Get Back on the Ice

The smell of incense was in the air.

Markk checked the fastenings of his coldsuit. Less for the cold itself, more to ensure that nothing locked up unexpectedly later, in some moment of heated action. The stupid suit had a tendency to click its joints into place, and deny him full range of motion. He really needed to request a new suit from Forward Logistics. He knew full well that even once he put the requisition in, it would take a Jovian month before he even heard back from the station.

Longer, before he’d actually get the new suit.

“So... Darkside Patrol.”

Markk narrowed his red eyes and gazed over his shoulder. Roberto was standing there, checking the fastenings of his suit, even as he’d made his offhand remark. Unlike Markk’s suit, Roberto’s was much bulkier and had a full helmet. It was a full pressure and atmospheric suit. Because, of course, Roberto needed it. He wasn’t from around here.

“Must say I didn’t expect how fucking lonely it gets out here,” said Roberto, beginning to clasp his helmet into place. “When they said they were sending me to a forward position I expected one of the big channel trenches. Somewhere where there was some action.”

Roberto gazed at Markk. Blue eyes met red. Roberto scoffed. “Not out in the middle of assfuck nowhere, that’s for sure.” He stuffed his Rosary into a small compartment on the suit, and sealed it up.

“We’re not nowhere,” said Markk, who rolled his eyes as he saw Roberto set the climate parameters of his atmosuit. Fucking warmies.

“Sure feels like nowhere,” said Roberto.

“You know we’re out here to intercept drone units trying to scout ahead to the main trenchpoints,” said Markk. “You know that. They briefed you, didn’t they?” Mark turned, the pungent wafts of incense floating around his head as he swiveled towards Roberto. “They did brief you, didn’t they, you Martian fuck?”

“Yes, they fucking briefed me, snowman,” growled Roberto, and the temperature in the room chilled down in a way no ice moon could have accounted for. And Roberto seemed to know it, and sense that it needed fixing, because he held up a thickly-gloved hand. “Look, sorry. I guess I’m just annoyed because out here we seem to be useless. Why not use counter-drones or electro-warfare against the scout drones? Be a lot simpler.”

“Escalation,” said Markk. “The Enemy’s newest round of drone scouts is shielded against counter-drone tech. Homefront says they have the tech to counter-counter that counter-tech, but they’re working on getting it into units that can withstand the cold. Apparently the counter-counter tech circuitry is... temperature sensitive.”

Markk walked to grab his rifle. It was a bulky thing. “They said that a year ago. No more word of progress since. Eventually Trench Forward Command just started to set up outposts out here. Drones needed countering. Robots needed countering. If the tech to do it still hates the cold, they’ll just get us humans to do it.”

“Humans,” said Roberto. “That what you are?”

“Yeah,” said Markk. “That what you are, too?”

The two men glared at each other, red eyes meeting blue.

Roberto sighed and slumped into the bench beside him. “Man, I’m an asshole today,” he growled. “Sorry. Been here three days, the cold and the dark is really starting to get to me. And I guess I just thought I’d be doing something... more exciting.”

“Welcome to war,” said Markk. “A lot of times it’s boring as shit.”

Roberto put a gloved hand against his fishbowl-like visor. “I guess.”

“You a conscript or did you enlist?”

“I’m a volunteer. Everyone from Mars is.”

“Yeah, I forgot for a minute how crazy you Martians are.”

“When Mars joined the war on Europa’s side, a lot of us jumped at the chance for a real fight. We like to fight. We’re good at it. Lethe’s had no trouble filling quotas for the front.” He waved his arms out wide. “But I didn’t get sent to the front. I got sent... here.”

“Ah!” Markk laughed and arched dark eyebrows. “So that’s it. The source of all your bitching. You want to be dying gloriously in some frozen trench right now.”

“We do like dying gloriously on Mars.” Roberto fixed Markk with a stare as he said this.

Both men laughed.

“Well, warmie, just sit tight,” said Markk. “Just hang in there and keep going on our patrols. You’ll get your action, sooner or later.”

As if in a sign from the Heavens, the comm unit on the far wall crackled to life. Sneaky wet blue gleamings emitted from the screen, and Markk hastened to it, Roberto close behind.

Fiddling with the dials, Markk got the signal right, and gave a grin at the red-eyed, blond- haired visage that popped up on the screen. “Constantinn!” he cried.

“What’s up, Markk?” said Constantinn, firing off a two-fingered salute. He gazed over Markk’s shoulder. “How’s the warmie holding up?”

“Well enough, thank you,” said Roberto, offering a nod.

“Well, good, because you boys might not be bored for too much longer. Trench Forward thinks the enemy’s getting ready to launch strikes at all the forward outposts. Satellites took this photo 20 hours ago.”

The photo in question popped up on the screen. Long, pale stretches of the endless ice, streaked with the dirt and iron and rust of the cracked surface. Amid the ice and rust, here and there, there were dark figures staggered, moving to the right of the photo.

“Daityas. Only bipedal things that big. Half a dozen of them, one for each outpost. We figure there’s one pointed at every outpost, so you should be seeing yours eventually.”

“Any figure on the pace?” asked Markk.

“Moving roughly fifteen kilometers an hour, so shouldn’t be long now,” said Constantinn. “Trench Forward wants all you outpost guys to start laying mines. With any luck, you’ll have a perimeter laid out before they get to you, and the things’ll get blown to kingdom come without you having to engage.”

“I like that,” said Markk.

“I thought you would,” said Constantinn. “So get out there, and hurry up. Lieutenant Vorask, out.”

And with that, the screen went dark.

“Mining duty,” said Markk. “Great. Actually not a bad use of our time,” he gazed over his shoulder at Roberto. “Good way to stretch your legs.”

“Daityas?” repeated Roberto. “What are those?”

“Robots,” said Markk. “Big ones. They handle the terrain well, despite being bipedal. Got triple-plated cast-alloy hulls, so they can take a lot of punishment.” He walked over to a bend in the armory. Tapping some panels on the wall, an opening emerged. Markk began to pull out strings of high-impact mines, spiked units currently all attached to a copper wire. “But if we can get out there and lay those mines, we should be able to deal with them without putting ourselves in much danger. Which is why we’ve gotta get a move on.” He shoved the wired-up mines into Roberto’s arms. “Clip those to your suit, you’re gonna have to handle more than you can carry in your arms.”

“Why can’t you carry ‘em?” asked Roberto.

“I’m gonna have to hold the rifle,” said Markk. “I’ll have to bolt on the EMP attachment, which makes the gun too heavy for one hand. But if the Daitya sneaks up on us before we’ve laid the mines, it’s our only shot of killing the darn thing.”

“Oh, so I get to haul and you get to shoot?” snarled Roberto.

“Yeah, that’s how it works,” said Markk. “Now finish adjusting your suit, let’s hurry up and get out there.” He handed Roberto more mines. Roberto grumbled under his breath.

Markk rolled his eyes. Fucking warmies.

They left the outpost. The sky was dark overhead. They were on the dark side of Jove.

The stars were infinite in the heavens above.

Stepping into the cold darkness, Markk’s physiology adjusted accordingly. He was, after all, a native Europan. His skin turned a light blue color, and his eyes began to gleam neon red in the dark as his night vision kicked in. It was cold, but he was used to it, and it was little trouble for him to endure. It would have killed a warmie. Hence Roberto and his stupid all-over suit.

Markk could hear the extra weight of the heavy suit crunching on the ice as Roberto came up beside him. “Gotta ask,” he said, his voice tinny through the suit’s radios. “Gotta ask, what’s with the incense?” Even now, the tendrils of smoke were wafting around Markk, and the smell was pleasant in the frigid air.

“My night vision has a close physiological relation to my sinuses,” said Markk. “If they get clogged up or blocked, my ability to see in the dark decreases. Incense helps keep ‘em clear.”

Roberto did not directly respond to this. He instead gazed out into the dark, across the ice. “How far out we headed?” he asked.

“Not far. Five kilometers at most. We’ll lay the mines in staggered rows. We want them far out, but also close enough that if the Daitya pushes through the mines we can use the outpost’s main gun to finish it off.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Roberto, coming close. “Here,” he slung two lines of the mines off his shoulders, and Markk wrapped them around his own. “Might as well both go out independently. We’ll cover more ground that way, do more work. I know you couldn’t hold all the mines, but you can handle two lines, right?”

“Yeah, fair,” said Markk. “Turn your transponder on.”

“If it’s a bot that’s out there, won’t it be able to pick our signals up?”

“Can’t help it. We’ll need to be able to keep track of each other if we’re gonna separate. And it’s already headed our way anyway, whether it can pick us up or no.” Markk flicked a switch on his coldsuit, causing a green light to begin to pulse faintly on his sleeve.

“Okay. Sure.” Roberto flicked a switch on his own atmosuit, and on it, too, a green light began to slowly glow. “See you in a bit.” With that, Roberto began to walk out into the darkness, and was soon swallowed up in the icy gloom.

Markk began moving slowly. The gun was fastened to his hip. It was big, and heavy, and bulky, especially with the EMP attachment, and it kept banging against his leg as he walked. It hurt. It was annoying. No helping it, though.

He was a fast walker, and he was moving at as close to a jog as he could. One click, two clicks, three clicks, four. His viewfinder, mounted on the coldsuit’s collar, ticked off the distance. It also kept track of Roberto, who showed up as a green dot on his projected map.

Roberto was off to the west, about three kilometers away.

Markk stopped, and uncurled a line of the mines from around his shoulders. Setting the furthest end on the ground, he began to lay them out on the ice, roughly perpendicular to the outpost, distant though it was. Their diodes glowed red in the darkness. In theory, the Daitya’s sensors wouldn’t pick up their activation signals, at least not until it was too late. In theory, a lot of things that worked in other fields of war, on other planets and moons, didn’t work on Europa, because of the cold and, to a lesser extent, Jove’s gravity.

In theory.

Finishing the line layout, Markk began to walk east a bit. He figured he’d move east, and then advance maybe half a kilometer, before laying the next strip of mines. Stagger things a bit. Between he and Roberto they’d enswath the approach to the outpost pretty well.

They were making pretty good time. He was actually starting to feel confident.

Click

It was distant, and sounded over his shoulder. Markk turned his head.

ClickClick

A shadow moved in the dark. Something huge and looming. It rumbled through the shadows and the ice, headed straight at him.

ClickClickClickClickClickClick

It was as tall as a long-range missile. It loomed, and two bright white lights shone, gleaming starkly against the stars.

ClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClick

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” snapped Markk as he staggered backwards across the ice. He shouted into the radio at his collar. “Roberto, the Daitya’s here! Get back here, I need backup!”

Another massive step through the gloom and it was upon him, its huge body swathed in shade so that its details were hard to see. Those two white eyes, gleaming diodes, blazed through the night as the Daitya advanced and swung a massive arm his way. Markk vaulted backwards, his coldsuit adjusting his gravity signature to offer him greater maneuverability as it sensed the change in his vital signs. Flinging the string of mines off his shoulders, he grabbed for the gun and raised it. The Daitya swung one of its long metal arms out at him, stretching meters and meters until it became an enormous boom that would have taken his head off if he hadn’t ducked in time.

Rolling and rising again, Markk leveled the rifle at the massive robot. He triggered the EMP charge. Five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One.

ClickClickClick

The Daitya had itself paused, and its diodes flared in strobe-like blazes. Something blunt extended from the chin of its head--Markk instantly recalled a class in basic training and ran forward, ran forward, getting underneath what was clearly about to fire.

There was a flash like a camera going off. Three seconds later, the ice where Markk had been standing only a few seconds before exploded in a flash of bright chrome light, and Markk, looking back, gaped at the sheer size of the crater that was produced. It was as big as the entire outpost. An enormous scorched hole in the ice, flames licking its edges. The Daitya had clearly fired its Remote Effect Gun. Fortunately, Markk knew it could only do that once every fifteen minutes.

Or so basic training had said.

He raised the rifle. There was a blue strip of five lights glowing on a squat, octagonal bulk that was attached just below the gun’s main barrel. Markk pushed a button on the attachment, heard a soft click, and fired.

There was a flash of electric blue, and the Daitya staggered back as waves of sparkling

blueness washed over its huge shape. In the light of the EMP Markk got a decent look at it. It was so huge, and its humanoid shape was built of heavy gray metal. There was a carving of Hiraṇyākṣa on its right chest plate, and a carving of Bāṇāsura on its left chest plate. Its head was ovoid, and the Remote Effect Gun was stuck towards the bottom and almost looked like a mouth. Its diodes gleamed neon white.

There was darkness again. The Daitya tumbled to its knees, but Markk’s heart sank as he watched it jerkily rise to its feet again. Its movements were not nearly as smooth or as fluid as before, and it was slow in its motions towards him now. The EMP had clearly affected it.

Just not enough.

And now it was Markk who needed to wait for a charge. He had ten minutes. He fired the normal gun, muzzle flashing bright yellow as it spat hot lead at the Daitya. But the bullets bounced off its heavy armor. It advanced upon him. Markk tried to run backwards.

But he tripped, and he fell.

ClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClick

Gasping in terror he gazed with his gleaming red eyes up at the massive robot as it was almost upon him. Its long fingers were spinning, looking like industrial drills, and Markk could hear them whine as they promised killing touch. He desperately grabbed for the rifle again.

“Finem hostium!”

Markk was startled by the loud cry. Out of the darkened sky came a shape blazing in orange flame. It landed on the Daitya’s massive shoulders. In the light of the diodes and the fire Markk saw a familiar domed helmet. He gaped. It was Roberto. He had landed on the Daitya. As the flames receded, Markk suddenly realized he had forgotten that full atmosuits had thrusters on them. It wasn’t like he ever wore them, after all.

Something gleamed cold in the cold dark. There was a shimmer of steel and the Daitya’s neck flared with sparks. Markk caught sight of a blade. A sword? What could cut through a Daitya’s armor? He’d heard that Martian steel was the sharpest in the solar system, but he hadn’t expected a demonstration. He watched Roberto flash something in the air, a long swirl of glowing red diodes. The mines! Roberto stuffed a line of them as hastily as he could in the wound in the Daitya’s neck.

The thrusters flared again as Roberto vaulted off the Daitya. He rocketed through the cold air and was headed... straight at Markk. “Whoa!” said Markk, standing up. He rose to his feet just in time for Roberto to plow into him. Fortunately, the coldsuit protected him from broken ribs, and the two men were sent sailing off across the ice, bouncing in the crunchy powder as Roberto tumbled into a landing with Markk in his midst.

ClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClick

The Daitya was beginning to stagger towards them. “Markk, the mines!” said Roberto.

“You’ve got the detonator! Blow that thing up!”

“Oh! Shit!” Markk cried, and tapped at the panel on his forearm. He found the control for the line of mines Roberto had used and armed them all. Then he triggered the manual detonation--

BOOM

A huge explosion rocked the cold dark air. The Daitya’s head, neck, and shoulders erupted in a fireball of enormous proportions. The burning husk took one more step forward, made one more Click noise, and then it toppled to the ground, smashing into the ice and sending up a maelstrom of frost and snow. It did not move again. Its husk laid there, the fire slowly going out amid all the cold and frost.

“Shit,” said Markk.

“Huh,” said Roberto, clambering to his feet. “Kinda hoped that would work, though I was ultimately just guessing. Happy to be right, though, and not wrong.” He extended a hand downward.

Markk gazed up at the outstretched hand. He saw Roberto’s face through the helmet.

The blue eyes were twinkling. There was a smile in there.

Growling, and shaking his head, Markk took his hand, and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. “Well,” he said, brushing his coldsuit off, “that’s that.” He walked over to where he’d dropped the gun, and attached it to his hip once more.

“We gonna go pick the mines up?” asked Roberto.

“Ehh, they’re not armed yet, and until they are, they’re harmless to any friendlies that approach our position. We took out the Daitya, but there might be more in the future.” Markk put his hands on his hips. He huffed out a breath, fog drifting in the cold and starry air. “But mostly...”

“Mostly you just don’t wanna fucking do it.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it.” He shook his head. “Not right this minute, anyway. I’d really rather just get back to the outpost.” He shook his head again. “Christ, I need a drink.”

“My sis sent me some gin from back home in the last care package,” said Roberto. “I’d be willing to share. If...”

“If?”

“If you tell me ‘good job, partner.’” Roberto grinned at him.

Markk rolled his red eyes. “Good job, partner.”

“There, see? Wasn’t that great to say?”

“Whatever. Come on,” and he turned, and began to head back to the outpost, a bright light far off in the distance.

“I’m gonna go take a warm shower,” said Roberto, moving into line beside him. “This is about as much cold as I’m willing to put up with for the day.”

“Warm? Really?”

“Yeah,” said Roberto. He turned to Markk. He arched an eyebrow. “What, you don’t take warm showers?”

“We don’t like ‘warm’ on this moon.”

“Sheesh.” Roberto shook his head. “You people are missing out. No wonder half the fucking galaxy wants to kick your asses.” He picked up the pace, and began walking faster than Markk.

Markk watched him go a minute, receding towards the outpost. He looked back over his shoulder, at the ruins of the Daitya already gathering frost and snow in the dark. He looked forward again, at Roberto’s advancing form.

He shook his head. He laughed, in spite of himself. “Fuckin’ warmies,” he muttered. He started walking off towards Roberto again.

The smell of incense was in the air.