Travesty (SolarSide Book 1)

by Austin Aragon

  “Could have used his earpiece,” says Peter.

  The earthshaking shelling continues, and the group moans with boredom and angst. “How are we supposed to see the smoke with all these explosions and shit?” says Vance.

  “Advance!” says a very loud voice, projected via microphone that echoes over the field. “We have taken out most of their defenses. Free the city boys!”

  “That’s how,” says Isaac.

  Vance peeks out of their shelter. “The smoke screen is up,” he says relieved.

  They eagerly exit the crater, and form up with the moving lines. The field is covered in hundreds of comrades that crawl and scream for help. They grab on to each other, some raising their arms into the air to signal they are still alive.

  “Leave them brothers!” says a Party Rep. “They have served their purpose, now finish serving yours. Onto the breach! Onto the city!”

  “C’mon marines! On me!” says the familiar voice of Blake. Peter’s group redirects themselves, and moves to catch up.

  Peter has to invest caution into each step as they go, for he has to doge and leap over the endless dead and dying. They form into circles of twitching limbs begging that someone would stop. That someone would aid them. Again and again, the Commissars order them to drop the casualties. These injured brothers have finished their duty, but they still had theirs. Their mission is to liberate the city, and the thousands of people in there being oppressed by the Herculeans.

  Peter pauses before one injured marine, confused at the situation. His face is horribly mutilated and he’s trying to kill himself with a knife. The marine grabs onto his leg cuff, the knife shaking in his other hand. Isaac tugs on Peter, then pulls harder till he is free and they move on once more. Peter glances back over his shoulder; the marine looks up with arms raised at a Party Rep towering over. The Rep aims a pistol at his head. The scene disappears as more soldiers charge with the advance.

  “But surely the Party knows better,” mutters Peter to himself.

  Absolutely, they do.

  X

  Herculean shelling recommences but in lighter volumes. Blake has disappeared in the new push, but Peter and his company know where to meet from the continued shouting of nearby Party Reps. “We’re forming up at a trench on the outskirts of the city brothers, where we will conquer it!” shouts a microphone.

  Herus roars another Creed chant with fellow Party Reps and Peter joins in vigorously with his brothers. Their voices precede their boots as they move across the field of the brave dead warriors that blazed the trail before them.

  The rear howitzers and Fleet orbital strikes continue to pommel the cityscape. The smoke screen is massive, and the additional artillery fire helps add cover to it by displacing earth that rises and intertwines with the smoke. Herculean plasma zips randomly though the white wall at the gathering forces, but is nowhere near as accurate as it was when they had full visibility earlier.

  “Look out!” says a soldier, breaking the most recent chant they were singing. A shell whistles over Peter and instinctively he drops to hit the dirt, but actually ends up tripping. The explosion erupts nearby shaking his body. Peter struggles to get up for he has—

  I can’t see!

  He tries lifting his head but it won’t budge. The helmet strap is stuck on something. Trying harder he is able to elevate himself somewhat out of the object he face-planted. He moves his hand into the gap he created to help wipe the visor clear.

  What the fuck is on my face? That smell.

  Peter’s head raises a little higher, his helmet buckle still stuck—

  FUCK!

  “Fuck! Fuck me! Help!” Raising his head with all the force he can muster, his helmet flies off and lands to the side of the corpse. He can now fully see the fallen marine in front of him that he face-planted. His eyes are bulged open and his tongue oozes blood from the mouth. A huge red gash runs across from his shoulder to his hip, where meshed up organs protrude out of his open cavity. His arms bend in a bizarre ninety degree angle and his hands twitch sporadically despite being dead.

  “Shit man!” Vance is by his side.

  Peter gags, and then throws up on the corpse, the vomit splattering down his chin and neck. “What the hell!” says Vance, “Why would you do that?” He looks away, burping, and spitting something out as well. Vance wipes his mouth, “Come on, get your shit and let’s go.”

  Peter grabs his XM, rises to his knees, but falls again.

  They’re all around me! Boots, endless boots running pass me. Go away! Just go away. Leave me alone.

  Peter crawls forward away from the corpse, staring at the disfigured and burnt bodies around him. Their sacrifice to—

  Stop it all, end it now! Stop the images. Stop the shouting. The explosions. The dying. They’re everywhere! Their bodies lie ripped and mutilated from the ordinance, burnt from plasma, limbs amputated from the blasts, legs and arms here, chunks of torsos there. Piled over each other with their ugly wounds that took their lives. Their flesh bruised into unnatural yellows and purples around the burns that have cauterized and formed into leathery looking rotting holes.

  The injured, they crawl about searching for fleeting life, the unexpected appalling ferocity in their cries of agony and pain—I can’t block it out even if I ripped my ears off. They cover the landscape, dead and dying, some trying to hold their intestines in with their hands while others still attempt to reconnect limbs to where they were severed off, and the red streams, the red streams that trickle past my fingertips towards the craters where the blood collects into reservoirs of lost life. Why? Why!

  “Here, take my hand.” I look up, this time it’s Julian.

  “Where you been?” says Vance. The mass of soldiers grow around us as more move forward with the assaulting vehicles.

  “I found cover with Blake behind some tank,” says Julian. I grab his hand and rise steadily to my feet. “Thankfully the bombardment ended and we moved again.”

  “We were held up in a Goliath—hey now that I think about it, what happened to Ray?” says Isaac.

  Julian looks at me, “Shitty day, why isn’t Ray with you guys?”

  I just want to stay here. I don’t want to move. My head won’t stop hurting. What is happening to me? Dead, all of them dead! I choose to follow the crowd, and we jog again with the advancing wave, my stomach cursing me with every footstep.

  What happened to Ray? I feel my eyes go warm and blurry. They, Jesus, they killed him.

  “Those fuckers!” says Julian after looking at me. “Look at what they’ve done to us. Once we make it through the screen the Herc’s will regret being here.”

  I need Buzz again. Why has it worn off? What is wrong with me? The smoke screen we are nearing grows closer. Herculean fire leaps out at us. I am going to die! I can’t do this without Buzz. I press my dosage control. I may get in trouble for it, but I don’t know what else there is to do.

  He made the right choice. Peter takes the lead of his group and yells, “For Ray!” They shout in agreement, and continue with the advance.

  “The smoke screen is moving up,” says Julian. The earlier wall of smoke that they ran through dissipates, and the skeleton of the city outskirts can be seen. A second trench with destroyed barricades lining its sides becomes visible. The remnants of the assault rally around and inside the trench as the new screen forms meters ahead of it.

  They join the hastily made trenches for cover, and peer towards the smoke. In the gap of land between their trench and the new screen, Peter can see the shapes of strange bodies in baggy outfits. Their armor is a pale shade similar to ash, and their under-exoskeleton suits are a dark drab. He grabs Vance and Isaac’s arms to show them. “Those are the Herculeans!” he says. Others point and jeer as they view their deceased adversaries from the trench lines. Little details can be made about them from their distance beside vague aesthetics—they are no doubt hideous though.

  A marine hops out of the tren
ch despite plasma fire still zipping at them, and runs to a Herculean body in a zig-zag style to dodge the rounds. He grabs one of their alien weapons raising it over his head in triumphant accomplishment while comrades cheer and praise him. As he runs back to cover he is struck dead by a plasma burst and the adulation stops. Pity, he was a brave one.

  Surviving APC’s—armored troop carries with gun platforms on top—and other fighting vehicles from the assault, move up to assist the new front line. A group of A-10 Warthogs fly over the trench pounding the outskirts with their awesome repeating nose cannons and missiles. Fire begins to raise among the outskirt ruins bright enough to be seen through the smoke screen. Most of the Herculean fire ceases for the moment.

  Easy squad’s earpieces tingle with a muffled voice. Soon it’s clear enough to understand what it says, “Love Platoon, reform on me.” They look at their arm pads. A digital arrow points them in the direction of their Captain. They shuffle pass the crowded trench of brothers ducking to doge Herculean fire. Parallel to the trench, is a fury explosions and tooth rattling vibrations as the Warthogs pound the city outskirts in unison with the artillery. The smoke screen swathes back and forth between the trench and the outskirts as mortars pump new smoke canisters to maintain the veil of cover.

  Julian points at a roughed up officer ordering men, “Its Tarnus.”

  Peter looks at his arm pad. The arrow is large indicating they are within meters of him. They cover the last stretch of trench to reach the rest of Love. Support units began to set up their machineguns against sandbags in anticipation for the assault on the urban terrain. The trench is a swarm of blue helmets, their rifles lying against the top of the parapets readying themselves for when the smoke screen subsides. Easy reaches Sergeant Blake, kneeling with his XM against his lap and face plastered to his radio. Tommy and Vick lie against the dirt wall behind him with Tarnus and others from Love farther down the trench.

  “Shit, you’re all still alive?” says Vick. They hurdle about Blake. Smoke wisps flood in from the dissipating screen. Herculean plasma and laser bursts continue about overhead. Another sortie of A-10’s roar down against the outskirts, interrupting the conversation as their rapid nose cannons spits phosphorus against targets.

  “Thanks for the words of hope,” says Isaac.

  “Where were you guys when the salvos fell?” Vick continues, “I was stuck with these fuckers unfortunately.”

  “Hiding in a shell hole with Peter and some others,” says Vance.

  “Then I found them as we moved,” says Julian.

  “Where’s Alex, Rommel, Ray?” says Tommy.

  “Ray was killed by the Herc’s,” says Julian. “No idea about the rest, hopefully not dead.”

  “I wonder who will get promoted now that Kaiden is gone,” says Vick.

  “It won’t be you,” says Isaac.

  Before Vick replies, Blake breaks in, “Now shut up all of you, we’re in a goddamn warzone. We’re down an officer and Jonathon is injured, so missing three still in our unit.”

  “Ray is dead too,” says Peter.

  “Damn, so three are dead, two MIA.” Then Alex bumps in between Vick and Tommy. “Good god, there you are Private.”

  “I walked down the whole trench looking for you guys,” says Alex. “Just followed my arrow till I got here,”

  “So two, three casualties, and one MIA, Rommel.” Blake recites the news to his radio. “We are still better off in comparison to the rest of our Platoon. Alpha, Charlie, and Delta squad have been completely wiped out. Just leaving Bravo, us, and some of Foxtrot and Golf.” Blake turns to his radio to hear further news, “and the Major General just gave his orders, we are advancing momentarily.”

  The smoke screen has almost cleared by now. A final barrage from Coalition artillery rattles the earth and outskirts in front of them. Plaster floats in the air among the smoke, and mix with the falling ash caking the humans. Colossal black clouds from the smoke form above the city, and shade the army in a gothic hue for impending liturgy.

  Peter’s visor is splattered with earth and he ducks deeper into the trench. A marine next to him seizers about till he succumbs to the plasma bolt that blew his right shoulder off. Peter’s visor wiper clears away the dirt. Herculean fire increases elsewhere, and is more precise at finding humans. The smoke screen is gone, and Peter can see their figures poking out from cover.

  “Contact! Left Street!” says Tarnus. The temporary lull of peace is over. Herculean fire whirrs towards the trench, while support crews open up with their LMG’s and rocket launchers on the targeted Herculeans. Soon, the outskirts are alive in a fully engaged firefight between the Herculeans and Coalition troopers, all of them only a hundred meters away from each other. Elsewhere, along the rubble and desolated streets, additional Herculean fire breaks out. Blue and purple streaks smack into humans blowing away exit holes through flesh and scorching limbs.

  “Medic!” cries someone. His request is echoed as more men fall. The trench of warriors comes alive with movement and gunfire as additional troops make it into the fray. The warriors lean against the trench parapets shoulder to shoulder with the next man, their rifles ablaze at the outskirts of ruble and cover that the Herculeans hide behind.

  Peter aims his XM at an area receiving heavy fire from fellow brothers. He squints through the scope to better focus on the area.

  A Herculean appears.

  “Your mine.” Peter pulls the trigger for the first time at a visible Herculean target.

  Nothing happens.

  “Fucking fire!” Then upon realization he mutters quietly, “Oh shit.” His gun was on safety—come on Peter!

  “Target two hands my right!” reports Blake.

  A red diamond appears on Peter’s visor indicating the target Blake spotted. He aims his XM at the spotted location. This time he’ll finally get them he reassures himself, checking twice that the safety is off. He spots a Herculean’s weapon poking out from cover. The XM jerks against his shoulder.

  BANG! BANG!

  He readjusts himself, the Herculean is moving to the left now. He fires another controlled burst.

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  “Fuck,” mutters Peter again. The Herculean has disappeared.

  “Gotta be faster,” says Isaac, “I’m already on my second kill.”

  “Fire for effect!” says Blake, as he targets a Herculean position back to a Stryker assault vehicle behind him. The vehicle’s turret lights up as it demolishes the short wall ahead into dust. A Herculean crawls out, rolling about on the ground like a beat dog. The marines turn their attention to the wailing Herculean and light it up till it’s an undistinguishable pile. “Another!” says Blake. The Stryker rips apart the rubble, bright sparks zip about and the rounds bounce and skip off the earth colliding against buildings deeper into the city. Blake gives a thumbs-up to the vehicle for a direct hit.

  The rifles make a special sound of their own, as the entire line roars of barrels burping light into alien flesh. Peter’s visor explodes with numerous red diamonds indicating targeted Herculeans. He picks another one to focus on, and soon spots the selected Herculean, and fires. The bright burst of exhaust leaves his rifle tip combining with all of the other participating guns.

  BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

  The unrelenting storm of rounds flying at supersonic speeds against the enemy is breathtaking. XM-12’s from LMG crews add their unique sound to the thunderous chaos alongside AT rockets and falling ordinance—it is an orchestra of might! Empty shells spit out the sides of rifles, and bounce off the shoulders and helmets of the next brother over. The Herculeans respond with their instruments of war—for both sides have been practicing diligently for this debut—mechanical hums of ionized searing hot metal jackets, coated in energy plasma slice through the air in search of human.

  Peter’s fight instinct thunders inside of him. He is fully taken over in the moment. These brave comrades to each side of him and their powerful weap
ons make him feel invincible—yes little warrior!

  “KILL! KILL! KILL!” screams Herus. The UN flag, that signifies that this is a peace keeping mission, wraps around his body as jets scream overhead cropping up dirt and flapping the tattered banner about him. Herus rattles his revolver in the air out at the ruins; he has become the conductor of the orchestra, leading a capriccio of death, shooting wildly.

  The choirs of troops rant and yell at the Herculeans.

  “They’re all going to die!” says Herus. The UN banner is now draped around his shoulders like a cape, perfectly complementing the heroic cause of the Coalition as champions bringing justice to the evil Herculeans. “Keep at them comrades! You are part of an insuperable force of mankind, on a just cause to defend our brethren!”

  Peter’s chance arrives to bring action to his passion once more, and add his solo to the orchestra of might. A Herculean leaps out of cover to sprint to another position. Peter aligns his XM leading it, noticing how they move for the first time. They stand hunched over, their steps more like hobbles and when in full sprint—like this Herculean—the hobbling turns into a sort of gallop. The marines next to him also have the same idea, and they fire at the Herculean with a breathtaking melody. Earth flies around the Herculean as the bullets tear away the land. The Herculean is hit in the leg and begins a frantic dance to try and reach the cover it sought. It falls under the storm of bullets and crawls begging pathetically for life. Peter peers through his scope at the Herculean, so he can lay the barrel exactly on the body for the note of the glorious finale. He pulls the trigger. Rounds rip apart its torso as it rebelliously accepts death, and then comes to a still slump against the ground. The critics agree, humanity’s orchestra is better received.

  His first confirmed kill. Peter raises his middle finger to it, “Fuck you!”

  “Yeah right, that was mine!” says Isaac.

  “You wish.”

  “Advance behind the armor!” says Blake. Vehicles trek over the trench and down the destroyed streets. Gunships fly overhead, pounding the city with payloads as they go. The humans pile out of the trench into columns behind the progressing vehicles. The Herculean fire has stopped. “They retreated!” says a marine. Cheering resonates among them as they move up.