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Gecko Raid
by Ivantico
"Please, sit down, Citizen Sergeant
Stark", Senior Councilman McClure said. "Can I offer you any
refreshment?"
Stark, obviously ill at ease after being
summoned before a Councilman, and a Senior Councilman to boot, looked around the
office. Finding an armchair that didn't look too overstuffed, he gingerly
lowered his big frame into it. His own weight, coupled with the fifty or so
pounds of metal armour, made the armchair squeak in protest. Stark stiffened,
ready to jump up the moment the armchair started to fall apart, then realized he
was showing off his discomfort. His jaw clenched as he tried to get his anger
under control again.
"Nothing for me, Sir. And if I may be
free to speak candidly, I see no point in this meeting. The council has decided
on the issue already. I have my orders and I intend to carry them out."
Councilman McClure studied Stark, hiding
his amusement at Stark's obvious embarrassment under a politician's poker face.
Soldiers were predictable and easily manipulated, but correct handling was
always required. He reminded himself again not to underestimate this man.
McClure went to the bar and took a greenish
bottle from it. He poured himself a drink and turned to face Stark, bottle in
hand. The reaction was predictable. Stark's eyes were riveted on the bottle and
his face was suddenly turning crimson.
"Yes, Citizen Sergeant Stark. It is
real alcohol. I am breaking Vault City's laws by even having it, let alone
drinking it, or even worse, offering it to someone. And yet I am doing this in
front of the very man responsible for enforcing those same laws. Do you know
why?" McClure leaned forward, fixing Stark in his gaze.
Stark was getting furious. Why is this man
playing his political games with me? What does he want?
"I am fully aware, Councilman, that
alcohol and drugs are being smuggled into Vault City. If you'll recall, I asked
for more personnel, training and equipment less than two months ago, but you
shot that request down in the Council." Stark said. He noted with
satisfaction that McClure's poker face cracked for an instant. Two can play that
game, asshole.
He pushed on. "We are trying to
control the sources, since Vault City citizens are not searched at the entrance,
because of the Council's concern over 'Human Rights'. We closed down Cassidy's
bar as the biggest source of illegal alcohol --"
"Yes, yes, I know that,
Sergeant!" McClure was furious with himself. Even though he cautioned
himself earlier not to underestimate Stark, that was exactly what he did. An
experienced politician, he recovered quickly, however.
"The reason was certainly not to
reproach you on the job you and your men are doing, which by the way I consider
to be excellent, despite the hurdles that you think we place so indiscriminately
in your path. Trust me, there's a reason for those, but they are not the reason
I invited you here today."
Stark, happy with his small victory,
allowed himself to be pleased by the praise. McClure immediately noted the
relaxation in Stark's posture and smiled to himself.
"The reason I'm showing you that even
a Senior Councilman can and does break the law sometimes is because I want you
to understand that first, I will try to be completely honest with you, and
second, that what I'm going to tell you today is highly confidential,"
Stark frowned. While the demand for
confidentiality was nothing new to him as a soldier, he knew that when a
politician started talking about honesty, it was time to run for the hills. He
nodded his head, indicating that he wished the Councilman to proceed.
"As you're well aware, after I
presented the economic data for the Gecko reactor, instead of the cooperation I
was advocating, the Council decided that more... shall I say 'efficient'? ...
measures are to be taken. While I understand the fears of First Citizen Lynette,
I think that cooperation is in our better interest. I got outvoted,
however." McClure concluded with distaste.
"I don't see what does this have to do
with me, Councilman. As you said yourself, the Council agreed upon the present
course of action. As the leader of Vault City's forces, I was commanded to plan
and execute a raid on Gecko, and as I said, that's exactly what I intend to
do." What was this man up to? He couldn't possibly be asking me to disobey
a direct order from the First Citizen, backed by a Council directive!
“Of course!”, McClure replied to
Stark’s unspoken thought. “I'm not going to ask you to disobey your orders,
Sergeant! First you would refuse me and then you would probably arrest me - and
rightfully so!” Soldiers were dense sometimes, McClure thought with annoyance.
"No, Sergeant. The only thing I wish
to ask you - ask, mind you, not command - is to try and keep the Ghoul
casualties at a minimum. Remember that the Ghouls never intentionally caused any
harm to Vault City; that they went out of their way to reduce the harm once
detected, and that they wanted to negotiate with us in good faith."
"You do realize that means increasing
the danger my men will be exposed to, don't you, Councilman? My first and
foremost duty to my men is to see that they are the ones that suffer the
least casualties, not the enemy!" Stark did not hate Ghouls, but he did not
love them, either. What the man said was absurd. Was he supposed to walk in
there unarmed and unarmoured and just ask them politely to cease and desist and
go live somewhere else?
"I have full faith in you as a
soldier, Citizen Sergeant Stark" McClure said, knowing that Stark was
almost ripe. "But I have even more faith in you as a human being, and faith
that you actually believe in the spirit if not the letter of the laws you
enforce, as opposed to the other Citizens in the Council."
Stark frowned again. He hesitated for a
moment before replying.
"I'll see what I can do, Councilman.
You realize that my men's safety is paramount to any other consideration."
The slight hesitation didn’t escape
McClure. It was just what he was hoping for. He had judged Stark correctly.
"It would be wrong were it any other
way, Citizen Sergeant."
"Very well, Councilman. As I said, I
can't promise you anything. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have a very busy
schedule."
"I know you can do it, Stark. If
anybody can do it, you can. Good luck."
"Thank you, Councilman. I do believe
that luck is something you should not rely on, however. I prefer to rely on
training, planning and good equipment. Until next time, then." Stark
carefully raised himself from the armchair, which gave off a happy squeak to be
relieved of the burden.
McClure watched Stark walk out of the
office. It is done, he thought. He drank the strong liquor from the glass he was
holding, and reviewed the situation mentally. In many aspects he was like Stark,
he realized, amused. He didn't trust things to luck. The different scenarios now
had all good endings for him. If Stark went out of his way to prevent Ghoul
casualties, he might get defeated, which would give McClure enough political
ammunition to finally get rid of that damn bitch and put somebody more suited to
the job in her place – somebody like Senior Councilman McClure. If Stark does
his job but takes heavy casualties, the same applied. Even if Stark fulfilled
his mission and managed to keep his casualties down, McClure would gain an
important ally for the future, for Stark probably now had a very good opinion of
McClure.
There was still much to do, however. He
should start on the speech he would give as the newly inaugurated First
Citizen…
***
Stark studied the man in front of him. He
might be in his mid-forties – quite an achievement in itself for a Caravan
Guard – and that was perhaps the best recommendation the man had. Almost
thirty years of dangerous life in the Wastelands were etched in that face. Yes,
the man will do. Also, she spoke very well of him.
“That’s my proposal, Sergeant. We’re
undermanned for the task we have, and since you come highly recommended, I think
that $1000 for you and $200 for each one of of your men is a reasonable
price.”
“Ya still haven’t told me where, when
an’ how, Stark”, the Sarge said. He’d be damned if he’d go out taking a
blind offer just like that, especially if that offer is coming from a Vault City
official. “It’s sure a lot of dough for escortin’ a caravan, so I’d say
ya have somethin’ more dangerous in mind”. $1000 for him and $200 for each
of his men was a lot more than your standard caravan escort fee, at least in
these parts. A hell of a lot more. The Sarge didn’t live to a ripe old age by
being stupid.
Stark ignored the man’s omission of his
title, even though it annoyed him. “I can’t tell you where or how. I can
tell you this: It is not caravan escort duty that I need you for. It is a
military operation. If it will put your fears to the rest, I can also tell you
that I will be going with you, too. We start in two days.”
“I don’t like it, Stark. I’m not used
to Vault City doin’ anybody any favours, if ya know what I mean. If yer willin’
to part with that much cash, it’s gotta be a tough call.”
Stark was losing his patience. He needed
this man and his guards but could not tell him why. His funds were limited,
also, and he doubted that a mere increase in price would make this man anything
but even more suspicious. His frustration was rising, just as his control was
slipping. He’d have to find another angle.
“Tough it may be, but not as tough as
finding a job as a caravan guard if you refuse me”, Stark growled angrily,
noting with satisfaction that the man’s face lost colour suddenly, then
quickly turned crimson. “But there would be other… intangible… benefits,
besides the cash, if you accept.”
“Intangible as in I get to keep on bein’
a caravan guard? Don’t ya think I’m sick an’ tired of it, Stark? If you
wanted to point a gun at my head, ya could’ve come up with somethin’
better’n that!” The Sarge’s words were brave, but he knew very well that
what Stark was saying was indeed a big threat. It was the only thing the Sarge
knew how to do, and at his age he was too old to take up bartending, farming or
any other job.
“I could get you an exclusive contract
for all the Vault City caravans for the next, say, 5 years. As long as you
don’t get too greedy you could make a tidy profit.” The stick was shown, now
was the time for the carrot. Stark hoped he read the man correctly. For all his
defiant words, he had nowhere to run.
“Now that’s a mighty nice carrot to
dangle in front of this ass”, the Sarge said, as if he could read Stark’s
mind. “Almost too nice. I’ll probably regret it, but I’ll take it. Just
one more thing.” the Sarge said, seeing that Stark’s lips were curving into
a smile. “Don’t ya be thinkin’ it’s over. I’ve got a couple of
demands, also. First, I command my men. They wouldn’t listen to ya
anyways!”, the Sarge added, seeing that Stark was about to reply. “An’
that’s non-negotiable. Second, I want that 5-year contract before we head out,
with a clause specifyin’ compensation I’ll receive, just in case yer Council
decides they don’t like the idea after all and they renege on the contract,
leavin’ me holdin’ my dick.” The Sarge quickly took a breath and
continued, not allowing Stark to get a word in.
“An’ a final word of caution for ya,
Stark. If ya send me an’ my men into a meat grinder, I’ll get back at ya.
Somehow, somewhere, I will.” the Sarge ended, staring into Stark’s flinty
eyes.
Stark was livid, but he needed this man and
his crew.
“I can’t guarantee that compensation
clause, but I’m certain –“
“Look, Stark, what I’m certain
is that Vault City’ll screw me out of anythin’ they can the minute I look
the other way. If ya want my help, these are my terms. Take it or leave it.”
“Be at the outer city gate the day after
tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred hours”, Stark snarled. “And you better be worth
every stinking penny!”.
“We will. And we are. See ya in two days,
Stark!”
The Sarge turned and walked away. Damn! He
could’ve gotten more! He didn’t realize how desperate Stark was. Oh well, he
thought. What he got was more than good enough. The only problem was to sell it
to his men, now.
***
The ghoul stumbled into the Management
Office as fast as his broken body could carry him.
“Harold, we’ve got a problem”
Harold looked up from the report he was
reading. “Now that’s something new. The first time somebody walks into this
office and doesn’t say ‘we’ve got a problem’, Bob’s leaves will fall
off. What’s the matter now?”
“Festus was screwing with the reactor
control computer”, the ghoul said. “He was certain that the smoothie
didn’t do a good job optimizing the reactor, so he tried to see if there was
any other station on-line, to download maintenance and optimization
information.”
“You shouldn’t have let him play with
the computer”, Harold said. “In any case, Festus is hopeless. What did he
do, reformat the main holo-disk? It shouldn’t matter, we don’t need that
computer anyway.”
“Nope. As weird as it sounds, he
succeeded – succeeded in contacting a remote station. The problem is that
there was somebody at the other end, and that somebody was not very happy to
talk to us. He said that he had our location fixed and that he was dispatching a
‘vertibird assault team’, whatever that may be.”
“GodDAMN IT!” Harold shouted. “You
should’ve known better than to let Festus anywhere near that computer!” He
tried to pull himself together. “I have no idea what a ‘vertibird’ is
myself, but I’m damn certain what an ‘assault team’ is. Double the guards.
Have Jeremy issue assault rifles to anybody that can hit the broad side of a
barn, and SMGs, pistols and shotguns to the rest.” Harold’s brain, decrepit
as it was, had centuries of experience. Mostly unpleasant experience. It was
working in overdrive now. “Lenny” he said, turning to a ghoul that was
standing beside him, listening to what was going on with an astonished look.
“Get all the stimpaks you can get. Get all the medicines, drugs, bandages,
alcohol, whatever. Set an infirmary inside the reactor core. Let’s see if the
smoothskins can get in there.” he added, an evil smile crossing his cracked
face.
“Get all the non-combat personnel out of
Gecko. Send them to some cave or something as far as possible. The rest of us
will organize some kind of plan.” Not much they could do, Harold thought
bitterly. Ghouls could barely walk and were nice, slow targets. “We’ll have
to figure out some kind of defensive positions that will require minimal
movement from point to point. Anybody retreating or advancing should be covered
from at least three positions. Let’s get down on this one, boys! And let’s
find a nice, exposed, front-line spot for good ol’ Festus – he deserved
it!” he concluded, taking out a map of Gecko and the reactor blueprints from
the desk.
***
The Vault City strike force was carefully
approaching the settlement. Stark gave some orders to a corporal and turned to
face the Sarge.
“OK, this is the way I see it. We have
two companies of three platoons each. First company should strike at the main
entrance; Second Company should go around the reactor and hit them in the flank
and rear. Platoon A of each company will be the recon force, platoon B will be
the main strike force and platoon C will be in reserve to exploit any openings
created by platoon B. You with me still?” he asked.
“An’ which platoon were you thinkin’
of puttin’ my men in? The ‘Charge the Minefields’ one?” the Sarge
replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Stark sighed. “Don’t be stupid. First,
there is no minefield. Second, I have too little people to waste on frontal
assaults, even if I wanted to get rid of the lot of you. Third, right now the
success of this operation with minimal casualties is my sole preoccupation. I
have neither the time, the patience nor the desire to fence with you. You’re
supposed to have lots of experience scouting the Wastes. What does your
experience say?”
The Sarge was a little taken aback by Stark’s outburst. The man
had barely addressed him since they left Vault City, and the Sarge certainly did
not expect Stark to actually ask for his advice. It was not surprising, he
though. The man is a professional after all.
“Sounds like a good plan, Stark. The
problem I can see is that it’ll probably fall flat on it’s face the moment
we get in contact with the enemy.” The Sarge smiled to show he was not
insulting, but just being cautious. Stark’s impassive face showed neither
anger at an insult or approval at the Sarge’s caution. The Sarge continued, a
bit shaken by Starks’ impassivity.
“I’d say we get a couple of my guys –
frankly, Stark, yer people suck at scoutin’ and trackin’ – and we get them
to recon the area before we get into any situations we might not like, if ya
know what I mean.” Still Stark’s face showed neither approval nor
disapproval. Screw you, stone-face, the Sarge thought. If you don’t like my
advice, that’s your problem. But you asked for it and you’re going to get
it, like it or not.
“They can have the place checked out by
late evenin’. We get their report and change or scrap yer plan accordin’ to
it. We could move in early mornin’. I don’t like night fights. More often
‘n not, you end up shootin’ your own people.” There, you stiff-necked
bastard. Let’s see what you can find wrong with that one.
“It certainly sounds like common sense to
me. Please get your men ready and have them reconnoiter the place. I will have
my people meanwhile get their equipment checked, cleaned and sorted”, Stark
said. Turning on his heel, he shouted for the corporal.
The Sarge blinked. Well, I’ll be damned,
he thought. He shook his head and yelled for his men.
***
The recon team was back. The news was bad.
The Ghouls were in a flurry of military activity. Bags were filled with sand and
placed to fortify strategic spots, fields of fire were cleaned out, ammunition
and weapons issued, ambushes prepared. The good news was that the Ghouls, while
obviously having somebody with military experience in command, were not trained
soldiers. Their guards were more interested in watching the tumultuous activity
in the town than actually doing what they were supposed to do, guard.
“They couldnt’ve spotted us”, the
Sarge said. “If they had, we’d be all dead now. Whoever’s in charge there
knows somethin’s gonna happen, but doesn’t know from where. Look at how
they’ve placed the fortifications”, he said, pointing at a few spots on the
map marked by the scouts. He looked up. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d
say someone in Vault City’s got a damn big mouth, Stark.”
Stark was puzzled, also. “I just can’t
believe that there’s a Ghoul spy in Vault City” he said. “Could this be
some kind of drill?” he asked one of Sarge’s scouts.
“Nope. Sir.” the scout added hurriedly,
after seeing the Sarge look at him and lift an eyebrow. “The Ghouls are
gimping around for all they’re worth. It hurts’em. They can barely walk in
the best of cases, and yet we’ve seen them hurry as if they had to go to the
can, like, now. Sir.” he added again, embarassed.
“Whatever it is, we’ll have to live
with it”, Stark said finally. “It looks like my plan is still feasible, but
we’ll have to change the secondary objectives”, he actually grinned at the
Sarge.
He likes to keep people off-balance, the
Sarge realized. It was a good strategy. The Sarge appreciated it. I hope he’s
as sneaky fighting as when he’s talking, he thought. To Stark he said “Yep.
An’ I’d say we have to cut’em off from the reactor. If they retreat there,
yer welcome to go in an’ dig’em out. I won’t.”
Stark nodded. “Yes, that has to be one of
the most important things. They can open up the reactor core and kill us all
with the radiation, to which they’re immune.” Stark stretched, then
continued “So it’s settled, then. Pick your post, Sergeant.”
The Sarge eyed Stark doubtfully. This was
the first time that Stark acknowledged the Sarge’s unofficial rank.
“I reckon we’ll take the reactor side.
I don’t want no surprises there, an’ I know what my people can and can’t
do. I’ll handle it.” The implication of what he just said hit him. He was
given a sterling offer, and he just used it to get him and his people into the
thickest of the battle! Damn Stark! He’d been around those Vault City
politicians too long!
Stark was grinning at him again. The grin
was a boyish grin, though. No malice or bad intent was in it. Stark was actually
relishing this. This was what he was trained to do, this was what he was paid to
do, and he’ll get as much satisfaction out of it as a good artisan does from
his work. The Sarge suddenly felt very close to this buttoned-up, forbidding
man.
“Time to check and clean the weapons,
then hit the sack. We attack before dawn.” Stark said, concluding the meeting.
***
The Ghouls were prepared, but not ready.
That’s a fine choice of words, the Sarge mused, as bullets whizzed over his
head. They had successfully cut the Ghouls from retreating into the reactor. As
the Sarge suspected, there were guards inside, but they were for the moment
content to exchange the odd burst with the squad he’d placed near the entrance
to keep the guard pinned inside.
It wasn’t easy, he thought, looking at
Joey’s prone form lying a few meters back the way they came. Poor kid, he just
never had the time to learn. And in the Wastes, your first mistake was usually
the last. Joey charged yelling and shouting, calling the attention of every
ghoul in sight. No wonder he got cut down by at least half a dozen bursts. At
least he called off the attention from the others, allowing the Sarge to take
his objective without further casualties.
Their position was pretty strong now. They
took over some fortifications beside what looked like a bar. A squad was sent
inside the bar to guard from any monkey business coming from the flank. The fact
that he was sending a squad into a bar gave the Sarge a slight twinge of
apprehension. He soon forgot his fears, though. Not even his guys would be
stupid enough to drink Ghoul beer – unless they needed a night light to piss
by.
The Ghouls were brave and knew how to
shoot, but had no military organization. A couple of times they tried charging
the Sarge’s forces and left nothing to show for it but four dead and two dying
Ghouls lying in front of the sandbags.
The outcome of the battle was now in
Stark’s hands. The Sarge kept Platoon C in reserve to hit the Ghouls from the
rear the moment Stark had their undivided attention. Meanwhile, they relaxed
against the sandbags and waited.
The gunfire from the Southwest was getting
stronger. Stark seems to be doing a good job, the Sarge thought idly. Suddenly,
the sound of heavy machine-gun fire in the distance took his entire attention.
No, it was not a machine gun. It was too
slow for that. The thwack-thwack-thwack sound was too diffuse to be a machine
gun, too. He risked peeking over the sandbags, noticing that the volume of
gunfire had slackened, too. Was this some kind of surprise Stark held up his
sleeve all this time?
What he saw baffled him. He had heard about
and read about flying machines that existed in the days before the War. He had
never seen one, though. Not until now.
Two flying machines, looking like fat
metallic dragonflies were approaching from the Southwest. The thwacking sound
came from their wings, or whatever they were. His soldier’s mind calculated
eight to ten soldiers in each machine, taking into account their size.
These were not Vault City forces. Somebody
was crashing in on the party. And if that somebody had flying machines, the
Sarge didn’t want to stay and find out if they were friendly or not. It was
too risky.
Just as the Sarge and his men were
considering the better part of valour, the closest machine slowed, rose higher
in the air and started to spew green fire indiscriminately over man and ghoul.
Explosions rocked the town. Bodies were thrown into the air, together with
chunks of masonry and clods of dirt. The Sarge ducked behind the sandbags.
“Well, that settles it. We stay here.”
he said, turning to his men. “If we make a run for it, we’ll just get mowed
down. Let’s just sit tight and see what’ll happen.”
The men looked doubtful at best, but there
was no denying that the flying machines were cutting down everything that moved,
man, ghoul or animal.
The hissing of the green bolts quieted. The
Sarge risked another look. The first machine was circling ominously, looking for
targets. The second one was preparing to land.
“The fun’s startin’, people!” he
shouted to his men. “They’re gettin’ down, an’ if I’m not mistaken,
we’ll have some visitors soon!”
From the belly of the second machine, six
human-like figures jumped out and spread. The Sarge cursed sulfurously.
“Hey, Sarge, they look just like that
chick –“
“Thanks, Fred, when I go blind I’ll
make sure to use you as my seein’-eye dog!” the Sarge sneered. Fred was
right. His initial estimate of eight soldiers was high, because he didn’t
consider that the enemy would be wearing eight feet tall power armour. He cursed
again.
Suddenly, the first machine turned towards
them. The hellish weapons spoke. The bar erupted into flame. Green bolts raked
the sandbag fortification. Through the thunder and explosions, the Sarge
suddenly became aware that whomever it was that was attacking, they were taking
pains not to hit the reactor. His mind, while registering the fact, saw fit to
comment that it showed at least that the enemy’s level of intelligence is not
too low.
The six armoured figures split into three
pairs and advanced by leapfrog. Perfect military training, he thought inanely.
He cursed himself. Better think on how to get your hide out of here, preferably
in one piece!
“Fall back! Into the reactor! Go, go,
go!”
One of the armour-clad figures lifted a
minigun and sprayed the sandbags with a long burst. The effect was negligible,
but it kept them pinned and prevented them from retreating into the reactor.
“OK, sucker. Ya think ya’d be fightin’
ghouls, didn’t’ya? Yer wrong!” he said to himself. To his men he shouted,
“The next burst’ll empty that minigun. He’ll need a few seconds to reload.
Run like hell for the reactor, they seem to be sparin’ it for some reason!”
His men were not used to such a volume of
fire being directed against them, but they were still keeping their wits. They
all nodded and got ready to run.
The next burst came, the energy of the 5 mm
bullets spent pushing through the yielding sand. The men leapt up and ran for
the reactor, followed by the Sarge. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the
minigunner’s companion lift a handgun with a strange, spiraling barrel and
point it at him. He remembered the last time he saw one.
“Oh, shiiiiit!” he yelled, as he threw
himself on the ground. Again he heard the whining, keening noise he heard only
once before, noise that he’ll never forget. The world exploded in his head and
then went dark.
***
“This one looks dead, also”, the flat
voice said. “His helmet’s deflected the slug partly, but I guess what was
left was enough to kill him.”
“You heard the man, take no chances and
take no prisoners. Put another through his skull for good measure. Is the
reactor clean?”
“Yep, we went through it. The ghouls
opened up the airlocks, so the inside’s a bit hot, but the armour was designed
to take it. We’ll have to decontaminate at the base, though, and it’ll be a
good idea to have the men go through a physical, just in case”
“No problem. Casualties?”
“You kidding? With this hardware? Yeah,
we got a couple of flesh wounds, mostly AP ammo that got lucky. Nothing
serious.”
“Good. You finished with that guy?”
“Nope, not yet. I won’t waste a 2mm EC
just to make sure he’s dead. His rifle should be around here somewhere… Ah,
here it is!”
The Sarge cracked his eyes open. The world
was slowly clearing. The flat voices came from two towering behemoths that were
standing over his body. His hand inched slowly towards the knife he always kept
close.
Behind the lumbering figures a black
monster stalked, a Desert Eagle in his hand.
“Incoming transmission – Grade AAA
emergency – Navarro Base under attack – Abort all operations – Return to
base at once – Repeat – Abort and return at once – Transmission ends”
“What the fuck? Navarro under attack?”
“Let’s hit it!” one of the figures
said. As they turned, they were surprised by the black, sneaking monster. With
an inarticulate howl that made the blood run cold, the monster jumped up and
emptied the clip of his Desert Eagle into the faceplate of the nearest figure.
The huge, armour-clad figure toppled to the ground. The monster stood shaking,
watching his handiwork, oblivious to anything else. The second armoured man
snapped out of his shock and fumbled for his handgun.
It was the Sarge’s turn. His mind did not
work, except that it acted as a computer might act, gathering and storing
images, sound and information. He could see himself rising from the ground as
the enemy was fumbling for his handgun and as the monster stood shaking. He
could see himself unsheathing his most valued possession: a knife with a
slightly curved, single-edged blade more than a foot and a half long. He could
hear himself screaming a primal scream, as he plunged the wicked blade right at
the center of the joint between the helmet and the backplate. With no armour but
the internal systems of the power suit to deflect its path, the blade slid
inside the suit, inside the suit occupant’s neck, and through his spine and
mouth, until it hit the faceplate of the helmet.
The second figure crumpled like a broken
toy. The radio in the suits blared, demanding attention. One of the flying
machines turned their way, seeking to find out what has happened.
The Sarge threw himself over the monster
and carried them both to the ground. The earth around them exploded as
superheated plasma impacted all around. The two dead enemies were blown to bits.
The Sarge covered the monster with his body, and waited for death.
***
The pilot cursed into the radio.
“I’ve got two, repeat two casualties! I
request permission for pickup! Over!”
“This is Nest. Negative, VeeBee-One.
Triple-A Emergency, return to base right now! Do you copy, VeeBee-One? Over”
“Fuck you, Nest! My buddies are there!
I’m going for pickup!”
“VeeBee-One, return immediately to
Nest!” a flat, cold voice said on the radio. The pilot’s back was suddenly
soaked with sweat.
“Respectfully, sir, I request perm—“
“Permission denied, VeeBee-One.” the
voice said, with no change of inflexion, but with such menace that the pilot
almost lost control over his bowels. “Return to base immediately.”
“Acknowledged, base.” The pilot’s
voice was shaking. “Returning at top speed. VeeBee-One, over and out”.
***
Silence fell. The Sarge slowly lifted his
head. The thwack-thwack-thwack was slowly receding into the distance. He lifted
himself groggily on his feet. Then he remembered the monster. He glanced down.
The blackened figure was slowly and
gingerly getting on its feet, too. The Sarge could see blobs of semi-molten
metal cling to what apparently once was a suit of metal armour. Everything
except the eyes and the mouth was covered in grime and soot. A rivulet of blood
was running down the figure’s left arm. The Sarge looked into the creature’s
eyes. The bewilderment within slowly faded, and they finally took on that flinty
look the Sarge knew so well.
“Well, I’ll be pickled and dried. A guy
can’t get rid of ya, no matter how hard ‘e tries!’
Stark grinned, his white teeth sharply
contrasting against his soot-covered face.
“You’re pretty damn hard to kill
yourself, you know. Let’s patch up what holes we have and go home.”
“Home is where I lay my hat, Stark. And I
gotta say this one saved my life.” The Sarge bent, picked up the deformed
helmet, and showed it to Stark. Stark whistled softly.
“That was a damn close one. Let’s find
some stimpacks”, Stark concluded.
“Everybody else is dead”, Stark said as
they were sifting through the dead bodies and the rubble, looking for medical
supplies. “They went from body to body and made sure of it by putting a round
through everybody’s head. I was blown up by a near miss and a tin wall fell on
top, covering me. When I woke up, I saw these two and I went for them. Guess my
brain was shaken by the blast, too. Only a lunatic would’ve done what I
did.”
After a few minutes of scrounging, they
found enough medical supplies to take care of Stark’s arm injury and the
Sarge’s head wound. After bandaging up and while waiting for the Stimpacks to
finish their job, they sat down on the ground and chewed on some brahmin jerky.
Pointing at the knife the Sarge was still
carrying, Stark spoke. “I’ve never seen a knife like that. Where the hell
did you get it?”
“This? A souvenir from my youth. Caravan
to New Reno. An’ don’t ask what we were transportin’.”
“New Reno?” Stark frowned. “I’m
pretty sure what was it you were carrying, but as long as you don’t do it on
my turf, I don’t care.”
“So I guess the mission’s accomplished
and I get what ya promised, right?”
Stark looked at the Sarge as if seeing him
for the first time.
“You know what? I think you’re right!
Let’s go.”
Slowly they hobbled Southwest.
“Stark?” the Sarge suddenly spoke.
“Yeah?”
“Y’know, yer plan didn’t work after
all…”
Stark’s laughter could be heard for miles.