The tactical sensor bot, Sparky, nodded its square head. “Oorah, tip of the spear, baby.”
Officially, the Corps identified bots by their lengthy service numbers, which personnel simplified and personalized for easy reference. Instead of the phonetic letter designations used to identify bots on Forge, fleet bots had nicknames. Sparky, Scrap, and Snoop were three of Murder Company’s sensor bots. Stitches, Doom Squad’s med bot, would move at the rear of their formation.
Baltazar rattled on, the veteran Marines nodding, the boots trying to keep up as he went over call signs for SSgt Len, the fire team leaders, and the other squad leaders. Baltazar singled out the boots when he relayed the order for radio silence in all but emergencies. “Use only your proximity net, unless we’re engaged with the enemy.” The briefs for their simulated missions at SOI had never been so detailed. Baltazar covered phase lines, waypoints en route to the objective, what the point man should be looking for at each one, and immediate actions upon various types of enemy contact. SSgt Len moved between squad briefings, listening and occasionally providing information the squad leaders had missed. Lt Dupaul was absent, though first platoon’s commander strode about in the briefing area.
Rizer felt his head falling forward and snapped it back. Fortunately, no one seemed to have noticed.
“Are there any questions?” Baltazar asked.
“Brief your new Marines on the wildlife, corporal,” said SSgt Len.
“Aye, staff sergeant. As you boots might have guessed, it’s a jungle out there. A lot of the plants are poisonous along with damn near all of the reptiles, but they’re not really an issue when we’re in armor, so don’t worry about them. Just keep your damn gloves on. There are shitloads of different primate-like creatures out there, but the only one you need to watch for is the tyrant monkey. They’re dark green and about two meters long, very vicious when encountered up close or in large numbers. But they mostly stay in the trees and toss their shit down on us, like the rest of the monkeys.”
“And most of the brass,” Stiglitz commented, evoking chuckles from Doom Squad.
SSgt Len shot him a warning look.
Baltazar continued: “The biggest thing to watch for are the rabsidars. They kinda look like a cross between a rat and a bear, but they’re larger, like three meters high, and have six legs. They got huge teeth on ’em, but they’ll only attack if provoked, so don’t fuck with ’em. If you see one, the best thing to do is freeze and wait, because they can’t see worth a shit. If they don’t see any motion, they’ll usually move on.
“The locals love the fucking things, especially the farmers, ’cause they eat other predators that feed on their livestock and crops. They’ve got sticky black hair, so they’re usually covered in leaves and dirt. You can almost step on one before you even know it’s there, so keep an eye on your infrared sensors. Remember—and I can’t stress this enough—” a few guys laughed; Rizer remembered Lt Dupaul using the expression twice during the safety briefing “—freeze if you see any and alert the rest of the squad. Don’t shoot at them unless you’re in mortal danger, because then we have to report it up the chain. We don’t need that kind of attention.”
“The command doesn’t want us killing rabsidars or any wildlife for that matter unless they interfere with the mission,” SSgt Len added. “It alerts the enemy to your position and upsets the locals. You shouldn’t have to anyway. You see one, just stay still until it goes away, as Corporal Baltazar said. Understood?”
The boots nodded and answered in the affirmative.
“Excellent. I’ll be patrolling at large among the squads, monitoring all platoon transmissions. Insurgent forces have been attempting to jam our comms as of late. If you lose radio contact, don’t panic. Follow the comm loss SOP and be aware there may be Vics in your vicinity. Are there any questions?”
There were none.
“Any volunteers for first point man?” Baltazar asked.
“I’ll take it,” Stiglitz sullenly uttered. “I’ll wind up there sooner or later.” The squad had nicknamed him Tiny, and he looked in serious need of an outlet for his aggression. Better him on point than me.
“Outstanding,” Baltazar said, grinning at Stiglitz, who turned away.
“Stand by to load up,” Len said. “Departure is in fifteen minutes.”
***
Rizer crashed hard during the one-hour journey from Shaw to the drop zone, located at a road junction by a farm at the foot of the valley. He felt somewhat refreshed upon awakening, though still a bit groggy as the squad formed into fire teams by the roadside. The Scorpion IFVs, infantry fighting vehicles, moved on to deliver Fury to their drop point accompanied by SSgt Len.
They positioned in a deep ditch by the roadside to perform the comm check. “Doom 6, this is Murder 2-7, lima charlie. Call if you need me,” Len said to Baltazar over the net.
“Back on the road, Doom; let’s move out,” Baltazar ordered.
Rizer wondered why they walked on the open road instead of through the orchard. He guessed the command didn’t want to piss off the locals by trampling their farms.
The sun beat down through the blanket of humid air. The temperature on his HUD read thirty-six degrees centigrade. Fuck! His head swam, and a puddle of sweat formed within his suit, the climate control struggling to compensate for his exertions in the humidity.
With the bot along to detect IEDs, Stiglitz moved at a rapid walk, conscious of their sitting-duck status. The kid had obviously done his time on point during previous missions. Fire teams kept three meters between individuals; ten meters separated each team. The Marines scanned the jungle continuously, wary of threats that could be hiding in the shadows. Rizer was in second fire team, under command of Cpl Farik. Stubs and Brackman were with him, along with a machinegun team from weapons platoon.
They passed lush orchards of bananas and mangos, fields of pineapples and goku melons, along with other fruits and vegetables that Rizer didn’t recognize and assumed to be native. The jungle had been cut away here but for a few sapling hardwoods. Judging by the bountiful fields, Rizer assumed the farms must be prosperous; but the farmhouses, though large, looked cobbled together. The workers who stared at the Marines were haggard and gaunt from overwork. He saw little farm machinery, save for some worn and dated bots and an occasional wheeled truck or tractor, though there were plenty of oxen and horses around.
They encountered no signs of the enemy; no signs at all that they were in a war zone. Several times they stopped to question farmers and laborers. None had seen any soldiers about, friendly or otherwise, other than a motorized column of Verdant Guards that had moved through on a security patrol the previous day.
Rizer was relieved when they plunged into the jungle after passing the final farm. The squad regrouped into a diamond formation of fire teams to sweep the jungle, walking parallel to a path yet staying off it. The veterans moved quietly and efficiently, while Rizer and the replacements seemed to thrash through the foliage.
The grandeur of the forest held Rizer in awe. Little sunlight reached the jungle floor through the hardwood canopy fifty meters overhead, yet enough underbrush grew to provide reasonable cover if they needed it. Their movement slowed with the possibility of enemy lurking in the scrub. Unseen monkey-like creatures chattered and shrieked high in the trees and did indeed rain occasional handfuls of shit down on them.
Rizer tried to save water as he moved yet kept drawing from his drinking tube, his water reservoir already half empty as he tried to replace what he sweated away. His suit would absorb the sweat and outside moisture, eventually reprocess it for drinking, but it wasn’t keeping up with his ravenous thirst.
Fatigue made it hard to maintain concentration. His thoughts wandered to Vex, but they were interrupted when Stiglitz messaged Baltazar that they might have found the missing contractor. Time on deck: 1452. He couldn’t believe they’d been patrolling for nearly six hours.
The man had been strippe
d naked, crucified, arms and legs spiked to a massive tree trunk. After initially turning away from the grisly scene, curiosity got the better of Rizer, and he decided to look. The poor bastard’s cock and balls had been cut off and shoved into his mouth, his dick hanging out like a sick purple tongue. His neck bore ligature marks, and dried blood crusted around the long slashes of a blade or whip. The sweltering heat made the body distend and blacken. Giant green insects buzzed about his wounds in a thick, intermingled swarm as they drank blood and laid their eggs.
Rizer’s gut heaved; fortunately, no food remained in his belly to vomit up. He raised his visor and spat out bile. Though his first experience of war involved no shooting, Rizer knew nonetheless that he’d arrived. And it will only get worse, more gruesome, so suck it up. You could be sitting in a climate-controlled classroom right now. You wanted this.
“Yep, that’s our man,” Baltazar said as he scanned the man’s fingerprints. “He had one helluva last supper.”
“And how,” Stiglitz added.
Brackman chuckled. “Maybe you can trade dicks with him, Tiny.”
“Shut your pie holes, all of you.” Baltazar messaged SSgt Len.
The response appeared on their HUDs: BRING BODY PROCEED TO RENDEZVOUS POINT. Daz rummaged in Baltazar’s pack and produced a rubber body bag.
“That’s all you, boots,” Baltazar said. “Get him bagged up and take him back to road. The Scorpions can come retrieve him since they got nothin’ better to do.”
The boots struggled to pry the contractor from the tree. When Rizer went to cut the spikes with his vibro-blade, Baltazar said, “Just cut off his hands and feet and throw ’em in the bag; he don’t need ’em anymore.” Shades of bootcamp. Hornet-like creatures dented their stingers on the boots’ armor as they bagged the body, which took a few minutes.
“Had enough up there, Stiglitz?” Baltazar asked as they prepared to move out.
“Yeah, I’d say.”
Baltazar studied the boots. “Trial by fire. Let’s put a boot on point, you ain’t gonna learn otherwise.” He swept his pointing finger back and forth over all of them, until it stopped. “Rizer, you take point. Second fire team move up with him. Make it happen.”
Are you fucking stupid? Rizer would have gladly taken point if he’d been operating at full strength, but a night on watch followed by patrolling the past six hours had fried his nerves to a frazzle. One did not argue with Cpl Baltazar, however, and Farik was already moving second fire team forward. Rizer could do nothing but take point and deal with it.
“Just a walk in the sun,” Sparky said as Rizer walked by. Easy for you to say, you never get tired. The sensor bot fell in a step behind him as they moved off.
The going got tougher, for in addition to watching every inch of jungle he passed, Rizer had to navigate, an extreme drain on mental faculties already stretched dangerously taut. Several times Sparky prompted him when he drifted off course.
A message came from Len an hour later: DOOM SQUAD: SEND SPARKY TO GRID AJ 457324. ASSIST FURY WITH SWEEPING MINE FIELD.
Shit!
“Sorry, corporal, gotta bounce,” Sparky said. “Looks like Fury stepped in some shit.”
“Understood, Sparky,” Baltazar said.
The olive drab bot about faced and jogged away toward Fury Squad’s position a klick away.
Fuck, IEDs too now? Traps? Blood pounded in Rizer’s ears as he moved off again, this time at a far slower pace.
“Pick it up, Rizer,” Farik ordered. “Learn to work on the fly. I’d like to get there sometime today.”
Time passed, though Rizer had stopped checking the clock on his HUD. He was too busy watching everything else, like the bushes twitching in a thicket just to his right. His helmet’s enhanced auditory sensors relayed a moving rustle, but his other sensors detected no enemy.
“Halt!” he ordered, taking a knee, rifle pointed toward the brush.
He was about to switch to infrared when the beast burst forth from the thicket. Three meters tall my ass! The rabsidar, bristling with black fur, stopped before him, only two meters away. Towering over him, it raised its head and inhaled sharply, getting Rizer’s scent. It had a handful of massive brown teeth, easily large enough to take off a hand or foot. It took another step in his direction.
Rizer panicked. He stood and started backpedaling, remembering the order not to shoot the things.
“Don’t fucking move!” Farik shouted on the proximity net.
Too late. The rabsidar charged at Rizer, who raised his weapon to fire as he retreated. He tripped on something and fell backward, firing his rifle as he went down. The bright crimson bolts flew harmlessly into the canopy. The rabsidar charged over him, several of its six clawed feet trampling Rizer into the jungle floor, knocking the wind from him. It kept on moving. His fire team opened up on the thing; it fell with a honking snort seconds later.
“Rizer, you fucking idiot!” Baltazar shouted. Others said the same as Rizer got up.
“Nice fucking job!” Farik said, standing over the rabsidar’s carcass.
Without warning, a second large rabsidar charged from the underbrush. It plowed into Ward’s legs, raised its snout, flipped him over, and barreled onward toward Farik, who got a couple of shots away before it rammed him, snapping one of his legs and driving him into the base of a gnarled tree. Farik unleashed a short cry of agony, cut off by his impact with the trunk.
Dazed during the commotion, Rizer finally woke up and pumped the thing full of rounds as it charged toward him. Pink pieces of flesh trailing blood shot in all directions as the red streaks of energy lanced into the creature. He blew off one of its legs, yet it charged on unfazed. Collision seemed imminent. Rizer screamed in terror as he fired. Fortune was with him: one of his bolts found the thing’s rat-like snout, blasted its nose and then skull apart in a cloud of blood and bone. The rabsidar dropped, slid about a meter, and died at Rizer’s feet with a final grunt.
Calls and shouts continued on the radio. Rizer stood dumbfounded for several moments, the noise in his ears nothing but gibberish.
“You all right, man?” Stubs asked when he reached him.
Rizer snapped out of it but didn’t answer, listening instead to Baltazar talking to Farik. “My fucking knee!” Farik growled.
“Can you walk?”
“The fuck do you think?” He gritted his teeth and groaned, as he depressed a button on his forearm to activate the painers in his suit. The pain killers seemed to work fast; he leaned his head back against the tree, his expression tranquil.
Baltazar whirled around, walked up to Rizer, and butt-stroked him across the helmet. “You were told to freeze, dipshit!”
Rizer’s head rang as he fell on his back. He looked up into the still smoking bore of Baltazar’s rifle, hovering centimeters from his visor.
“Lower your weapon, corporal,” said a deep voice. SSgt Len emerged from the brush with a couple of Marines from Fury Squad.
Baltazar complied though he fumed. “This fucking boot shitbag didn’t pay attention during the brief, staff sergeant. He’s gonna get us all killed!”
“Get up, Rizer.” Len turned to Farik. “You okay, other than your knee?”
He gave a smile and a thumbs up. “Just stellar, staff sergeant. I always wanted a phony knee.”
“Look!” said Stubs, who pointed at two rabsidar cubs, shining jet black, which had emerged whimpering from the brush.
“Oh, fuckin’ great!” Baltazar groaned into his hand.
Len glared at Rizer. “If you have hearing problems, you’d best tell me now.”
“Staff sergeant, I… I didn’t want to kill the thing.”
“Your orders were to freeze. I have no use for Marines who can’t follow orders—they get good men killed in combat. Fuck up like this during a firefight, and you’ll plant your whole squad.”
“Staff sergeant, I’m—”
“It doesn’t happen again. Are we clear?”
/>
“Yes, staff sergeant.” Rizer dipped his head, incapable of meeting his eye.
“What do we do with them, staff sergeant?” Stubs asked. The two cubs milled about his feet, whining and smelling his boots.
Len raised his left arm, brought his built-in pistol to bear on one of the cubs. “Stand back, Stubneski.”
Stubs gawked at him in astonishment as he backed away.
Len quickly dispatched the cubs with single shots to their heads. What the fuck? They’re defenseless animals! Len had seemed like a good guy compared to the psychos on Forge; perhaps Rizer had misjudged him.
Len caught Rizer’s disgusted expression. “It was necessary. Those cubs wouldn’t last a night in the jungle without their mother to protect them.”
So I basically killed them too. Great.
“It shouldn’t have come to this anyway,” Baltazar said. “Rizer, you’re gonna be on every shit detail I can dream up. You’ll clean every suit of armor after every single patrol, you fucking momma’s boy boot!”
“He’s not entirely to blame, corporal,” Len said. “Why did you have a rookie walking point? Especially a rookie who just pulled watch all night?”
“He… he needed the experience, staff sergeant. They all do.”
“You could have picked a more alert man. You’ll walk point for the rest of the patrol.”
“Aye, staff sergeant.”
“This canopy is too thick to call for medivac. Rizer, carry Farik to the objective; it’s the only place where we can get him out.”
Eh fuck… “Aye, staff sergeant.”
“I’m heading back to Fury to oversee the minesweeping operation. Carry on with your mission, corporal.”
“Aye, staff sergeant.”
Len and the two Fury Marines disappeared into the jungle. As they exchanged places on point, Baltazar shouldered into Rizer. “You better get fucking squared away, dumbass. Now grab Farik and get to the rear where you belong.”
War's Edge- Dead Heroes Page 22