The silver-plated bastards didn't knock.
The first troop carrier smashed through the rotting log gate, turning the timber into toothpicks. Three guards jumped out before the dust even settled. They looked like gleaming statues in that polished armor, holding steam-powered repeaters.
"By order of the Sovereign, this village is under lockdown!" the lead guard screamed. His visor was down, hiding whatever pathetic face he had. "Hand over the fugitives, or we burn the warrens with you inside!"
I was crouched behind a pile of tanning hides. I didn't say a word. I just signaled Mo.
Mo fired from the rooftop. The heavy slug hit the lead guard in the chest, punching through the silver plate and coming out his back in a spray of red slush. The guy didn't even have time to grunt. He just folded like a wet rag.
"Kill them!" the other two yelled, opening fire.
The repeaters chewed through the wooden huts, sending splinters flying. A rabbit woman trying to reach her kit got caught in the crossfire. A burst of steam-rounds tore her shoulder clean off, sending her spinning into the mud. She hit the ground, clutching the stump where her arm used to be, her blood mixing with the yellow Drake bile still staining the square.
I lunged from behind the hides. I slammed my shoulder into the second guard, knocking his aim off. Before he could recover, I drove my knife into the gap under his helmet. The steel went in deep, piercing his throat. I twisted it hard, feeling the wet crunch of his windpipe. He let out a bubbling sound, spraying hot crimson across my knuckles.
The third guard tried to swing his repeater around, but Agnes was already there. She didn't use a gun. She buried her chitin blade into the side of his knee. The serrated edge ripped through the joint, severing the tendons. The guard hit the dirt, screaming as Agnes jumped on his back and hammered the blade into the back of his neck until the screaming stopped.
"More coming!" Mo shouted, pointing at the pass.
Two more carriers were roaring down the hill, their engines spitting black smoke.
"Chief, get the survivors into the cellar now!" I yelled, wiping the guard's blood off my eyes.
The old rabbit scrambled, ushering the shivering kits into the hole. He looked at the dead guard at his feet—the man's head was hanging by a thread of skin—and he looked like he was going to vomit.
I grabbed a discarded repeater from the dirt and tossed it to Agnes.
"Point and pull," I said. "If they get past us, your village is a graveyard."
She took the weapon, her white fur now almost entirely stained brown and red. She didn't look scared. She looked like she wanted to see more silver armor turn into scrap.
"Mo, get the grenades," I barked, checking the heat on the Gear Six. "We're going to blow those carriers back to the capital."
The engines grew louder, the vibration shaking the very ground beneath our boots. The Empire was done playing games, and so was I.
The first carrier hit the village perimeter with a screech of grinding metal. It plowed through the mud-slicked trenches we'd dug. It bounced, its heavy iron tires crushing a stack of tanning hides into the muck.
"Now!" I screamed.
Mo dropped a thermite charge from the roof of the granary. It landed on the carrier's exposed engine vent. A white-hot flash turned the front of the vehicle into a molten puddle. The driver scrambled out, his silver suit glowing orange from the heat. He took five steps before Agnes put a steam-round through his throat. The bolt ripped through his neck, sending a spray of dark fluid across the white snow-fur of her chest.
The second carrier veered left. It plowed straight into a cluster of rabbit huts, the dry timber snapping like dry bones. A guard manned the mounted repeater on the roof, spraying the square with lead.
"Get down!" Mo tackled a scrawny kid who was frozen to the spot.
The rounds chewed through the dirt, kicking up clods of frozen earth and blood. I dove behind the charred carcass of the first Drake. The scales were tough enough to whistle as the bullets ricocheted off. I waited for the rhythm. Thump-thump-thump-pause.
During the reload, I lunged. I wanted these bastards to feel the weight of what they were doing to this village. I jumped onto the side of the moving carrier, my fingers digging into the rivets. I hauled myself up and shoved my knife into the gunner's visor. The steel crunched through the glass and sank into his eye. He shrieked, his hands clawing at my arm until I twisted the blade and scrambled his brains.
I kicked the body off the roof and grabbed the mounted repeater.
"Mo! Agnes! Move!"
I swung the heavy barrel toward the third carrier coming down the pass. I squeezed the trigger. The recoil vibrated through my teeth, but the rounds were worth it. They punched through the carrier's armored glass, turning the interior into a blender of silver shards and red pulp. The vehicle swerved, hit a rock, and flipped. It tumbled twice, crushing two guards who had just jumped out. Their plate armor acted like a can, keeping the mess inside when their bones turned to dust.
Agnes moved through the smoke like a ghost. She reached the flipped carrier and started gutting the survivors. She asked no questions. She drove her chitin blade into the gaps of their armor, ripping out soft bits and leaving them to bleed out in the mud.
"James! We've got more on the ridge!" Mo shouted, pointing his rifle upward.
Six snipers in silver cloaks were lining up shots from the high crags. The Queen's Guard started raining fire down on the entire village, hitting huts and civilians.
I looked at the cellar entrance. A stray round had punched through the wood, and I heard a muffled scream from below.
"Agnes, get to the cellar!" I yelled. "Mo, cover the ridge! I'm going for the officers!"
I grabbed a grenade from the dead gunner's belt and started sprinting toward the command tent they were pitching at the edge of the woods. I needed to stop the signal, or this whole valley was a crater by sunset.