Metal Warrior: Nerves of Steel (Mech Fighter Book 2) Read online

  “You deaf as well as—” Marks started to snarl.

  “Say it,” Dane’s voice was low and growling. He felt his body magnetically lean forward towards the man. He knew that he could beat Marks, even with his slower reaction times. He remembered doing so in a suit, and he was damn sure that he could do so outside of one.

  Williams looked at him, and for a moment, Dane figured that he saw a flicker of that knowledge pass through the other man’s eyes, too. The recollection of being beaten by another is a powerful thing, and something that Dane had gotten used to in his tournament days—and something he also knew how to stand back up again from.

  “Crippled. That is what you want to call me, isn’t it?” Dane said in a low murmur of threat.

  “Guys—the muster…” Private Vindiar was saying behind Dane, but everyone ignored him.

  “You think that I’m not strong enough for the Federal Marine Corps, is that it, Marks?” Dane continued.

  Marks eyes flared. Yes, Dane saw in them, but the man didn’t say anything.

  Ugh. Dane thought, as his anger turned to weariness in a heartbeat. “Don’t waste your mind on what other people want to turn you into.” The words of his father, the original “Badluck” Hurricane Williams. His father had once told him this after the younger Dane had been soundly beaten by a better opponent. At the time, Dane had only pictured himself as a failure. An embarrassment to his father and to all the hard work that he had put in to get his son there.

  But he still believed in me, despite the bad reviews and the lost tournaments… Dane thought, taking a measure of strength from that memory.

  “Be the best that you can be, not what someone else thinks about you.” Another piece of ringside philosophy from the dead man—and, at that, Dane’s anger collapsed completely. He didn’t have time for people like Marks anymore. Not with the Exin virus racing through his body even now, hanging over his head like a guillotine blade.

  “It wasn’t my fault what happened to Osgud,” Dane said, turning with a squeal of boot heels to march down the corridor. It took Williams approximately a heartbeat to recover his ire (so easy to do, when the object of hate has his back turned, Dane thought).

  “But what if it happens again, Williams? How can any of us trust a guy like you out there, huh?” Marks called after him, and the words struck Dane’s soul as much as his back. His feet slowed of their own accord, as electric fury sparked once again, rising through his heels, up his damaged legs, and shooting up his spine.

  Can’t trust me!? Dane was thinking in outrage. There wasn’t a day in the first six weeks here at Fort Mayweather when he hadn’t received some small gesture or indication of his perceived worthlessness from the likes of Osgud and Marks. They had maintained their relentless belief that a man infected with the Exinase compound had no right to be here.

  Or maybe they just resent the fact that I was a Mech-Brawler? The thought hit Dane as he spun around. A very capable Mech-Brawler, at that. And that I, of everyone here, know what I am doing…

  Dane was galvanized, about to step forward, but he pulled himself back.

  No. He isn’t worth it. I haven’t got the time. He fought for control of his emotions, demanding better of himself.

  “PRIVATES!” A voice boomed into the corridor. Dane froze. It was Sergeant Lashmeier.

  “What under the ever-loving sun are you doing dawdling around here like a bunch of school kids!?” the Sergeant bawled at them as he pulled himself to a stop at the corridor intersection. He was a short and stocky man, and every line of his body always appeared tight with inner steel.

  He was also dressed in his full ceremonial uniform, including a jacket decorated with more medals than Dane had ever seen on one man before. At his waist was a ceremonial saber, and his peaked cap was pure black with gold trim.

  “I called for a special muster in the auditorium, and it seems that you all think you’ve got better things to do—is that right!?” He used his full-Lashmeier level of stone-breaking roar.

  “SIR, NO SIR!” the chorus of Federal Marines chanted at once.

  “Then what are you waiting for—get to the auditorium, now!” Lashmeier shouted, and the gaggle of marines broke into a fast jog.

  “Private Williams,” Lashmeier barked as Dane was about to run past. “One moment,” the older man growled, as the others threw surreptitious glances his way and moved off.

  Oh crap. Here it comes. Dane thought.

  “Congratulations, Williams,” Lashmeier surprised him by saying. “I saw you hold it together. Well done,” he said, although his tone was still harsh and severe.

  “Thank you, sir,” Dane said, feeling suddenly ashamed of his obvious feelings.

  Lashmeier’s eyes were boring into him. Does he know my prognosis? Dane was thinking. Did Doctor Heathcote tell him?

  “Don’t make me regret what is about to happen next,” Lashmeier said grimly and enigmatically before a sharp nod dismissed Dane to the auditorium.

  What did he mean by that!? Dane was thinking, his mind a blur as he ran forward.

  The Federal Marine auditorium was one of the largest of the internal spaces inside Fort Mayweather that wasn’t given over to workshops or training. Built in the classical style, it was really a tiered half-circle, whose external half opened out onto a stone courtyard, rising once again at the back with a scatter of mature trees. Dane had only been in here once before, in the early morning, with the light of the new sun streaming into the half-open airy space.

  It was warm now, as it had been then—but the large space was busy with the press and noise of the Mechanized Infantry trainees. There were also whole units of other Federal Marines sitting in blocks: the gray-blues of the engineering section, the slightly olive dress uniforms of the all-round, general-purpose marines, and the sandy-colored suits of a section that Dane didn’t know the name of.

  “Don’t stare, Williams—that’s Special Forces,” whispered Bruce Cheng beside him when Dane joined on the end of one of the rows.

  “It is?” Dane cast another look to see the small group of men—thirty or forty or so—in their own versions of dress uniforms, none of them talking much, and all of them appearing to have something tight and constrained about their pose. Dane had never seen them before around the base—but then again, he had also been very occupied with his training and hadn’t spent too much time paying attention to the other Federal Marines here that weren’t directly in his division.

  “Any idea what this is all about?” Dane whispered to Cheng as the auditorium filled up—not only with battlefield servicemen, but also with staffers and people from logistics—everyone in their best dress.

  “No idea—but I think they do…” Cheng nodded to the stone courtyard ahead, clearly visible below them. A group of people were walking out onto it, and their blank white as well as deep midnight-green dress uniforms, along with the heavy braids of gold and chests stuffed full of medals, announced them. Commanders, admirals, and generals.

  “AH-TEEN-HUT!” roared the familiar voice of Sergeant Lashmeier, slightly ahead of the prestigious crowd. He had clearly been given the job of presiding over the special muster like a very grim-faced emcee.

  The entire crowd rose to their feet in one swift movement, their boots snapping to attention like a fanfare of victory shots. The entire congregation moved like one animal. One mind.

  Dane saw Lashmeier’s gaze scan the assembled ranks and swore he saw a slight nod of recognition.

  “General Keel on site!” Lashmeier announced, and again, as one creature, everyone snapped a salute. Dane almost didn’t have to remember to salute, so instinctive was the response he felt in such a crowd. Once again, he felt an echo of that feeling that he’d had back in the ruins of New Sanctuary: My family. My brothers…

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” said a gruff voice of the barrel-shaped man in green dress as he stepped forward. Dane had seen pictures of General Keel, one of the key figures of the American military effort—but they had all be
en stern, picture-perfect profile shots. Seeing him stand before them now, his brown eyes dark under the exact line of his gold-edged cap, was like seeing a character walk out of a film and into real life.

  “At ease, gentlemen,” Keel said in an almost gentle voice—too mild to be coming from such an imposing figure—and everyone fell out of their salute and took to their seats.

  “You may have seen the holos or heard the news, gentlemen—that the Federalized government of America will be taking the lead in the defense of Earth,” Keel announced, and gave a pause for the slightest mutter of excitement and praise from the crowd (a disruption that Dane didn’t dare join in, as he saw Lashmeier’s eagle eyes scanning over him).

  “And with it, the world leaders have asked me to serve as First Admiral of Earth—a new position, under which the multiple militaries of our world will work in concert to protect our planet from the Exin scourge.”

  “Booyah!” an over-excited staffer at the back whispered, earning a wry nod from the general himself.

  “Exactly. This is a monumental effort and will mean enlarging the Joint Space Force that we have between us to unprecedented levels…” another pause, “which is where I turn to you, the technicians, engineers, soldiers and marines of the Mechanized Infantry Division and Associated Units.” Dane saw him give the slightest of nods to the sandy-capped men of the special forces.

  “It is clear to our strategists that the Mechanized Infantry present to us one of the most effective opportunities in the fight ahead. The Mech-Suits that many of you have been training in are stronger and more competent that a singular man on the battlefield, and they can withstand the Exin virus as well as the rigors of extra-planetary activities.”

  Extra-planetary activities… What does he mean by that? Dane thought.

  “So, it is with great pride and honor that I will be inviting you to act as my personal guard of honor on my inauguration. We travel at oh-six-hundred hours tomorrow to the New Washington Habitat Dome and from there to the Jefferson Space Port before my inauguration ceremony on the International Solaris Station,” the general said, before pausing slightly to throw a glance at Lashmeier. Something passed between the two men.

  “Of course, I cannot ask trainees and P-nothings to walk down Central Mile.” The general turned back to all of them. “Which is why today, ahead of schedule, will also be your promotion day, trainees. Stand and be recognized.”

  What? Today? Dane and the others turned to look at each other, and for once, Dane saw the exact same emotion shared across each of their faces: surprise.

  “I thought we had another two weeks…” Private Ahmed whispered, his surprise kindling into excitement.

  The trainees of the Mechanized Infantry had stood, and their number seemed almost pathetically small in such a large crowd. Dane could feel all eyes on them. And, when he returned the attention, he saw their pride.

  I did it. I made it through boot-camp. Dane was almost giddy with astonishment.

  “AH-TEEN-HUT when the general is addressing you!” Lashmeier bawled at them, his apparent suppressed rage earning a few grins from the special forces nearby.

  Dane and all the others saluted once again and waited for the general to give them the at-ease nod before, one by one, their names were called out in front of everyone.

  This is it. This is actually it… Dane’s mind was reeling as the list of names was called. The Private-nothings disembarked, one at a time, to walk alone down the central stairs of the auditorium and stand before General Keel himself.

  “HOUSTON…”

  “SQUIRES…”

  “JONES…”

  “LATIF…”

  Each one was given a few moments before the general, and then a set of orderlies arrived with what appeared to be a new dress suit, as well as a small selection of items to designate their new position. When they had finished, they were ordered to go form up on the other side of the auditorium, as new men, and away from their past.

  “WILLIAMS!” And then it was Dane’s turn.

  Dane heard his name echoing through the half-hall as time itself seemed to slow down, and a deathly quiet settled around him. Had it felt like this for everyone—or was there a special sort of attention given to the man who had been called a cripple and was infected with the Exin virus?

  He knew that his boots were moving down the stairs, but he felt like he was floating as he walked, one foot after the other, to the bottom courtyard, with the most senior members of the entire world military directly ahead of him.

  “Well done, Williams.” Dane looked into the eyes of the first man to address him, Sergeant Lashmeier. The man’s eyes were hard and bright, and there was the slightest note of a smile at the edge of his mouth.

  “Private Williams.” Keel stood directly in front of him, two orderlies on either side.

  “Sir, General Keel, Sir!” Dane saluted.

  “Private Williams, do you swear from this day forth to hold the protection of Earth as your highest regard? To stand for your brother marines to your last breath? To put yourself in harm’s way, willingly and decisively?” General Keel asked him seriously.

  Protect Earth. Put myself in harm’s way. All of these were easy things for Dane to agree to. He felt a momentary quiver of doubt when he heard the words “stand for your brother marines” as he thought of Osgud and Marks—but it was nothing. He knew that he would fight beside even them, if it meant beating the Exin that had destroyed his home.

  “Sir, YES SIR!” Dane announced.

  “Good. Then repeat after me the Oath of the Mechanized Infantry,” General Keel said.

  “My skin will be as metal…

  My breath will be fire…

  My will is iron…

  My purpose undaunted…”

  Dane repeated the words, line after line—and as he did so, the orderlies stepped forward and started to remove from him the skin of his old life. They took his small cap and his jacket. Instead, they gave him a deeper green dress jacket. It had a gold insignia on its shoulder like a mountain on one side and on the other, an affixed metal plate with a stylized picture of the featureless face-plate of an AMP suit with a spray of stars over it.

  “First in, last out, Marine,” General Keel concluded.

  “First in, last out,” Dane nodded somberly. In essence, that summed up the entirety of the marine ethic—the first into danger and the last to leave it until the job was done.

  “These are only trappings, Marine, but they signify the new skin that you will wear just as you will wear the new skin of the AMP suit in service of Earth,” General Keel announced as the orderlies finished the work of buttoning the jacket and presenting to him a deep green cap, edged in orange to place on his head.

  “And all of this—the new uniform, the AMP suit—is itself representative of the new man that I see now before me. Do you understand, Williams?” Keel said, his eyes catching Dane’s soul. “From here on out, your old life as a civilian of Earth is over. It is gone. Dead. It does not matter where you came from or what you were before. Now you belong to the world itself, Marine. You have been called to her defense, and you answered the call, and you have been found worthy. Do you understand, Marine?”

  “I understand, sir,” Dane said and was surprised to hear his own voice crack under the weight of emotion as the final item was presented to him by Sergeant Lashmeier.

  It was a thin black belt with a short and thin saber hanging from it, its blade no bigger than two feet long. Dane buckled it on himself and secured the latch.

  But… no one else got a sword… !? he was thinking as the sergeant stepped back.

  “You have been elevated, Dane, because of your dedication, tenacity, and skill in the New Sanctuary mission. You will rejoin your brothers as a lance corporal,” General Keel said.

  “What!?” Dane burst out.

  “WILLIAMS!” Lashmeier immediately rebuked him for interrupting the general, but Keel, apparently, was amused.

  “I understand the
feeling, Lance Corporal. I remember feeling much the same way every time someone decided to promote me, too,” Keel said, before adding wryly, “although I can’t say the same for the sergeant here. I don’t think he’s ever been surprised or snuck up on in his life!”

  “Popped out of my mama’s womb ready to be a marine, sir!” Lashmeier barked immediately with a nod, and Dane didn’t doubt it.

  “I’m sure,” the general turned back to Dane. “I have seen the suit recordings and heard testimonies from Doctor Heathcote of your actions in New Sanctuary, including giving up your own medical unit for the health of your brother marine, Osgud. It is for this act of loyalty, as much as for being the first man to kill two of the Exin spore-creatures—I think—anywhere on the planet, that has earned you your rank.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Dane reeled, feeling the weight of the ceremonial saber at his waist not as a burden, but like a badge of pride.

  “May you serve well and long, Lance Corporal Williams.” General Keel dismissed him. It was only then, on that final note, that a twinge of self-doubt crept into Dane’s mind as he thought about the doctor’s prognosis.

  But… it was hard to feel morose when he considered that he had managed to get to the highest rank possible without extensive field experience, right from boot camp in his first six months.

  Lance Corporal Williams. He rolled the words over in his mind. It was a whole lot better than being Badluck Williams, he had to agree.

  5

  Deployment

  The day began bright and early, at the unbearable time of oh-four-hundred hours.

  “Arghh…” was, of course, Dane’s first reaction—but before the monumental stupidity of being awake before the sun irked him, the awareness of his new rank, and all that was expected of him, caught him first.

  Lance Corporal Dane Williams was not, in the strictest sense, in a leadership role—but he would be expected to lead by example in all things and to take on leadership tasks if no other superior officer was present. As it was, everyone on the AMP-suit training program had become at least a private first class, and the only other lance corporal beside Dane was none other than his friend Bruce.