by Fleet, Ricky
Smith, repeat the last.
Scratch my last transmission. I’m going to give our friends a bath.
Smith, repeat that.
I’m going to bring the Sable Lake down on their heads by destroying the dam wall. The water will spread through the valley and kill the three hosts and mutants along with them.
Are you sure you can’t get clear?
Negative. They’re motivated and very hungry.
After a moment’s hesitation the thought came through his psy link. I’ll inform command. Happy hunting, soldier.
Smith, out.
Tracing the line of the bluff, it evened out and he moved onwards. His father had taken him hunting in places like this, but the lack of life was a poignant reminder of the new order. No elk or boar, no cougars or bears. Not even an angry rattler sunbathing on a rock, slithering away when disturbed. The last time a bear had been sighted… Well, the outpost managed to send a couple of shaky videos before they went dark forever. The investigating Vanquishers had found destruction on a scale never seen before, but no sign of the fearsome foe.
Smith reached the dynamite excavated road, skimming down the steep bank on his rump. The flat surface allowed him to pick up speed and he charged on towards the security station of the facility. Dodging through the shells of abandoned cars, he wondered why there were so many. The approach was choked with them, far in excess of normal staff and visitor numbers. It could be that they’d sought sanctuary by the water; it was a logical move, he thought. The appearance of a ghost city confirmed his suspicions. RVs and caravans by the hundred lined the concrete curvature of the dam wall. The canvas of the tents had long since disappeared, leaving only the support rods like skeletons of the pitiful shelters. Moving through the buckled gate, he could find no sign of a mutant attack. The vehicles were untouched by the feral monstrosities. When the bombs fell, the people probably took shelter below, dying from thirst or radiation exposure as the invisible poison flowed across the land. The dark corridors of the structure would resemble the haunted catacombs of Paris; thousands of white bones lining the walls and nooks. Men, women, and children, all slowly sickening or dying of thirst.
Fucking things!
The creatures were in hot pursuit. Howling their pleasure at the hunt, they could sense their prey was weakening; they would taste warm meat before night fell. Not mine, you rotten bastards. Peering over the inner railing, the black morass of the lake bubbled and seethed. The exceedingly rare rainfall had washed the filth of the land down into the massive basin. The acid had eaten deeply into the masonry of the reinforced structure. Cracks lined the road and walls from the pressure of the liquid against the weakened construction. Two hundred trillion gallons of it if he remembered his high school geography lessons correctly. Like the biblical flood, the monsters would be washed away in righteousness. Unclasping two displacement grenades, Smith moved across to the downstream slope. Climbing the railing, he looked down the angled face to the murky outlet. The row of strengthening buttresses lined the wide grey face like the edges of a playground slide. Judging by the fissures in the previously smooth surface, two implosions would be enough to bring the whole thing down.
“Come on!” he yelled at the converging infected as they filtered through the remnants of the camp.
Answering the summons, thousands of mutants crammed themselves into the crest of the dam to get at him. Estimating the gradient and how quickly his weight would carry him to the bottom, he readied himself. Twisting the timer pins for a twenty second fuse, Smith jumped. Landing six feet down, the hiss of his suit on the rough surface joined the steady tick of the munitions. Looking over his shoulder, the railing gave way. Like a portent of what was to come, they poured from the rim like water. A dull hum imposed itself over the sounds of scraping and shattering bones from the tumbling monsters. The Magjet’s spotlight picked him out as it shot over the top of the hillside to the left. With expert precision, the pilot dropped towards him and swung the rear of the craft around. The bay doors were open, and two figures leaned from the lip of the ramp with arms outstretched, securing ropes taut.
“Jump!”
Mirroring the rapidly increasing speed of his fall, the pilot moved as close as possible without risking a collision. Eight seconds had passed. Nine. Smith could feel the friction driven heat penetrating the sturdy material of his suit. Ten. Attempting to get his feet planted was impossible, he was moving too fast. Eleven. A fissure appeared to his side, snaking down and then cutting across two feet to the left before continuing downwards once more. Changing the angle of descent by twisting his body, he aimed for the three-inch protrusion. Twelve. Tossing the grenades aside, he tensed his legs and hit the outcrop. Thirteen. Screaming as the bones in his legs crumpled, Smith used the pain as a fuel to propel himself from the dam wall. Fourteen. His hand flailed out into space, missing the outstretched arm by inches. Fifteen. With a yell, the rescuer loosened his descender clamp and jumped, catching Smith’s other arm. Sixteen.
“Go!” he roared, the agony of strained ligaments like white hot fire in his joints as they dangled.
Powering away from the slope, the Magjet soared up and away. The mutants screamed in frustration even as they shattered against the unforgiving surface. Ahead by ten feet, the black orbs bounced.
Nineteen.
Twenty.
The atmosphere was sucked towards the two balls as they cracked opened, pulling on the struggling figures. Creating a tear in the physical world, the implosions drew in reinforced concrete and mutants in a thirty-foot sphere, compressing it into a blend of animate and inanimate. The twin craters in the grey slope started to issue trickles of black water. A half second later, the gathered material was blown apart by the delayed plasma charge within. The shockwave hammered against the damaged surface, ripping apart the small cracks until they were gaping chasms. Unable to hold back the weight of the water, the thick wall bulged until the whole thing disintegrated. Chunks of the dam broke away, driven by the force of the unleashed lake. The infected howled in fear until they were crushed by the massive weight on the valley floor. As the crest collapsed, the makeshift refugee camp followed into oblivion, the vehicles thrown around like toys. Twin monitoring towers at each bank toppled, joining the tidal wave of rock and acid as it spread. The liquid crashed against the hills, scouring the dead trees and mud, adding their weight to the apocalyptic deluge.
“You’re safe now,” grunted the second soldier as he pulled Smith and his saviour aboard.
“Holy shit, would you look at that!”
The hundred-foot wave of corrosive death rolled over everything in its path. North Chester was hit first, the outlying houses exploding into kindling. The ant sized outlines of the fleeing mutants brought a glow of satisfaction to the injured soldier as they fell by the hundreds. Even at this distance, Smith swore he could hear the shriek of terror from the queen as the bank crumbled around her.
“Payback’s a bitch!” Smith groaned, falling onto his back. The sharp sting of a needle preceded a wave of euphoria which banished the throbbing torment in his broken limbs.
“This’ll make a damned good story to tell,” smiled the stranger, kneeling over him.
“Thanks for coming back,” whispered Smith, the pain meds numbing everything.
“We weren’t going to leave you for those things. Now lay back and rest, we’ll set down somewhere safe and get you on a stretcher.”
∞∞∞∞∞∞
“I nearly died for the third time that day,” Smith explained.
“We’re glad you didn’t, Sarge,” said the drunken recruits in unison.
“I still get pain after all these years when it gets really cold.” He patted his legs.
“You’re still bloody quick considering the injury. I don’t think we would’ve beaten you if you were in top form,” Andy replied.
“Probably not, so be grateful to the infected fucks who hobbled me,” he chuckled, pouring a fresh drink.
Chapter 9
Lined up in two rows, the bleary eyed, hungover soldiers listened to Master Sergeant Hardie as he gave the instructions. To their left was a sprawling estate, with shattered buildings, vehicle shells, and other obstacles. To their right was a standard firing range of differing distances to the model targets.
“The final part of your initial assessment will involve a simple test of your combat reflexes and accuracy. Master Sergeant Smith will be giving you a demonstration of our bread and butter weapons, the AcMag pistol and rifle.”
Loco held up a hand. “What does AcMag stand for, Sarge?”
“I’m glad you asked,” replied Smith. “It’s short for Accelerated Magnet Propulsion System.”
“Surely AcMagPropSyst would be more accurate?”
“Don’t be a smartass, Green. I doubt I could even say that three times in a row.”
Andy tried to hide his grin before he asked, “How do they work, Sarge?”
“We used to call them railguns back in the day.”
“I remember them, but wasn’t the smallest prototype mounted on a battleship? It was fucking huge!”
“And now we carry them in our holsters and over our shoulder.”
“That’s impressive.”
“You’re damned right it’s impressive. These things fire just like a regular automatic, except they can put out three times the number of rounds with no need for an accelerant. I’m sure you can appreciate we need to prioritise the use of our minimal resources as best we can. That means the propellant we produce now is used on the Mech and gunship weapons.”
“How did they ever manage to shrink it down so much?” Zip inquired.
“Ashdown Industries was at the forefront of weapons tech back in the day and they had everything except the correct material to enter mass production. After the shit hit the fan and we retreated underground, the miners went deeper than ever before. It’s how we harnessed geothermal energy to power our cities and outposts. While they were digging, they found new elements, two of which were named Aneluvium and Chridonium. The first was like a magnetic sponge, giving off a massive electromagnetic field. Many miles below the surface, this stuff covers the whole planet. The second, Chridonium, was the exact opposite, repelling itself from the other. One of the miners damn near lost his head when he broke the first chunk free and it ricocheted around the shaft.”
“Our whole fleet of cars, jets, and barges use this material to travel. Tiny quantities are added to the road surface. The fighting craft have a varying amount of Chridonium based on their size and required speed. By energising the metal, we can increase the power of the resistance it gives off.”
“When do we get to see them, Sarge?”
“Once your posting has been decided, some of you’ll be picked up by the Magjets and moved to different cities and outposts. The Dreadhulks are only stationed in the cities to provide support in case of a large-scale attack. From there, they can be deployed to the outlying settlements when the need arises. I’d recommend you have a look at the topic when you get back to barracks. Now, let’s get down to business.”
Leading them over to a basic range, the soldiers gathered around the master sergeant.
“Ear protection on, troops,” he ordered, placing a set on his head.
Picking up a pistol, Smith slapped a magazine into the weapon. The baseplate was bulbous instead of flat, which Andy could only assume was to house a larger quantity of bullets.
“The AMX-4 pistol is made of a dense polycarbonate shell. It’s stronger than steel but nearly weightless. The material counteracts some of the excess weight of the firing Mechanism. You’ll notice the barrel is slightly longer than the old-fashioned sidearms. It’s needed to ensure the requisite number of mag coils can be fitted to achieve hypersonic velocity.”
“Hypersonic?” Andy inquired. “The discharge isn’t silent then?”
“No, it’s comparable to the sound of a normal round firing without the suppressors. With the suppressors attached, they’re damn near silent, which is what you need out there.”
“Do they degrade?”
“Yes, but far slower than older versions. You can get several thousand rounds out of a single pistol silencer before the shots become audible. The rifles are closer to fifteen thousand.”
Smith showed them the safety button and took aim at the snarling mannequins downrange. Assuming a shooter’s stance, he leaned in and explained the increase in recoil that the firearm produced. Pulling the trigger, the gun bucked heavily. The barrel literally buzzed with the volume of bullets exiting the chamber. Nine seconds saw the magazine empty, but the devastation was total. Twenty life sized mutants were nothing more than scattered hunks of plaster and dust. Whistles of approval issued from the watching troops.
“Each magazine holds one hundred and eighty rounds, with a twenty round per second fire rate at full auto. This is what tore them to shreds,” he explained, holding a tiny bullet between his fingers. The tip was sharp, like an armour piercing round, but at the base of the point were twelve subsequent tips surrounding the shank. “When it hits, the slivers split off in a cone. It tears through crowds of those bastards as if they were paper. Now it’s your turn. Remember, be ready for the recoil. I want controlled, one second bursts. You’ll find your name in one of the booths”
Lining up in separate cubicles, the troops picked up their designated weapon.
“Get a feel for them. Try the weight with your preferred stance.”
Andy looked over the black pistol. A series of channels were cut around the circumference of the small barrel where the suppressor would be twisted to lock it into place. He was expecting the gun to weigh more but considering his superhuman strength, it wasn’t surprising that it felt as light as a feather. The grip was extremely comfortable; well contoured and just the right size for his large hands.
“Good craftsmanship right there,” Smith said proudly.
Assuming a shooting stance, Andy slid his right foot back slightly and bent at the knees. Cradling the gun, he cupped his right hand in the palm of the left. Retrieving the magazine, he inserted it with a snap. Taking up the stance again, he felt as if the gun was an extension of himself.
“It’s got good balance, Sarge.”
“You’re damn right it has. They’re manufactured to your individual measurements when you’re close to spawning.” Taking a few paces back, Smith joined the other instructors. “Remember the recoil. Fire when ready!”
The morning silence was shattered by the deafening chatter, broken only by the brief pauses between trigger pulls. A cloud of white powder drifted on the easterly breeze at the end of the range. Ragged lower legs were all that remained of the plaster cast figures.
“Good. How did it feel?”
“The first shots threw me off a little,” admitted Zip.
“Me too,” Loco agreed. “But once I corrected it was fine.”
“Excellent. I now want you to fit the suppressors and try again. As well as deadening the noise, they also reduce the recoil by twenty five percent. You can remove your ear defenders if you wish.”
Locking the cylindrical addition to their weapons, the lightweight material had no discernible impact on the balance. Ejecting the spent magazine, they inserted a fresh one and hefted the pistol again. Hidden Mechanics downrange removed the shattered husks and raised new dummies in their place.
“Fire when ready.”
The previous din was gone. Only the sounds of the slugs tearing through the mutants remained. Emptying their magazines, the soldiers gaped in amazement at both the noise reduction and greatly diminished pushback.
“You can thank General Ashdown during the next briefing,” Smith called out.
Hardie stepped forward. “Now I want you to switch to semi-automatic,” he explained. “Pick your shots carefully. A clean headshot will kill them dead, but they move like lightning. If you aim centre mass, you’ll need to give them three or four rounds to make sure their insides are mush, or they’ll just keep com
ing.”
Fresh targets emerged from the ground. Andy moved the selector switch and sighted the nearest dummy. Squeezing the trigger, the bullet hit the eye before splitting and completely blowing out the back of its head. A shot to the shoulder severed the left arm which went spinning into the distance. Two slugs in the chest saw small holes punch through, while the back exploded from the separating shards.
“Good,” said Smith, moving down the line.
By the end of the shooting, their arms were aching despite the genetic strength modification. Hardie was studying the placement of kill shots on his handheld display. It was higher than any class by four percent.
“Well done! The weapons are yours now; take the holster and spare magazines with you for extra practice later. We’re moving on to the assault rifle training and final test. The test itself will take the form of a tactical simulator of close quarter urban pacification inside the replica village. Points will be awarded for speed and accuracy of the kill shots.”
Chapter 10
The assault rifle training was uneventful. The main difference between the weapons was the range and fire rate, with the rifle having an optical link to the combat helmets in place of a scope. The display would show the superimposed crosshairs on their target with the ability to zoom a portion of the screen in for greater accuracy. It left the soldier able to see both the immediate surroundings, and the distant enemy, reducing the chances of a sneak attack.
“Right, you sorry lot! I’m going to split you into your squads. Burton, Downing, Bojing, Green, you’re up first. Get your asses suited and booted.”
“We’re going in full tactical gear, Sarge?”
“Absolutely. You’re going to get used to the suits in a real time combat setting.”
“I thought you said we weren’t facing live subjects?”
“You aren’t,” Hardie replied, grinning to Smith. “Let’s just say we’ve got a few surprises in store.”