Night Song (The Guild Wars Book 9) by Mark Wandrey (best management books of all time .txt) 📗

suit of armor was being operated by a Zuul; that much was clear from its size and shape. The Zuul…was Rex. She didn’t have any logical reason to know, but she was 100% certain of it. He’d led the foolhardy attack against the tank. What bravery. What outrageous courage. He was Hosh, there was no doubt in her heart.

The particle beam from the other tank swatted Rex from the air. It happened too fast for her to understand what exactly had transpired, she only knew that Rex’s suit suddenly careened into the ground and lay still. It didn’t seem like the beam had scored a direct hit, as the suit remained in one piece. Maybe it didn’t need to hit dead on to disable their CASPer suits. She did not know, and it didn’t matter. Rex was down, and the stricken tank saw its opportunity.

The tank turned, and its six treads threw up rock in low-G arcs behind it as the behemoth accelerated toward the downed armor, on track to grind it to dust under 150 tons of alloy.

“No!” Veska screamed.

There was no thought involved as she left concealment, flipping onto the boulder before her and leaping forward. She had a small device on her belt that identified her as a friendly unit, and the tank’s shield let her pass through with only a tingling sensation. She nimbly caught a handhold and flipped forward as well as any acrobat, accelerating her previous leap.

The shot passed the smoldering and sparking debris of the tank’s main gun, over the other turret, and out the front of the shield the same way she entered it. Her legs hit the ground, hard, and she did her best to roll. It was more of a cartwheeling crash, but she fetched up against the side of the CASPer, exactly as she’d intended, if not as gracefully.

Ouch, she thought as an ankle popped. A moment later, her nerves caught up to her mind—now that really hurt. She ignored the pain, forced herself to her feet, faced the tank, and held up both hands. “Stop!” she shouted at the top of her voice, triggering her radio at the same time. “Squad leader Veska speaking, tank respond, you are ordered to stop!”

“Get out of the way, squad leader!” the tank commander replied, not slowing. It loomed like a metal mountain.

“This powered armor holds a Zuul, one of Krif’Hosh!”

The treads threw up more debris, this time toward her. She ducked her head, covering the more vulnerable face shield with her arms. As the dust and debris cleared, she looked to see the tank only a couple of meters away. She could hear over the command channel as the tank commander called the captain, desperately asking for orders.

“Hold your fire,” was the reply. Nillab’s voice was cool on Veska’s comm, and her ears drooped at the disapproval. “Withdraw, for now.”

The tank sat for a long moment, then began to back away. The other also retreated, and she saw her own troopers fall back silently on the tactical display strapped to her arm until every one of them dropped out of view.

Shuddering from the exertion and the throbbing pain shooting up her leg, Veska turned to see three Zuul-shaped powered armor suits come out of cover, all pointing weapons at her. She raised her hands high in the air, the way Humans showed submission. “I surrender.”

The word should have stuck in her throat—she’d never so much as thought it before. But her eyes drifted away from the guns pointed at her to the unresponsive suit at her feet, and she thought nothing of the consequences at all.

* * *

Meesh roared into the command center, claws and teeth bared.

“What under every moon and sea and rusted ships of entropy HAPPENED?” he demanded, tail lashing.

“I had the same question,” the blighted Vergola said, all calm and floaty. Meesh longed to rip out its throat, and his lips peeled back in readiness.

The Zuul captain entered from the other side of the room, and Meesh leaned in her direction, burying his claws in the metal table in front of him to keep from launching at her. She’d been on her ship in orbit during the attack, probably because she’d known about it, possibly because she was a part of it, perhaps because everyone here were traitors united in keeping his people from their rightful rewards.

“I am not sure.” Nillab’s words came as measured as ever, her tone similar to the translator’s mechanical neutrality.

Meesh could nearly smell the lie. What vaunted commander would be so calm after such a poor showing without knowing why? Meesh would have entrails still dripping from his claws if his forces had staggered to such a halt in the middle of battle. Her ears remained politely pointed, her tail still—did she feel nothing, this entropy-ridden old Zuul?

“Perhaps you should theorize, Captain Nillab,” the Vergola said, folding both hands into their opposite sleeves.

“As you know, we were planning to attack later today. The tanks were not part of either of the plans I submitted for attack and defense.”

“I ordered the tanks into combat.” The Vergola looked as unconcerned as ever, but his form vibrated in what Meesh could only assume was a matching rage. “Why have such weapons and not use them?”

“Because they got in the way of my light assault troops.” A snap entered the Zuul’s tone now, though she remained otherwise still. “Because my superior soldiers could not properly flank their attackers and take down the armored threat. Because the disabling of one not yet fully ready for combat—which is why they were not in my plans—is likely what halted the battle.”

“Likely?” Meesh spat, his claws puncturing the surface of the table as he squeezed. Shards stabbed into his hands, which only fed his rage hotter. “You don’t think it was because you are a traitor