Chapter Six - Burn

Goblin mechs were a sight to behold. Not because they were impressive. It was very much the opposite. They were feats of creative engineering, proof that with enough spit, twine and a complete disregard for any common sense, even the impossible was possible.

This mech was no different. It lumbered forwards, one leg longer than the other to the point where its gait was more of a stumble. It had caught onto one of the tents and was dragging it along, the dusty tarp flapping as it clung to the war machine.

A hand, attached to the end of a loading mech’s arm, grabbed the tarp and flung it aside, revealing the goblin shaman and his mech.

There were two types of folk, generally speaking. Normal people, like me, and those souls who had been touched by the gods, or who had stared into the storms too long. The magic touched. We called them wizards or sorcerers or engineers. For the tribalistic clans of the goblins, they were shaman.

This clan’s shaman was strapped into the centre of their mech, black face-paint under a hood covered in poorly-carved bones that bounced with the mech’s every motion. He screamed something in a feral tongue and pulled back on a lever sticking out of the interior of the mech.

The machine itself matched its pilot. Dirty, savage, and covered in bones. Black dyes and streaks of paint covered thick plates, and on the mecha’s shoulders were a pair of goblins in steel cages, each one with a heavy rifle jutting out of it. I could make out baskets filled with ammunition in each cage. They were loading the rounds by hand.

“What a piece of trash,” I muttered as I raised my rifle.

The shaman pointed my way, and the two gunners above him twisted their rifles to aim at Rusty.

I had just a moment to make a choice. Stand there, take the shot, and tank the return fire, or duck.

My foot slammed down on a pedal and Rusty jerked to the side.

I grit my teeth as Rusty shifted and threw me around a little. If it wasn’t for years of practice and a good harness, I would have been thrown out of my seat. As it was, I almost missed it when they opened fire.

One gun opened fire, and never stopped, a rain of green blurs filled the air, and I winced as a couple dinged off of Rusty’s armour. A machine gun. I could deal with that.

The other gun barked and a beam of golden light sliced through where I’d been, the air around that area pulling in then expanding out with a heavy clap. The air sparked, and a burst of fire as wide around as Rusty filled the space where the beam had passed.

I could feel the temperature rising, even though it had been a clear miss.

The machine gun was irritating, but its fire was janky and more of a stutter than the purr of a proper gun. A glance through a periscope revealed the goblin gunner slapping the gun’s feed to push more rounds in while spinning a lever on the opposite side.

It was the other gun that had taken me by surprise.

That golden beam, the size of the round. “Gods curse those bastards,” I muttered as I planted Rusty’s feet down and started running. “Where in the seven deserts did they get a gnomish thermogun?”

I pushed some juice into my rifle and aimed low while running. The next shot I took missed the goblin mech, hitting the ground between us. That was fine. The overloaded shot made the ground shake and kicked up a plume of sand that rained down around the goblin mech.

The machine gun’s rattle stalled for a moment and I slung my rifle over Rusty’s shoulder until it clunked into place.

I noticed some goblins running my way, with sticks and bits of steel. I didn’t have time for them.

Leaning forwards, I pushed Rusty into moving faster while sliding an arm down to Rusty’s waist. The mechanism in Rusty’s hand clunked as it made contact with the revolver strapped to the mech’s hip.

Swinging a leg forward, I crushed one of the incoming goblins under three tons of moving mecha, then kicked another as I continued to move.

Some of them got onto Rusty though, hanging onto the belts and bandoliers that held my equipment. I turned Rusty’s head around and made out one goblin scambering up the side, a knife held in its teeth.

I grabbed it with my free hand, crushed its skull, and flung it to the side even as I locked Rusty’s legs in place.

I’d made it to the side of the camp, some of the tents now between me and the goblin mech.

The thing didn’t have the agility of a proper warmech, and it was having a hard time turning to face my way. The machine gun was as traversed as it could be, rattling off a line of bullets that was slowly getting closer as the mech turned.

I raised my arm and lined up the sights of the revolver through the periscope.

The first shot winged off the back of the mech, hitting a steel plate and drawing a green line through the air that turned sharply where it ricocheted. Way off in the distance, some rocks exploded on the valley wall.

The machine gun finally turned enough to hit Rusty.

I grimaced as bullets thumped into my mech’s armour and made everything rattle like a drum.

My next shot missed, the third didn’t.

I caught a flash of red as the goblin inside the machine gun turret exploded. The gun kept firing, but with no one controlling it, it swung this way and that under its own recoil and stitched a line of craters in the sandy ground.

I took a fourth shot, dead-on target, but my revolver’s rounds weren’t as impressive as my rifle’s and while it dug into the mech’s armour, it didn’t seem to do anything to stop it.

Flipping my gun arm over, I aimed at my opposite shoulder where I could feel a goblin hanging onto Rusty’s side, and fired.

I started moving again. I couldn’t afford to get hit by that thermogun. It wouldn’t break through Rusty’s armour, but the amount of heat those things generated... there were plenty of little oil-leaks all around my mech, and some of the hydraulic fuels I used burned nicely.

Cooking in my own flaming mech was not how I wanted to go.

I trampled around the back of the goblin camp, stepping onto and over their poor excuse for furniture while thumbing the cylinder release on my revolver. A flick of a switch fired a burst of air through the five-shooter and sent the empty cases within flying. I grabbed a speedloader and replaced them before snapping the gun shut and pulling back in the lever for the hammer.

My plan was... I wasn’t too sure, actually. I continued to walk around the back of the camp. Maybe I could circle around and knock the goblin mech’s other turret out. It didn’t seem to have any other weapons that I’d noticed.

Goblins were still running all over the place, the attack encouraging them to go wild. I saw some fighting over prized possessions, and others high-tailing it out of the valley.

A few were still thinking straight, though, and I saw them rushing for cover from which to fire at me.

I took some pot-shots at those. The exchange of fire was entirely unfair.

“I’m wasting time,” I muttered. Once the goblin mech was down, I could sweep through the valley with Rusty, then maybe I could let things settle for a while and sweep around again on foot. There had to be some things worth grabbing in all the junk I was running across.

One of the tents near my burst apart, and I was suddenly face-to-face with a grinning goblin riding atop their mech.

I swore and swung my left arm around, deflecting a wild hay-maker from the goblin mech.

I only just saw the goblin in the untouched turret squeal as it brought the thermogun around.

My revolver dropped, and my now-freed hand came up and clamped itself over the gum emplacement.

I twisted, jerking the gun to the side.

The goblin fired.

I screamed as a golden lance filled my vision.

The air in Rusty’s cabin was sucked away out of every tiny pore and crack, even as I jammed my foot against the pedals and forced Rusty to spin around the goblin mech.

The air caught fire.

I held my breath even as I felt the temperature inside Rusty climbing. A quick jab to the side and I spun the temperature controls onto max, for what little good that would do. Another step back and I was out of the edges of the flames.

The camp had turned into a hellscape, tarps and tents and goblins aflame.

The goblin mech was turning again, but I didn’t intend to let it finish.

Reaching over my shoulder, I grabbed my rifle, then swung it down to point at the mech. There was no need to aim at that range.

I fired, cycled the gun, fired again. Two holes the size of my fist tore into and through the mech.

The goblin gunner jumped out of the turret on the far shoulder.

I cocked the rifle, brought it up to my shoulder, and fired while it teetered atop the now-falling machine.

When the mech crashed down, it was atop the burning remains of the goblin camp.

I’d had enough for the moment. Turning, I walked back out into the mouth of the valley while reloading my gun and taking stock. Goblins ran around in a panic, but the fight had been burned out of them.

Clean-up, then I’d head back to town. I’d earned my drink.