Raiders (29 page)

The entire camp erupted to life. Everywhere people asked and wondered what was going on.
“Raiders?” “Should we shoot at them?” “Who are they?”
Some asked who had never seen a living airship before. There were no answers for the moment.

And then ships came into view although they were miniscule specks against the blue and orange early evening sky. They serenely floated in and drew close enough to the camp that they could be identified. These could only be the great platform ships. There were three of them, each over two hundred meters long and with twin fuselages that suspended a large platform amidst them.

Polar City Six had five of them. They used the monster airships to transport supplies and people between the Cities. Polar City Three was purposely built en route to the other Cities but it was not home to any of these craft, although they had a landing site for them just outside Gate Two. The airships came and went once every three months as they made their way across the Arctic northlands, east to west and back again. For one hundred and fifty years there were no hydrogen based dirigibles in the skies since the great Hindenburg tragedy of 1937.

It wasn’t until two technical advances came to light that the great airships took to the air once more. The first was the invention of the special solar film that superheated the hydrogen to over two hundred degrees Celsius. The hot hydrogen was infinitely safer, it’s upper flammability limit beyond the reach of flame. You could stand in the middle of an airship’s envelope with a lighter and it would never ignite with the provision that you were impervious to the two-hundred and thirty degree Celsius gas.

The second invention was the advancement in lithium-aluminum alloys which were highly resistant to hydrogen exposure degradation and would not soften under high internal heat.

The airships quietly hovered down to the campsite. It wasn’t difficult for them to spot several thousand people on a forested hillside from the air. They floated close enough that the Personal Assistant bands would work from one to another. A voice from the leader ship said, “Help us anchor down! We’re gonna throw out some lines, they need to be tied!”

A few Officers on the ground guided the ships as they eclipsed the campsite of direct sunlight toward a field not far from the camp. The engineers suggested that they sledgehammer three or four inter-spaced stakes per line and lash them together for added purchase. It went quickly. Workers and soldiers both followed the directions and drove in thirty mooring points for the ships, more than enough to keep them tacked to the earth.

When the airships were safely tied down they rolled large ramps from the platforms which met the ground with a low toned
ba-thwwoom
. Troops marched down the ramp in rows of ten abreast. They smiled and mingled with the lost and desperate refugees of the fallen Polar City.

General Berg walked up while he stared at the twin bodies of the lead ship. On its side, a painted dragon violently blew fire toward the craft’s nose. Below the dragon were the words that announced its manufacture's origin,
Aeroscraft WSB-4990-D
.

An officer walked down the ramp alongside his soldiers and recognized Berg immediately. It was General Bjørg Christie. Christie produced a cigar, bit the end off and then lit it. After a generous puff, “So Otto, I hear you lost your city.”

General Berg burst out in a laugh. Despite the gravity of the current state of things he couldn’t help himself. He raised his eyebrows and looked back to the distant Wall. “Yeah, looks that way Bjørg. How did you know? We’ve been trying to raise you on the shortwave radios for weeks.”

“Shortwave? Never heard of it,” Christie said. “Wait, that’s an old type of radio, yah? No gravity waves just something else they used to use back whenever.”

“Right. They called them, eh, just radio waves I think,” Berg responded. “I don’t know. Not important though.”

“Hah! They sure named it on the money back then, didn’t they? Well, I don’t know about any shortwaves but we recorded a distress call from you.”

“On what?”

“They said it was neutrino so I suppose, well, a neutrino radio. Name Aurelia was tagged so we guessed that was the operator,” Christie said.

“I’ll be damned,” Berg said.

“What?” Christie asked.

“Oh nothing.” Berg held up his palm. “I can’t believe you came though. I mean Bjørg, just look at you!” He grabbed Christie’s shoulders. “I don’t think my brain’s even registering that you’re standing right here in front of me!”

“Well here I am,” Christie smiled and responded. “So what are we lookin’ at? Fill me in.”

“Raiders. From Reso. They overtook us with Coilguns. Figured out how to mass fabricate the damn things.” Berg pointed his pipe stem toward one of the derelict Auto Turrets in the distance. “Took out all our defenses like they were toys. Lost over half my troops.”

“How the hell did you end up out here?” Christie asked with a short laugh.

“We fell back to our failsafe keep down on Level Seven. Escaped through the airvents and here we are.”

“Those Coilguns are gonna be a problem,” Christie said.

“Tell me about it,” Berg responded.

General Christie looked around the sky. “They had drones?”

Berg responded, “Yes, some but they aren’t flying any more. My guess is that they had no need to keep them airborne. So we’re lucky in that regard.”

“Did you manage to capture any of them?” Christie asked.

“One. She’s with us now though.” Berg said.

“
She?
Huh. That’s interesting. Where is
she
?”

“Around here somewhere. Why?” Berg scratched his head and puffed on his pipe. “You want to meet her?”

“Of course I want to meet her Otto. Don’t be silly. Where’s this Raider of yours,” Christie said.

“We’ll find her, follow me.” The two Generals walked around the campsite for ten minutes until they found Kama. She sat in a semicircle with her friends. “Kama, I want you to meet General Christie from Polar City Six.”

Kama turned around and stood up. She was a good six inches taller than Christie. She took off her battle headgear and her banded hair fell to her left side. “Hello,” she said.

“And hello right back!” Christie responded with a slight snort. “Well look at you! You look like a friggin' model! What was your role with the Raiders? Morale booster or somethin’?”

Kama sternly looked at Christie. “Jia Ting. I was reconnaissance. Surveyor. I was a Chosen before. And they’re not
my
Raiders.”

General Christie laughed. “A Chosen? Chosen for what?”

Kama paused for a moment in silence. She said, “Is it important to you?”

Christie laughed again. “I suppose not darling.”

Berg interrupted the conversation. “Kama was drafted into their elite leader circle as a companion. She’s a fifth generation descendant of the genetically modified hybrids from the Old World.”

“Ooh, a hybrid huh,” Christie said with raised eyebrows and grabbed Kama’s right upper arm. Her arm felt as if it were formed of an otherworldly steel to Christie’s touch. Kama did not move but stared at the General without emotion. “Never met one before. Impressed.”

General Berg said, “Kama General Christie wants to pick your brain a little. What do you think we can expect when we go back into the City?”

“What do you mean?” Kama asked.

“What I mean is, do you think they will have their troops guarding the Gates? What would your best guess be as far as what they are doing in there?” Berg asked.

Kama replied, “General, I really don’t know. On instinct I would say that they are not. They never guarded Reso’s entryways because there was never a need. They probably haven't changed their ways. I don’t know. That’s my guess, though.”

General Christie looked at Kama square on and said, “My dear it’s been a pleasure. Great to have you on our side.” Kama did not respond but nodded with a hint of reserve in her eyes. Julian and Aurelia dutifully saluted. Mirabella and Calliope nervously smiled at them.

The two Generals walked until they were just outside the camp compound. General Berg stopped and said, “Thanks for coming Bjørg. You have no idea how good it is to see you.”

General Christie smiled and laughed. “Oh Otto. How could I not come to help?” And then she kissed him on the cheek, scrunched his shoulders with her hands then looked back to the Wall in the distance. The sun was nearly set. It cast an orange-red light over everything.

“Okay,” she said while she looked at him with a smile. “Let’s go get your City back.”

“Deployed a drone to Gate One, they set mines up against it ma’am,” Major Krava spoke into his Personal Assistant band while he ducked behind a large felled tree trunk almost a meter in diameter. “Check your band, I’m sendin’ the telemetry intel.”

“Thanks Major,” General Christie replied via her Assistant band on her arm. She looked at the band’s flexible soft display. A small wire-framed visual of the Gate entrance glowed on its face. It showed the detected enemy positions and ordnance estimates including their potential cones of engagement.

Berg said, “Not a lot there except the mines and twenty or so Raiders.”

“If most of them are inside, we’re gonna have to squeeze 'em from the ends,” Bjørg responded.

“Was thinking the same,” Berg said. “I’ll take Gate Six, you take One. We’ll meet in the middle.”

“Works for me. I’ll send three Stingrays and half my Division with you.” Bjørg spoke into her Assistant band. “Attention all hands this is the general speaking. Move to Gate One, space your units out so we avoid detect. Go wide around the Wall. Waypoints should be painted on your HUDs.”

The men and women soldiers of Polar City Six split into two groups of seven thousand each. Despite the large numbers they deployed themselves with impressive fluidity, almost as if they rehearsed the maneuvers before they left. The remnant of survivors from Polar City Three still able to fight were issued new battle rifles and fresh battle-gear that was stowed aboard the third Airship.

After two hours everyone was geared up and battle ready. The gear did not fit well for some as Quartermasters issued them with haste, but it was better than nothing. There wasn’t much time to tally with size discrepancies. Every second was one more chance that they might be detected outside the City and their offensive advantage would be lost.

“Ammo’s the same as ours,” Julian said while he loaded rounds into his rifle’s spare magazine. “Shit I had three rounds left.”

“I was ‘bout empty too,” Aurelia responded. She studied Julian while he loaded the bullets supplied by their newfound friends.
Shhh-click, shhh-click,
Julian couched the rounds into the metal sleeve one by one. “You know,” she said while she squinted against the Sun, “You look so fucking hot right now doing that.”

Julian stopped and looked at her. “Really? Huh,” he said, shrugged and continued on. He never really ever figured out what made her run. She was different, always was. Maybe that’s why he was so attracted to her. Her variability, unpredictable. But she was loyal. There’s nothing quite like having a woman who would fight for you, someone
on your side
, never against, he mused silently. Maybe a little rough around the edges but she’s the genuine thing. Not polished, but honest and sexy in her own way. All the difference in the world, he thought. A beautiful liar was something that she would never be.

Another ninety minutes passed until they were ready. “Set to engage,” General Berg said to Christie via his Assistant band. “Team’s in place. We're ready on your mark.”

“Storm inbound sir,” the meteorology Officer announced to General Berg.

“Shit. How big?” Berg asked.

“It’s an eight sir. Moving fast to the West. Storm flank will reach us in about twelve minutes.” Even as he said this the wind picked up to twenty knots. The air was calm and benign only moments before, the Sun happily shined it’s light down. It was one of the greater storms of the Twenty-Sixth century. Winds would blow in at over two-hundred and fifty knots. They made an old world category five storm from centuries ago feel like a modest squall in comparison. The greater storms could not affect the Polar Cities to any great extent. Outside the City nearly everything alive would soon be pushed and impaled and twisted into a wrecked and ruined soup. As for the blindscrub trees, some would miraculously hang onto the earth if their root bulbs were deep and vested into the rocks and soil line. But they would grow back quickly. They were scraggly and toughened things that were used to the insults. 

Berg said into his Assistant band, “Bjørg we got company. An eight, about ten minutes!”

“I know, my weather guy told me the same,” General Christie responded. She surveyed the field in front of Gate One. She took in a deep breath, exhaled and said, “Stingray fireteam! Engage now!”

The Stingrays were strongly reinforced battle tanks, their hulls wrapped in twenty-two hundred layers of carbonsteel alternated with a chrystalline resin glass, the same material as the glass barrier of Level Seven. The Stingray's hull, like the glass barrier, could only be fabricated in the microgravity of near-earth orbital space. Both were forged on the World Space Station over three hundred years ago at the prohibitive cost of two million Euros per kilogram, the strongest manufactured substance mankind had ever hammered from the earth and her elements below.

The Stingrays were almost comically flat in shape with no windows or ports in evidence. They carried two Assistant-guided guns on their bow and stern respectively. The wheels were not wheels at all but spheres. They were mechanically isolated from the hull. They spun on magnetic induction alone.

“Approaching Gate now ma’am. Blow it!” The Stingray fire team leader said. Special Ordnance soldiers pushed large artillery shells into the mortar tubes. The shells exited with a bottleblown sound,
thwwwwoompp.
The rounds volleyed over the Stingrays and landed smack against the Gate and then exploded. Hardly a sound could be heard inside the Stingrays, only a sprinkled
sssssfffttt
as if someone poured sand over the hulls but that was all. Thirty meters ahead the mortars shrieked as they flew over and roared as they detonated with a thundered, low pitched
kra-booomm
. The soldiers reloaded the mortars.
Thwwwoomp. Kra-boomm. Thwwwooomp. Kra-boooom.