Mission 0 - The Trailer - Part 2

  The corridor was a gory mess. Only a couple of metres tall and wide, blood and entrails seemed to cover every surface. Red emergency lights bathed everything from overhead for good measure. A tall man made his way toward that mess. He’d spotted someone in amongst, someone still in one piece, that is.

  "Lance-Corporal, hey, soldier, hello?" Lt. Commander Donal Moncha said, shaking the shoulders of the shell-shocked young man who had collapsed next to an emergency airlock door. The kid was utterly covered in the same gore, and he felt some pity, but now was hardly the time for such sentiments, "Sorry about this," he murmured and slapped the boy.

  "Y-you hit me?" the lad mumbled, his eyes regaining some faint focus.

  "Aye, now come on and put this on, double-time," Moncha replied without much sympathy. He had picked one hell of a day to be here as a guest inspecting the prototypes.

  "Where can we go?" the lad whimpered.

  "Protocol, son. We either destroy or get the prototypes ‘outta here, and you look like a pilot to me."

  Begrudgingly, the Commander coaxed the lad into the emergency space suit, checking its seals before checking his own.

  Gravity had begun to fail as the base’s generators fluctuated from attacks elsewhere. Moncha floated up and unscrewed the latch on the massive emergency door above them.

  Grabbing the boy's hand, he held the handle as the air depressurised, and the hatch flipped open, springing them into space with it.

  "Alright, activate your boot magnets, and we’ll get to the hangar topside. I already tried the other routes, and they’re swarming with troopers that don't seem to be ours," the Lieutenant Commander instructed briskly over the suit's short band radio to his reluctant follower.

  Above them was all the majesty of space. Uninhibited by an atmosphere or city pollution, they were welcomed into a perfect vista of the great beyond. Stars twinkling so clearly you couldn't help but want to try and reach out to touch. It was a hell of a site, even for someone as used to them as Moncha.

  Looking far right was something just as breathtaking: the planet Abhaile. To live on it was one thing, but to look upon the rich red orb so very close was truly majestic every time. It was also most likely where this attack had originated from...

  Turning left was the rest of the base. Running beneath and in front of the two men was a long series of short rectangles and larger squares; all interconnected and eventually leading to an especially large and tall square, from which three more rows of interlocking boxes expanded. A sort of blocky white cross sitting atop the rolling grey hills of the moon's surface.

  At the far end, opposite them, was the beginnings of a dome intended to make this development station into a more permanently habitable base. Now, that massive semi-circle of hexagonal sheets seemed like quite the waste.

  Moncha took a couple of steps forward, dragging the clearly broken boy - ‘Chas Collins’ by the name tag dyed red he’d seen - behind him by the wrist when suddenly his instincts flared. There wasn't time to turn around and be sure, "DOWN!" he roared, dragging the boy and himself forward.

  Everything went white.

  The pilot duo couldn't hear it, not out here in space, but they sure could feel it. Feel the heat through the protective sealed layer of their spacesuits, a miracle that it hadn't breached them. Moncha looked up to see just its tail end; a bolt of energy fire, a laser, super-heated plasma more than a metre wide, had arced some distance over their heads, just barely far enough away not to kill them outright.

  The Commander was back on his feet fast. He saw the beam streak towards a mech, an old MBT type. Cube-like limbs and stocky torso, all painted in a bland beige. The base had eight of them. Moncha had planned to complain about how he'd seen most of them helping with dome construction instead of keeping watch. This one was at least equipped, with a bomb no less - a giant black oval with a flat underside. The pilot must have chosen the 'destroy the prototypes' part of the protocol. It wouldn't get the chance.

  The beam hit it square in the back, burning through outdated armour and causing it to collapse instantly. The bomb floated down harmlessly next to it. The Lt.Commander had hardly believed the transmission from the base staff at the start of the attack; that the enemy only numbered in the dozens, with a mere three mechs - but based on this single customised red Vijiak-Heavy, he was forced to admit how detailed and skillfully carried out the enemies planning had been.

  "Put down your weapons and surrender. What more fighting is there to be done? We shan’t shoot any who flee,” a supremely confident and unfittingly gentle voice echoed inside Moncha's helmet. Someone, presumably an enemy commander, was broadcasting on an open channel.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "Speak for yourself," a likewise female - although so gruff as to almost be masculine - voice replied dispassionately, "Ah shit, this thing is open both ways?" the voice added after a moment, seemingly embarrassed of all things.

  As this conversation continued, Moncha saw an odd shuttle with insectoid-like stylings leaving the station - probably the enemy's boarding team. The mission was evidently over; if you could call this massacre a real fight, they'd lost.

  'What to do now?' he wondered.

  The mech behind him that had fired the laser bolt was a Vijiak Heavy. This large last-war machine had retained relevance thanks to its thick armour and quality generator, which could handle energy weaponry when retrofitted. It might not notice just one man running; he might just be able to trigger the bomb himself, denying the enemy the prototypes.

  Moncha weighed the options. Most of the base’s staff were probably dead, and the test pilot beside him hadn't even stood back up after their dive, a typical failure - someone who couldn’t hack it when the real bullets started flying - a pretend soldier. ‘Pft, test pilots,’ he scoffed internally. None of his own subordinates were here; he'd come alone. His life or three state-of-the-art Casnels stolen by terrorists - the choice was obvious, Moncha had to admit; he needn’t have bothered weighing it.

  "Belay that. Tidying up takes priority. Unit 2, get the bomb," said a third voice, a man's. A man of experience and leadership, Moncha could tell in an instant, a man not to be trifled with.

  "Aye, that," the rougher female voice confirmed.

  "Oh dear, I'd run if I were listening to this. These two are a bit short on humour and mercy," the first voice added, though it hardly seemed that concerned.

  Moncha decided to heed its advice. With the test pilot limply floating behind him like a kite, he began to sprint as fast as he could away from the centre of the base.

  Running in low gravity was easier said than done, but Moncha did so masterfully. He bounced off the station's metal below, letting all his force push him forward, periodically using his boot’s magnets to grab the building below and not float too high before repeating each step.

  Within seconds, the Commander passed under the stocky legs of the red Vijiak-Heavy, sparing the smallest of glances to its rifle, which took careful aim at where the bomb had fallen.

  After a couple more seconds and with all the force he could muster, Moncha kicked off the furthest edge of the station, letting the lack of gravity carry him and his companion as far as it pleased. After a few moments, he used the rather cheap emergency suit's small thruster to spin a little, not affecting his continuing trajectory away from the base but allowing them to look back at it.

  The rifle barrel glowed, another enormous burst of superheated energy lanced through the air, and the bomb exploded.

  A massive fiery orb rose, circling out from the dull black oval.

  Both Vijiak Heavy and the enemy shuttle pushed out a bit further from the base, but to Moncha’s relief, he and the boy had gotten far enough away the blast wouldn’t quite reach them.

  A brief shock wave did strike him, but it, if anything, aided in pushing them further out of harm’s way. Using the thrusters to stop any uncomfortable spinning, the Lieutenant Commander stared at the black plum of dust rising. Small fires appeared and quenched instantly due to the lack of oxygen, with brief flashes inside the clouds of grey.

  He glanced around, "No way?"

  Moncha could see the one red mech and the shuttle. Further out where two more Vijiak-Heavies formed a perimeter - but where were the prototypes? Surely, the enemy hadn't come just to steal data. All this, such a decisive victory, just to leave behind three mechs of the highest calibre. Were they mad?

  But then Moncha saw it - first just an arm, then a slim, angular torso, a large circular shield mounted on one arm, a pointed head.

  Still in its base white colours, not so much as scuffed despite being at the blasts centre, the first-ever Gen-3 Casnels walked out of the billowing black storm with elegant ease, utterly unscathed.

  Moncha supposed that, in retrospect, the bomb had been untested. No, that wasn't fair. As the smoke disappeared, he realised it was gone, completely levelled.

  The military-grade station had been reduced to dust mixing with the moon's natural surroundings, and the half-constructed atmospheric dome was nowhere to be seen but for the faint shimmer of shattered glass in the distance. The explosion had destroyed everything to a near-atomic level, yet the prototype Casnels were walking out unharmed.

  "Mother fuc--" Moncha began to curse before the open transmission interrupted him;

  "If any of you survived that, if any sulking TSU technology is still functioning after that, listen well. My title is the Bane of Konpei, and I have not forgotten.

  My brothers and sisters-in-arms will not forget what was inflicted upon us. The very soil of the Isles of Remembrance itself has not forgiven the scars inflicted upon it. We will right the wrongs of this solar system, Abhaile will have its rightful independence, and these new Casnels - superweapons built as a show of TSU’s desire not for peace, but for violent domination - shall now be our sword on that path.

  Prepare yourself for your just retribution.”