December 17th, 2602, the Battle of Hosk
Rowan had never been a believer in heaven and hell. For one thing, she had yet to see anything in the galaxy that could even remotely be described as heavenly. The entire Colonial Network of Planets was at war, and everything had become a series of studies in the meaning of the word 'hellscape.' But even in hell, there was something to hold onto.
Rowan had been serving in the Intergalactic Ranger Corps since she was fifteen. She had seen firsthand the damage wrought upon humanity in what people had begun dubbing the 'Robot Wars.' And humanity had been losing. Badly. Until today. A group of army scouts had stumbled onto the robots' power source, here on Hosk, and ship Rowan served on, the IRC Horizon, had been closest.
She paused behind a pile of rubble to survey her surroundings. What had once been a colonial outpost burned. Carcasses both human and robot dotted the landscape, and, by the power station, a fallen shell that had once housed artificial life made the perfect cover to storm the place.
She caught sight of her squad leader, Evander Stark, dashing towards her. Across the battlefield, a robot–a massive hulk of twisted and deformed metal–aimed its fist at him. Rowan levelled her own plasma rifle–a weapon more powerful than the regular army-issued laser guns–above the edge of her cover and let loose a single shot that punctured through the robot's armor, melting its metal core.
Stark slammed up against the rubble where she crouched, breathing heavily. Rowan kept scanning their surroundings, on the lookout for trouble while he took a breather. A trio of cyborgs were stalking towards them, simply blasting their way past any obstacles, and Rowan felt a wave of revulsion slam through her body.
So many cyborgs were veterans who had had some body part replaced, and then switched sides. Rowan had seen it a thousand times. So, as she aimed her rifle at them, she didn't feel even the smallest grain of remorse for eliminating half-humans. The cyborgs had surrendered their humanity when they sided with the robots, to her way of thinking.
She took them out without hesitation. They would have done the same to her. Stark moved up behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see a pair of androids bearing down on them. Stark raised his own plasma gun, a handheld canon, and took aim. Trusting him to watch her back, Rowan looked for her next target. An industrial bot moved towards them, its wheels crushing cars and structures like they were made of paper. She smiled grimly and shot it.
Stark had held off his targets, but they'd attracted attention. "We have to get to the wreckage by the station," she shouted at Stark. "Otherwise we'll be fucked."
"Let's go," Stark said without hesitating. Rowan glanced around, trying to locate any of their fellow squad members, but she couldn't make them out in the dust and smoke. For now, it seemed like it was just the two of them.
Together, weapons raised, shooting at any of the robots who went after them, they broke away from their shelter and pelted for the smoldering carcass. But, no matter how fast Rowan and Stark acquired and dispatched targets, there was no denying the robots were closing in. Almost in unison, Rowan and Stark leapt over the corpse of a cyborg, this one with over half his body replaced with metal appendages.
Rowan was glad, strangely, for it seemed that there was nothing to be glad about. But she and Stark had served together for years. She'd started off training for the army, but, since the Rangers didn't have a training program of their own and they poached from the rest of the military, Stark had recruited her straight after their first meeting for Fox Squad. At the time, he'd been the second-in-command, and, over the past five years, their bond had solidified. At first, he'd been her mentor, helping her to acclimate to Ranger life and to fit in with the rest of the squad. Later, he'd been given command and he'd selected her as his second. Now, after so much time spent together, they could practically read each other's minds.
They reached the remains of the robot next to the power station, and Stark jerked his head to the left. Rowan nodded and they split, Stark going in from the right, her taking the left. They would clear the area, catching anyone in the between them and crushing them as they pressed on.
The twisted metal the size of a small starship housed only a few cyborgs and one small robot, all of which they eliminated easily. When they reached the centre of the remains, Rowan shrugged off her pack and began rummaging around it.
They needed an improvised bomb, something to destroy the station completely, to make sure there was no way for the robots to get power from it. With luck, it would shut down a lot of the robots' network at the same time. It was the only power station that they could find that the robots had taken over, so it was likely that it powered a significant chunk of their support, and maybe even some of them to boot.
Stark stood over her as she began pulling out things they could use. Ten plasma charges, a charger pack for a laser gun, a flint, a coil of copper wire and one lithium nanowire battery. The combination of all of them should, Rowan thought, produce a blast big enough to take out the power plant. The only problem was that the makeshift bomb would be too heavy to toss from where they were.
She grimaced and began tying everything together, ignoring that one shortcoming to her plan. She added a piece of string pulled from Stark's pack to act as a fuse. She would have to light it right before she threw it so they'd have time to get out of the way.
After what felt like an agonizing eternity, the explosive was ready. "Stark," she said, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. She knew there was a high probability that the bomb wouldn't detonate possibly and they could all be blown up or it wouldn't work well enough. "I'm going to have to climb up there," she explained, pointing at the top of the metal carcass they were in. It was about a ten foot climb straight up, the only place that could support her weight was at the far end of the remains, and she would make herself a target by climbing that high.
"I'll cover you," he said, shouldering his pack. Rowan left hers where it was. If the plan worked, the battle would be over. If it failed, they would all be dead soon, anyway, and she wouldn't need its contents.
As Stark hoisted his weapon, Rowan took a running start and sprinted across the carcass, building momentum so she could make it to the top. She took a second to look around. The smoke had thickened, and there were less than a handful of humans still standing. The plan had to work, or they all would die.
That was when Rowan noticed two gargantuan shapes making their way through the smoke towards her from both sides. The one on her left backhanded a crashed airship that happened to be in its way, sending it nearly a hundred feet across the battlefield. Rowan swore and drew her gun, but the robots were too close for it to be effective. She cast it aside and drew the long metal pole that hung across her back.
It was six feet long–taller than she was–and the middle had a leather grip that, when twisted, sprung two six-inch blades from the ends. Rowan gave the staff a twirl, testing its weight in her hands, and twisted the grip. The blades shot out, catching the light of a fire burning nearby.
Then, as the biggest of the two machines closed in on her, she planted one end of the pole into the surface beneath her feet and ran, letting the pole send her soaring through the air, straight at the oncoming robot. A well-timed twist pulled the staff free, and she landed, as planned, with her thighs around the thing's neck. The robot bucked, trying to throw her off, but she held on grimly, and, bringing the staff around, beheaded it. Robots were designed with their power cores where a human heart would be, so she drew the staff backwards and rammed it into the metal chest below her. When the hole was big enough, she swung down from the robot, reaching in to grab the thing's core as she dropped. She pulled out the mess of wires and batteries and tossed it far away. The robot sank to the ground, and Rowan turned, ready to face her next opponent.
The other robot had arrived, and another was closing in on her. Her heartbeat stopped. She was done for. They'd flanked her. Then, she heard a shout, and saw Stark running along the top of the carcass they'd been using for shelter, his gun drawn. He fired a shot at one robot's outstretched arm, drawing both their attention. As they closed in on him, Rowan through caution to the wind and pushed away her fear for her friend.
She ran for the power station, praying the robots weren't following her. She heard the telltale 'zap' of a laser gun and heat and pain slammed into her right knee. Her legs gave out and her shins slammed into the ground, blood spurting from scrapes up their length. She cast a glance at her knee and flinched. The laser beam had sliced clean to the bone. She grimaced and forced herself back onto her feet. She decided to be grateful that the heat from the shot had partially cauterized the wound instead of focusing on the pain.
Limping badly, now, she continued doggedly for the edge of the station, arming the explosives as she went, and, finally drawing near enough, she lobbed the improvised device over the outer wall. She turned, sprinting as fast as her injured knee could carry her.
She'd made it fifty yards when the explosion went off, and she turned to see the entire station up in flames. Around her, the robots slumped to the ground without an external power source. But the cyborgs kept fighting, not needing any extra power.
Rowan caught sight of Stark, trapped and disarmed between two of them, and she let out a wordless scream of terror as one of them embedded a blade in his thigh. She closed in on them, staff raised, thinking only of helping her friend.
Something cold closed around her ankle and she was wrenched around to see a half-melted cyborg holding her ankle. She fought desperately to free herself as she saw an enemy's spear embedded in Stark's back. She was so close to him, only ten feet away, but she couldn't get free.
The cyborg that held her jerked her back, and she cried out again, bringing the spear down into its chest. The cyborg knocked her weapon aside, its other hand groping for another hold. She kicked and fought the thing who seemed to be neither female nor male, but sexless like a robot. Its hand closed around her throat, and it lifted her off the crowd.
She thrashed a fought, her flailing getting weaker and weaker as her vision slowly went black. She struggled to hold on to consciousness. Then, the cyborg jerked, its grip on her neck going weak, and she dropped to the ground like a stone. She blinked, clearing her sight, and found that its entire chest was caved in from a plasma shot. She half-turned, and saw Stark, lying in the shade of the carcass they'd used as shelter his gun raised, rapidly emptying eyes on her.
And then something slammed into her stomach, puncturing her armor. The dying cyborg had shoved its blade-like hand into her stomach. She staggered backwards, pain radiating through her whole body. Her bad knee gave out, and she looked down to see a pool of blood coloring her white tank top red.
She struggled up the side of the carcass, hands groping blindly for purchase. Her bad leg hit something soft and she moaned. Her vision swam in and out of focus, and she realized that she had stumbled over Stark's pack.
Rowan sank back onto a slab of concrete, her heart pounding in her ears. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she turned her head towards where she'd last seen Stark. Her stomach contracted and she pressed a hand to it. Her palm came away sticky and bright red.
"Fuck," she whispered and forced her eyes to focus. Stark lay not three feet from her, surrounded by a red haze. Oh, wait, no. That was blood. His gaze, unfocused and weary, found hers and he reached out a hand.
Rowan moved her own arm, slowly, agonizingly, ignoring the blackness swamping her vision. Her heartbeat seemed to slow down, and she could hear her blood fooding through her veins. Her hand found Stark's and she gripped it tightly, only now registering the fear that had invaded her. Her limbs felt cold and heavy, but her knee and her stomach were balls of fire. Her head pounded, her eyesight going dark.
One last time, she looked back at the smoking power plant, then, turning her face towards Stark, she let herself succumb to the pain and the dark.
***
Carter slipped out of the drop pod with the other medic trainees, keeping her eyes down. A strong wind buffeted them, carrying with it the smell of smoke, burning flesh and melted plastic. But, aside from the wind and the sounds the medics themselves made, everything was eerily silent.
Following protocol, the medics fanned out, putting twenty feet between each of them–close enough to call for help, but far enough apart to cover the entire battlefield. As they moved away from the drop pod, Carter made herself look up, and regretted it instantly.
What had once been a fringe colonial outpost was now a smoking landscape dotted with rubble and bodies both human and robot. Directly opposite the drop pod, the remains of a power station was the only structure recognizable for what it once had been. Mangled equipment dotted on its cracked foundation let off smoke and sparks. And, in front of it, a robot's carcass, easily twenty feet tall, lay splayed across the battlefield.
Carter's legs wobbled, but, through sheer willpower, she locked her knees and made herself move forward. Her path would take her straight through that metal beast. She prayed it wouldn't come alive like in some horror film and grab her when she did.
Her path to that thing was dotted with bodies, human, robot and cyborg. At each human, she paused to check for a pulse, but found nothing, no signs of life. A cursory glance around showed that the other medics were coming across similar devastation. Only one medic that she could see had found a survivor, a woman with a nasty head wound, and he was helping her to sit up.
Carter pressed on, and, soon, her hands and uniform were stained with blood and dirt. Her eyes watered from the smoke, and the smell make her stomach writhe. She came across one body that had been so badly burned it was unrecognizable. Carter bypassed it. There was no way in hell that poor person was still alive.
She made it four steps before her stomach gave up and hurled up her breakfast. She retched and retched, and, finally, when her stomach gave up and realized it was empty, she unhooked her cantine, took a mouthful of water, spat it out, then took a long drink.
She trembled with exertion and disgust, and, shaking her head to clear it, she realized she had reached the hulking robot carcass. She stared up at the length of smooth metal that climbed almost straight up, and groaned. Her legs, already wobbly, had turned to jelly after her little vomit session. She grimaced. She'd just have to go around, even if there was another body in there. She couldn't handle the climb.
Just as she was about to turn away, she heard a weak cough come from somewhere inside the carcass. Her heart began to pound as she realized there was someone alive in there. She unclipped the length of rope that hung from her belt, attached a grappling hook to one end, and flung it up to the top of the metal edge. The hook caught on the rim of the thing and she gave it a tug to make sure it was secure. It was only about ten feet up, but at such an angle, and without any decent footholds, so, very careful, she began to pull herself up.
At the top, she looked around for the source of the cough, but everything was completely still. A body, clothed in the same black Ranger's uniform as Carter–except Carter's had the white sleeves of a medic–poked out from beneath a pile of rubble that looked like it had once been several robots.
A pool of blood spread out from the body, and Carter didn't need her medic's training to tell what had happened. The rough wound in the girl's stomach told her everything: she'd been shot at point blank range with a laser gun.
Carter pressed her fingers to the girl's neck, not expecting anything. She waited, and felt nothing. Then, so softly she thought she'd imagined it, she felt the slightest bit of a flicker. Suddenly, she was more alert than ever. She pressed down a little harder. Yes, that was most definitely a pulse, impossible though it seemed.
She straightened and called out, "Over here!" Her voice came out a mere croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Over here!" she shouted at the top of her longs. Several medics turned and began hurrying over.
Carter ripped off her jacket, folded it and slid it under the Ranger's head as a pillow. She didn't want to move the girl in case she did more damage to her wounds, so she shrugged off her pack, pulled out an oxygen mask and an intravenous drip with a folding stand. She activated the oxygen mask and placed it over the ranger's nose and mouth, watching as the vacuum seal took hold and the girl's breathing evened out.
Next, Carter set up the drip and went to take the girl's arm, which was flung out and pinned beneath the rubble. Carter moved the debris aside, and dropped the drip. The girl's hand was entwined with a man's, and the debris had shielded his body from Carter's view.
Quickly and proficiently, she inserted the drip into the girl's arm, then clambered along the metal carcass until she reached to man's body. This Ranger had the stars on his uniform that marked him as a squad leader, or a lieutenant. His body lay crumpled at an unnatural angle, his left leg broken, the bone poking through the skin. His left shoulder was dislocated, and all along the left side of his body were severe burns. He, too, lay in a pool of blood, and, when Carter looked for a pulse, she found one just as faint as the girl's.
She ran to the edge of the carcass and saw another medic, her friend Hisashi, trying to find a way to reach her. "Hisashi!" she cried. "There's another one! Hand me your pack, then go to where I came up. There's a climbing rope."
Hisashi yanked off his pack and threw it up to her without a word of protest. "I'll be right up," he said. "Good find, Carter."
Carter pulled out the drip and oxygen mask from his pack and did for the Ranger lieutenant what she had done for the girl. Then, she checked his body for the source of the blood, sliding her hands under his body. She found a deep stab wound in his lower back, and she knew moving him would cause irreparable damage.
She stood and realized she was still shaking, and her white sleeves were soaked with blood. She took a moment to steady herself before going for help. As she went to see what was taking Hisashi so long, she realized she hadn't pulled there arms apart, and they still lay together, hand in hand.
She met Hisashi at the top of the carcass. She must have given him some look that made him worry, because he reached out and cupped her cheek. "You okay?" he asked. Wordlessly, she nodded. "Okay, show me who you found."
Carter led him over to the two Rangers, and, her voice much more steady than she felt, she said, "The girl has a laser wound to the stomach and another to the knee. The knee's cut to the bone. She's not breathing on her own, and her pulse is weak and erratic. The wounds have mostly stopped bleeding, but blood loss is already critical. Also, severe bruising on her neck and shins." She knelt by the body as she spoke, pointing out the injuries as she named them.
When she'd finished cataloguing the girl's wounds, she moved on to the man's. "This one's in worse shape, overall. Stab wound to the center lower back, could be spinal damage. Severe burning across his left side, at a glance second and third degree. Leg broken in at least two places, with the bone breaking the skin. Dislocated shoulder, and, from the swelling, I'd say a broken collarbone, but I could be wrong and it could be muscle or tissue damage."
Following protocol, she stepped back and let Hisashi confirm her finds. As he went over the bodies, Carter had an idea. "Hisashi, see if their dog tags are legible. I'll radio this in. We're going to need more help."
Hisashi reached into the girl's collar and pulled out the chain on which her dog tags hung. He turned them over and read out, "Sergeant E. Rowan, Fox Squad, starship IRC Horizon." He went over to the man's body and did the same. "And Lieutenant E. Stark, also Fox Squad, serving on the Horizon."
Carter pulled her radio out of her bag and inputted the code that would contact the crew onboard the drop pod. "CNP Tallahassee drop pod 16A4, this is Medic Roe to command. This is a Code Red. Requesting immediate assistance on top of the robot carcass due north of the pod."
She'd repeated her call once more before she got a response. "Roger that, Medic Roe. Please describe the situation."
Carter turned back to the two rangers to find Hisashi working to temporarily stabilize the wounds. "Two Rangers off the IRC Horizon, Lieutenant E. Stark and Sergeant E. Rowan, both serving in Fox Squad."
The voice on the other end came back strong and, it seemed to Carter, more interested now than before. "You're saying Fox Squad's commander is alive?" he asked. "We have one of his operatives here, saying she saw him go down in the fighting. She's in pretty good shape. I'm going to send her with your assistance."
"Roger that," Carter said. "I need to get back to work. Over and out."
Hisashi handed her a roll of bandage as soon as she set down the radio. "We need to get her knee clean and bandaged before we can move her. I've done her stomach, and I'll do the lieutenant now."
Carter took the bandage from him and pulled a bottle of rubbing alcohol out of her pack. "Got it," she said, kneeling beside the girl. "Command's sending assistance and a member of their squad. From what I can tell, the Lieutenant is some kind of a big deal." As she filled Hisashi in on her conversation, she poured rubbing alcohol over the girl's knee wound to sterilize it. The girl's body convulsed, and both Hisashi and Carter leapt back.
"She didn't do that earlier," Hisashi whispered.
The girl's eyelids fluttered, and she let out a moan. "Hisashi, bind her leg," Carter ordered. She didn't look to see if Hisashi listened. She crouched next to the Ranger. "Hey, can you hear me?"
The girl's eyes opened, a striking shade of grey against the grime coating her face. She flinched when she saw Carter, and Carter placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Easy," she said softly. "We're medics, and we're here to get you and your C.O. treatment, okay?"
The girl nodded faintly, then winced. "Shh," Hisashi murmured. "Just keep still, alright? We'll take care of you."
Deciding that the girl's consciousness was a good sign, Carter pulled the folding stretcher off her back, and, together, she and Hisashi gently lifted the girl onto the canvas. Hisashi unfolded the stretcher he'd been carrying, but they both knew that they wouldn't be able to lift the man alone. He was nearly a foot taller than the girl, and they'd struggled with her.
It was another few minutes before help arrived, and then they got the lieutenant squared away. Carter gathered the girl's IV set up and let two men gather up the stretcher. As Hisashi and a woman Carter didn't recognize lifted the lieutenant's stretcher, Carter watched as the girl, E. Rowan, let go of his hand and closed her eyes.