as he was just learning, was that it had much nimbler hands than your typical exomech. It was relatively easy to pick up a canister, eject an empty one, and reload the canister directly into the waiting drum feeder. ‘Relatively’ still meant that it took him minutes however, and he was out of battle during a time when mere seconds were critical.
Graves was very aware of his rapidly diminishing ammunition supply, and was firing controlled burst of 2–3 rounds each. It was never going to make a dint in the oncoming horde, but killing those in the lead would buy them some time… no idea what for, but maybe the Singh’s would get there in time to rescue the wives and children locked into the Bunker.
Crazy Bill was firing constantly, preferring his own heavy cannon over his lighter autocannon. The high explosive rounds tore clumps out of the enemy and caused some confusion, which helped slow them down a little. Not enough, but everything helped.
“Hank,” he said over the firing, “something just occurred to me.”
“What’s that Bill?” Graves replied, simultaneously firing a burst from his over-sized shotgun into a clump that was just begging to have a spray of tungsten sent its way. “You leave the gas on?”
“No,” Crazy Bill said, chuckling loudly. “That wife of yours, she never gave us the bad news.”
“You’re right,” Graves said. “Beth, honey? You got something else for us?”
“The bad news? You want it now?”
“Sure! What could possibly make anything worse?”
There was a pause, and Graves could hear his wife’s sharp intake of breath.
“It’s the giant gate on the ridgeline… it’s still open.”
The three men in the exomechs paused a moment as that sunk in. Gates always closed after they’d dropped off their load of deebees. Always.
“Well, shit!” Wright said, trying to push the last of his reload canisters into place.
“And then some,” Crazy Bill added.
The three exomechs stood open, family members working quickly to repair and reload them as best as they could, while the three pilots stood around the tactical display in the farmhouse’s security room. The picture looked grim, and they doubted that Graves and the others would last much longer.