The Channel

  “Conn, sonar. Gained contact Sierra five-seven. Classification Vorrkoth. Contact is crossing the shelf now, between Santa Rosa and San Nicolas Islands.”

  “Conn, aye.” The Officer of the Deck rubbed at his eyes, then straightened. “Fire control, redesignate Sierra five-seven as Master-Six.”

  He glanced back at the captain, who had leaned out of his chair behind the periscope stand to get a clearer view of the sonar displays. The captain said nothing at first, only watching the plot resolve.

  “That’s five now,” he said quietly.

  The contact picture was ugly. Three Vorrkoths were converging from different bearings, their courses set so they would breach the Channel Islands almost simultaneously. Beyond them, two more massive signatures prowled in blue water, farther out but no less inevitable, angling in toward the California coast.

  “Shit,” the captain muttered. “This is getting untenable.”

  He stroked his chin as he considered their options. The Mastodon had survived their first encounter by the narrowest of margins. Her engineering plant was still intact, and that was the only reason she remained in the fight at all. Externally, she was battered and scarred. The wide-aperture sonar arrays had been gouged nearly flat, the sail scarred and twisted. Countermeasure launchers were unreliable, and the seawater induction system had taken damage.

  The arrival of the TVS Ningyo from the Caribbean had been a small miracle. Fully intact, sensors pristine, she gave them eyes they’d otherwise have lost. But five Vorrkoths changed the math entirely. Two submarines could do little more than act as bait. Drawing the kaiju into the engagement envelope of the Coup de Grace’s railgun had proven dangerous. Experience had already shown it bordered on suicidal.

  The captain exhaled and made his decision.

  “Officer of the Deck, bring us up to periscope depth. Send a message to high command. Inform them of the contact picture. Tell them to have X-ray rounds standing by.” His jaw tightened. “Low confidence we can turn all these bogeys. Copy Commander Reinstead as well. We’ll hold the line as long as we can.”

  “Aye, sir,” the OOD replied, grim and steady.

  South Los Angeles

  Ground-Commander Reinstead moved through the rain at a hard, purposeful stride, maps and hard drives tucked under one arm. Around him, his staff sprinted. They were dumping every scrap of intelligence and operational data into waiting APCs. Behind them, the command-post tracker trailer burned, flames flickered upwards as thermite charges incinerating everything of value.

  The street itself was chaos. Vanguard units were locked in close fighting, desperately beating back a vampire breakthrough. The mobile command post truck had died at the worst possible moment, bogged down in shell-pocked asphalt just as a deep enemy thrust punched into the center of Reinstead’s line. With no chance of recovery, it had been abandoned and incinerated rather than allowed to fall into enemy hands.

  A radioman kept pace with Reinstead as they moved. Reinstead leaned into the handset.

  “I’m afraid I can provide no assistance. My primary line has been breached, and we are currently repelling a bulge in the center of our formation. There are no units available.” He paused as something detonated nearby. “Even if I had forces to spare, they couldn’t break through to downtown.”

  A round slammed into the APC’s hull as he climbed the rear ramp. He barely flinched.

  “Godspeed, Lieutenant.”

  The ramp slammed shut. The column pulled away into the rain.

  Mike Perelli very nearly crushed the receiver in his hand. He stopped himself at the last second and passed it back to the radioman. Their own sector was eerily quiet. The frames hadn’t attacked again, but he knew it was coming.

  He knew what lay between Whirlwind and the throneroom.

  The numbers were brutal. Over a hundred frames stood between them and Persephone. Whirlwind had fewer than twenty-five men fit for full combat, plus a single frame. Even so, Perelli felt a flicker of relief at the sight of Tetsu. Losing the frame in D.C. had cut deeper than anyone liked to admit. It had become their mascot in everything but name, and its absence had weighed on morale. Only the relentless pace of operations had kept Alpha Squad from dwelling on it.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “We’re not getting any help,” Perelli said to what remained of his command team: himself, Lieutenant Spier, Weber, and Novak. Novak was wounded with a chunk taken out of his abdomen, but he stubbornly insisted on continuing to fight since he could atleast stand and fire a weapon.

  He continued without embellishment. “We don’t have the strength to force our way up. The math doesn’t work.” He met each of their eyes in turn. “I’m open to alternatives.”

  “We could try infiltration,” Novak offered. “That’s what this unit was originally built for.”

  Perelli shook his head. “I don’t like our odds in a hide-and-seek game against combat frames.”

  “And there are civilians on the fifty-second floor,” Weber added. “Plus wounded. We’re already in the double digits there.”

  Spier listened in silence as they talked.

  “There might still be a way to make infiltration work,” Weber said after a moment.

  Perelli looked at him. “I’m listening.”

  “We send fewer people. A very small strike team. No more than six rifles. They move up carefully, avoid contact. The rest of us act as bait.” Weber gestured vaguely behind them. “We take the civilians and wounded and pull out.”

  “That creates its own problems,” Spier said. “We’re deep behind enemy lines.”

  “But they’re advancing,” Perelli replied. “Downtown’s probably thin right now. I'd be willing to bet the enemy has committed his reserves. Risky, yes. But survivable.” He paused. “If we do this, who goes after Persephone?”

  Spier didn’t hesitate. “You do. You’ve got the sword. And… whatever backing that angel represents.”

  “Best you take the element you know,” Weber said. “Alpha Squad, Waters, Marcus.”

  “That will not work.”

  They all turned. Tetsu stood slightly apart, head inclined.

  “This model possesses significantly upgraded sensors compared to my previous chassis,” the frame said. “I assess an eighty-five percent probability that I could detect a six-man team attempting infiltration. Multiplied across the enemy force, your chance of slipping through approaches zero.”

  Silence settled over them.

  “May I make a suggestion?” Tetsu asked.

  “Go ahead,” Weber said.

  “Send only two. The lieutenant,” Tetsu inclined his head toward Perelli, “and me.”

  “You?” Perelli echoed.

  “I can pass as a friendly unit and escort you through enemy formations. This hull retains a wireless command suite. The controlling station has not yet identified that my drive was transferred. I can monitor issued orders and provide real-time warning.”

  Perelli raised his eyebrows. “That solves the approach. But how am I supposed to fight a vampiric queen alone?”

  Weber snorted, almost a laugh. It sounded strange coming from him. “You survived her executor. Took her prisoner. You’re the one who put Persephone down the first time and dragged her into Vanguard custody. Don’t undersell yourself, sir. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

  Perelli rested his hand on the holy dagger and took a long breath. History was full of moments where one person tipped the balance between disaster and survival. He’d never liked that idea. Teams existed for a reason. But reality didn’t care about preferences.

  “Alright.” He turned to Spier. “I’m transferring command of Whirlwind to you.”

  Spier blinked. The weight of it was obvious. It was also a massive display of trust in a non-Vanguard officer.

  “Take the survivors. Get them out of this building and back to friendly lines. How you do it is up to you.”

  “O-of course, sir.” Spier snapped a salute. “It’ll be done.”

  Weber and Novak exchanged brief looks, surprised but accepting.

  Spier straightened, nerves visible but resolve hardening. “We’ll hold here for the next attack. When they hit, we fall back hard. It’ll be ugly, but it’ll give you cover. While they chase us, you and Tetsu slip past.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Perelli said.

  Waters, Wilhelm, Marcus, and Weber crouched behind a barricade, weapons ready and waiting for the counteroffensive. Weber fed scavenged rounds into battered magazines with quick, practiced motions.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “how do you feel about a running gun battle? No surrender tonight.”

  “Always ready,” Wilhelm replied, almost cheerful.

  “I’ve done worse,” Marcus said. “Nothing tops Teutoberg.” He glanced at Waters. “How about you?”

  Waters slapped the dust cover on his machine gun closed. “Nuts.” he said, echoing memories of Bastogne.

  The attack came without warning. One moment, silence. The next, violence. Traitor frames surged in from above and ahead, charging with ballistic shields raised. Fire sparked and flared uselessly off reinforced plating as they pushed hard, fast, intent on closing to overrun the Vanguard position.

  They poured through hanging wires and shattered walls like a metal tide.

  Spier gave the order. Smoke grenades popped and filled the air. Rifles broke contact in disciplined bounds, leaping back floor by floor, covering each other as they withdrew. They made it look costly. They made it look desperate. The frames had to believe this was a retreat, not a ruse.

  Perelli watched them go from his hiding place among barely intact rafters, tangled in insulation and cable. Within seconds, his people vanished into smoke. Dozens of frames thundered past beneath him; so close, he could have reached down and touched one.

  He didn’t move. He barely breathed.

  Only when the footsteps faded did Tetsu give a soft, whistling all-clear.

  Perelli eased himself free and dropped silently to the floor, weapon up, sweeping corners and shadows. He was alone now. Alone, except for the ever-faithful steel frame.

  Tetsu rose from a heap of scrap, where he had lay motionless, convincingly wrecked. The traitor frames had ignored it entirely.

  “Enemy communications indicate minimal patrols behind the line,” Tetsu reported. “This floor is clear. I assess with high confidence I can escort you to the top floor without detection.”

  Perelli nodded and gestured forward.

  “Lead the way, tin man.”