“Charlie, what’s Foxy’s status?” Sierra asked over the comms, desperate for good news. She crouched behind her firing position, eyes never wavering from her sights.
“KIA, Staff Sergeant. He… he butchered her.”
Sierra had been prepared for the worst but the confirmation still hit like a howitzer. She swallowed against the nausea that welled up inside her, tamping it down with controlled fury.
“Staff Sergeant, she’s missing… parts,” Juliet added, the Specialist having a hard time getting the words out. “It looks like the rogue’s scavenging mods.”
Sierra stared at the pre-fab, upper lip peeled back and teeth bared. Most targets were executed with clinical detachment, their death nothing more than the job she was assigned to do, but this one was different. Sierra decided to make an exception for this senile old fuck who’d killed her sister.
“We’ve got him surrounded,” she told the pride. “If you double-time it there might be a piece of him left for you when you arrive.”
“We’ve got a problem, Staff Sergeant!” Juliet screamed in her ear. “Foxy’s comms implants are gone.”
“How observant of you,” a gravelly voice said over the line. “But don’t worry, I left something in exchange for your sister’s ears.”
“Get out of there!” Sierra roared.
Simultaneously she felt the whump of explosives detonating nearby, then another, and saw the pre-fab wall disintegrate before her eyes. A hulking form emerged from the whirling smoke and debris. There was no time to identify the rogue, though she knew him by his grotesque musculature and unkempt hair, mission details standing out in her mind. He moved with a speed that belied his size and he fell upon Vicky before either she or Sierra could deflect him. The Staff Sergeant pivoted away from the door, searching for a clear shot as the rogue engaged Vicky, the two in tight.
The specialist was unable to bring her rifle to bear, so she went for her sidearm as she struggled for space. Sierra felt a flash of feral joy as the woman pulled it loose of the holster but Vicky never got the chance to put it to use. The rogue backhanded it from her grasp and sank his pronounced canines into her neck. Vicky fought on, peeling skin from his torso with her retractable claws but it was clear she was losing. Sierra stumbled as the rogue wrenched free of Vicky, the twisting motion of his jaw tearing a section of the woman’s vertebrae out through her neck. Sierra howled at the volcano of blood erupting from her sister, the specialist’s eyes already glossing over as she went limp.
The rogue cast Vicky’s body aside only to be met by a hail of gunfire, Sierra’s finger heavy on the trigger. He shielded his head with an oversized forearm and charged forward, enduring the punishment to close the distance between them. Sierra altered her aim, shooting at his knees in hopes his joints would be less reinforced and she could bring him down. The rogue persevered despite the barrage of lead tearing through his legs. He barreled into her and ripped the carbine from her hands. She stumbled back in surprise at how easily he’d disarmed her but he gave her no opportunity to recover, clubbing her across the face with the rifle. She raised her arms in instinct to guard against a follow-up attack but he thrust the stock of the gun into her stomach, dropping her to her knees with a whuff of escaping air.
For all Sierra’s training, conditioned to withstand such violence, the force of the attack had caught her off guard. He bashed her with the rifle again and sent her crashing onto her back. The rogue stood over her, frothing at the mouth, claws poised to deliver the killing blow, when a long, curved blade bit into his neck from behind. He reared up with a roar like erupting thunder.
Tango yanked the knife from the wound, twisting it on the way out for good measure, and struck again but the rogue caught her wrist on the second swing. He reeled her in and punched her in the face over and over again with his free hand, breaking her nose and flattening it across her face as the cartilage compacted.
Sierra drew her pistol and squeezed the trigger, hitting the rogue in the side of the head. There was a metallic clang and Sierra followed her shot with another, catching him high in the cheek. The rogue huffed and whipped Tango around by the wrist, flinging her into Sierra and fouling her next shot. In the second it took the Staff Sergeant to adjust her aim their attacker had fled.
“Horus, pick him up,” Sierra groaned. She heard the whisper of the quadrotor complying somewhere above her.
Tango scrambled to her feet, oblivious to her busted nose, and offered a hand to Sierra. Once she was steady, the Staff Sergeant looked to her carbine only to find the barrel bent and stock shattered.
“Here.” Tango unslung her own gun and handed it over. “I’d much rather cut this bastard anyway. Seems to work better.”
“Vicky?” Sierra asked, though she knew she’d regret it.
“Dead.”
Sierra nodded, having presumed as much. She accessed the comms and opened a private channel to Charlie and Juliet, avoiding the frequency the rogue mod was tuned in on.
“Sergeant? Specialist? Do you read me? Charlie? Juliet?”
No reply came. She waited a few seconds and tried again. The result was the same: a chilling nothingness. The explosion she felt must have been a bomb the rogue left behind with Foxy’s body. The world dropped out from beneath Sierra. The loss was too great for her to contemplate. Never before had the pride suffered such casualties. They might well be nothing more than assets to the higher ups, evidenced by the names foisted upon the women, but to Sierra they were much more than that. They were her family. And now they were gone.
“It’s just us,” she managed to spit out, the words bitter on her tongue.
“Then we make sure he pays.” Tango held her blade out, her fury evident.
“She Who Mauls will not be left wanting.” Tears stung Sierra’s eyes but she denied them. There would be time for sorrow but first came revenge.
‘Subject has entered mines, line-of-sight lost’, Horus broadcast.
The two surviving members of the pride raced toward the mine. Away from the miasma of the warzone the rogue’s spoor was so distinct Sierra could almost see it piercing deep into the mountain. The two shed any extraneous gear at the entrance, preferring to travel light – only guns and ammo and blades. If they failed to bring the rogue down now there would be no need for any of the rest.
Before they slipped into the mine, Sierra armed the self-destruct mechanism built into Horus. If they failed to return before its battery ran critical the quadrotor would detonate, erasing any evidence of their presence in the area. Likewise Charlie, Foxy, Juliet, and Vicky would decay at a hyper-accelerated rate as their cores melted down to prevent any of the Apex Program breakthroughs from falling into enemy hands. It would be a sad end to the pride’s existence, but a necessary one.
“Let’s finish this,” Sierra told her one remaining sister.
The pair forged ahead into the darkness, Sierra trusting her nose and ears to guide them to their target. The narrowness of the tunnel was suffocating, pressing in from all sides to envelope the commandos. Even the sounds were smothered by the close confines. Wooden beams set in the walls at regular intervals kept the ceiling from caving in. Glass from busted fixtures crunched underfoot. Intact lights were few and far between, bare bulbs dangling from the rafters. They moved deeper and deeper, expecting an ambush at every turn but the rogue surprised them by making no attempt at hiding.
He stood partially illuminated under a flickering light fixture. Long gray hair tinged yellow by the poor illumination draped over a face more canid than hominid. Thick blood bubbled from the gash in his neck and oozed down his bare chest. He was a monstrosity in form and spirit. Lips split in a feral grin at seeing them and Sierra unloaded without hesitation. Every bullet found its mark but he shrugged it off with nothing more than the barest of backward stumbles, regaining his footing without issue. He held a hand up, waving the sisters on.
“Let’s finish this,” the rogue told them, his sneer coated in blood and arrogance.
The Staff Sergeant dropped her rifle and brandished her Kukri, more than willing to oblige. Together she and her sister attacked. Sierra went low and Tango high. For every wound the women made on their adversary he returned it twofold. His fists were sledgehammers, brutal blows crashing into the sisters, stealing their strength and pounding flesh. His knees and elbows and feet darted like serpents to take advantage of any opening. Above all else Sierra and Tango avoided his clutching fingers. They understood that were he to grab hold of them it would mean their lives. Still they fought on, pushing him deeper and deeper into the depths of the mine.
As they battled, the sisters using speed to counter the mod’s advantage of strength and constitution, Tango landed a strike deep into the meat of the rogue’s bicep only to have her blade lodge in the bone. She lost her grip when he knocked her backwards. Sierra closed on him then, dragging her blade across the rogue’s femoral artery but he kicked her into the wall and proceeded to stamp down on her knife hand. She felt her wrist fracture and screamed in agony as her blade slipped loose of her fingers. He shattered it with his heel and backed away with a lopsided grin.
“I’m impressed, little kitties. You’ve done well,” the rogue told them, yanking Tango’s knife out with a flourish, “but not well enough.” He let loose a rumbling laugh, the sound echoing through the darkness, seeming to go on forever before finally fading. He held up the blade and inspected it, testing its balance, and then dropped into a crouch with his new acquisition gleaming out in front. “Shall we continue?”
Weaponless, injured, and flagging, Sierra glanced at her sister and whispered a farewell with her eyes. They stood no chance of defeating the rogue with only their claws and teeth but his arrogance had offered Sierra an opportunity she could not deny.
Before Tango could grasp what she intended, Sierra murmured a prayer to She Who Mauls, shoved her sister aside, and leapt at the mod. The rogue grinned and welcomed her close only to realize his error when Sierra ducked low at the last moment and crashed into his legs, taking them out from under him. Her momentum carried them forward…
…over the lip of the shaft that had preserved the rogue’s laughter a moment before, dragging it out and warning Sierra of the endless fall that lay just beyond the darkness.
She howled as the blackness enveloped them. Sierra would soon meet the Goddess but she’d do so with a smile on her lips, her sister alive in the tunnel above. That was a victory she was willing to die for.
Two Birds
Evan Dicken
Nothing but death dwelt on Mount Kuchisake, at least that's what Izō hoped. An arrow skittered through the branches over his head, followed by a shout from farther down the hill.
"Halt, or the next one will be through your neck." A thin-faced samurai in ornate armor drew another arrow from his quiver.
Izō dodged behind a nearby juniper before the man could take aim, smiling as the shot rattled through the trees before disappearing in the scrub off to Izō's left. Although deadly on open ground, the tall, lopsided horse-bows favored by the samurai would be next to useless on the densely-wooded hill.
After a few ragged breaths Izō was off again. He might not have to fear arrows, but a veritable flock of Akechi clan soldiers scrambled up the broken incline behind him, spears waving like windswept reeds as they sweated in their armor. Mostly ashigaru footmen, hardened veterans of Lord Nobunaga's campaigns around Kyoto, they were far more dangerous than the samurai who'd led them into the woods after Izō. Armored and on horseback he might have picked the spearmen apart, but exhausted, hungry, and armed only with a broken katana, Izō didn't fancy his chances. Fortunately, if the legends about Kuchisake were true, he might not need to fight.
Izō grinned. Two birds with one stone.
Branches whipped across Izō's exposed face and arms, tearing more holes in his once fine kimono. His pursuers called to one another, their excited shouts like the yips of hunting dogs. Dirty and bleeding as he was, Izō must have appeared a far cry from the fierce, hawkish man scowling from the wanted signs the invaders had plastered across the province. He grit his teeth against the shame. Lord Hatano would be mortified to see one of his generals brought so low, but Lord Hatano was dead – betrayed and murdered after Nobunaga promised him safety in exchange for surrender.
There had been a time when the anger burned through Izō, growing until he thought it must surely consume him. Many times he had considered simply charging Nobunaga soldiers, killing and killing until they cut him down – wasn't it a samurai's duty to follow his Lord into death? But time had banked the flames and now Izō's fury came cold and canny. Nobunaga and would pay for what he'd done. Izō vowed that when he met Lord Hatano in the Pure Land, it would be with news that the great betrayers would never see their ambition realized.
The ground began to level off and Izō paused, hands on knees, to catch his breath.
A glint to the left caused him to throw himself aside just in time to avoid the sweep of an ashigaru's spear that would have sent him tumbling. There were two of them – more clever or experienced than the rest, they must have run ahead while Izō dodged their commander's bow fire.
"Surrender, and you won't be harmed," the lead spearman said between gasps. Both men were red-faced and puffing from the headlong sprint. Izō would've been able to wear them down if he had the time, but every moment brought the rest of their squad closer. He needed to act quickly.
"You got me." Izō raised his arms, letting his blade dangle loose in one hand.
The ashigaru relaxed a fraction but kept their spears pointed at him. That moment's hesitation gave Izō the chance he needed, and he lunged, letting his sleeves dangle so the spears pierced the fabric. As the points slipped past he twisted his sleeves to bring the spear hafts close enough to grab. The first spearman tried to wrench his weapon from Izō's grasp, but instead of resisting Izō let the force of the pull drag him forward, tangling the man's weapon with his fellow's. The ashigaru's surprised shout became a grunt as Izō drove his elbow into the man's face. Slipping his arms from his robes Izō grabbed the straps of the ashigaru's armor and wrenched him off balance. One of the man's flailing arms caught Izō a stinging blow to the face, but he only grit his teeth, sweeping the man's legs. With a pained grunt the ashigaru crashed down amidst the foliage to tumble bonelessly down the hill.
There was no time for thought. The other ashigaru had freed his spear from Izō's shirt, and it came flashing in, quick as the beak of a hungry stork.
Izō leapt back, almost tripping over the uneven ground.
The ashigaru glanced after his fallen comrade then glared at Izō through narrowed eyes, his hate sharp enough to etch glass. "Bastard."
It was a look Izō knew well – he'd worn it for years. He smirked, hoping to stoke the man's anger.
Get a bird mad enough, it might not even see the stone.
The other Akechi soldiers were close enough Izō could hear their labored breathing, deep and hoarse. He feinted at the ashigaru then leapt back; the man's spear pierced the air where Izō's head had been a moment before. Again, his foot caught on something hidden amidst the underbrush, this time he sprawled backward, the impact jarring the blade from his hand.
Izō felt about on the ground as the ashigaru lunged with a triumphant cry. His fingers closed around something smooth and round like a river rock, but strangely light. The spear darted down and Izō squirmed to the side, bringing up the rock in hopes of deflecting the blade. With a hollow thud the strike tore Izō's meager defense from his hands, and he scrambled back, stomach tensed against the expected bite of steel, but the blow never came. The ashigaru stared at the end of his spear, which transfixed not a stone but a human skull.
Casting about, Izō realized what he'd thought to be roots and fallen branches were actually bones. Broadleaf shrubs grew through shattered ribcages, weeds and spreading ferns concealing piles of disjointed legs and arms. Finger bones and loose vertebrae skittered like loose gravel as Izō pushed to his feet.
With a disgusted grimace, the ashigaru shook the skull from the end of his spear. The brush behind the man trembled and several Akechi samurai stepped into the clearing, followed by a score of spearmen. All of them looked out of breath, but none were the source of the deep, hungry panting that filled the clearing.
Izō was unable to keep from smiling. It seemed the legends about Mount Kuchisake weren't exaggerated.
Sometimes, if you found the right birds you didn't even need a stone.
The thin-faced samurai stepped forward, puffing as he brushed leaves and twigs from his silver-chased armor. "Akai Izō, please, we must speak–"
The samurai stared quizzically at the thick, glistening tentacle that had stealthily descended from the canopy above to coil about his waist. He had time for a tight, chagrined frown then was dragged up into the shadowed forest canopy, struggling like a carp at the end of fisherman's line.
Even tired and frightened, the Akechi soldiers were still veterans, and Izō had to swallow a momentary flash of respect when they didn't scatter like frightened sparrows. The ashigaru drew up into a ragged phalanx, bristling with spear points.
"Did Nobunaga ever tell you what I did for Lord Hatano?" Izō kept his voice low and conversational so as not to draw the creature's attention. "I held the rank of general and yet I commanded barely a dozen men."
The creature was a jagged shadow, little more than the rustle of leaves marking its quick movement among the tangled branches. One of the ashigaru jabbed into the darkness and had the spear wrenched from his hands.
"You're a long way from Kyoto. The mountains in these parts are wild, full of all manner of terrible things. My Lord couldn't have them wandering into his villages, killing his people, my people." Izō hunkered down, careful to keep his movements slow. Mountain oni were voracious but stupid. Like birds of prey they were attracted to sudden movements and shiny objects. "Unfortunately, you're not my people."
SNAFU: Hunters Page 3