The Rask Rebellion

"I know what that is!" he exclaimed, Mizi cocking her head at him.

"You've seen one of these before?" she asked, in awe of the thing.

"Kind of. That's one of the platforms that we use in spaceports to move cargo and ships between launch pads and hangars, I'm sure of it. I've seen them rolling around the terminals."

"But how did it get here?" Mizi wondered.

"It's not a military vehicle," Ben mused. "At least, it didn't start out as one. There's nothing stopping the Rask from just buying one from whatever corporation sells them if they can afford it."

"So this is how they're evading us," Mizi continued, "they're driving around the desert in these things. We've been searching for bases, but they've never stayed in one place long enough for us to pin them down."

The technical that Lozka had spotted earlier was driving alongside the vehicle, slowing down to match pace with it. From the deck above, a crane arm was lowered, a large metal disk dangling from the end of it. Much like the vehicle itself, it must have started out as industrial equipment, its yellow paint sprayed over with crude desert camo patterns. It was an electromagnet, clamping down onto the roof of the truck, lifting it off the sand. Ben watched in a blend of awe and amusement as it was deposited on the deck above, joining a whole fleet of vehicles that were glimpsed through the sandstorm.

"It's like a...land-carrier," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "What were they thinking, making something like this? At least we know how they were able to launch raids and artillery strikes from so deep into the desert now."

"They already use sandships," Mizi replied with a shrug. "If they couldn't get their hands on spaceships, maybe they thought that this was the next best thing?"

"I'll tell you one thing," Ben added as he gestured towards the monitor. "That armor isn't going to do shit against the kind of firepower the formation can bring to bear. If we can call in strikes on these things, they'll be shredded like wet paper. It'll be like hitting a model kit with a hammer."

"Model kit?" she asked.

"It's like a little plastic toy that you assemble out of parts," he began, then he shook his head. "Doesn't matter. What I'm saying is these things are big, slow, vulnerable targets. If we can get Kodiaks into range, or call in artillery, they'll be decimated."

"How far out is the artillery company?" Mizi asked.

"I don't know," he replied, starting to tap at an adjacent touch screen. "But I'm calling this in. If the tanks are within about a hundred K of us, they may be able to strike the thing right now."

After a few moments, he lifted a headset and pressed one cup against his ear.

"This is Command," a crackling voice on the other end said. "Go ahead."

"Command, this is Golf-six. We have eyes on an enemy...well, you're just going to have to take a look for yourselves."

He patched the feed through to them, glancing over at Mizi as he waited for a reply. The quality would be even lower than what he was currently seeing, but it would be enough to give them an idea of what they were dealing with. There was a momentary pause as the operator examined the video.

"Is that...a vehicle?"

"Yes, Sir. Some kind of giant mobile platform. It's my belief that this is how the Rask have been launching strikes on the formation so far from their territory."

"Where's that thing headed?" the operator asked.

"We're reading a bearing of two-four-zero, speed is maybe ten klicks."

"Hold for further orders," came the reply, a couple more minutes ticking by as Ben waited for the operator to return. He must be having a very colorful conversation with his superiors right about now. There was a shuffling sound as he returned, picking up his headset. "Golf-six, please forward us the target's current coordinates, we're preparing a saturation strike. We can't get any drones up, so we'll need you to confirm good hits."

"Roger that, will forward you the coordinates. Recommended safe distance, Sir? We have personnel on the ground, we'll need some time to pick them up."

"Get about a klick away, then send us the okay," the operator replied. "The shells might stray a bit in this storm."

"Understood."

He set the headset down, Mizi practically bobbing on the spot as she waited for him to tell her what had been said.

"The artillery company is about a hundred kilometers out," he explained, "they're within effective range. They can't get any spotter drones up in this storm to get eyes on the target, so it's up to us to feed them coordinates, and then to verify that the crawler has been destroyed. I told them we have a man in the field, so they're going to delay firing until we can pick up Lozka and get about a kilometer away. The wind may blow some of the shells off-course, so we need to book it."

"Lozka," he said, switching to her helmet's channel. He watched the camera lurch, he seemed to have frightened her. "Don't worry, it's me, I'm speaking through your helmet's radio. You did good, now get back to us. The formation is getting ready to rain shells. Follow the tracks, and we'll meet you along the way."

She didn't know how to respond using the radio, but he could see that she was starting to move, pausing to take one last look at the mobile base before setting off.

"Mizi," Ben said, "let's get moving."

She shot across the cab and darted back into her seat, the deck beneath his feet rumbling with the revving of the engine, the wheels skidding in the loose sand as she set off down the track. It was so wide that they could easily drive within its confines, like a private road that had been laid out just for them. It didn't take long for Lozka to come into view, her cloaked figure appearing ahead of them as she emerged from the swirling dust. Mizi brought them skidding to a halt, Ben hearing a thud as the Araxie leapt up onto the roof with all the effort of a housecat jumping onto a table. There was a clunk as she popped open the hatch beside the turret, sliding her lithe body through the hole like a weasel down a drainpipe, dropping into her seat. Her agility was as impressive as ever, the feline pulling off her helmet and shaking some of the sand from her hair.

"Welcome aboard," Ben said, Lozka fastening her harness. "Mizi, get us the hell out of here, bearing six-zero."

The Valbaran spun the wheel, turning them back in the direction that they had come, acceleration pressing Ben into the padding of his bucket seat. He switched his view to the rear cameras, Lozka turning her turret to face behind them. As soon as they were clear of the firing zone, Ben put another call through to command, bouncing in his seat as he pressed the cup of his headphones against his ear.

"We're clear, we're clear! Say again, you're clear to fire!"

"Prepare for danger close, Golf-six," the operator replied.

For some reason, Ben almost expected to hear the familiar thud of the Avalanches firing, but they were more than a hundred kilometers away. He peered through the rear cameras, waiting for the shells that were now whistling through the air somewhere above them to hit. The crawler was far out of view now, completely obscured by the sand. Would he even be able to see anything?

A series of bright flashes lit up the sky, streams of tracer fire rising up into the storm as the platform's CIWS guns picked up the incoming shells, weaving back and forth. They intercepted some of them, the explosives erupting high above, but the system was quickly overwhelmed. Ben caught glimpses of the mobile base as the explosions silhouetted it against the haze, its hulking mass backlit by flourishes of fire. They were high-explosive shells, the first scattered salvo impacting the vehicle's hull, the entire chassis seeming to bow as it was lifted into the air. Ben could see the shadows of the trucks and APCs as they were flung from it, their burning hulks tumbling to the sand as the carrier appeared to sag inward. The giant crane arm toppled over as the behemoth listed, spilling more flaming wrecks to the sand below.

That was only the first salvo, the second soon following behind it. The artillery blanketed the general area that Ben had indicated in his coordinates, great eruptions of sand tossed high into the air where they strayed from their target, more bright explosions blossoming on the ruined hulk of the carrier where they found their mark. Molten metal and bent chunks of the thing's structure rained all around it, more bursts of flame outlining it against the sepia backdrop.

There was another flash of light, but this one was different, brighter. It shone like a beacon for far longer than would have been possible for a shell. There were a few more small explosions, perhaps munitions or fuel cooking off, and then everything was still. Ben waited a few minutes longer, then put another call through to command.

"Golf-six here. Good effect, say again, good effect."

"Roger that," the operator replied. "You're all clear. Move in and confirm the elimination of the target."

Ben gave Mizi the order to turn them back around, the Timberwolf racing along the giant tank track. She had to slow down as they neared the target, maneuvering around jagged pieces of debris that had been thrown from the wreck. Ben watched through the external cameras as they passed a structural beam that must have weighed almost as much as their vehicle did, sticking up from the sand where it had landed like a giant lawn dart, bent and misshapen by heat and stress. Mizi skirted a large crater, the sand in its bowl turned to dark glass, Lozka peering into it with her turret camera. The closer they got to their destination, the more the desert began to look like the surface of the Moon.

"There it is," Ben said, the ruined hulk of the carrier rising up before them. If he hadn't known what it had looked like before the attack, he might have assumed that some kind of cargo ship had crashed here. It was almost unrecognizable save for the four large tracks that seemed remarkably untouched, its vast hull sagging inward on itself, the collapsed prefab buildings little more than bombed-out shells. The surrounding area was littered with burning technicals and upturned APCs, many of which had been thrown clear of the deck by the force of the blasts.

There was a bright fire burning within the remains of the carrier, an eerie, yellow glow shining through the breaches in its hull. A plume of dark smoke billowed into the sandstorm above, the wind quickly carrying it away, swirling ash joining the airborne dust.

Ben examined his readout, his brow furrowing.

"Looks like we'd better stay in the Wolf," he muttered, reaching out to tap at his monitor. "The sensors are picking up dangerous radiation levels. That thing must have had a nuclear power plant, the artillery strike ruptured its containment."

"Oh no," Mizi warbled, her feathers flashing purple as she turned to look at him over the back of her seat. "What will happen?"

"It had to have been a small reactor," Ben replied, "I doubt it can do any serious environmental damage. We'll have to tag the area so that a cleanup crew can get out here and isolate the core, but I don't know how long that's going to take, what with the storm preventing shuttles from landing."

"Environmental damage?" Lozka asked, glancing between the two of them in confusion. Ben considered for a moment, trying to think of a way to phrase it that she would understand. He wasn't about to try explaining nuclear physics to someone whose people didn't even have running water yet.

"Nuclear reactors generate a lot of power while being very compact and efficient," he began, "but their fuel is a kind of...poison. It makes people and animals sick, it contaminates anything nearby. The Timberwolf's hull is protecting us right now, but if we were to leave it, the invisible radiation that's leaking out of the reactor would hurt us."

"What about groundwater contamination?" Mizi lamented, "the oases are so important for life in this desert!"

"All we can do right now is call it in," Ben replied. She seemed so upset, the Valbarans wouldn't even keep livestock, so it made sense that the sight of a nuclear containment breach would distress her. "It'll be alright, Mizi," he added. "Like I said, it's not a big reactor, and a desert is a far better place to have a meltdown than a rainforest."
That seemed to calm her a little, her dismayed, purple feathers collapsing back into their sheaths.

"Drive us a little closer," he added. "Protocol states that we have to check the area for survivors, but I don't know what we could do for them at this point. We couldn't let them inside the troop bay, they'd contaminate it."

They drove around the circumference of the wreckage, but there was no movement from within save for the column of black smoke. There was little evidence of the crew besides a few charred, unrecognizable bodies that were barely distinguishable from the blackened debris. Considering the state of the carrier, it was unlikely that there were any survivors inside the hull.

Ben lifted his headset, putting through one last call to command.

"This is Golf-six, we've confirmed the destruction of the target. There's been a core breach, the vehicle was powered by a nuclear reactor, so you'd better mark the site for cleanup. We've checked for survivors to the best of our abilities, but we can't get out and search the structure, not with these rads."

"Roger that, Golf-six. We've relayed the seismic readings that you recorded to the rest of the scout company. There must be more of these things out there, and thanks to you, we now have a way to track them. Your new orders are to hunt down, identify, and call in the locations of the remaining mobile platforms. Sending fresh coordinates to you now. We're going to divert the three mechanized companies that were sent to reinforce the Araxie territory, they're being sent South-West to hit the Rask on their left flank. Based on the bearing of the one you bagged, we figure they're probably trying to keep their distance from the main formation."

"Understood, control."

"We've got a positive ID on the vehicle, too. It's a crawler, they're normally used to transport heavy cargo in spaceports. If we can find out which corporation makes them, and how many they sold to the Rask, then we can get a better idea of what we're dealing with. Will keep you informed."

"Roger that."

"And, Golf-six? Nice job."

He set the headset down, breathing a sigh of relief. The tables had just turned. Now that the seismic readings had been linked to the Rask vehicles, the other Timberwolfs in the scout company could pick them up and hone in on their locations too. These things were large, slow, vulnerable targets once they were exposed. The noose around the Matriarch's neck was tightening.

"Our new orders are to track down the rest of these things," he said. "Transferring the coordinates for our new search area to your console, Mizi. Let's get out of here, I think I can feel my DNA starting to cook..."

Ben watched the wreckage of the carrier fade in the rear cameras, Mizi driving them around a ruined APC that had been deposited on its side in a dune, its desert camouflage charred black. How many Rask had been crewing the giant vehicle when the artillery had hit it? A hundred? More? He had to keep in mind that it was they who had asked for this war. These were the same as the Rask scout who had come within an inch of gutting him in the desert, the same who had chased them in the sandship, the same who had been raiding the formation.

He glanced at his companions, wondering what they might be feeling. Lozka seemed to harbor a strong hatred for the Rask, he doubted whether she would show much pity for them in battle, if any. Mizi was very pragmatic, rational. As much love as she had for nature, it did not seem to extend to thinking creatures in equal measure. Still, he felt like he should break the silence.

"Good job, guys," he said. "This is what we came out here to do, to find the Rask, and to shut them down. Lozka, you made the right call. That scout would have seen us if we'd kept going in the Wolf."

She nodded at him, pleased with herself.

"Many Rask have died this day, and we have uncovered their secrets," she replied. "They can no longer evade the retribution that is coming."

"I'm just glad you're okay," Mizi added. "You're so brave, going out there alone like that, unprotected."

"I am accustomed to such things," she replied with a shrug. "Though I will admit, being so exposed disturbs me somewhat. I will relish the presence of a jungle canopy above my head when I return home, I miss the reassurance of having trees to climb nearby."

"How many more of those moving bases do you think are out here?" Mizi wondered.

"Who knows," Ben replied, turning his attention back to his monitors. He had the seismic readout front and center now, he was going to watch it like a hawk. "They can't have been cheap, and if the Rask can't afford to buy used ships like the Elysians, I can't imagine they'd shell out for a whole fleet of the things."

"However many remain, we will hunt them down," Lozka said as she gripped her joystick with fresh determination.

"That we will," Ben replied.

CHAPTER 14: TRIAGE

"What the fuck is this?" Cooper asked, lifting his spoon and watching the soupy, lump mess slough back into the metal bowl. The aliens had brought him a meal in his cell, and it looked like chunky vomit, an off-putting beige in color. The guard outside his door turned to glare at him through the bars, her yellow eyes shining in the gloom.

"You do not cooperate, and so you get offcuts, interloper."

"Define offcuts," he grumbled, stirring the mess around. With only one arm, he couldn't hold the bowl and eat from it at the same time, so he had set it on the cot beside him.

"If you cooperate, you may eat in the banquet hall with the Admiral," she explained tersely. "If you are disobedient, you shall be fed what remains after the meat has been carved."

"Oh, I get it," he grumbled. "This is the fast-food chicken nugget quality meat. Claws, beaks, and whatever they can scrape out of the bottom of the grease trap."

"It is not intended to be appetizing," she snapped. "It is a punishment."

"Well, I don't want it," he replied. "Send it back to the chef."

"Are you joking?" she snarled, turning to face him. She lay her clawed hands on the iron bars, narrowing her eyes at him.

"No, I just wanted you to turn around," he replied. He lifted the plate, hocking it at the door, the vile concoction sailing through the air. The metal bowl clattered against the bars, ejecting its contents across the hallway outside, splattering the floor and the far wall. The alien had faster reflexes than any human, leaping clear as she loosed an angry hiss.

"You little wretch!" she snarled, flexing her fingers as though she was imagining sinking those claws into his flesh. She pulled the key from the hook on the wall outside, unlocking the door with a mechanical clunk. "When I get in there, I'm going to make you wish that your father never sired you!"

Something distracted her, and she suddenly stood up straight, facing down the corridor.

"What is the meaning of this?" someone asked, Cooper recognizing the voice as Korbaz's.

"My apologies, Admiral," his guard said with a low bow. "The prisoner is being...difficult."

"I can sympathize," she grumbled. "Fetch someone to clean this mess up, I will have words with our guest."

The guard darted out of sight, Korbaz's insincere smile coming into view as she stepped gingerly around the spilled food.

"G'day Korbaz," Cooper said, planting his hand on his hip. "So, what's your angle this time? You gonna threaten to peel my skin off and salt the wounds? Gonna offer me an all-expenses-paid cruise to Saturn?"