Chapter Two Hundred and Seventy-Two: Old Friends

“Mr. Belessar, it’s Nancy from reception,” the intercom buzzed. “Commodore Pemberley is here to see you.”

“Please send her in,” I replied.

Pemberley looked more relaxed than the last time we’d met. “Belessar. Thanks for coming through with the suits.”

“You’re welcome. And my apologies, I didn’t realize how bad the backlog was.”

“Well, we now have more suits than we’d initially planned for, so that’s a good thing. I’ve been given permission to expand the Division’s headcount and add a few more Boar Armour units.”

“That’s good. Did the kerfuffle about your promotion get sorted out?”

“Believe me, that’s the last thing on my mind right now. In any case, my promotion to Vice-Marshal was an acting promotion, not a substantive one, so it’s perfectly understandable that it got rolled back.”

“I thought you were due for a promotion anyway. You’ve been in the thick of it for what, three years?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Pemberley’s face. “That was before we lost the Battle of Lonavala.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t your fault.”

Pemberley shrugged. “It’s the way the cookie crumbles. Anyway, I didn’t swing by to discuss my career prospects with you. How’s the explosives project going?”

“Gideon tells me he finally got the tax stuff sorted out. We should be getting ingredients next week, and I can start making pharmaceutical grade octanitrocubane.”

“And will that affect your missile inventory for the next battle?”

I sighed. “Definitely, but there’s not much we can do. I’m keeping a reserve of about two hundred Starfalls, but nothing new for a while. In any case, I need to upgrade my weaponry.”

“With you, that’s always a good idea. Do you have something in mind, or is it top secret?”

“It’s secret enough, but not from you or Windsor. I’m thinking the next suit will have a railgun around it.”

“A railgun… Belessar, excuse my physics, but those things have a lot of recoil.”

“Yup.”

“So when you fire a railgun from your suits - especially the ones that are twenty feet tall - won’t it cause a torque? Meaning you could tip over?”

“... If it was on a smaller suit, yes. I’m making a bigger one.”

“You mean like the Wolf?”

“It’s an upgrade on that. I call it the Leopard.”

“O-kay. I suppose you’re going to keep up the animal theme names for the rest of your suits?”

“I don’t pick the names.”

“Then who does?”

“.... My power.”

“Right, absolutely believe that. So, how are you going to handle the recoil problem?”

“Working on it. Believe me, I don’t want a suit that does an involuntary backflip every time I fire the main weapon.”

“I trust you’ll have the problem sorted soon. There’s been - concern about our readiness, in the wake of Lonavala.”

“You mean the ultras stuck in traffic jams?”

“This one’s on the military side. You might not know this, but shortly before the Battle of London, there was a conference amongst most of the allied nations that contribute to the Stratospheric Guard. We hammered out certain terms for dealing with larger scale alien attacks.”

“So that’s where you put together the multinational force that defended London?”

“Correct. Each nation agreed to contribute extra resources - troops, aircraft, tanks - to defend against an alien attack. We anticipated no one nation would have the resources to defend itself alone - in fact, smaller nations were already struggling with this problem - so it was decided that each nation would maintain a ready force to counter an alien attack.”

“You mean like the Rapid Response Division?”

“No, that came later. The primary agreement was that each nation would maintain a dedicated response force that could be deployed at short notice. The United States agreed to keep carrier strike groups on standby, as well as their air complement - I’m sure you remember how they helped at London and Singapore. Germany committed extra tanks, the French promised additional squadrons of Eurofighters, and each nation signed up to a number. We - the United Kingdom - agreed to a combined arms division, which sort of mutated into the Rapid Response Division in its current form.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that the Indians were supposed to commit an infantry force of fifty thousand troops for rapid response.” Pemberley took a deep breath. “And now, they’re asking to be released from those obligations for a couple of years. Because of the economic strain they’re under.”

“... Wait, even with the cure for the virus?”

“The issue isn’t just the cure - which I understand is still not yet ready - but the cost. From what we understand, administering these drugs to twenty-five million people will severely weaken their economy and create a massive recession - unless they cut government spending somewhere. They’ve cut back on social programs and education this year - and you can bet that is triggering protests - but they’ll need to make deep cuts in their military as well. Including cutting back on foreign support commitments.” The RAF officer sighed. “We can pick up the slack, but …. fifty thousand soldiers is a lot of bodies to make up for.”

“They do realize they’re at war, right?”

“The grapevine is that they haven’t been able to replace the equipment - or troops - lost at Lonavala yet. Units that were decimated are being disbanded, the survivors sent to other regiments or simply requested to retire.”

“They’re trying to recruit ultras aggressively.”

“I believe that’s part of their intention - to make up for a shortfall in military resources by contributing more ultras for future defences. Also, they’ve committed to getting back to normal force levels in the next two years, if we give them the time. It’s not going down well with the leadership, though.”

I did a quick mental calculation. “Two years is three - maybe four - large-scale attacks. If we can hold until then….”

“We’d be back to normal force levels, without counting the Rapid Response Division itself. I think everyone’s waiting for that. However, there is other less pleasant news. New Hierarchy ships just arrived in orbit.”

“Reinforcements, or do you think they’re planning another attack?”

“We’re not sure. If they’re massing for one, Intelligence thinks that they’ll go after another Earth Defence Base.”

“Better that than a highly populated city?”

Pemberley nodded. “Stratospheric Guard believes that fully operational bases could pose a significant threat to the Hierarchy troops in some way that we can’t quite figure out. Trouble is, those bases are expensive. Massively so.”

“I know, I’ve seen the budgets.”

“If we keep losing them, the governments are likely to pull back from the whole project.” Pemberley sighed. “The awkward part is that we can’t seem to figure out exactly why the bases trigger the Hierarchy so badly. They haven’t hit anything this hard since Tanisport.”

“Maybe it’s just escalation. We keep beating them, they come back with a larger force.”

“And the Archon showing up? It’s the first time we’ve met the rulers of the Hierarchy. Something about the bases scares them.”

“Even if the bases get their full laser batteries, it won’t be enough to take down a Hierarchy ship unless they’re literally skimming the atmosphere. Why would the bases be such a threat?”

“Maybe it’s not the laser batteries, Belessar. Maybe they’re afraid we’ll put some other weapon up - something that could actually pose a threat to their ships.”

I frowned. “What could we put in a base that could do that? The most powerful weapon the Xeranai battleship had was the Xerkan Capital Ship Disruptor, and we’re several generations away from duplicating that.”

“The original suggestion came from someone at your very own CIA. MI6, the DGSE and the BND agree with their assessment. Something about the bases is concerning them, and we’re hoping you can figure out what.”

No quest popped up at Pemberley’s words. Figures my power wouldn’t make it too easy. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Also, I understand you have no guards inside the warehouse where you’re making the octanitrocubane or storing the Leopard.”

“I have automated defences.”

“How has Lieutenant Harrison been conducting himself?”

“Decently? I don’t talk to him much, just a ‘hello’ whenever I need to go in. Honestly, I could do without the guards.”

“And I could do without very important people getting all squirrelly about the lack of security at Farnborough. It’s been suggested we should have additional fortifications built up, a wider security perimeter, and a round-the-clock CAP on the site.”

“Isn’t that a little excessive?”

“The round-the-clock CAP, yes, but we do need better security. Everyone’s worried that Gellatoids will infiltrate the facility and blow up stuff, or steal your tech.”

“The Hierarchy has better tech than mine, and you don’t need to worry about Gellatoids. Our factory is pretty secure.”

“The video of you doing the Imperial March on the factory floor would suggest otherwise.”

I sighed. “Gideon’s already on the warpath about that. Honestly, it doesn’t matter, unless you can find someone able to duplicate my powers.”

“Nonetheless, what would it take to get security upgraded here?”

“You already have armed guards on-site.”

“I want people in your workshop, Belessar. People who can warn us if someone tries to steal your latest suit.”

“Good luck getting it to work without my powers.”

“Or just sabotage it. What would it take?”

“Look, I appreciate the suggestion, Commodore, but how do I know Harrison’s not a Gellatoid? Anyone you put inside the workshop would need to be super trustworthy. Preferably no families, so they can’t be blackmailed. How many people do you know who’d fit the bill?”

Pemberley grinned wickedly. “As it happens, I have a few candidates. Calling them in now.”

The door opened, letting in a familiar face … in a less familiar uniform. 

Donna Bartoli wore a brown camouflage-pattern uniform that looked somewhat out of place compared to Pemberley’s deep blues. She stepped into the office and snapped off a somewhat shaky salute. “Granatiere Donna Bartoli, reporting for duty,” she grinned.

A dozen thoughts went through my head, mostly confused, so I latched on to the first one. “Donna, what on earth is a Granatiere?”

“Good to see you too, Belessar,” smirked Donna. “That’s my rank. I got admitted to the Grenadier Division a few months ago.”

“.... I hadn’t heard. Congratulations!”

“They were quite happy to have her, from what I hear,” Pemberley added. “Sit down, Grenadier.”

“I may be missing something, but what’s the Grenadier Division?” 

“It’s the elite mechanized infantry division of the Italian Army,” Donna supplied. “I applied and got in.”

“.... The Italian Army?”

“Perhaps I should explain,” Pemberley chipped in. “A few members of the erstwhile Phoenix Company reached out to us, asking if there was a way they could continue to fight the aliens.Technically, we can’t employ mercenaries - or former mercenaries - who are foreign citizens without the permission of their home country. So I suggested they apply to their home country’s military as volunteers, and the Rapid Response Division would put in a request to have them deputed once they completed basic.”

“Seeing as I’m from Italy, I needed to be nominated by the Italian Army,” Donna continued. “Told the recruiting sergeant I wanted to be part of the Battle Boar Brigade.”

“You want Boar Armour?” 

“Assuming you have suits to spare. The Commodore said I might have to wait till we got a few….”

I shook my head. “I’ve got something better in mind. Pemberley, would you object if I personally picked Donna’s loadout?”

“As long as it doesn’t make the others jealous,” Pemberley smirked.

“The others?”

Donna giggled. “You’re cute when you’re out of the loop. Me, Cassandra, Lavina Carpenter, Wanda, and Kristina Sabo. We all signed up with our respective nation’s militaries, and we’ve all been deputed to the Rapid Response Division.”

I beamed. “That’s fantastic. That’s… I have to say, that’s the best news I’ve heard this month.”

“We wanted to keep it a bit of a secret, actually, until everyone got accepted.”

“As if we’d turn down the five women who killed a Xeranai,” chuckled Pemberely. “Even our government isn’t that dense.”

“Hey, Belessar actually killed it. We just helped a little.”

“You five saved my life,” I pointed out.

Donna grinned. “Daisy would say we merely returned a favour. And then you did us another one.”

“Friends don’t count favours,” Pemberley observed. “And you lot are, well, old friends. So, what’s the ‘something better’ you had in mind for Donna?”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’ve always been a fan of well-lit workshops. Whether it was our basement in Pendleton, the workshop at Quartermain Heights, or my various labs / workshops in Farnborough, a well-lit workspace does wonders for concentration and productivity. 

Some supervillians, I’ve heard, prefer spooky and dimly lit lairs. Had enough of that on the Xeranai battleship, thank you, it’s not my style.

It did mean that when Pemberley and Donna stepped into my workshop, the automated defences were starkly visible.

“Belessar,” Pemberley asked quietly, “is that an anti-tank missile?”

“Surplus from BAE,” I said. “It’s meant for an assault using heavier elements, at close range.”

“Right. And that thing pointing at us from the ceiling is….”

“A HEPAR with automated IFF. Right now, the workshop’s facial recognition is scanning the both of you and monitoring your temperatures and heartbeat to confirm that you’re human and not, say, a Sarnak in a dress.”

“What about Gellatoids?”

“If you weren’t with me, you’d need to stick your arm in a blood sampler to check.”

“Do we know the Gellatoids can’t copy blood?” asked Pemberley. “From what I understand, they can fake blood tests.”

“It’s not the blood test that matters,” I explained. “The blood sampler also includes an X-ray machine which checks for bones in your body at the same time. Gellatoids can fake blood, or mould the insides of their body to have the appearance of bones. However, I’m not sure they can do both at the same time.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Which is why I’ve been extremely cagey about letting people into the workshop.”

“Well, at least we’re here now… Holy shit, Belessar, are those Greyhounds?”

I followed her gaze to where the suits stood, tall and proud. “Yes. Four suits of Greyhound armour.”

“Oh, good, you built backups,” Donna nodded. “At London, we were kind of worried about the suit falling apart.”

I shook my head. “They aren’t backups, Donna. The first suit is yours.”

My workshop has excellent acoustics. A design feature, actually, to help the audio sensors hidden in the walls pick up invisible infiltrators (in case Quintana ever decided to take up a little side hobby of revenge). 

In the silence following my announcement, you could have heard a bacterium drop. 

Donna stared at the suit for a few seconds. Then at me. “Belessar, I’ve never operated one of those. I’ve never even operated a Boar Armour.”

“The first time I stepped into a Greyhound,” I said, “I had three hundred hours in combat suits. Most of those were spent in nanofibre weave, a smattering in the Boar Armour. How much time have you spent in your armour?”

Donna bit her lip. “Almost five hundred hours…. Bel, it’s not the same thing. If I take that into combat… I’m going to be a target. How do I move in that, shoot, and fire missiles at the same time?”

“You learn to do it like I did,” I replied. “Practice. And not just you. There’s five of you, right? You, Cassandra, Lavina and Wanda should each take a suit and learn to use it. I’ll make a fifth for Kristina - by the way, is she fully detoxed now?”

“Clean as a whistle,” Donna replied. “She got her U.S. citizenship, too, and completed boot camp with the Marines.”

“.... not the Army?”

“It’s complicated. In any case, she’s decided to all ‘Semper Fi’ it up. Belessar - are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never trusted anyone with my stuff as much as I trust Phoenix Company,” I replied. “And wherever you go, whatever uniform you wear, you’ll always be Phoenixes. So yes, I trust you with the Greyhounds, the same way as I trusted you with HEPARs, or nanofibre weave. And you’ve never let me down, not since I first handed you a laser rifle.”

Donna blushed. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have anything else to wear.”

I grinned. “I started my first battle naked, too. We have a lot in common.”

“That sounds like a fascinating story,” Pemberley said. “One that I’d love to hear someday. But she has a point, Belessar - sending them into the field with Greyhounds, and no training, is not the best idea.”

“Oh, they will train,” I replied. “They’re going to learn to walk the suits in here, and patrol the workshop using these. Just keep walking and practicing for a few days. And once you’re familiar, we’ll set up some exercises.”

“Exercises?” Donna asked. 

“Greyhound against Greyhound tests, Donna. You get to learn how to fight these things, by going up against an OpFor that knows how to use them.”

“And where are you going to find a pilot to train us?” asked Donna. “Because I thought you just said there weren’t any you could trust….”

“There is one,” I replied. “All five of you get familiar with the suits, in turns. And once you’re comfortable walking around in them, I’m going to train you personally.”

Donna went pale. “.... Personally?” she choked out.

Pemberley started laughing. “Grenadier Bartoli, congratulations on being selected for …. advanced combat training. I’d wish you the best of luck, but somehow, I think your OpFor has the lion’s share of that particular statistic.”

“And I thought Sergeant Duncan’s training was bad,” muttered Donna. “Fine. Only one question - if we’re in the Greyhounds during the next battle, what are you going to be operating? Another Wolf?”

“I’m building an upgraded armour. It’s actually in the centre of the workshop.”

Donna glanced around. “Um, is it supposed to be invisible? Because I don’t see any giant-sized suit lying around here.”

“Not that centre. Come on.” I walked forward and pressed a button. “Prepare to be impressed.” 

“Like I’ve never heard that before… HOLY HELL!” Donna stared at the floor beneath her, which had turned transparent - leaving her standing above a vast, dark and yawning void. “Belessar…. What is THAT?”

Standing on what appeared to be thin air, I chuckled. “Saw a documentary about glass bridges, then realized I can do something similar with nanofibre weave. Specifically, this is a nanofibre weave layered glass frame that can be turned from transparent to opaque, or can project an image of my choosing. It’s part of the stealth coating system on my suit.”

“You mean we’re standing on glass?” Donna asked. “Like, breaks-when-you-drop-it glass?”

“More like helicopter glass, which is mostly shatterproof,” Pemberley gave the floor/glass an experimental kick. “I’m assuming you’re not planning to drop us into the void.”

“Don’t worry, if it gives way I can always levitate you out.”

“How deep is that pit?” asked Donna. “You didn’t create a yawning gap into nothingness, did you?”

“No, of course not. Where did you get that idea?”

“The latest episode of Freedom League had one of those things. The villain drops his enemies into an endless chasm.”

“Leaving aside the scientific impossibility of a chasm on a planetary surface being ‘endless’.... why would I copy some two-bit villain?”

Donna snorted. “There is that. You’d probably chop up Dark Duck like an appetizer.”

“... The villain’s name was Dark Duck? Seriously?”

“Yeah, maybe they need better scriptwriters.”

“Why are you watching a TV show about ultras when you’re friends with half a dozen real ones?”

“Hey, Devilmade recommended it. Says it’s funny.”

“I daresay she wouldn’t be the only one,” said Pemberley. “Nonetheless, Belessar, is there anything more to this than the, er, scary-looking chasm?”

“First, I need to check if either of you have any fear of heights….”

“Not me,” replied Donna, “and the Commodore’s a helicopter pilot, right?”

“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I pressed the next button.

Beneath me, a series of floodlights lit up. Like I said, a good workshop is well lit, even if we switch off the power when it’s not needed. 

I could hear the gasps from Pemberley and Donna, as the lights illuminated every inch of the tunnel … a full hundred feet down. 

The tunnel that had been drilled for me by Hifara, as a special favour. One that led deep into the bowels of the earth, or at least deep enough for me to store my next project.

The gantry that ran along its side was also important, more for hauling stuff up and down. What the gantry held was, however, much more important.

Right below our feet, the lights illuminated the massive form of the unfinished Leopard Class Battle Armour. Several of the subassemblies were already in place, and although the Bodyplate - the most critical part - was yet to be assembled, I’d already maneuvered in the three power plants, the antigravity thrusters, and most of the electronics needed to build this titan. 

“That’s my next suit,” I said quietly. “Sixty feet tall. Thirty tons unloaded, with a further twenty-five ton payload. A stealth field generator that lets it turn invisible. And - enough antigrav thrusters to let it fly.” I turned to Donna and Pemberley. “That’s why I haven’t been letting anyone into the workshop. In its current state, it’s vulnerable. But once it’s ready… I mean this thing to be able to take on a Walking Fortress and give it pause.”

“Belessar,” Pemberley’s voice was hushed. “This is… you’re talking about something as heavy as a tank. That flies.”

“It will fly. It will run. It will outspeed tanks and outmaneuver infantry, match a Strikefighter in a dogfight, and - if I can get the weapons to work right - hit a Walking Fortess hard enough that it won’t be able to shrug off the damage. Of course, that’s if it works properly. That’s why I’m not using the skins of the Greater Carnotaurs to just make ten Wolf-class armours - I want something that will destroy any opponent the Hierarchy puts on the ground. Maybe even give that thing they call an Archon pause.”

“That’s why you want us to run the Greyhounds,” Donna said. “Because while you’re dealing with the Archon and the Carnotaurs, you want us to hunt the Lynxians and Grizzeloids.”

“That’s correct. I have just about enough material for the Leopard …. and a little left over for maintenance.”

“I think you’re doing the right thing,” Pemberley said. “Like it or not… half the effectiveness of the Wolf was in having you as the pilot. Getting you into a more powerful battlesuit is worth nine more rookies in Wolf suits.” She grinned. “And I’ll wager moving to piloting a Wolf directly might have been too much for Donna?”

“There is that,” I nodded. “The Greyhound will be a good training suit for them… until they’re ready for something stronger.”

Pemberley chuckled. “Grenadier Bartoli - I look forward to seeing the results of your training.”