Chapter 151 - Steely Sparky Huck’Ems

  Though we could already see the battle happening, we had a few minutes before we’d reach it.

  “It fires those,” I said, pointing to a rack of ferrous rods at the rear of the turret. Lura picked one up.

  “Full access to your tech tree denied, was I. Yet I know that your rockettes require a source of fire and a pressure vessel to perform. Yet, I see neither.

  “That’s because this thing uses electromagnetism,” I said. I pointed up to the circular discs lining the rails. “Each one of those is a wrap of copper wire. When a charge is applied, they create a powerful repulsive field that sends this carriage—” I pointed to a shiny metal housing bracketed between the rails “—down the length of the rails, accelerating the iron dart.

  Lura peered at the carriage. “Tis the attracting metal of the whistler’s tail!” she realized. “So keen on it you were. I did not know it could be bent to such tasks.”

  “You need powerful magnets to make a railgun work. And a lot, and I mean a lot of electricity. This jet isn’t just a command vehicle. It’s basically a giant generator pumping as much voltage as it can, and it’s all going right here.”

  Railguns and coilguns on Earth had been experimented with for decades as a replacement for missiles and artillery. For a long time, people had even thought they would be a way to deliver cargo into orbit. What they turned out to be was a big, expensive waste. They were bulky and unreliable. The parts wore out too quick to be useful in combat, they were too expensive to mass produce because of the rare earth elements, and the projectiles weren’t guided by computers like cruise missiles were.

  Ironically, all the things that made them a non-starter on Earth made them perfect for goblins. The Goblin Tech Tree seemed to thrive on devices that were loud, obnoxious, impractical, and outright hazardous to the user. Railguns checked all four boxes—to the point where the System had unlocked the tech as soon as we’d hooked up the primitive capacitor banks.

  “Lura, you’ll be on aiming duty,” I said, pointing up to the gunner’s seat. “Armstrong, you’ll be loading. The gun is controlled from this station here at the front, which is where I’ll be firing when you give the word.”

  Lura looked down at me. “I notice the firing station is behind finger-thick steel shields,” she said flatly.

  “Look, it was an uphill battle even getting that,” I said. “If it makes you feel better, I was pushing for it to be on the aiming station instead, but the weight was too much for the gimbal.”

  “It does not,” she said, looking at the conspicuously unarmored seat with the aiming controls and viewfinder.

  “Trade?” I asked.

  “Not on your life, little brother king,” she said, gripping the rungs that led up to the gunner’s chair and hauling herself up. “Damnable goblin contraptions. I shall look upon Sourtooth’s remaining limbs with envy, by the end of this. Mark these words.”

  “If it helps,” I said, we still have to get through the dozens of swarming juveniles in order to get close enough for a shot,” I said.

  “It does not!” the dawn huntress snarled down. I made my way forward to the firing control system, which was more like a bank of full-on Frankenstein’s Castle throw-lever style switches. That controlled the various functions that would either let the gun charge and fire, or blow up the front half of the aircraft. In theory. Since System had unlocked the device without a shot, I hadn’t wanted to risk testing it. I didn’t know how many uses we would get out of the rails before the whole thing failed catastrophically. But I felt like knowing that wouldn’t improve Lura’s disposition. She had her white whale, and I’d just handed her a million-volt harpoon.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Around me, other goblins were moving into position with guns and tube launchers, angling them through the holes in the paneling. I may not have planned for the null devil to split, but after fighting the silvermane night haunt swarms, I hadn’t been keen to be caught out by a numerically superior flying force again.

  A trio of hobgoblins hauled back on a chain, opening the roll door at the front of the jet so that Lura could see where she was aiming. The gale of wind redoubled as the front of the turret became exposed to the open air. A canoneer somewhere in the press lost hold of his papers in the storm, and they whipped throughout the compartment before being sucked out one of the open panels on the side. Lura maneuvered the gun within its confines, the whole assembly gliding effortlessly on ceramic bearings and discrete motors.

  “Boss, orcs!” said a hobgoblin I didn’t recognize. To our left and right, the remaining orc fighters were drawing abeam with us and then pushing past a line of spent goblin interceptors limping their way back to China Lake with empty magazines. We were grinding at this thing with a will to bury it—spending resources that should have rightly gone to rocketry and launching our first satellites into Rava’s orbit. But seeing this alien, this thing-that-should-not-be leaving its black smudgy mark on reality itself made me believe it was all worth it. The null devil couldn’t be allowed to wreak further damage to this planet or its people. It now trailed dozens of small, white drogue chutes and had slowed noticeably. But our side wasn’t without losses.

  The Sands far below were dotted with blackened, smoking smudges of their own where at least 6 or 8 aircraft had been disabled or destroyed and their debris scattered across the dunes. If it came down to a measure between the null devil and its brood versus the fighter fleet of Tribe Apollo, the null devil would eventually win out. I’m sure of it.

  It was time to put our finger on the scale.

  “Boss, here they come!” shouted a noblin ignis.

  Sure enough, at least a score of the sky devil brood were headed right toward us. We made a compelling target, being the biggest thing in the sky aside from the sky devil that could cut this aircraft in two with its pincers. And there were at least a half-dozen Ifrit unions aboard, blazing with their natural magic essence.

  “Let ‘em have it!” a scrapper yelled in reply.

  Airburst mortar tubes and rocket-propelled poppers erupted in a fireworks display of explosions ahead of us, rounds detonating in the midst of the broodling swarm. some fell away, hissing or trailing black ichor. The ones who pushed on were treated to the scrapper line of lever guns, and their volley filled the cabin with smoke and foul-smelling soot.

  But even that wasn’t enough. Despite being juveniles, these creatures were still the tough apex-predator species that had terrorized the desert for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. The C2 jet was a big target, and it had a lot of openings to accommodate the railgun assembly and its air-cooling system. The first of the creatures misjudged its approach and ricocheted off the front armor panelling. The second shot through the gap, bowling through goblins by the handful. Some of the riflemen turned, aiming their guns back toward the cabin. But discharging firearms in the tight confines would be just as dangerous to our own people and we couldn’t leave the prow undefended. I whistled and pointed ahead. “Keep firing! Leave that to the response squad!”

  A noblin canoneer charged out from the planning room, sheaf of papers in one hand and tesla-wasp spear in the other. He raised the spear high overhead. “For Apollo and the moon!” he shouted.

  A flood of forest goblins festooned in engineering symbols flooded around the canoneer’s legs, stabbies, axes, and spears raised high. The zealots made perfect in-fighters, thanks to their small size and stacking damage buff while in proximity to one another. The nymph reared up and hissed, darting toward the charging mass. But it was quickly covered in a carpet of falling cleavers and manic, screaming goblins.

  Ahead of us, the igni kept up their airburst barrage, punishing the other nymphs who dared try to push through it. Turrets on the top deck and sides of the C2 jet rattled away with self-cycling rockette guns at the creatures coming on our flanks. Further still, the full-size null devil loomed out the front aperture, a black leviathan in the sky that dwarfed reason and defied physics. It had taken notice of the command jet, despite the swarm of fighters exchanging blows with the broodlings in the dark cloud that swirled around it. Another wave of our fighters retreated, hobgoblin heavy fighters this time, shrieking past with empty missile racks and magazines. Most of them bore battle damage from creatures that had gotten close enough to rake them with claws or mandibles. But they’d done their jobs, and they would be back.

  On my console, I threw the switch to begin charging the capacitors. My console threw of a shower of sparks in my face but every goblin electrical connection went up like a bootleg firework, even when functioning properly. The dials began to climb as the power banks flooded with voltage. Next to me, a small grill covered a vox intercom, and I pressed the send switch.

  “Eileen, the rails are charging. Take us above the target.”

  “Sure thing, boss!”