[FIC] Chip Off The Old Block, part 2 (Ch. Y+6)
Posted: Sat Feb 21, 2004 3:51 pm
Slipping into an A.S. suit, the erstwhile imposter was glad to be out of that over-starched uniform. He was equally pleased to be strapping on an X-8 rather than a tranquilizer gun. If the mecha was called to action, it would be for a kill or be killed confrontation, not pacification. A smile graced his face when he realizee just how badly he needed to vent his frustrations. To top everything off, that blasted child had made a fool out of him. In front of a superior.
”A kid? What is a kid doing up there?”
The man stopped sliding one arm into the fighting suit. Looking up, he saw a large wooden box fall. He saw a ponderously large man swing a large metal tool at the darting form of a small boy. The boy! The mechanic had missed and the boy had grabbed onto the wrench, used the large man’s momentum, and sent the fool hurling into a row of barrels. Dirty hydraulic fluid rushed across the hangar floor.
“STOP THAT BOY. STOP HIM NOW!!!” His shout startled another A.S. pilot standing near him.
Guards, mechanics, ordinance personnel, all looked up in curiosity. No one made any effort to stop the running boy.
The pilot finished pulling on his suit. “KILL HIM IF YOU HAVE TO. WHATEVER IT TAKES, STOP THAT CHILD!!!” Now running, he admonished himself for being so dramatic. He had to admit to himself that his reactions were the result of anger, and that the anger was a matter of injured pride and the earlier mission limitations.
No one with a gun took the pilot seriously. A loader put down a heavy belt of 30mm projectiles for one X-8’s gatling gun. Picking up a large metal rod, he swung it along the ground in an effort to trip the child. He received one of the greatest shocks of his life. The boy did not simply jump to avoid the rod. He jumped on the rod, ran along its full length, and kicked the startled ordinance man right between the eyes. The man went down hard, dislodging an unlocked canisters of A.S. anti-armor grenades. The large spheres rolled hither and yon across the hangar.
“STOP HIM. STOP HIM YOU IDIOTS” The boy was running towards the prize, the Halberd. Was it a matter of coincidence, or part of a plan? Could the boy be carrying some form of explosive device? Too late, he remembered something he had heard in passing, earlier that day. One of the base personnel had been showing the A.S. to his son. The machine had accidentally activated itself. “DON’T LET HIM REACH THE MITHRIL A.S.!!!” Fools! “ONE HUNDRED EUROS TO THE MAN WHO STOPS HIM.”
The boy ran fast, in a straight line. He jumped through the cab of low slung tractor, switching the vehicle from Neutral into Reverse. Holding onto the large tow cable momentarily, a mechanic was dragged painfully across the hardened cement. He had not finished hooking the cable to the HBD-5.
Shots rang out. Sparks flew off of the Halberd and a number of nearby ordinance bins. The boy slid under the legs of a welder waiting to intercept him. He then lashed out with a nasty punch to the groin on an ordinace chief who had tried to capture him in a large empty sack.
Climbing the recumbent HBD-5, the boy stopped to type numbers into a key pad, bullets ringing of the hull of the craft close by him. The A.S.’s hatch began to open.
“SHIT!” The pilot slid to a halt. He would try a different tact. The Halberd needed to be captured mostly intact. As long as the scientists could plumb its secrets, and the auctioneers had plenty of desirable parts to sell, the mission would be a glowing success. If the mecha had a few holes in it, or was charred here and there? Well, it was better than not getting it at all, right? He ran towards one of the X-8s sporting a large orange flag. Those three machines were the ones that were ready to roll.
One of the other A.S. pilots figured out what he was up to. He ran to another flagged X-8. The other pilots caught on too, racing to see who could reach the third A.S. first.
The mechanics and loaders were too caught up in the confusion and excitement. The other mechas were left only partly prepared for now.
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Father! I remembered the code…..
Moto slid in under the opening hatch. No time to wait. Stretching out his foot, he hit a large red button. At the same time, he flipped the switches that would activate the automatic defense system. To make things work their best, however, he needed to get the A.I. Involved.
He slammed a small fist down on a control lever.
CAUTION. EMERGENCY CLOSE IN THREE SECONDS…TWO…ONE…COMMENCING. A cold mechanical voice. Automatic, but not the A.I.
The hatch fell hard, then locked. A few stray rounds had made it into the cockpit, embedding themselves in the uninflated escape raft dehind the pilot seat.
That was too close. But I’m in. I’m doing what Father told me to do.
Moto watched the signal indicator on the control console. The message system was attempting to reach a Mithril submarine, probably the TDD-2. He hoped someone would answer soon.
The pushing of a button activated the forward view screens. Men were running towards the JSDF Arm Slaves. They were getting in. Even an eight year old had no trouble understanding what was going on.
I hope the automatic systems do SOMETHING.
Moto brought the power system to life. Soon, enough energy was available to stand the HBD-5 up. A series of chimes rang out as lights changed from red to yellow, and from yellow to green. When the last of the flashing green lights stopped blinking on and off, the Halberd announced its readiness.
POWER ON FULL. MOVEMENT GREEN. WEAPONS GREEN. DEFENSIVE SYSTEM POWERED. LAMBDA DRIVER ON STANDBY.
That was good. Very good. He felt as if he had accomplished something. The instructional program had explained the sequence of actions necessary to check on armament levels. He pushed the necessary buttons.
GENERAL DYNAMICS XM-809, EIGHT HUNDRED ROUNDS OF URANIUM DEPLETED AP, NO TRACER. BOFORS PCX-75, 30 ROUNDS AP REMAING, WITH 20 ROUNDS OF HE. TWO HASTA HIGH-SPEED ROCKETS WITH KINETIC WARHEADS. HELLBORE RESERVOIR EMPTY. GRENADES AND MINES DEPLETED. SONIC WEAPON DISABLED.
Well, there was ammunition after all. This wouldn’t just be a game of Keep Away. Moto didn’t know how long that load would last. Should he trust the automatic system? Could it triage intelligently, or might it exhaust the weapons wastefully?
MOVEMENT DETECTED. ARM SLAVES. IFF IDENTIFIES AS X-8S. FRIENDLIES. IS THIS CORRECT?
Moto toggled the switch that would give the 'No' response.
UNDERSTOOD. NOT FRIENDLIES. ONE ENEMY WITHIN DEFENSIVE PERIMETER. ACTIVATING DEFENCES.
The HUD showed a glowing orange crosshairs. The central X centered on the nearest X-8, which was in the process of bringing up its shoulder mounted gatling gun. A loud Whhhiiirrrrrrr sounded, as the HBD-5 brought its own multibarrel gun to life first.
At that range, the automatic aiming system was more than adequate. The opposing A.S. threw off large orange sparks, then shuddered violently. Moments later, a large explosion ripped the X-8 in two, sending up a cloud of greasy black smoke. The head piece and upper torso rolled across the hangar, scattering the anxious onlookers.
The other two pilots were no slouches, Moto soon found out. One ducked behind a large row of equipment cannisters. The other moved quickly sideways, crab style, firing his craft's guided missiles. Two stubby rockest flew towards the Halberd in a blur.
Moving by algorithm, the HBD-5 ducked and rolled, avoiding the missiles---it ended up in a precarious position. The visible X-8 aimed and fired upward, breaking the chains holding heavy lifting equiment. The resultant rain of large metal parts sent a large noise throughout Moto's cockpit and impeded the movement of his machine.
The light for the gatling gun flashed on the console. "No!" Moto hit the button for manual control. He did not want to waste any ammunition. This was not all that different from some of the video games he played with Father's permission, under the baleful gaze of his mother. There were no Power Ups available. The XM-809 could not hit any opponent from this position.
It was up to him.
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The pilot cursed. In three different languages.
That boy was quick. No. in all likelihood, the initial movements had been automatic. Still, the child had needed the presence of mind to activate the system. As a result, one X-8 lay fragmented on the floor. Another, by excellent planning, was performing a flanking movement under the control of its pilot. The other X-8s lay fallow, the distracted assholes on the start-up team too befuddled to get back to prep work.
Let’s see how fast the system can react. He launched two missiles, pitifully slow compared to the weapons he had used on more advanced Arm Slaves. They missed. Not too much of a surprise. The machine had evaded the Pawns, but had put itself in a situation where it was in serious danger of being check-mated. Looking around the room, he knew just what to do.
The huge metal rafters held miles of chains, hooks, claws, electromagnets, and operator cabins. Some of those could be brought crashing down with a few well-placed shots. He did so, watching the resultant downpour with a large grin. Crying for Daddy yet, little boy?
Movement caught his eye. Someone had set the hangar doors in motion, intending to trap the Halberd inside. Not a bad idea, but they still needed to get the damn thing outside whem the helicopter arrived. That should be any minute now. They couldn’t afford too much of a delay.
Finally, mechanics and loaders were running to the remaining X-8s. About f@cking time! And, someone was actually using his or her brain. A crane truck with a powerful looking electromagnet was heading towards the fallen HBD-5. It wasn’t strong enough to lift the A.S. itself, but it could help remove the refuse when necessary, or might even be able to impeded the movement of the boy’s machine if he somehow managed to get it back on its feet.
“But why take any chances? Time is of the essence. No one can fault me for wanting to be sure.” He hit the switch for the gatling gun. Ammunition was fed into the weapon. Placing his aiming reticule on the target, he opened fire.
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Moto fought to keep his calm. Too many things were happening at once. One enemy blew up. Another ran out of sight. The third had missed with missiles, but cleverly brought the ceiling down. Mother, I remember the story about Chicken Little. The sky really IS falling! He noted on a side viewer that the big doors were slowly closing. Men were hurrying about their work. The approaching X-8 was bringing its gatling gun around.
“Urzu-7, this is D-2 com do you read.” The communications system, had come to life. The message had gotten through.
“Hello. This is Miyamoto Sagara. The Halberd is being stolen. We are in combat.” Moto could not pay to much attention to the conversation. He needed to get the HBD-5 moving before it was brought under further fire.
“Is this a joke? You are on an official line. The consequences for any horseplay will be severe! Identify….” The man on the other end of the com system stopped to listen, startled by a series of loud cracks and spangs.
“No…..time…..” was all that Moto spat out as the HBD-5 shuddered. Deep gouges were cut into the areas of the Halberd he could see on the view screens. A button caught his eye. It was a drastic ploy. But, this was a drastic situation. He brought his hand down.
The rocket assist device fired. It was fully charged. The HBD-5 shook, stationery. Then, slowly, it inched forward. Metal was melting, and the cockpit was growing warm, but restraining junk was falling away from the craft. Suddenly, without warning, the Halberd was sent sliding across the floor, aimed directly at the firing enemy machine. The rockets gave out just a moment after impact.
“What is the situation. Report. Special Response Teams have been notified. If this is a hoax….”
Moto ignored the speaker. If he had been Uncle Kurz, the next words from his lips would be something on the order of Hoax my ASS!!! He cringed, thinking what Aunt Melissa might say.
He actually cheered as the HBD-5 slid across the floor. Running up against the X-8, he had a momentary reprieve. What should he do now.
“A.I.? Can you hear me A.I.?” No response.
“The A.I. Will respond to specific personnel only. You NEED to make a report, young man. What is the situation?” The voice was growing angry, but the tone spoke of great fear too.
“Got…to…think………..fighting………hijack.” That was all the answer Moto was going to give now. Yes. Just like in one of my wrestling games. He swung his arms around, the A.S. waldos transmitting his movements to the machine. The Halberd grasped the X-8 and pulled it off of its feet.
A proximity alarm sounded. The third X-8 had stepped into view.
I hope the pilot holds his fire. His comrade is right next to me. And, what is that truck trying to do?
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Sousuke was slow in regaining consciousness. But, anyone else would have been under a fair bit longer. By good fortune, he had a partial resistance to the anesthetizing agent used.
Groggy, he realized that he was bound hand and foot. He was gagged. The tight quarters he found himself in were entirely dark.
What was going on?
Where was Moto?
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“You little Son of a Bitch!” The pilot was very angry. The warning light on the outside of the HBD-5 had gone out---no longer on automatic, the craft must be under the control of that little whelp. “You think holding me here, in the line of fire, will keep you safe? Watch how a real pilot thinks.
He pulled a lever, exploding the bolts on top of the X-8. Uncovering the button on the top of that same lever, he pushed it. The pilot’s seat was ejected, but the pilot was not strapped in. Flipping in mid air, he landed on a large pile of canvas as the seat went on to crash against the far wall. “This ain’t make believe, you little worm!”
Laughing, he watched his fellow pilot open up with his gatling gun. Smoke partially hid the firing X-8. Stinging death ripped huge chunks out of the floor, as the stream of bullets made its way towards the Halberd. “Nighty night! Oh, but mama never had a chance to tuck you in!” He sat down. No need to jump in another one of the near ready Arm Slaves.
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“No! I WON’T let my Father down. I…WILL…NOT…” Moto’s shout caught him by surprise. He had the HBD-5 moving, but there was no way to avoid that hellish gunfire.
Blue light flickered on in the cockpit. The screens changed color, and a panel opened.
IMMEDIATE LAMBDA DRIVER START-UP, 25% STRENGTH SHIELDING AVAILABLE. LINK ESTABLISHED. AWAITING COMMANDS.
The digital readout showed the Lambda units progress, as the shields grew in intensity. The stinging metal bees from the opposing Arm Slave bounced harmlessly off of the glowing nimbus.
“My turn!” Moto’s intentions sped far ahead of his actually planning. What should he use? Looking at the closed hangar doors, he realized that he might need to find a way to cut through them. “Hello, A.I.?” He hoped the thing would respond and form an effective team with him.
A.I. OPERATIONAL. PILOT’S BRAIN WAVE PATTERN ANALYZED AND RECOGNIZED. AWAITING COMMANDS.
“A.I., do we have a monomolecular cutter?”
AFFIRMATIVE. DO YOU WISH TO EMPLOY IT? THE BUTTON IS HIGHLIGHTED
True to the A.I.’s statement, one of the weapons buttons was surrounded by a halo of green light. Moto pushed it. Watching the 3-D A.S. representation on the HUD, he saw the spectral Halberd place its Portable cannon in its holster, grabbing a long oblong shape.
CUTTER SECURE AND OPERATIONAL. SELECT APPROPRIATE TORQUE AND ROTATIONAL SPEED.
Uh oh. Moto had no idea what values to select. “A.I., select values appropriate to cutting through a JSDF Arm Slave, X-8 model. Do it now.”
VALUES SET.
Moto moved his arms and legs appropriately, pushing the HBD-5 into a low crouching run. The cutter was held off to the side, like a buzzing wing of death. Backing away, the enemy fired until its gatling gun spun empty. Missiles were launched, with no greater effect. As the pilot wheeled his craft, ready to run for his life, the Mithril A.S. struck.
Moto jerked in his seat as the blades fought to grab hold. Soon sparks obscured his view as a terrible sound of metal tearing metal filled his ears.
INCREASING POWER RATIO.
Just as the sparks diminished, the resistance dropped considerably. The madly spinning device had passed through the hollow center of the X-8. Brown-orange hydraulic fluid spurted every which way. A small but eye-catching splotch of red stood out in stark contrast.
Blood. Moto bit his lip. Blood. Human blood. From a man that was just torn asunder. By him. He shivered, the full weight of his action falling on him all at once. This was no a heroic dream. This was not a cold and detached video game. A man is dead. ANOTHER man is dead. His head spun fiercely. He felt as if he were going to pass out. He rolled up into a tight ball. The Arm Slave sat down, its arms hanging limp at its side.
The blue lighting went out. The panel closed.
“A.I.? A.I., are you there? Don’t leave me alone, A.I.” Tears were streaming down from Moto’s eyes, even though he did not recognize a feeling of sadness. “Father. Where are you, Father?”
“Miyamoto Sagara, do you read? Over. Repeat, do you copy, Miyamoto Sagara?” The voice on the com system was back, insistent.
“Y-Y-Yes, Sir.” Moto watched as a strange looking truck headed in his direction, a large boom extending to full length. A huge disc was swinging at the end of the structure. On other screens, more X-8s were standing up from their resting crouches. “I….I….must fight again…..” Moto’s voice had a strange warble to it.
“Listen closely, young man. For now, you are Urzu-7. I presume you are Major Sagara’s boy?” The voice was stern, but a touch of kindness had made it seem less imposing.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well Urzu-7, I am Commander Phillips, acting captain of the TDD-2. We have been watching your video feeds, so I have an idea of what you are trying to accomplish. If you reach a safe place, do not worry about abandoning the Halberd. We will destroy it on the ground, if necessary. We will blow it out of the sky if the enemy helicopter somehow manages to take it airborne. Your actions have alerted us in time. Good work, son.”
Moto watched the view screen, frozen. For some reason, he had to fight to move his limbs. A large CLAAANNNGGG sounded, as the HBD-5 lurched forward. That’s a magnet! Men were hauling hooked cables across the floor in his direction. Three X-8s were moving to surround him, each taking one point of a large imaginary triangle.
“Sir….I…..I can’t…..”
“Are you frightened, Urzu-7.” Cmdr. Phillips didn’t wait for an answer. The likely reason struck him. “Is it because you killed a man, Miyamoto?” For a moment, he remembered his own reaction, after killing his first adversary up close and personal.
“Yes, sir.” Moto closed his eyes, letting out a muffled exclamation as the HBD-5 was pulled off its feet, causing his head to press down hard on his shoulder. “Yes.”
“That speaks well of you, son. Especially at so young an age. Your father would be very proud of you. Will be very proud of you. But first, isn’t there something he would want you to do, right now?”
“Father?” Moto’s head snapped up. Father. He didn’t know if his father was alive or dead. “Father!” Fear coursed through him, followed by nascent anger. He could not let his father down.
It was time to get busy again.
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It should have been over.
The HBD-5 should be down, pacified. That damn kid should be injured or dead. Instead, the Lambda Driver activated---but how? At best, one in ten pilots have the capacity to interface with those tricky units. He himself had tried on a number of occasions and failed. Another reason to hate that child.
Climbing into a ready X-8, the pilot cringed momentarily. He remembered the sight and sound of that unholy chainsaw ripping through the JSDF A.S., and his fellow pilot. I sure as shit don’t want that happening to ME! But, there had been a great development---the Lambda Driver went down. The little snot probably got too emotional or overheated. Good to see he’s just a little boy after all. I doubt this is some kind of trick, playing possum.
It would be different this time.
He smiled. The guy in the electromagnet truck sure had balls---probably three of them! He went after the Halberd after seeing what that thing did to the second X-8. Magnet attached, he was driving his truck around the HBD-5, cable at maximum extension. Clever man! He’s going to wrap that kid up in a cocoon of wire. Nothing the Halberd can do THEN!
Waiting is the hardest part.
The pilot was feeling anxious. True, the HBD-5 was still in a seated position, unmoving. But, this was a prime opportunity to put some holes in it, when there was no return fire and no Lambda Driver. Besides, they were behind schedule, and that fudgie brat may have known enough to contact someone at Mithril. If he had, the chance for success may be slim to none. If there was no chance at success, there was one thing he wanted to do before making a run for it: he wanted to kill that kid.
Why wait?
“TIME IS RUNNING SHORT. MAGNET TRUCK, WITHDRAW. WILL COMMENCE FIRE IN FIVE SCONDS. HANGAR DOOR OPERATOR, OPEN THE DOORS. MISSION SUCCESS RATE HAS DECREASED. PREPARE TO BOARD HELICOPTER UPON ARRIVAL.”
If Mithril had time, it and the sovereign nation of Japan could send up enough aircraft to brush away the helicopter’s escort. The copter itself had a cloaking system similar to that used on Mithril’s machines. But, Mithril may well have a way to defeat any technology they have intimate knowledge of. If that were the case here, the best they could hope for then might be a short ride and a drop off in a heavily populated area of the city---they could all work on their own to blend in and escape at that point.
It had been only four seconds, but he could not wait any longer. Smiling, he squeezed the trigger for the gatling gun.
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Fully armed, Sousuke mad his way through the deserted areas of the base. Everywhere he passed, men and women were unconscious and restrained. There was no time to check on them now. He knew where his priorities lay.
Moto, first. The HBD-5, second. Retribution? He was a soldier, and shouldn’t be concerned with anything so petty. But, he was also a father of a son in danger. Retribution ranked a close third. If anyone had harmed Moto, the types of things he had done in Afghanistan would be just a way to break the ice.
There was a risk he dreaded. In this circumstance, non-lethal force was not called for. Even though he himself was conscious, he would have to consider any waking person an adversary. An adversary should consider himself or herself a dead man walking. But, if he were to kill innocent personnel….
“How…” That was the only word the first man said. He made it easy for Sousuke---he was carrying a gun and standing guard. No friendly would be doing that, there. A burst from his M89 assault rifle hit the man across the mid section, folding him up like a cot.
“Look out, there’s…” The armed woman managed to get three words out. Obviously, she was a fast talker. Only her head and one shoulder had been visible to Sousuke. He put bullets into both .
There was a group of enemy combatants ahead. The fools are reacting too slowly? What do they think the gunshots mean? Would their comrades be shooting unconscious victims. This is combat, IDIOTS! These people must be the support personnel for the mission, stuck on perimeter duty. Not expert soldiers. Sousuke planned to go through them like a scythe through wheat.
A long burst from the M89 brought some sense back to the enemy forces---at least to those who still lived. Fighting with each other for position, the jumped behind desks and metal filing cabinets, weapons at the ready.
Can’t rush in there as it is. Even pitiful soldiers could take me down. Time to even the odds. Sousuke pulled the pins on two fragmentation grenades. He lobbed them into the room at strategic points.
“Grenade!” That highly insightful word was the last one uttered by anyone in that room. Carefully passing through the room, Sousuke absentmindedly considered what kind of mess the clean-up up crew would have to deal with tomorrow. This was a little bit more than an ink spill or a mocha catastrophe. Everyone must serve in his or her way.
Dodging around corners and fighting his way through further light resistance, Sousuke couldn’t help but think about another risk he dreaded. Kaname. Just what would she say and do when he and Moto got home? What could he possibly say to her if their eldest son didn’t come home?
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”If you do what you must son, bad people may die, but many more good people will live. Your own life is worth more than all of those bad men combined. The lives of the innocent people that could be harmed by illicit spread of the technology in that Arm Slave are in your hands.” Cmdr. Phillips words echoed in Moto’s ears.
“A.I., please reactivate.” There was no change in the lighting or the control panel.
A quick scan of the full compliment of view screens showed that he and the HBD-5 were in a growing predicament. That wire could cause a problem. But, the truck wasn’t finished, and started to back away. Moto was swift enough of mind to figure out one possible cause of that.
Gotta move. Now.
Back in combat position, Moto brought the Halberd back to life. “I’m on it, Commanader!”
“Stout lad!” Moto could pick out a trace of pride in the distant man’s voice.
“I’m on it, Father….” he whispered to himself.
There was a simple mistake in the plan to wrap him up in cable. The monomolecular cutter was still in hand, and was up against the body of the A.S. A desperate move should work. Actvating the cutter would injure the HBD-5, but should allow him to cut through the restraints before the Halberd was too seriously injured. Or so he hoped. He pushed the button.
The Arm Slave shuddered, and a horrible noise shook him to his very core. Damage control lights flickered on, in ever increasing numbers. Smoke began to fill the cockpit. But he was free.
A small victory!!! His thought was short-lived. The HBD-5 was thrown backwards. Small streams of light shown into the cockpit from the outside, through holes made by one of the X-8’s gatling gun. What to do? THINK!
Images flashed before his eyes. His school. His friends. The playground. None of the other children would believe what he had been through so far, even if he could tell them. Nevermind that. Why am I thinking this, NOW? Running. Races. It’s what I do well.
Moto had planned on running and dodging about the hangar area, but caught sight of the opening hangar doors. There! He through a control lever full forward, actvating full motile power. Chased by fire from his adversary and the other two X-8s, he ran in a random weaving pattern. Cranes, trucks, barrels of fuel, and pallets of ammunition were hit by the fire that narrowly missed him. Men and women were rushing to light vehicles and jeeps, or simply running, trying to get out of the way. As long as Moto headed for the exit, was chased, and was fired upon, the exit was closed to everyone but the fighting Arm Slaves.
The HBD-5 was knocked off its feet by a missile strike. It could not afford to remain stationary even for a moment. At the cost of making himself terribly dizzy, Moto executed a log roll, moving the craft out of the path of a withering spray of projectiles. Disoriented, he still had enough presence of mind to run his machine behind a large row of fire fighting equipment.
“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. A.I., please activate. PLEASE!” Still no sign of life from the capricious A.I.
“Hang in there young man. Just keep doing what you are doing. The whole crew is rooting for you!” Cmdr. Phillip’s words buoyed Moto’s spirit. He was good at Dodge Ball. He could do this.
Time passed. The hangar was ablaze in spots. Heavy equipment fell. Smoke began to impair visibility. He ran, slid, jumped, and rolled countless times, too busy staying alive to return fire against three opponents. Suddenly, his luck came to an end.
He found himself trapped in a corner.
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He was not about to be stopped.
Sousuke cut a swath of death and destruction through the groups of insurgents that stood in his path. Those that were smart enough to run would no doubt report in to the real combat specialists. That would make things more difficult. But, he had been in tighter spots than this before.
He finished off a clip against a group of mechanics who had run away from the chaos behind them. What they found waiting for them was much more dangerous. They had no opportunity to ponder the error of their ways. Looking into the hangar, Sousuke caught a glimpse of the Halberd. It was running. It was being chased. Fire was converging on it from every direction.
MOTO!!!
His top choice would have been to commandeer one of the X-8s. But, there were groups of armed men scattered across the hangar area. He would die before he reached an Arm Slave. There was another option---somewhat drastic, and perhaps something out of an adventure movie. A holding area for lesser used armored vehicles was situated right next to the hangar.
No one got in Sousuke’s way during his mad dash. He ran hard until it felt as if his lungs had caught fire. There was no time to waste. If the vehicle he wanted was there, there might be a chance. IF it had been kept fueled and armed as it was supposed to be. A tank would have been better. Tanks and APVs were kept at the far end of the compound. No doubt the planners of this operation had taken them into account. The Type 87 would do just fine.
Kicking open the door, he stepped inside the garage. Flipping a switch lit a large bank of fluorescent lights. Running past old model armored recovery vehicles and retired tanker trucks, he stopped at his destination. The Type 87. The previous generation self-propelled Anti-Aircraft vehicle, its twin 35mms situated at each end of a turret, all resting on a heavily armored MBT chassis.
Sousuke first dropped into the driver’s position. Saying a short prayer, he pushed the starter button. The engine coughed, then roared to life. Fate was smiling on him. This would still be tricky for one man, but he would do whatever he could. Climbing up the front of the turret, he slid down into the gunner’s seat. The guns needed to be traversed to the rear for now. He did so.
Back in the driver’s compartment, he pulled back a lever and set the 44,000 kg machine rolling in reverse. Shoving the lever forward, he built up speed as he headed for the large set of doors leading into the hangar.
I’m coming, son!
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End of pt 2
”A kid? What is a kid doing up there?”
The man stopped sliding one arm into the fighting suit. Looking up, he saw a large wooden box fall. He saw a ponderously large man swing a large metal tool at the darting form of a small boy. The boy! The mechanic had missed and the boy had grabbed onto the wrench, used the large man’s momentum, and sent the fool hurling into a row of barrels. Dirty hydraulic fluid rushed across the hangar floor.
“STOP THAT BOY. STOP HIM NOW!!!” His shout startled another A.S. pilot standing near him.
Guards, mechanics, ordinance personnel, all looked up in curiosity. No one made any effort to stop the running boy.
The pilot finished pulling on his suit. “KILL HIM IF YOU HAVE TO. WHATEVER IT TAKES, STOP THAT CHILD!!!” Now running, he admonished himself for being so dramatic. He had to admit to himself that his reactions were the result of anger, and that the anger was a matter of injured pride and the earlier mission limitations.
No one with a gun took the pilot seriously. A loader put down a heavy belt of 30mm projectiles for one X-8’s gatling gun. Picking up a large metal rod, he swung it along the ground in an effort to trip the child. He received one of the greatest shocks of his life. The boy did not simply jump to avoid the rod. He jumped on the rod, ran along its full length, and kicked the startled ordinance man right between the eyes. The man went down hard, dislodging an unlocked canisters of A.S. anti-armor grenades. The large spheres rolled hither and yon across the hangar.
“STOP HIM. STOP HIM YOU IDIOTS” The boy was running towards the prize, the Halberd. Was it a matter of coincidence, or part of a plan? Could the boy be carrying some form of explosive device? Too late, he remembered something he had heard in passing, earlier that day. One of the base personnel had been showing the A.S. to his son. The machine had accidentally activated itself. “DON’T LET HIM REACH THE MITHRIL A.S.!!!” Fools! “ONE HUNDRED EUROS TO THE MAN WHO STOPS HIM.”
The boy ran fast, in a straight line. He jumped through the cab of low slung tractor, switching the vehicle from Neutral into Reverse. Holding onto the large tow cable momentarily, a mechanic was dragged painfully across the hardened cement. He had not finished hooking the cable to the HBD-5.
Shots rang out. Sparks flew off of the Halberd and a number of nearby ordinance bins. The boy slid under the legs of a welder waiting to intercept him. He then lashed out with a nasty punch to the groin on an ordinace chief who had tried to capture him in a large empty sack.
Climbing the recumbent HBD-5, the boy stopped to type numbers into a key pad, bullets ringing of the hull of the craft close by him. The A.S.’s hatch began to open.
“SHIT!” The pilot slid to a halt. He would try a different tact. The Halberd needed to be captured mostly intact. As long as the scientists could plumb its secrets, and the auctioneers had plenty of desirable parts to sell, the mission would be a glowing success. If the mecha had a few holes in it, or was charred here and there? Well, it was better than not getting it at all, right? He ran towards one of the X-8s sporting a large orange flag. Those three machines were the ones that were ready to roll.
One of the other A.S. pilots figured out what he was up to. He ran to another flagged X-8. The other pilots caught on too, racing to see who could reach the third A.S. first.
The mechanics and loaders were too caught up in the confusion and excitement. The other mechas were left only partly prepared for now.
************************************************************
Father! I remembered the code…..
Moto slid in under the opening hatch. No time to wait. Stretching out his foot, he hit a large red button. At the same time, he flipped the switches that would activate the automatic defense system. To make things work their best, however, he needed to get the A.I. Involved.
He slammed a small fist down on a control lever.
CAUTION. EMERGENCY CLOSE IN THREE SECONDS…TWO…ONE…COMMENCING. A cold mechanical voice. Automatic, but not the A.I.
The hatch fell hard, then locked. A few stray rounds had made it into the cockpit, embedding themselves in the uninflated escape raft dehind the pilot seat.
That was too close. But I’m in. I’m doing what Father told me to do.
Moto watched the signal indicator on the control console. The message system was attempting to reach a Mithril submarine, probably the TDD-2. He hoped someone would answer soon.
The pushing of a button activated the forward view screens. Men were running towards the JSDF Arm Slaves. They were getting in. Even an eight year old had no trouble understanding what was going on.
I hope the automatic systems do SOMETHING.
Moto brought the power system to life. Soon, enough energy was available to stand the HBD-5 up. A series of chimes rang out as lights changed from red to yellow, and from yellow to green. When the last of the flashing green lights stopped blinking on and off, the Halberd announced its readiness.
POWER ON FULL. MOVEMENT GREEN. WEAPONS GREEN. DEFENSIVE SYSTEM POWERED. LAMBDA DRIVER ON STANDBY.
That was good. Very good. He felt as if he had accomplished something. The instructional program had explained the sequence of actions necessary to check on armament levels. He pushed the necessary buttons.
GENERAL DYNAMICS XM-809, EIGHT HUNDRED ROUNDS OF URANIUM DEPLETED AP, NO TRACER. BOFORS PCX-75, 30 ROUNDS AP REMAING, WITH 20 ROUNDS OF HE. TWO HASTA HIGH-SPEED ROCKETS WITH KINETIC WARHEADS. HELLBORE RESERVOIR EMPTY. GRENADES AND MINES DEPLETED. SONIC WEAPON DISABLED.
Well, there was ammunition after all. This wouldn’t just be a game of Keep Away. Moto didn’t know how long that load would last. Should he trust the automatic system? Could it triage intelligently, or might it exhaust the weapons wastefully?
MOVEMENT DETECTED. ARM SLAVES. IFF IDENTIFIES AS X-8S. FRIENDLIES. IS THIS CORRECT?
Moto toggled the switch that would give the 'No' response.
UNDERSTOOD. NOT FRIENDLIES. ONE ENEMY WITHIN DEFENSIVE PERIMETER. ACTIVATING DEFENCES.
The HUD showed a glowing orange crosshairs. The central X centered on the nearest X-8, which was in the process of bringing up its shoulder mounted gatling gun. A loud Whhhiiirrrrrrr sounded, as the HBD-5 brought its own multibarrel gun to life first.
At that range, the automatic aiming system was more than adequate. The opposing A.S. threw off large orange sparks, then shuddered violently. Moments later, a large explosion ripped the X-8 in two, sending up a cloud of greasy black smoke. The head piece and upper torso rolled across the hangar, scattering the anxious onlookers.
The other two pilots were no slouches, Moto soon found out. One ducked behind a large row of equipment cannisters. The other moved quickly sideways, crab style, firing his craft's guided missiles. Two stubby rockest flew towards the Halberd in a blur.
Moving by algorithm, the HBD-5 ducked and rolled, avoiding the missiles---it ended up in a precarious position. The visible X-8 aimed and fired upward, breaking the chains holding heavy lifting equiment. The resultant rain of large metal parts sent a large noise throughout Moto's cockpit and impeded the movement of his machine.
The light for the gatling gun flashed on the console. "No!" Moto hit the button for manual control. He did not want to waste any ammunition. This was not all that different from some of the video games he played with Father's permission, under the baleful gaze of his mother. There were no Power Ups available. The XM-809 could not hit any opponent from this position.
It was up to him.
************************************************************
The pilot cursed. In three different languages.
That boy was quick. No. in all likelihood, the initial movements had been automatic. Still, the child had needed the presence of mind to activate the system. As a result, one X-8 lay fragmented on the floor. Another, by excellent planning, was performing a flanking movement under the control of its pilot. The other X-8s lay fallow, the distracted assholes on the start-up team too befuddled to get back to prep work.
Let’s see how fast the system can react. He launched two missiles, pitifully slow compared to the weapons he had used on more advanced Arm Slaves. They missed. Not too much of a surprise. The machine had evaded the Pawns, but had put itself in a situation where it was in serious danger of being check-mated. Looking around the room, he knew just what to do.
The huge metal rafters held miles of chains, hooks, claws, electromagnets, and operator cabins. Some of those could be brought crashing down with a few well-placed shots. He did so, watching the resultant downpour with a large grin. Crying for Daddy yet, little boy?
Movement caught his eye. Someone had set the hangar doors in motion, intending to trap the Halberd inside. Not a bad idea, but they still needed to get the damn thing outside whem the helicopter arrived. That should be any minute now. They couldn’t afford too much of a delay.
Finally, mechanics and loaders were running to the remaining X-8s. About f@cking time! And, someone was actually using his or her brain. A crane truck with a powerful looking electromagnet was heading towards the fallen HBD-5. It wasn’t strong enough to lift the A.S. itself, but it could help remove the refuse when necessary, or might even be able to impeded the movement of the boy’s machine if he somehow managed to get it back on its feet.
“But why take any chances? Time is of the essence. No one can fault me for wanting to be sure.” He hit the switch for the gatling gun. Ammunition was fed into the weapon. Placing his aiming reticule on the target, he opened fire.
********************************************
Moto fought to keep his calm. Too many things were happening at once. One enemy blew up. Another ran out of sight. The third had missed with missiles, but cleverly brought the ceiling down. Mother, I remember the story about Chicken Little. The sky really IS falling! He noted on a side viewer that the big doors were slowly closing. Men were hurrying about their work. The approaching X-8 was bringing its gatling gun around.
“Urzu-7, this is D-2 com do you read.” The communications system, had come to life. The message had gotten through.
“Hello. This is Miyamoto Sagara. The Halberd is being stolen. We are in combat.” Moto could not pay to much attention to the conversation. He needed to get the HBD-5 moving before it was brought under further fire.
“Is this a joke? You are on an official line. The consequences for any horseplay will be severe! Identify….” The man on the other end of the com system stopped to listen, startled by a series of loud cracks and spangs.
“No…..time…..” was all that Moto spat out as the HBD-5 shuddered. Deep gouges were cut into the areas of the Halberd he could see on the view screens. A button caught his eye. It was a drastic ploy. But, this was a drastic situation. He brought his hand down.
The rocket assist device fired. It was fully charged. The HBD-5 shook, stationery. Then, slowly, it inched forward. Metal was melting, and the cockpit was growing warm, but restraining junk was falling away from the craft. Suddenly, without warning, the Halberd was sent sliding across the floor, aimed directly at the firing enemy machine. The rockets gave out just a moment after impact.
“What is the situation. Report. Special Response Teams have been notified. If this is a hoax….”
Moto ignored the speaker. If he had been Uncle Kurz, the next words from his lips would be something on the order of Hoax my ASS!!! He cringed, thinking what Aunt Melissa might say.
He actually cheered as the HBD-5 slid across the floor. Running up against the X-8, he had a momentary reprieve. What should he do now.
“A.I.? Can you hear me A.I.?” No response.
“The A.I. Will respond to specific personnel only. You NEED to make a report, young man. What is the situation?” The voice was growing angry, but the tone spoke of great fear too.
“Got…to…think………..fighting………hijack.” That was all the answer Moto was going to give now. Yes. Just like in one of my wrestling games. He swung his arms around, the A.S. waldos transmitting his movements to the machine. The Halberd grasped the X-8 and pulled it off of its feet.
A proximity alarm sounded. The third X-8 had stepped into view.
I hope the pilot holds his fire. His comrade is right next to me. And, what is that truck trying to do?
************************************************************
Sousuke was slow in regaining consciousness. But, anyone else would have been under a fair bit longer. By good fortune, he had a partial resistance to the anesthetizing agent used.
Groggy, he realized that he was bound hand and foot. He was gagged. The tight quarters he found himself in were entirely dark.
What was going on?
Where was Moto?
************************************************************
“You little Son of a Bitch!” The pilot was very angry. The warning light on the outside of the HBD-5 had gone out---no longer on automatic, the craft must be under the control of that little whelp. “You think holding me here, in the line of fire, will keep you safe? Watch how a real pilot thinks.
He pulled a lever, exploding the bolts on top of the X-8. Uncovering the button on the top of that same lever, he pushed it. The pilot’s seat was ejected, but the pilot was not strapped in. Flipping in mid air, he landed on a large pile of canvas as the seat went on to crash against the far wall. “This ain’t make believe, you little worm!”
Laughing, he watched his fellow pilot open up with his gatling gun. Smoke partially hid the firing X-8. Stinging death ripped huge chunks out of the floor, as the stream of bullets made its way towards the Halberd. “Nighty night! Oh, but mama never had a chance to tuck you in!” He sat down. No need to jump in another one of the near ready Arm Slaves.
************************************************************
“No! I WON’T let my Father down. I…WILL…NOT…” Moto’s shout caught him by surprise. He had the HBD-5 moving, but there was no way to avoid that hellish gunfire.
Blue light flickered on in the cockpit. The screens changed color, and a panel opened.
IMMEDIATE LAMBDA DRIVER START-UP, 25% STRENGTH SHIELDING AVAILABLE. LINK ESTABLISHED. AWAITING COMMANDS.
The digital readout showed the Lambda units progress, as the shields grew in intensity. The stinging metal bees from the opposing Arm Slave bounced harmlessly off of the glowing nimbus.
“My turn!” Moto’s intentions sped far ahead of his actually planning. What should he use? Looking at the closed hangar doors, he realized that he might need to find a way to cut through them. “Hello, A.I.?” He hoped the thing would respond and form an effective team with him.
A.I. OPERATIONAL. PILOT’S BRAIN WAVE PATTERN ANALYZED AND RECOGNIZED. AWAITING COMMANDS.
“A.I., do we have a monomolecular cutter?”
AFFIRMATIVE. DO YOU WISH TO EMPLOY IT? THE BUTTON IS HIGHLIGHTED
True to the A.I.’s statement, one of the weapons buttons was surrounded by a halo of green light. Moto pushed it. Watching the 3-D A.S. representation on the HUD, he saw the spectral Halberd place its Portable cannon in its holster, grabbing a long oblong shape.
CUTTER SECURE AND OPERATIONAL. SELECT APPROPRIATE TORQUE AND ROTATIONAL SPEED.
Uh oh. Moto had no idea what values to select. “A.I., select values appropriate to cutting through a JSDF Arm Slave, X-8 model. Do it now.”
VALUES SET.
Moto moved his arms and legs appropriately, pushing the HBD-5 into a low crouching run. The cutter was held off to the side, like a buzzing wing of death. Backing away, the enemy fired until its gatling gun spun empty. Missiles were launched, with no greater effect. As the pilot wheeled his craft, ready to run for his life, the Mithril A.S. struck.
Moto jerked in his seat as the blades fought to grab hold. Soon sparks obscured his view as a terrible sound of metal tearing metal filled his ears.
INCREASING POWER RATIO.
Just as the sparks diminished, the resistance dropped considerably. The madly spinning device had passed through the hollow center of the X-8. Brown-orange hydraulic fluid spurted every which way. A small but eye-catching splotch of red stood out in stark contrast.
Blood. Moto bit his lip. Blood. Human blood. From a man that was just torn asunder. By him. He shivered, the full weight of his action falling on him all at once. This was no a heroic dream. This was not a cold and detached video game. A man is dead. ANOTHER man is dead. His head spun fiercely. He felt as if he were going to pass out. He rolled up into a tight ball. The Arm Slave sat down, its arms hanging limp at its side.
The blue lighting went out. The panel closed.
“A.I.? A.I., are you there? Don’t leave me alone, A.I.” Tears were streaming down from Moto’s eyes, even though he did not recognize a feeling of sadness. “Father. Where are you, Father?”
“Miyamoto Sagara, do you read? Over. Repeat, do you copy, Miyamoto Sagara?” The voice on the com system was back, insistent.
“Y-Y-Yes, Sir.” Moto watched as a strange looking truck headed in his direction, a large boom extending to full length. A huge disc was swinging at the end of the structure. On other screens, more X-8s were standing up from their resting crouches. “I….I….must fight again…..” Moto’s voice had a strange warble to it.
“Listen closely, young man. For now, you are Urzu-7. I presume you are Major Sagara’s boy?” The voice was stern, but a touch of kindness had made it seem less imposing.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well Urzu-7, I am Commander Phillips, acting captain of the TDD-2. We have been watching your video feeds, so I have an idea of what you are trying to accomplish. If you reach a safe place, do not worry about abandoning the Halberd. We will destroy it on the ground, if necessary. We will blow it out of the sky if the enemy helicopter somehow manages to take it airborne. Your actions have alerted us in time. Good work, son.”
Moto watched the view screen, frozen. For some reason, he had to fight to move his limbs. A large CLAAANNNGGG sounded, as the HBD-5 lurched forward. That’s a magnet! Men were hauling hooked cables across the floor in his direction. Three X-8s were moving to surround him, each taking one point of a large imaginary triangle.
“Sir….I…..I can’t…..”
“Are you frightened, Urzu-7.” Cmdr. Phillips didn’t wait for an answer. The likely reason struck him. “Is it because you killed a man, Miyamoto?” For a moment, he remembered his own reaction, after killing his first adversary up close and personal.
“Yes, sir.” Moto closed his eyes, letting out a muffled exclamation as the HBD-5 was pulled off its feet, causing his head to press down hard on his shoulder. “Yes.”
“That speaks well of you, son. Especially at so young an age. Your father would be very proud of you. Will be very proud of you. But first, isn’t there something he would want you to do, right now?”
“Father?” Moto’s head snapped up. Father. He didn’t know if his father was alive or dead. “Father!” Fear coursed through him, followed by nascent anger. He could not let his father down.
It was time to get busy again.
************************************************************
It should have been over.
The HBD-5 should be down, pacified. That damn kid should be injured or dead. Instead, the Lambda Driver activated---but how? At best, one in ten pilots have the capacity to interface with those tricky units. He himself had tried on a number of occasions and failed. Another reason to hate that child.
Climbing into a ready X-8, the pilot cringed momentarily. He remembered the sight and sound of that unholy chainsaw ripping through the JSDF A.S., and his fellow pilot. I sure as shit don’t want that happening to ME! But, there had been a great development---the Lambda Driver went down. The little snot probably got too emotional or overheated. Good to see he’s just a little boy after all. I doubt this is some kind of trick, playing possum.
It would be different this time.
He smiled. The guy in the electromagnet truck sure had balls---probably three of them! He went after the Halberd after seeing what that thing did to the second X-8. Magnet attached, he was driving his truck around the HBD-5, cable at maximum extension. Clever man! He’s going to wrap that kid up in a cocoon of wire. Nothing the Halberd can do THEN!
Waiting is the hardest part.
The pilot was feeling anxious. True, the HBD-5 was still in a seated position, unmoving. But, this was a prime opportunity to put some holes in it, when there was no return fire and no Lambda Driver. Besides, they were behind schedule, and that fudgie brat may have known enough to contact someone at Mithril. If he had, the chance for success may be slim to none. If there was no chance at success, there was one thing he wanted to do before making a run for it: he wanted to kill that kid.
Why wait?
“TIME IS RUNNING SHORT. MAGNET TRUCK, WITHDRAW. WILL COMMENCE FIRE IN FIVE SCONDS. HANGAR DOOR OPERATOR, OPEN THE DOORS. MISSION SUCCESS RATE HAS DECREASED. PREPARE TO BOARD HELICOPTER UPON ARRIVAL.”
If Mithril had time, it and the sovereign nation of Japan could send up enough aircraft to brush away the helicopter’s escort. The copter itself had a cloaking system similar to that used on Mithril’s machines. But, Mithril may well have a way to defeat any technology they have intimate knowledge of. If that were the case here, the best they could hope for then might be a short ride and a drop off in a heavily populated area of the city---they could all work on their own to blend in and escape at that point.
It had been only four seconds, but he could not wait any longer. Smiling, he squeezed the trigger for the gatling gun.
************************************************************
Fully armed, Sousuke mad his way through the deserted areas of the base. Everywhere he passed, men and women were unconscious and restrained. There was no time to check on them now. He knew where his priorities lay.
Moto, first. The HBD-5, second. Retribution? He was a soldier, and shouldn’t be concerned with anything so petty. But, he was also a father of a son in danger. Retribution ranked a close third. If anyone had harmed Moto, the types of things he had done in Afghanistan would be just a way to break the ice.
There was a risk he dreaded. In this circumstance, non-lethal force was not called for. Even though he himself was conscious, he would have to consider any waking person an adversary. An adversary should consider himself or herself a dead man walking. But, if he were to kill innocent personnel….
“How…” That was the only word the first man said. He made it easy for Sousuke---he was carrying a gun and standing guard. No friendly would be doing that, there. A burst from his M89 assault rifle hit the man across the mid section, folding him up like a cot.
“Look out, there’s…” The armed woman managed to get three words out. Obviously, she was a fast talker. Only her head and one shoulder had been visible to Sousuke. He put bullets into both .
There was a group of enemy combatants ahead. The fools are reacting too slowly? What do they think the gunshots mean? Would their comrades be shooting unconscious victims. This is combat, IDIOTS! These people must be the support personnel for the mission, stuck on perimeter duty. Not expert soldiers. Sousuke planned to go through them like a scythe through wheat.
A long burst from the M89 brought some sense back to the enemy forces---at least to those who still lived. Fighting with each other for position, the jumped behind desks and metal filing cabinets, weapons at the ready.
Can’t rush in there as it is. Even pitiful soldiers could take me down. Time to even the odds. Sousuke pulled the pins on two fragmentation grenades. He lobbed them into the room at strategic points.
“Grenade!” That highly insightful word was the last one uttered by anyone in that room. Carefully passing through the room, Sousuke absentmindedly considered what kind of mess the clean-up up crew would have to deal with tomorrow. This was a little bit more than an ink spill or a mocha catastrophe. Everyone must serve in his or her way.
Dodging around corners and fighting his way through further light resistance, Sousuke couldn’t help but think about another risk he dreaded. Kaname. Just what would she say and do when he and Moto got home? What could he possibly say to her if their eldest son didn’t come home?
************************************************************
”If you do what you must son, bad people may die, but many more good people will live. Your own life is worth more than all of those bad men combined. The lives of the innocent people that could be harmed by illicit spread of the technology in that Arm Slave are in your hands.” Cmdr. Phillips words echoed in Moto’s ears.
“A.I., please reactivate.” There was no change in the lighting or the control panel.
A quick scan of the full compliment of view screens showed that he and the HBD-5 were in a growing predicament. That wire could cause a problem. But, the truck wasn’t finished, and started to back away. Moto was swift enough of mind to figure out one possible cause of that.
Gotta move. Now.
Back in combat position, Moto brought the Halberd back to life. “I’m on it, Commanader!”
“Stout lad!” Moto could pick out a trace of pride in the distant man’s voice.
“I’m on it, Father….” he whispered to himself.
There was a simple mistake in the plan to wrap him up in cable. The monomolecular cutter was still in hand, and was up against the body of the A.S. A desperate move should work. Actvating the cutter would injure the HBD-5, but should allow him to cut through the restraints before the Halberd was too seriously injured. Or so he hoped. He pushed the button.
The Arm Slave shuddered, and a horrible noise shook him to his very core. Damage control lights flickered on, in ever increasing numbers. Smoke began to fill the cockpit. But he was free.
A small victory!!! His thought was short-lived. The HBD-5 was thrown backwards. Small streams of light shown into the cockpit from the outside, through holes made by one of the X-8’s gatling gun. What to do? THINK!
Images flashed before his eyes. His school. His friends. The playground. None of the other children would believe what he had been through so far, even if he could tell them. Nevermind that. Why am I thinking this, NOW? Running. Races. It’s what I do well.
Moto had planned on running and dodging about the hangar area, but caught sight of the opening hangar doors. There! He through a control lever full forward, actvating full motile power. Chased by fire from his adversary and the other two X-8s, he ran in a random weaving pattern. Cranes, trucks, barrels of fuel, and pallets of ammunition were hit by the fire that narrowly missed him. Men and women were rushing to light vehicles and jeeps, or simply running, trying to get out of the way. As long as Moto headed for the exit, was chased, and was fired upon, the exit was closed to everyone but the fighting Arm Slaves.
The HBD-5 was knocked off its feet by a missile strike. It could not afford to remain stationary even for a moment. At the cost of making himself terribly dizzy, Moto executed a log roll, moving the craft out of the path of a withering spray of projectiles. Disoriented, he still had enough presence of mind to run his machine behind a large row of fire fighting equipment.
“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. A.I., please activate. PLEASE!” Still no sign of life from the capricious A.I.
“Hang in there young man. Just keep doing what you are doing. The whole crew is rooting for you!” Cmdr. Phillip’s words buoyed Moto’s spirit. He was good at Dodge Ball. He could do this.
Time passed. The hangar was ablaze in spots. Heavy equipment fell. Smoke began to impair visibility. He ran, slid, jumped, and rolled countless times, too busy staying alive to return fire against three opponents. Suddenly, his luck came to an end.
He found himself trapped in a corner.
************************************************************
He was not about to be stopped.
Sousuke cut a swath of death and destruction through the groups of insurgents that stood in his path. Those that were smart enough to run would no doubt report in to the real combat specialists. That would make things more difficult. But, he had been in tighter spots than this before.
He finished off a clip against a group of mechanics who had run away from the chaos behind them. What they found waiting for them was much more dangerous. They had no opportunity to ponder the error of their ways. Looking into the hangar, Sousuke caught a glimpse of the Halberd. It was running. It was being chased. Fire was converging on it from every direction.
MOTO!!!
His top choice would have been to commandeer one of the X-8s. But, there were groups of armed men scattered across the hangar area. He would die before he reached an Arm Slave. There was another option---somewhat drastic, and perhaps something out of an adventure movie. A holding area for lesser used armored vehicles was situated right next to the hangar.
No one got in Sousuke’s way during his mad dash. He ran hard until it felt as if his lungs had caught fire. There was no time to waste. If the vehicle he wanted was there, there might be a chance. IF it had been kept fueled and armed as it was supposed to be. A tank would have been better. Tanks and APVs were kept at the far end of the compound. No doubt the planners of this operation had taken them into account. The Type 87 would do just fine.
Kicking open the door, he stepped inside the garage. Flipping a switch lit a large bank of fluorescent lights. Running past old model armored recovery vehicles and retired tanker trucks, he stopped at his destination. The Type 87. The previous generation self-propelled Anti-Aircraft vehicle, its twin 35mms situated at each end of a turret, all resting on a heavily armored MBT chassis.
Sousuke first dropped into the driver’s position. Saying a short prayer, he pushed the starter button. The engine coughed, then roared to life. Fate was smiling on him. This would still be tricky for one man, but he would do whatever he could. Climbing up the front of the turret, he slid down into the gunner’s seat. The guns needed to be traversed to the rear for now. He did so.
Back in the driver’s compartment, he pulled back a lever and set the 44,000 kg machine rolling in reverse. Shoving the lever forward, he built up speed as he headed for the large set of doors leading into the hangar.
I’m coming, son!
***********************************************************
End of pt 2
