New Blood Episode Two: Lancer
By AMRAAM
Part 1
Lancer returned to his quarters after the debriefing to find a woman in his bed. He recognized her as a Sentinel operator, but he couldn’t for the life of him recall her name ... or that they had ever exchanged more than a word or two in passing. He supposed he could have started something with her in the last couple of weeks, but he doubted it. After that business with Jenni, he had resolved to avoid the brainy types.
Only the memory of the wounded and appalled look his new Zipper had given him not much more than an hour before kept Lancer from demanding to know what the hell this woman was doing in his bed.
“Look, I’m flattered, but ...”
She smiled, a little nervously, perhaps, and sat up in bed. “I know you don’t remember, L...love.” Maybe she hoped the sight of certain admittedly eye-catching attributes would make him forget his reservations, but that stumble when she had started to call him Lancer was enough to convince him. Had she been on the kind of terms with him she wanted him to believe, she would have known his personal name.
“All right, Sentinel, I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I’m going to assume your motives are pure ...”
She blushed furiously and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Lancer saw tears glisten in her eyes.
“You never even noticed me before,” she said.
Lancer was a master of battle tactics, and he considered himself better than most at reading people, but he was seriously out of his depth here. He wondered if anybody understood women, even other women.
“Well, I’ve noticed you now. But I’m going to go away for a while, and when I come back ...”
He didn’t finish, but he was sure she was bright enough to figure out what he meant. He turned on his heel, and as he went back out through the door, he heard her call softly, so softly she probably didn’t expect him to hear her. Had his ears been through even one battle, he probably wouldn’t have.
“I’m sorry, Lancer.”
And probably embarrassed as hell, he realized, but he pretended he hadn’t heard and closed the door behind him.
He put the strange little episode out of his mind and went down to the level 2 vehicle assembly bay to check out the new Bulldogs. They were supposed to be all the same, but they never were, quite, and he wanted to try a few before he slapped his crest on one.
“Lancer, you son of a mother! Trying to get the jump on me, I see.”
He couldn’t see her, but he recognized the voice; apparently today was his day for woman trouble, although this was of an entirely different kind. Cyclone was a bulldog pilot, one of the best. And she had seniority. Maybe he’d get lucky, and they wouldn’t be assigned to the same brigade.
“Cyclone. They’re really scraping the bottom of the cell line barrel if they’ve gotten to you already.”
“Yeah, it looks like a major buildup,” she replied as she climbed from the cockpit of a nearby Bulldog. “I guess you really let things get out of hand here, so now they’ve got to call up us veterans to save your meat.” She jumped and would have landed on top of him if he hadn’t moved out of her way.
“As sweet and dainty as ever, I see.” He probably should have waited until he was a little farther from her before making this remark, because she hauled off and belted him in the arm. His first bruise in the new body. He ignored it.
He was tempted to start with the Bulldog Cyclone had been sitting in, but he knew, and she knew, that she’d have first pick, so there was no point. There were half a dozen of the heavy tanks as yet unclaimed, and no way to tell if one was better or worse than the others. Even sitting in one was good for only so much.
“You try that one yet?” It was the farthest up the line, so she might not have unless she had been here longer than he would have thought.
“No, I just got started.” She scrambled up the flank of the next Bulldog and was still talking as she dropped into the pilot’s couch. “I hear your whole outfit got wiped out yesterday. Everybody but a Zipper and a couple of Peewees. Lancer, how do you toast a Bulldog and save a Zipper?”
“Sent him on recon.” He’d already been commended for managing to save a Commander’s natural-born son, but it hadn’t been part of his plan. A Zipper was a scout, and he’d sent Jak scouting. The rest was luck.
He ran his hand along the slightly rough flank of the last Bulldog. He hadn’t had an entirely new vehicle in years, and there was something about the feel and the smell of a brand new tank that quickened the pulse. He swung his way into place with the ease of long practice and spent a few minutes absorbing the aura of the new battle wagon.
Lancer had never told anyone how he chose a tank, because it was terribly unscientific, but until someone came up with a scientific way, his method worked for him. The Bulldog seemed to whisper to him on a subconscious level ... a pup, eager to please, a little clumsy...
He always felt a little guilty when he rejected a tank, and he patted the turret reassuringly before he descended. There was a master somewhere for this one, it just wasn’t him. Sorry, big guy.
The next Bulldog was a lady. A thoroughbred. He started the customization procedure and was just adjusting his tank’s voice to a s.exy contralto when there was a thump on the hatch.
“Hey, what if I like that one?”
It was Cyclone. If she preferred his Sweet Lady Bulldog, she could probably have it. Lancer muttered something filthy before he popped the hatch and invited her to try. He climbed out and stood glowering while she lowered herself into place.
Part 2
“So you sent the Zipper on reconnaissance.”
What was Cyclone talking about? Oh, *that* Zipper.
“Yeah. We’ve got outlooks in most of the ridges around here, so I sent him up for a sightseeing tour.”
“You did.” Her emphasis was such that he understood she did not doubt such a thing had taken place so much as she questioned his part in the affair.
Lancer had been as thoroughly briefed on the last action as it was possible to be, and he could pretend he had merely lost his memory of the event, but the fact remained he himself had not been there. His prior self had, and had been killed, and his current self was a replacement. He even had a fairly recent memory deposit on file, but it was still a couple of weeks out of date. Maybe he *had* been trying to protect the Commander’s kid. But he doubted it.
“All right. I didn’t. Now will you get out of my tank?”
“When I’m ready.” She knew she was annoying him, and she took her time readjusting everything to fit her smaller frame. He *hoped* she was just doing it to bother him, anyway.
“Honestly, Lancer, I don’t know what you look for,” she said at last, and he could breathe again, although he maintained his scowl for form’s sake.
“Why don’t you try that last one,” he said. She was climbing out of his chosen vehicle, so he could afford to be magnanimous. “It wasn’t right for me, so maybe it’ll be the one for you.”
Lancer didn’t wait to see if she took him up on his suggestion; he had a sweet lady Bulldog to get to know.
He had been a Bulldog pilot for a long time, and controlling it came as easily as walking to him. He spun a couple of tight circles, and then he guided his new lady between the row of Bulldogs on one side and the radar jammers and mobile artillery on the other until he came to the hangar door. There was barely enough room, but Lancer knew to the last millimeter where the corners of his tank were, and he lined it up to go through the airlock.
He’d go out, tool around a little to get the controls better calibrated to his touch, and then bring the new tank to the tank barn.
“Hey, race you to the northwest HLT.”
Damn, Cyclone was right behind him. She must have taken to the clumsy pup, although by the way she was handling the new Bulldog, there was no hint of clumsiness about it. And now she wanted to race him to the heavy laser tower on the opposite side of the fort, which was a brazenly reckless thing to do. There could be all kinds of units between here and there, and some of them wouldn’t be able to get out of the way fast enough to escape getting flattened.
“That kind of idea is why you don’t get cloned more often,” he said, saying exactly what he thought for a change. “And I don’t see any point in racing you anyway. You always used to beat me, and I don’t expect today would be any different.”
“You’re getting to be an old man, Lancer.”
“I am an old man, Cyclone.” It was true. The body might be young, but the brain could no longer hold the memories of twenty lifetimes. He could remember practically nothing but war, where he and his Bulldog had prevailed in thousands of battles, hardly one of which stood out much from the others. Maybe it was a good thing the scientists had never perfected a mobile memory deposit system, or he would also remember his last minutes before being crushed, incinerated, eviscerated …
Lancer turned his Bulldog and went sedately to the tank barn. Cyclone could play with her puppy, but he wasn’t in the mood anymore. He gave instructions about markings to a construction Kbot and then went back to his quarters.
He was almost disappointed to find his bed empty.
Lancer was in a more cheerful frame of mind the next morning when he met with an abbreviated patrol at the simulation lab, although he suffered a brief relapse when he saw the Zipper. Lancer honestly could not remember being as young as Jak.
Not all of his personnel had been restored yet, but they would be. And Fido 90210 was here. No, make that 90211, but gorgeous as ever. He could tell Jak was trying not to look at her too hard, and he wondered if he ought to warn the kid ... nah, Jak was an adult, if barely. He’d find out on his own that one was no man’s fodder.
"Listen up, troops." He always felt a little gawky and foolish addressing such an ill-assorted lot of people; not only did they not look especially warlike without their units, he was well aware his own lanky frame was not one to inspire awe. "We’ve got an exercise designed by the head Maverick, who is also going to play Core Command against us. Chances are excellent we will be demolished and humiliated, but our object here is to work as a team, and for those of you ... us ... who have only been recently restored, it is an opportunity to reacquaint ourselves with our units’ controls and capabilities. May the best soldier last longest!"
This was the signal to suit up, although there were no actual suits or vehicles in the sim lab. Instead there were rows and rows of control pods, and it really didn’t matter too much which one any individual chose, since the basic pod was pretty much the same for most units. Customization in form and function occurred once the pilot was in place.
Lancer usually took the same pod, however, and he did so today. The automatic calibration didn’t take long, and he relaxed as a subtle whisper he couldn’t really hear came in the voice of a familiar drill sergeant, promising a challenging lesson. Once the basic configuration was set, Lancer adjusted a few parameters to his own taste before he signaled his own readiness. He watched for the ready lights of his other units, and most of them were set as quickly as he was, but there were a couple... He checked their readouts and discovered his sluggards were a couple of AI’s filling in for personnel who had not yet been restored. There was no use in wasting tact on an AI.
"What’s your problem?" he asked both at once. One put on its ready light immediately, but the other didn’t seem to have heard him. He switched communication channels. "Hammer AI72, what’s your problem?"
"Gmmrl…" That one was obviously suffering some kind of failure. He briefly considered cutting the Hammer, but he knew he’d need every unit he had and then some, so he gave an order to his one living construction Kbot to repair the defective unit.
It was almost surreal how realistic the simulation was. Lancer could actually see the units in formation, and now he watched as the C-bot made his purposeful way toward the Hammer. He could see the bright green streams of nanobots better than he usually could in real life, though, because even if there wasn’t atmosphere to dull the effect, there was dust or something. But he didn’t have a lot of time to spare for admiring the C-bot’s work, and he looked over his briefing materials again.
It was his job to attack and destroy (yeah, sure, he muttered to himself) a Core aircraft manufacturing center. Intelligence reports indicated there were at least two big guns and probably two dozen vehicles as well as unknown numbers of Kbots guarding it. The terrain where it stood was fairly well mapped, but the exact placement of the center and the number of support structures were known only generally.
Lancer rubbed his hands together in anticipation. This was going to be fun.
Part 3
Lancer started posting orders to move out in a sequence that would give the lightly armored units the protection of the more heavily armored units. This close to base, it didn’t really matter, but it was a lot easier to start in a loose battle formation and tighten it later than it was to put one together on the fly.
As he watched the waves move out, both in virtual and mapped formats, it occurred to him that what he was doing was really quite difficult, or would be for most people. He had just been doing it so long he took it for granted.
“Close up there a bit, Jethro AI16.” One of the units was straying a little, but it responded to the verbal prompt and got back on course.
Lancer hadn’t had a Jethro in his command since coming to Delbay 4, and he hoped the two anti-aircraft ‘bots Command had assigned him were just a precautionary measure. True, he was supposed to be taking out an aircraft manufacturing facility, but he fervently hoped it was still under construction. If the Core had air support, two miserable Jethros wouldn’t be able to do a whole lot to counter the threat. They were all goners, anyway, but Lancer thought he would like to at least inflict damage on the plant before going down himself.
He had several Samsons, most with AI pilots, and he had a couple of them lead the way into a narrow ravine. His choice of route was a compromise--for a purely ground action, he’d have preferred a wider one, but he had to consider a threat from the air. Core aircraft would find it very difficult to attack the Arm force here.
He sent out a couple of scouts, who reported nothing, and all kept on alert as they rumbled on toward their objective, but so far there was no enemy activity. There was a little time compression in the simulator, and it didn’t take as long to get to the branch Lancer was looking for as it would have in real life. Even so, he had already outlined his plan, and two of his Fidos took about a third of the force and started down a channel to the left, while Lancer took his main force down the wider right-hand branch.
He sent scouts out again, this time hugging the sides of the ravine, since there were no lookout posts here so far from base. The Zipper could see the farthest, so Lancer tapped into his multimode radar. Nothing so far...
“Look out, kid!” Even before Lancer shouted, Jak jumped behind a boulder and let fly with his laser.
The blasts Lancer could see ripping into the terrain around the Zipper indicated there were more than the single A.K. originally caught in Jak’s radar.
“Jenni...” He said her name but no more, and his orders went up on the Luger’s display even as he checked on his Peewees. He could rely on Jenni to do her job properly and give Jak artillery support, although he had little hope she’d actually be able to give him enough cover so he could escape.
The Peewees were under fire, too, and Lancer got a couple of Hammers to help them out while he considered the pattern of incoming fire. Even if you couldn’t see a Core unit, you could get a pretty fair idea what it was by the type, size and frequency of the blasts.
Lancer made a rude noise. One of his AI Hammers had just demolished a Peewee. At first he considered shutting the stupid unit down, but he reconsidered and merely changed its orders. Maybe if they got lucky, the Hammer would get far enough that its self-destruction would take a few Core units, too. No such luck. Even an AI had instincts of self-preservation, and it refused to start the sequence. Lancer performed a command override and hesitated before he simply deactivated the Hammer’s motor function. He’d never trigger a self-destruct on a unit against its pilot’s will, so there was no point in doing so in a simulation.
By the time the Arm main force came within range of the Core strike team, Lancer had analyzed the fire and had a pretty fair idea what he was up against. A.K.’s, Thuds and a Storm. No tanks at all, which could mean this was simply a scouting party, or it could mean there were Dragon’s Teeth farther up the ravine. In any event, the element of surprise was gone. Not that Lancer had ever had much hope he would surprise the enemy.
The Stumpys and Rockos, once they were in range, were able to reduce the outnumbered Core units to wreckage in short order, and then Lancer sent a couple of C-bots to do what they could for the wounded. The Peewee hit by the Hammer was beyond repair, but miraculously, the Zipper wasn’t even badly damaged. The C-bot fixed him up, and he was jogging into his place behind the Bulldog in no time.
Lancer slowed his progress a little so the others could catch up when they were ready, but he never stopped. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but it seemed best to be ready for anything, especially since the ravine was about to widen.
If there were dragon’s teeth, they would be just inside the mouth of the narrower section. Even if there were no dragon’s teeth, there would certainly be something unpleasant waiting for him outside. Raiders, Pillagers, Reapers, maybe even ...
There, beyond a glistening row of dragon’s teeth, the expected tanks and mobile artillery ranged around an immense battle tank that moved ponderously into position.
“Prepare to die, Lancer.” The tag on the message read Goliath CY980, but in spite of the pattern-like flatness, he recognized Cyclone’s voice.
“Damn,” he said.
Part 4
Cyclone in a Goliath was like something from Lancer’s worst nightmare, but he hardly paused to think about it. He quickly assigned targets as he brought his cannon to bear. One good thing about a Goliath was that it was a large target. The only good thing.
The simulated Bulldog rocked back very realistically at the discharge of the plasma gun, and then almost immediately shuddered as it took an impact. Lancer’s displays were briefly washed in fire. Cyclone was shooting back.
He keyed the return for her ears only. “This isn’t fair,” he said. He even got a little suggestion of a whine into his voice. “I don’t have a chance.”
“The Core don’t play fair.” She fired her cannon again, and the Bulldog shook with the blow, although the simulator didn’t give him the full force of it.
He sent another shot her way, but at the same time he ran through a check of all of his units. He had a Stumpy and a Flash working on the dragon’s teeth, but the rest of the units with Lancer were throwing everything they had at Cyclone’s force. He had even sent a variety of his Kbots past the dragon’s teeth to pour rockets, plasma and laser fire into the massed Core army. So far, the numbers of casualties were about even for both sides if he counted the Core losses earlier.
When the Flash at the dragon’s teeth went up in a ball of flame, Lancer sent another one to work on the task. His Peewees were almost all gone, and even as he watched, the Zipper went down under a ball of plasma, from a Thud, it looked like. Lancer had expected Cyclone to take that one herself, but he had misjudged her. He hoped he had her pegged right otherwise, though. He kept lobbing plasma at her, in a steady rhythm that didn’t require much thought. The regular rocking of his Bulldog was almost relaxing, or it would have been if not for the uneven pounding from the Core guns.
There went the Stumpy at the dragon’s teeth, weakened by an Instigator and finished off by a single shot from a Raider. But two of the dragon’s teeth were gone now, opening a path wide enough for the Flashes and Jeffys, and Lancer sent all of those he had left on a course around to the right of Cyclone’s main body.
Lancer noticed numerous infantry units now joining Cyclone; if he hadn’t been outgunned and outnumbered before, he was seriously outclassed now. The fresh A.K.’s, Thuds and even a couple of Pyros waded into the battle, and they went after the Arm infantry. He lost a Hammer, a couple of Rockos and several Peewees in rapid succession; the numbers were starting to tip in Cyclone’s favor.
He noticed his own damage bar was getting close to the end, so it was time. He hadn’t wanted to give the orders before in case Cyclone could tap in and listen, but it would be too late for him in less than a minute. He hoped it would already be too late for Cyclone even if she did intercept his communication.
“Fido 90211. Throw everything you’ve got at it. We...” He was cut off suddenly, and everything went white for an instant as the Bulldog heeled over and then settled slowly down. The absolute stillness afterward felt almost like motion it was so unaccustomed, and the silence made Lancer’s ears strain after the noise of battle. He was dead, his tank was dead, and Cyclone was out there wreaking destruction on what remained of the units with him.
Lancer could only watch now. Cyclone still concentrated on the pitiful remnants of the Arm force that was making an attempt to flank her, but he paid only scant attention to that. He was more interested in the action some distance off to his left.
He could see what 90211 saw: a nearly-finished aircraft plant guarded by four laser towers, one at each corner. The nearest was an LLT, but both HLT’s could bring their fire to bear as well. Nothing moved there but the construction crew and the barrels of the laser guns as they lined up with their targets.
The Fidos, their attendant cavalry, mobile artillery and infantry charged, firing as rapidly as they could. Lancer might have assigned targets differently, but the first HLT crumpled before more than a couple of Peewees went down. The second heavy laser and the single light laser that had the range kept up a murderous fire as the Arm units blasted their way into the perimeter of the manufacturing facility.
The Fidos’ heavy gauss guns were ideal for this kind of work, and they poured shell after shell into the building even as the lasers blasted them.
Lancer couldn’t be sure when Cyclone realized her base was under attack, but he saw her turning now. There were still a couple of Flashes that had not yet been completely reduced to scrap, but the Core units seemed to forget about them. Cyclone’s entire movable force dashed back toward their base as fast as they could go, scattering all over as their different speeds dictated. The Goliath lumbered along, falling farther and farther behind the bulk of her tanks. But it didn’t really matter at this point.
Presently all of the Core units came to a stop where they were. He heard a shriek of outrage.
“Defeat! What the hell do you mean, defeat?”
Lancer grinned.
Part 5
Purely on the basis of numbers, Cyclone had inflicted far more damage on Lancer than he had on her. But that wasn’t the object of the exercise. The aircraft plant was gone, and it didn’t matter that Lancer and most of his company had fallen first.
Cyclone had calmed down quite a bit by the time she came to offer her victorious opponent the customary handshake, although her grip was almost painfully firm. “You always were the better tactician,” she said, “even if I’m the better pilot.”
“True.” This matched his assessment, and although he believed he was a better pilot than she was a tactician, he wasn’t about to say so. For one thing, she’d try to make him prove it, and how could he?
“Join me for dinner?”
Lancer hadn’t realized it was so late, but now that he thought about it, he was hungry. Dinner with Cyclone wasn’t his idea of fun, however. “No, thanks. I have other plans.”
Cyclone snorted, but she didn’t press him. She probably didn’t enjoy his company much more than he did hers. “Maybe your Zipper will be interested,” she said, smiling wickedly. “He’s kind of cute.”
“Maybe.” Lancer hoped Jak had better sense, but he wouldn’t bet on it. Cyclone was an attractive woman. He didn’t think she’d hurt the kid, though, even if she was likely to give him an education, one way or another. “Good luck.”
It took him a little while to get out of the sim lab, because he had to commend his units, particularly his Fidos, and accept their congratulations in return. Only one person had anything approaching criticism for him.
“It was a guess, wasn’t it, sir?” asked Zipper Jak. “Which way to send the secondary force, I mean.”
Lancer toyed with claiming superior powers of deduction, but that wouldn’t be fair to the young officer. “You’re a sharp kid,” he said.
He hoped his luck was still with him when he went to B mess. This was not his usual mess, but he had done a little research and hoped to find someone there. At first he thought he’d used up his luck for the day, but then he saw her.
She had her hair dragged back into a clip, and the severe style did not particularly become her angular features. There were shadows under her eyes, as if she had not slept the night before. Lancer suspected if he had seen her no other way, he would not have looked at her again.
At first he thought she hadn’t noticed him. She had a reader before her on the table, and she was intent on its display while she ate, but a faint tremble as she lifted her spoon to her lips made him think she had seen him after all.
He grabbed the first tray as he passed the dispenser, not even checking to see what was in it. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight for fear she would bolt when he wasn’t looking. Sure enough, she showed signs of packing up to leave, even though it was obvious she wasn’t finished with her meal.
“Sentinel.” More than one person turned to look at him, but the one he wanted didn’t. “Tera.”
She couldn’t very well ignore him now, but she glanced up only briefly before she lowered her eyes again. It really wasn’t fair that he could find out her personal name while she couldn’t discover his, but rank did have its privileges. He plunked his tray down directly across from her, and he was glad to see she was no longer making the motions of leaving.
Now that he had captured her, though, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with her. He cracked open his tray and started to stir his soup as he considered the situation. He had hoped she would start the conversation, perhaps demanding to know why he was bothering her, but she was obviously not so inclined. She sat primly, her eyes fixed firmly on her own soup, her hands folded in her lap.
She did not seem at all like the kind of woman who would do what she had done.
“Had you been drinking?” he asked, starting in the middle of a thought, but she knew immediately what he meant. She could probably hardly think of anything else.
“No, sir.” Such a meek little reply.
“Then ...” He didn’t know what question to ask. Why had she done it? Where had she gotten the idea? How had she ever found the nerve to go through with it? “I don’t understand.”
“I hardly understand, myself.” For a minute he was afraid this was all the explanation she was going to offer, but presently she continued. “I’d been on duty, and I was tired, which is probably why I was insane enough to try it. I figured it out a while ago, that if you ... if someone ... were restored, he would be missing enough of his recent memory that he would assume, I mean, if I--“
“Yes, I’d gotten that far.”
“But I didn’t think I’d ever really do it.”
Lancer nodded and made what he hoped was an encouraging noise.
“It was just... You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“I don’t already?” He knew it was the wrong thing to say even as the words left his mouth, so he was relieved that she merely gave him a hurt little frown and then went on.
“Sometimes, when I’m all alone with the Sentinel, sometimes I imagine it’s talking to me. Sort of a whisper inside my head--“
Lancer dropped his spoon, splashing soup all over, but he didn’t care. “A whisper inside your head?”
“Just imagination, not really.”
Since that was what he had always thought, he could understand what she meant. But if she heard it too, then maybe it wasn’t just his imagination.
“She--I mean it--seemed to tell me I should try, and I already told you I was tired, but I really don’t know what got into me, since it isn’t like me at all.”
“My new Bulldog’s a she,” said Lancer, picking up his spoon again. “And my last one...” He felt a pang of grief as he remembered the old fellow. “The last one was a crusty curmudgeon. Like me.”
“You’re not a...” Her protest petered out as she realized what he had just told her. Her eyes grew wide. “You, too? Then--it’s real?”
“That, or we’re both crazy.” Lancer briefly considered this possibility. “And I can live with that.”
The article was taken from this thread.
