John Ringo: Into the Looking Glass

“Target-rich environment,” Ryan replied. “Nice to know somebody loves…”

“Seven down,” Russell said.

“Loves us,” Sanson finished.

For Sanson it was something on the order of a dream come true. Sure, he hadn’t risen out of the waves to take out a sentry on the beach, but this was the next best thing. He’d never been some anime geek but the suits, he had to admit, were damned cool and the firepower they supported was just awesome. He was toting a .50 caliber Gatling like the doctor and the thing would just saw one of the spiders, much less the little cats, in two. On the other hand, it ate rounds like there was no tomorrow and he was down to just stroking the trigger, watching his waterfall counter get closer and closer to the bottom. And there just seemed to be more and more of the damned things. Which was cool, too, in its own way. Target rich environment. Better than Mog. Much better than what the old guys talked about in Iraq and Ashkanistan.

He triggered another burst, just barely stroked the trigger, and ten more rounds poured out of the Gatling, tearing one spider in half, you could see the parts separate on the thermal imagery, and getting a piece of the one next to it. Probably got the one behind, too. But that was it. He hit the firing circuit again and was rewarded by having the barrels spin around and around making a cute ratcheting noise and a whine. Fuck.

“I’m out!” he shouted, pushing the weapon to the side and looking around. He had an M-4 in his pack but no way to access it without bailing out, which he was loathe to do. On the other hand, he was lying on top of a dead Nitch, he’d been using its thorax for cover, and there was a Nitch plasma gun sitting on the ground not too far away. He shinnied forward and picked it up, trying to examine it. But there was nothing to see under thermal imagery. He switched to night vision and saw that there were some levers and buttons on it. Nothing that looked like a pistol grip or a stock, though. He set it against his shoulder, awkwardly, he was really just holding it up with his left suit-hand, and pushed one of the buttons. Nothing. He pressed another. Nothing. Then he pressed the first one again.

There was a burst of light from the front of the weapon and a sapling about twenty feet away blew up, showering them in bits of stem and dirt.

“Hey!” he yelled. “The plasma guns work!” He took more careful aim this time and pressed the button again, the bolt of lightning tracking over the heads of the closing Nitch. He felt like a damned fool missing that big of a target from this close. He lowered the barrel, slightly, and fired again. This time two Nitch were turned into spider-goo and a couple behind them dropped to the ground, their legs writhing frantically on the ground.

“Awesome…” the SEAL whispered. He never even felt the bolt of plasma that dropped on him from the ridge above.

Miller looked over at where Sanson had been turned into a blazing pile of carbon and titanium and then back at the oncoming Nitch. Not so oncoming anymore, though. The fire of the SEALs, not to mention support from above, was having an effect. He had switched the 30mm to single shot and had been hammering out round after round. Each of the rounds blew a spider apart, okay, he admitted it was overkill, and between his fire and the fire of the other SEALs the phalanx that had been attacking them wasn’t gaining any ground.

But they were still being slaughtered by the Mreee up on the ridge, that was what had gotten Sanson and Ryan, and if they didn’t get taken out pretty soon they were done for.

Of course, if the doctor could ever get the box in the gate, they could do the Mogadishu mile and leave the clean-up to the National Guard. If.

“How’s it coming, Dr.?” he said, calmly. Didn’t want to spook the guy, not with that thing in his hands.

Miller was lying behind the bulk of the dead Petty Officer Ryan’s suit, using it for cover from the fire from above and the road. It was not so much that he was a coward, although anyone would be a bit anxious in this situation, but if one of the plasma rounds hit the ardune, it was going to detonate on Earth. Which would be bad.

He’d initially ended up on the side with the box down. After rolling over he’d fumbled the metal container open and pulled out the ardune. He fumbled it around to where he could see it through the armored glass in the chest of the suit and cursed under his breath. It was night; he couldn’t see it. He shoved it up to where it was visible from his low-light circuit and cut to light enhancement. The symbols on the front still weren’t visible; the vision just wasn’t detailed enough.

“Miller,” he said, as calmly as he could. “Does anyone have a flashlight?” He’d argued for some sort of a light on the suits, but the military didn’t want them. Not white light, which was what he needed. The symbols were purple on violet; red light wouldn’t help one damned bit.

“Shit,” Miller muttered. He stopped firing for a moment and fumbled in a container, finally extracting something and arming it. He threw it to the side of the gate where it flashed into white heat.

“What the hell is that?” Bill asked. The late Ryan’s suit left the box in shadow so he tilted it up to where there was light enough to see. It was damned near as bright as day.

“Thermite grenade,” the SEAL said. “And I just lit our position so get a fucking move on.”

“You’re carrying thermite grenades?” Bill asked, starting to key the symbols. One, two, three…

“You never know when they’re going to come in handy,” the SEAL said. Plasma was falling all around their position now that the Mreee on the ridgeline could see them clearly. There was another cut off scream as a SEAL suit was hit.

Four… Bill was struck in the side, the box knocked out of his hands, as a Nitch coming out of the gate caught him with one of its front legs. He grabbed the leg and with half hysterical strength, aided by the suit, ripped it off. As the Nitch, pouring some sort of goop out of the hole, stumbled downward, he struck upwards and punched it in the thorax. The blow was unthinking, a Wah-Lum ground fighting move backed by all the power of the suit. His arm sunk into the thing’s thorax up to his elbow.

“They’re coming through the gate!” Bill yelled, rolling to where the box had fallen. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” He picked it up in one hand and pointed the .50 caliber at the gate, hosing rounds in the hope that he could hold off the forces on the other side.

“What?” Miller yelled.

“Besides the fact that we’re surrounded and about to get overrun?” Bill laughed, hysterically. “I had the damned thing half keyed! I don’t know if I can start over or what!” He fumbled the box around to where he could see it, again, but the light from the thermite grenade had been extinguished. “Aaaaagh! No light!”

“Stay cool!” Miller yelled. He turned around and started throwing things through the gate. One of them blew up before it went through and threw shrapnel all over Bill’s suit.

“Don’t hit the ardune!” Bill yelled, desperately. “I need light !”

One of the SEALs stood up with a plasma gun in his hand and started firing upwards. On the second shot he managed to nail the crown of a large oak that overhung the gate area. It had, miraculously, escaped fire to this point. But at the impact of the plasma round the crown burst into immediate flame. The SEAL was hit before he could even drop the weapon. The smoking legs of the mecha were thrown in two directions but they were all that was left of the suit.

“You got light,” Miller rasped.