Chapter Thirty-Three - I Really Hate Goblins

I chewed on my lip as I took in the goblin mechs as best I could. One of them was on the larger side. The frame was squat but wide, with normal legs at the front and tracks at the rear. A gnomish civilian mech? I’d seen some of those being sold as surplus. They were awful at traversing sand, but fairly popular for utility. Cheap, too.

It had been given the goblin treatment, of course. A pole sticking out of the front had what I suspected was a man hooked to it, and the goblins had been generous with their spikes and hooks across the frame. It looked like a hedgehog with some guns tacked on.

The other looked like a pure goblin build, all scrap bits welded together and covered in chunks of metal that looked like they’d been torn off some other mech. It was a squat bipedal mech, with an obvious balance issue that led it to limping with every step.

I brought Rusty’s rifle around, picking out my target.

They were coming deceptively fast. The downward slope adding some speed to their run, especially with that old gnomish design. Its threads were allowing it to slide down the hill with a wash of dirt and sand behind it.

“What’s going on?” Clin asked.

“Sit down and shut up,” I said.

I needed to figure out which was the bigger threat, and quick.

I swung the rifle to the side, flicked a knob around with my thumb, and listened as magic rushed into the gun, overloading the shell waiting to fire.

My finger twitched over the trigger.

A magic circle, red as blood, formed in the air around the gun’s housing, the deep light splashing out from the minuscule cracks where parts met.

Rusty bucked, shoulder shifting back as a red beam scoured the air with a bang-hiss.

The pure goblin mech exploded as the overloaded round rammed into its side.

I hissed as I had Rusty open and close his hand, to eject the spent shell and shove in a new one. Not a perfect hit. There was some damage there, and I’d certainly turned a couple of the more foolish goblins hanging on into so much paste, but the mech only stumbled a little before resuming its run.

Both mechs were some two hundred paces away now.

The mechs seemed to take my shot as an invitation to open fire themselves.

The gnomish mech had a pair of revolvers in each stubby arm, modified to fit a cleaver-like blade under each gun’s barrel, right where the heatsink should have been. I ignored it as the mech opened fire with both guns at the same time.

Running as it was... even I couldn’t hit a target like that.

The goblin-made mech reached over its shoulder and brought a monstrosity around, a massive, three-barreled, belt-fed machine gun. A small goblin sat in a box next to the gun and started to turn a massive crank, the first shot splatted the sand, as did the next, and the next.

The little goblin must have been sweating up a storm as he cranked away, firing a round every second that left the air filled with fading green lines.

I tried to put him out of his misery when I fired at the mech again.

Not an overloaded shot. Too risky to take two in a row.

The round crashed into the mech’s shoulder, spinning it to the side and almost sending it tumbling down. Its arm was pissing hydraulic fluid, but that didn’t stop it from firing.

“Come on,” I muttered as I aimed. I’d more or less figured out where my shots were going, which meant...

My third shot flew straight and true, the red beam cracked into the mech’s hip, just over the joint.

It stumbled again, its left leg, already limping, refusing to move forward, and its momentum and the hill did the rest.

The ground shook as the warmech crashed down front-first. It had enough weight to it that it didn’t bounce, but it did slide down a ways. The goblins still hanging onto it were sent flying. At least, those that weren’t crushed.

I swung my rifle around to the other mech. A hundred paces, less now. Juvenile goblins were riding on the arms, with bullet-filled bandoleers over their chests that they pulled new rounds from to reload the mech’s six-shooters.

I aimed down towards the centre of the mech, then saw the man hanging there. “Shit,” I muttered as I shifted my aim and fired.

The round flew true, and the right-side gun exploded apart in a shower of shrapnel as it was hit.

The mech was close, too damned close for me to have time to reload.

I set my rifle down onto the sand and stood taller. Anyone with half a brain knew that getting in close in a mech fight was stupid. Mecha had guns for a reason, they had the range advantage, even out to a thousand paces. In a place as open as this, the smart thing to do was to circle around, keep to cover and use better positioning to pick away at an enemy.

The same exact thing you’d do if you were outside on your own two feet, but larger.

And of course, goblins didn’t get that.

I stepped to the side from where I’d placed my rifle and started to side-step towards a spot with a few boulders in the way. None were taller than Rusty’s shin, but they might serve to slow the goblin’s remaining mech down if they just charged straight at me.

I whipped out my revolver and aimed down its sights, both hands gripping on to keep the gun steady.

Fifty paces became forty, and I took my first shot.

A golden beam turned one of the goblins hanging onto the mech’s side into so much paste and burned the tips off some of the spikes on its back.

A second rammed it dead-centre, right where the torso would be on a more traditional mech. It stumbled a little but continued its unrelenting charge.

Three more rounds to go, and only thirty paces.

I tried for another shot, then leapt to the side instead.

The goblin mech rammed through the boulder with a shower of rocks and debris. Its rear tracks turned, sending the ass of the mech around so that it could spin to face me.

Its remaining arm rose, pointing a reloaded revolver at Rusty, at me.

I slapped it aside, and swore as a green beam pinged off of my left shoulder. It felt as if someone just dug a knife into my arm as magical circuits went haywire.

Still had control over the arm though. The damage was superficial.

I brought Rusty’s revolver up and pressed it into the joint of the mech’s arm while flicking up the power for the next shot.

The arm exploded at the shoulder, heat washing over Rusty even as bits of scrap pinged off my mech’s armour.

Through Rusty’s eye, I saw a pair of goblins leaping forwards, knives in their teeth and mania in their eyes.

I grabbed one from the air with Rusty’s left hand and smashed it into the mech’s spikey back. Damage to my own hand be damned.

The other landed with a clatter onto Rusty’s head.

“What’s that?” Clin asked.

“Shut up,” I repeated.

Lowering Rusty’s stance, I held my ground as the gnome-made mech finally faced me enough for a ram. Its front crashed into Rusty, spikes bending and snapping apart even as its threads dug into the sand and sent twin plumes of it scattering behind.

I swung my revolver around and pressed it into the mech’s underside, beneath all the armour and the goblin-added plates.

Two shots, one after the other, rang out, and I felt the jerk of each reverberating through Rusty’s entire body.

It had to be a whole lot worse for the goblins inside that mech.

Something exploded, and one of the tracks went silent.

Rusty’s feet, digging into the sand as we were pushed backwards, found purchase.

Screaming, I dropped my revolver and placed both hands under the mech, then I started to heave. “You, fidiotic, goblin, asshole!” I swore as the goblin mech’s entire frame rose. It’s rear track, the one that still worked, helped by pushing the mecha higher even as its forward legs kicked out in the empty air.

With a final scream and a heave--ignoring the gauges clicking against their maximums, and the magic suffusing the air where it leaked from pipes--I lifted the mecha until it was only on its rear tracks, then stepped forwards, ramming Rusty’s shoulder into its un-armoured underside.

The mech tipped back.

I only just regained my balance in time to see it crash down into the sand with a dull thump.

I panted, sweat pouring off my brow and collecting over my chest and in the small of my back.

Then I reached up and grabbed the goblin on my shoulder and crushed it dead.

“I hate goblins,” I said.