Filson ran for his life. Armor-piercing rounds followed, punching holes in the wall just inches behind his head as the Chinese Centaur tried to get a bead on him with its integrated minigun.
Gotta get out of this building!
Filson crashed through the wall onto the street. He did one somersault to preserve momentum, then used emergency power in his legs to launch himself into the air, narrowly escaping a hail of bullets.
Fuck me!
Desperate to put cover between himself and the armor-piercing rounds, he tried to jump over a derelict dump truck twenty feet away.
But he fell short.
He landed on the truck’s cab, crushing the roof. Bent metal grabbed at him as he tried to roll off.
Not fast enough!
Stuck in the awkward sheet metal embrace of the wrecked truck, Filson glanced at the Chinese Centaur as it raised its minigun to blow his head off.
Sparks erupted from the mechanical beast as it was struck by rifle fire. It tilted left under the impacts.
Hatch! Thank God!
Rifle rounds won’t stop a Chinese Centaur—nicknamed “Beasts” by American troops because of their gargantuan size, grotesque proportions, and robust armor—but the small-caliber hits got its attention.
The Beast swung its minigun toward the Mauler and let it rip.
Hatch was already moving. He dove back into the wrecked building, narrowly dodging an armor-piercing hailstorm. The Beast turned back to Filson to finish him off.
But he had freed himself and was crouching behind the vehicle.
The Chinese took a different approach to their Centaurs. Americans augmented theirs with electronic implants, equipped them with armored battlesuits, and emphasized command, control, and force multiplication. Chinese Centaurs underwent more extensive physical modifications, often taking the human down to just a torso. They were heavier, with more armor, power, and weapon systems.
Like the American versions, they could control drone weapon systems via implanted brain interfaces, but those capabilities were not as robust. The Chinese spent less on each and made thousands more than the Americans. Doctrinally, they were most often employed like bipedal tanks with none of the special forces flavor inherent to the American versions.
In one-on-one contests, they murdered the American Centaur every time.
Ike, show me all assets in this vicinity!
The Beast hesitated. It turned to look for Hatch inside the building, then back at the old truck.
Filson grimaced. He needed a Valkyrie. But the nearest one was engaged. The closest assets available were a trio of Maulers around the corner.
Dammit. Have to stay alive until help arrives.
Knowing Ike was sharing his situation with nearby Raiders and Lobos, Filson jacked into the lead of three Maulers around the corner and put it into a sprint. Its two wingmen followed. Filson raised the Mauler’s rifle to its shoulder and peered at its POV, preparing to open fire as soon as he could round the corner.
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Selecting grenade launcher on his own rifle, he readied himself for a shot at the Beast’s feet when the Maulers opened fire. He had been lucky before with—
An explosion rocked the truck.
The blast knocked Filson down, jarring his rifle from his hands. Another explosion tilted the truck. It teetered on two wheels for an agonizing second before something struck it like a battering ram.
It was the Beast.
Filson tried to scramble away, but the truck toppled onto its side, trapping his legs.
His armor protected him. But his legs were pinned. He tried to kick free, but they didn’t budge.
Shit!
He heard bullets striking the Beast.
Hatch was trying to draw it off.
It wasn’t working. Heavy crunching footsteps signaled the Beast’s intent as it lumbered around the truck.
It was coming to kill him.
Filson calmed his breath and focused on driving the Maulers. The POV on his heads-up display was the lead soldierbot’s. The symbology on Filson’s HUD put the Mauler’s ground speed at thirty-two miles an hour. A couple more strides and he would be there.
More of Hatch’s rifle fire struck the approaching Beast. But it was indifferent. PLA are trained that American Centaurs are command-and-control assets—high value targets. It wanted Filson.
Filson’s Maulers rounded the corner.
He saw the Beast at the tailgate of the truck, minigun extended. Time was up. He aimed at its head. All three Maulers opened fire.
The fusillade struck the Beast. It stumbled into the truck’s tailgate but then righted itself. Undamaged but irritated, it swiveled and shot a grenade into one of the Maulers.
The soldierbot disintegrated, taking one of its comrades with it.
Filson kept shooting with the remaining soldierbot as the Centaur reloaded its grenade launcher.
Filson flailed, trying to free himself. He punched and kicked at the truck, but the angles were all wrong. He was stuck.
Something rocked the truck.
The last jacked Mauler disintegrated—struck by a grenade round.
Filson’s view of the Beast vanished from his HUD. But he knew he was just a step away from blowing his head off.
Panicking, he flailed again.
Hatch appeared, leaping from atop the truck, armored feet landing on the ground next to Filson’s head.
Gripping Filson’s battlesuit with one hand while firing his rifle with the other, Hatch heaved.
Nothing.
Hatch dropped his rifle, grabbed Filson with both hands, and heaved again.
Filson slid partially out from under the truck, freeing one leg.
The Beast rounded the truck.
Filson pushed the truck with the free leg as Hatch heaved again.
He popped free. The pair tumbled, sprawling on the street.
Without a rifle.
We’re fucked.
The Beast took one more long stride, swung its integrated minigun at Filson’s head, and exploded in a shower of fire, metal, and human tissue.
A Valkyrie streaked overhead, only ten feet above the tilted dump truck. The dark blur disappeared as dust and grit burst into the air, propelled by heated prop wash. Merko’s voice came over RaiderNet before the last parts of the Beast hit the ground.
“Raider Six, are you okay?”
Filson stood as Hatch raced to pick up their rifles.
“Roger. In need of fresh underwear. But all good.”
“TMI, Six.”
“Acknowledged. Now get your ass back to Bravo, One Six.”
“Working it, sir. Have a Beast of my own to deal with here. Had—”
“Do what I say! Zero Six out.”
Filson took his rifle from Hatch and walked over to the Beast’s remains. A circle of debris radiated out from a smoking, dark stain on the ground. The biggest piece was an armored foot with a bit of shin. No bones or human tissue of any kind inside it, just electronics and actuators.
Takes a lot to disintegrate a Beast like that. The Valkyrie must’ve hit it pretty hard.
Ike, how many more active Beasts are we tracking?
Red icons multiplied across Filson’s tactical display. “Sir, Raider and Aegis nets count nine in our immediate vicinity. The five-mile radius counts are much larger.”
Filson studied the map.
Ike, why so many? Beasts are more of an offensive system. They use them as shock troops and brawlers to break through enemy lines and obstacles. Not to hold random neighborhoods between the rivers.
“Sir, may I give you the updates from Battalion and AegisNet now?”
Filson checked the time on his HUD. Despite nearly dying, the attack was going well. But it was barely five minutes old. He’d been out of commo from Battalion for over half an hour, and since emerging from the breach, had been narrowly and properly focused on a handful of city blocks. And staying alive.
Yes. Give it to me, Ike.
His map expanded and bloomed red.
Oh shit. That’s not good.
