By: Chris Edwards

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Read Part 2 here!

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Right on cue, I felt the vibration of the first rounds caroming off my shield. None of it particularly heavy, but a promise of what was to come. About ten meters from the ground, the thrusters fired again, and we began skimming along above the rolling turquoise dunes. Ahead, the cluster of huge magmetic rails stabbed up into the starry sky, the exterior studded with defenses. I wasn’t focusing on them, more of a distraction than a real threat. There had to be Pact forces guarding the place, and I wanted to know where they were.

Half a klick out, the drones disengaged. I dropped and rolled, moon dust fanning out in a slow-descending arc. My thrusters fired, throwing me forward across the dunes as I unshipped the Ursa. Part of the plan was Vermillion being the big, obvious target, but that didn’t mean I had to sit still and make it easy.

Come out, come out, wherever you are...

Four hectometers out, and still nothing apart from the automated defenses. Time to step up the annoyance factor. The Ursa bucked as I began throwing tight bursts of homing rounds at the turrets, blowing them apart in a series of small, silent explosions.

At around the three-hec mark, I got my wish. And just like in most stories with wishes, I wasn’t happy with what I got.

Regolith and dust showered upwards as a freaking huge Ravelin erupted out of the dirt where it had been buried. I swear it took a moment to shake itself like a dog before unfolding what seemed like dozens of pods and cannons from its back before turning toward me. 

Not that I was just standing around waiting, of course. The second I caught the reactor spike of its activation, I threw myself sideways and just emptied my Firestorm tubes. A zeo that size? I wasn’t going to get any second chances—the only survival option was to overwhelm it and keep it reeling until we could put it down.

The Ravelin jerked as a sun-bright explosion bloomed all around it, the surface simultaneously melting to glass and being blown apart in the shockwave. I caught one last glimpse of it being flipped into the sky and then the entire battlefield was blanketed in dust. The Pact regularly drop these things directly from orbit, so I wasn’t kidding myself it was down. Pretty sure I had its attention, though.

“I will definitely need an assist with this one, boys. Don’t be shy!”

+They’re on their way, Ver. Sensors are struggling with all this dust.+

A sudden stab of pseudo-pain caused me to spin around just in time to see a plume of vaporized material erupting from my shoulder. Most pilots don’t choose that level of feedback, but it keeps me sharp. In the distance I could make out the twinkling scramboots of some cocky little shit repositioning from where they’d been hidden among the launch rails. A clean AZ lance strike that had gone right through the armor. The downside to being the distraction is everyone tends to shoot at you. I flexed the arm—still mobile, but reduced strength. If it got worse, I was going to have to make some very hard choices about keeping a shield or a gun.

I kept moving forwards. As long as I was approaching the facility, they had to keep their focus on me. Ben and Will were the best at what they did, especially when they were letting their coprocessors do their thinking. I just had to give them their shot.

I bounded into the air, breaching the settling cloud, and simply sprayed rounds across the launch rails. I got the satisfaction of watching the sicario desperately throwing himself around as explosive rounds blew apart his cover. These guys are the worst—-paid murderers who’ll commit atrocities for cash. One more example of the Pact’s blatant moral hypocrisy that they’re willing to hire them anyway.

I was almost at the rails by the time the ground shuddered and the Ravelin hauled itself back on its feet. Its outer casing was coated in molten glass, still glowing in the vacuum. Its back was looking decidedly more stubbly than before, but it clearly had plenty of fight left in it. I barely managed to get my shield around in time before twin nanoswarms began hammering at it like a storm of metal hornets. Even with traction grips deployed, the sheer volume of fire began pushing me backwards. Warnings lit up as micro-fractures emerged across the shield’s surface. It was only the point-defenses of my own micro-launchers that stopped the drones from lapping around and hitting me directly. I knew the damn thing could keep sucking up raw materials to make more drones, but my own stocks of micro-missiles were dwindling rapidly. Plus, my back was painting an inviting target for that damn sicario.

Without slowing fire, the Ravelin stomped forwards, clearly extremely pissed and wanting payback. My back was to the launch rails, shield visibly disintegrating under the sustained assault, when Will sprinted from the dust cloud behind the Ravelin and slid underneath it. Smoothly bringing his launcher up, he shot the damn thing right in the belly and was moving again. Its mighty legs juddered and its manipulator arms spasmed as electrical discharges arced across the zeo’s frame. Continuing to fire drone swarms over its shoulder at me, it thumped around to face this new annoyance and warmed up a meson beamer. I could feel the vibrations of the sicario weaseling his way into position for a new shot from the rails above. All in all, things weren’t looking too rosy. 

Until Sutler, legend that she is, bounded out of the chaos and slapped a clamp charge on one of the thing’s legs. It looked quizzically down at the limb before the shaped charge detonated, shearing the leg cleanly off. By this point Will had reloaded his launcher (that eerie quickness) and blitzed it again, right in the sensor dome. The Ravelin toppled over, thrashing around like an animal in pain. And now, finally, the damn drones stopped hammering at me. 

Discarding the ragged remnant of the shield, I raised my Ursa two-handed. Will and Sutler scurried aside as I opened up on the crippled zeoform, hosing it down with an entire box magazine. Incredibly, the damn thing still wasn’t dead. Riddled with holes, fluids and cabling spilling out, it crawled towards me. This pilot! Slapping in a new magazine, I lined up a shot to disable the reactor when William darted in and jammed a grenade into one of the holes in its carapace. The resulting blast still didn’t break that outer shell, but pulped the interior.

I was pissed. “Not necessary. They were no threat.”

“My orders,” Sutler cut in. “We’re not here as Unitas. Officially, we’re not here at all. We leave the site as clean as possible. As far as I’m concerned, that's one less Pact anarchist to shoot at us in future.”

An old argument, and there wasn’t time to have it again. Still, it left a sour taste in my mouth. We’re supposed to be better than that, OBR or not.

“Negative on the sniper, looks like he’s gone to ground inside the facility.” Ben had been out there with his heavy rifle, ready to pick off the sicario if he pushed his luck and made another shot at me. 

“Cover us until we reach the main entrance, then catch up.”