The Patchwork Soldier Part VIII by photino

The Patchwork Soldier Part VIII

photino, Death, Fighting, Gore, Hybrid, Military, Sci-Fi, War

#6 of The Patchwork Soldier

Low gravity combat is surprisingly peaceful.

Without an atmosphere to conduct sound, there are none of the deafening sounds of a terrestrial battle; the sheooooms of incoming artillery, no bzzzz of active lascannons, just a heartbeat and your own breathing. Marching and running is replaced by a silly-looking hop, almost like a bunny hop. Even death is surprisingly peaceful; when a man falls, you don't see his guts spilling out or the jets of arterial blood; he just falls over lazily, as if he were savoring the last few seconds of his life.

Something caught my eye. "Halt" I commanded over my suit's Com.

My ten-man squad stopped in their tracks. I pointed to a large boulder. The boulder itself was harmless: just a hunk of basalt vomited from the moon's interior a couple billion years ago.

It was the slight crack beside it that worried me.

"Get down."

The troops knelt down in the powdery regolith; Magrifles at the ready.

If my suspicions were correct, that crack was the entrance to a concealed bunker. How it survived the rocket barrage was anyone's guess.

I relayed my suspicions to my squad. "Sir, can't we just go around it?" said one of the men

"No," I said "Connies probably have the place seeded with shredder mines"

One of the men shuddered. I didn't blame him; shredder mines were one of the nastiest weapons ever invented: steel disks filled with explosive and about 40 razor-sharp darts. The infernal things were meant to knock out armored vehicles, but they were also effective against infantry. Believe me, nothing ruined a mission like having twenty vanadium darts blown into your torso.

"Sir, the Catch-22's deployed plenty of combat drones. With enough time, they could find a safe way through" suggested the squad medic .

"No, that won't do." The Conglomerate seemed to have a fetish for mines. With all the space Luna offered, this minefield could extend for miles. "By the time those drones find away around this death trap" ,Valian will have had more than enough time to set up his defenses."

The only way around this minefield was straight through it. Fortunately, I had a plan:

Whenever the Conglomerate mines were placed around a base perimeter, each mine would have it's arming circuits slaved to a hidden control bunker. Whenever an enemy unit approached, the mine would "ask" the bunker's computer to verify its identity before exploding. That way, enemy vehicles couldn't slip through the perimeter with fake ID tags. It also meant that disabling the computer would disarm the entire minefield. Typical Conglomerate tech.

"Emp bomb, now".

One of the soldiers passed me a baseball-sized EMP grenade. I pressed its arming stud and twisted its timer to ten seconds.

"Fire in the hole" I yelled and lobbed the bomb like an old-fashioned shot-put. The little grenade fell lazily towards the bunker.

Three, Two, One

"..."

There was no exciting light show; no fat bolts of lightening playing over the bunker. Just a wash of static over my helmet's HUD. To a computer, it would be the equivalent of a shotgun at point-blank range.

After 10 seconds of pouring electromagnetic fury into the bunker, the grenade went dead, its batteries permanently drained. The bunker's hatch opened up and a Conglomerate soldier rushed out, struggling to move in his EMP-damaged pressure suit.

My squad raised their magrifles. As soon as the Connie saw us, he raised his hands over his head. "I surrender I surrender!" He yelled over a malfunctioning suit com.

While my men slapped some binder wire on the prisoner's wrists, I switched my suit com to a local Tac channel. "Catch-22 this is Red one. We've got a POW here needing transport to the rear. Over"

My Helmet speakers crackled: "Roger that Red one. We're sending a shuttle to you now. ETA 13 minutes, over."

"Roger that. Tac, status report."

"Squads Alpha and Beta have engaged a force of 15 enemy suits about half a click from your position, no casualties. Tank group Charlie has cleared several bunker emplacements. Casualties light."

My squad members cheered. "Connie bastards aren't even trying!" one of them yelled.

That's what worried me. Whenever the Conglomerate had put Valian in command, you could expect a long, bloody battle. He had a way of making his troops fight to the bitter end, making sure you paid dearly for every scrap of metaphorical ground.

From what I could see, either Valian had lost his touch, or we were being led into a trap. I suspected the latter

"Sir, the prisoner!"

I pirouetted in my combat armor. The prisoner had started seizing uncontrollably.

"Move over!" said the squad medic as he ambled over to him.

"What's wrong with him?" I demanded.

"I don't' know. Looks like some kind of seizure!" The medic said.

A trooper pinned the prisoner to the ground. The medic fumbled for his hypo gun. "Find a hypo port! I've got to get some relaxant into his system before..."

Before the medic could finish his sentence, the prisoner's binder wires snapped. He pointed his left arm at the Medic's face.

"Get some more binder wire on him! we need to keep him..."

A small hole opened in the palm of the prisoner's hand, and the medic's helmet exploded in a spray of bone and freeze-dried meat.

"Man down man down!"

The prisoner grabbed the soldier holding him down. A five-inch titanium blade sprang from his knee

"Can't break free! This guys stronger than..."

The prisoner cut the trooper off with a quick jab of his knee; the poor man was dead before he hit the dust.

I raised my magrifle and pressed the firing stud. The weapon bucked in my hands, punching a hole the size of a credit piece in the prisoner's helmet.

The prisoner slumped back; the BB-sized round had gone through the man's light pressure armor like synth-butter. No way anyone could've survived that.

The prisoner proved otherwise; the suit slowly pushed itself up.

"Open fire!"

A volley of tungsten enveloped the prisoner. The "prisoner's" body jerked around like a marionette controlled by an epileptic until, riddled with holes, he finally slumped into the dust. One of my men hopped over to him and gave him a kick. The body didn't stir. Satisfied that the prisoner was finally dead, I hopped over to the motionless suit; how did this guy manage to survive a magrifle bolt to the forehead? Even if the round had somehow spared his brain, the decompression should've killed him almost instantly.

Curious, I undid the suit's helmet clasps and popped the smart-plastic dome off like a cork. I expected to see a mass of bone and freeze-dried meat. Instead, a pile of metal and shredded circuitry plopped onto the regolith, shaped into something that used to resemble a face. Pieces of what appeared to be pink gelatin were smeared all over the helmet's interior.

One of my men hopped over. "Well I'll be slagged: a combat homoform. Weren't those banned by the New Geneva Convention?"

"Yes, yes they were." I growled. So far, Valian had bushwhacked my ship, tricked the Conglomerate Defence Force into thinking we were still at war, and now he'd used an outlawed war robot to take out two of my men. For a man who claimed to be a knight, Valian didn't seem very squeamish about dirty tricks.

I turned to my men "There'll be time for grieving later. Valian's headquarters is about two klicks north of here. I'm calling in some vehicles to get us there faster."

I bit my Com to the Catch-22's Tac. Channel. "Tank Group Charlie, this is Red One. Proceed to my location and await further orders, over."

"Charlie Company Copies"

"Red One, this is the Catch-22. We're picking up something big on the seismometer, can you confirm, over?"

I stood perfectly still. I could definitely feel something reverberating through the regolith.

"Catch-22 this is Red One. We confirm seismic activity. Could it be a moonquake?"

"Negative Red One. It's too steady to be any kind of quake."

They were right. Whatever this vibration was, it was far too smooth to be a moonquake. It felt more like a heavy vehicle passing by. That or a whole convoy of...

My vulpine instincts flared. "Everyone, into the bunker now!"

My troops ambled into the bunker without question; they knew that whenever the "Old Dog" gave an order, you'd better obey it fast.

"What kind of antiarmor do we have?"

"Ten soft-armor hand rockets and one microcannon with about 70 slugs."

Not much considering what we were about to face, but it'd have to do.

"You two, take some rockets and cover the left and right flanks! You, get the micro cannon set up! You, pile up some dust and spray it with quick-set; we'll need the cover!"

I contacted the Catch-22. " Red One to Catch-22, come in, over."

"Catch-22 here."

"Divert a recon drone to our position."

"Already there. Ready to transmit whenever you're ready."

A drone icon appeared on my HUD. I accessed it's camera feed. Damn, we're running out of time

I contacted the Catch-22 "Catch-22, what the stat on your singleships?"

"All singleships are docked and awaiting orders."

"Tell their crews to prep them for Ground Attack Dubtime."

"Roger that. Singles should be ready in about five minutes."

"Good. Over and out"

I turned to my men.

"Alright listen up; our objective is to hold out until Charlie Company arrives. The Catch is dispatching some Singleships to give us a hand,"

One of the men rose his hand.

"What is it?"

"Sir" the trooper said, "what exactly are we facing?"

"I'll show you". I accessed the drone's camera feed and piped it through my squad's Com systems. The troopers strained at their HUDS.

"I don't see anything sir."

"Look on the horizon. Full magnification." I ordered.

The men tapped their wrist controls.

"Sir, all I see are a bunch of little blobs. Probably just some boulders."

"Boulders that have a 99% outline match with a Conglomerate L-25 Lunar Assualt Tank?"

I tapped a stud on my wrist gauntlet. An overlay of a Conglomerate LunaTank appeared over one of the blobs.

Ten pupils dilated like airlock hatches.

Needing no further convincing, my squad clambered into the knocked-out bunker, weapons at the ready.

I checked the drone's camera feed; the blobs became more distinct. Yes, those were tanks all right. Heavily-armed and armored L-25s, accompanied by support vehicles and smaller specks that might have been enemy infantry. Worst of all, there had to have been at least 500 of them. All heading towards us.

I hoped to hell those Chedders would hurry up.

"Red One this is Yossarian Squadron. We're inbound to your location. ETA 1 minute and counting, over."

"Copy that Yossarian."

I looked at my squad; the men were starting to get edgy. Can't say I blamed them; having a 500-strong tank column heading your way was enough to fray the toughest nerves. Even I was starting to feel antsy.

The tanks had expanded to the size of ration cans; their escorting infantry like plastic miniatures.

"This is it. Hold your fire until the Chedders make their attack run."

Just as I gave the order, my Com crackled.

"Yossarian Squadron here. Unleashing the hurt in three, two, one."

Ten wedge-like shapes shot towards the horizon, and countless streaks of light rained down on the Connies. Lunatanks and support vehicles exploded in soundless geysers of dust and hot metal. Infantry were shredded as vehicles became giant frag grenades.

Michaelangelo couldn't have produced anything more beautiful.

My squad cheered as a cloud of floury dust obscured the column.

"Guess those Cheds did the job for us!"

I didn't like counting my chickens before they hatched. I zoomed my helmet cameras in on the dust cloud.

Something moved behind the settling dust.

"HIT THE DIRT!"

I ducked behind the hardened-dust berm. A cluster of divots appeared in the boulder next to the bunker.

"RETURN FIRE!"

My squad sprayed the thinning dust cloud with magrifle rounds. Thousands of new craters blossomed around us.

"I can't see anything!"

"What the hell are we supposed to shoot at?!"

"Anything! Make them keep their heads down!" I barked, firing my magrifle one-handed into the dust cloud. I accessed the drone's camera feed with my free paw. We needed to get a better look at what was shooting at us.

My blood turned to ice.

I'd expected a few enemy units to survive the strike; tanks caught on the fringe of the volley. Infantry who'd managed to find cover. Nothing we couldn't handle with our current weapons. The drone's camera showed the outlines of about one hundred and fifty surviving L-25s, supported by least half as many infantry and a few support vehicles. The tanks were dinged and the infantry were caked with dust, but they were all very much alive.

"Red One to Catch-22" I called. "Red One to Catch-22."

"Catch-22 here." responded the Com officer

"Ground attack wasn't as successful as predicted. We still have 150 remaining enemy vehicles heading our way, over."

"Red-One can you confirm 150 surviving units. I repeat, did you just say 150 surviving units?"

"You heard me correctly, 100 surviving L-25 tanks, supported by infantry and a few support vehicles, all converging on my location. We need a second strike ASAP."

A small crater appeared in the boulder, a few inches from my head. I thanked God for Conglomerate incompetence; their targeting computers hadn't been designed to compensate for lunar dust.

"Sorry sir, our singleships are completely braindead."

What?! "Catch-22, confirm 'braindead'?"

"Yes, sir braindead. Some kind of focused microwave weapon fried their main computers. Bypassed their empshielding. Pilots had to limp back on manual."

That explains how so many of them survived. I mused. EMP must've scrambled the missiles target locks..

"Catch-22, how far is Charlie company from our location?

"About 3 klicks from your location sir. Should be there in ten mins."

"Roger, Red One out."

I switched my Com to my squad's frequency. "We've got to hold this position until Charlie Company arrives. Everyone give the micro cannon some cover. "

I turned to the man operating the micro cannon. "Sight your gun on the lead tank, wait for my signal to fire." He gave a confirmatory nod.

The dust had almost completely settled now. The lead tank, his targeting computer no longer confused by the dust, was adjusting it's cannon straight at us.

"Fire!"

The trooper pressed the micro cannon's firing stud, sending a finger-sized depleted uranium spindle through the L-25 and turning the 30,000 credit vehicle into 200 credits worth of scrap.

The micro cannon reloaded itself.

"Fire at will!"

The cannon bucked; a Lunatank's turret split like a rotten banana. The surviving tanks began swerving all over the lunar surface. It might have confused a targeting computer, but it was no use against our human operator. He just kept picking them off one by one. The swerving also made it impossible for the tanks to get a clear shot at us. As long as we had the micro cannon, none of them dared to stand still.

A light attack buggy rolled up on our left flank. One of my men knocked it out with a hand rocket, while I took out its infantry support with a few burst-fire shots.

"Target acquired. Firing!"

A micro cannon round sliced through a Luntank's engine compartment, spraying an infantry squad behind it with hypersonic shrapnel.

So far so good I thought, picking off a man trying to arm a hand rocket. If we can keep those tanks at bay we should be able to hold until..."

"CANISTER!"

I ducked as a wave of diamond-encased lead darts washed over the bunker. Something embedded itself in my boot, stinging my left footpaw. I ignored it; if I could still feel my footpaw, it wasn't worth worrying about.

"MAN DOWN MAN DOWN!"

Something pinged off my armor. I looked up; the dust around me was littered with black plastic shards, mixed in with bits of freeze-dried meat: the micro cannon and its operator.

"Everyone else alright?" I asked. Four moans of pain answered my question.

Ok, Fox, concentrate. What is our status?

Hmm... well, Anti-armor capabilities are gone. Squad's down to four men, all wounded. Weapons: four...

I looked around: the wounded men's magrifles had fared worse than them. They weren't so much weapons now as they were pieces of scrap metal.

...Make that one magrifle. Enemy outnumbers us by at least 20 to 1. Reinforcements too far away to assist in time.

Tactical assessment: Doubleplus Ungood.

A shell slammed into the boulder above me, showering the bunker with little chunks of basalt. The Lunatanks were starting to regain their confidence.

There just might be a way to save the rest of my squad.

Two pem blades sprang from slits in my gauntlets...

Here goes...

I crouched behind the moondust berm.... I tapped a small icon marked with a cartoon rocket. My suit's thrusters fired, and I hurled myself into the fray.

A Lunatank trained its turret on me. I formed my blades into two impervium shields.

WHAM!

The light magcannon shell bounced off the shields like a synth-rubber ball, knocking me over. Picking myself up, I leaped onto the tank and sliced its cannon clean off. The disarmed tank swerved like mad, trying in vain to shake me off. I calmed it down with an impervium blade to the engine compartment.

A light assault buggy rolled up to the disabled tank. I dispatched the driver with my magrifle and tore the buggy's light auto cannon from its mounting.

Electrum

A panel turned into azure Electrum. I attached a rope of the sticky goo to the auto cannon's superconducting power cable. A quick squeeze of the firing stud and an infantry squad went down in a blizzard of tungsten darts.

A Lunatank rolled up. I lept onto the tanks turret and pried its entry hatch open with one paw, leaving the other paw free to fill the vehicle's interior with auto cannon fire.

By now, I'd surrendered completely to my Lupine self. There was no Conglomerate, no UCAB, just an endless procession of prey to subdue and kill. Tanks were sliced apart with impervium blades, blasted open with stolen antiarmor, or commandeered for destructive "joyrides". I could remember myself laughing gleefully, like a child playing with his friends; my lupine self was having a wonderful time.

Suddenly, while I was busy wrenching a Lunatank's turret from its mounting, a little thought popped into my head: shouldn't you be protecting the bunker?

I snapped out of my combat-induced euphoria; The bunker! I'd completely forgotten about it!

Twirling around, I zoomed my helmet cams on the bunker. To my relief the bunker was still relatively intact. I loaded a fuel slug into my suit's thrusters; my little rampage should have slowed the Connie advance long enough for reinforcements to arrive in time. Right now, I had to focus on...

GAHHH!

I fell to the dust, shaking uncontrollably. It felt as though every cell in my body was being prodded with hot needles. My HUD was flooded with error warnings.

SYSTEM ERROR HIGH LEVEL EMP DISCHARGECHARGE. MAIN SYSTEMS OFFEMERROREROE-34904DFLASDFKJDFAL;DJELKJOWJJL... Static washed over the display, and my entire suit went dead.

I tried to move. My nanofiber suit wouldn't cooperate; it was like being in a space age iron maiden. My pem blades were dead as well, stuck in their default "clay" state.

A Lunatank rolled past me, its fat balloon tires crunching the inert panels like weak plastic. The tank trained it's cannon on the bunker, capacitators charging for a full-power shot.

A magrifle lay just a few inches beyond my grasp; I reached for it, straining against the stiffened nanofiber. One of my finger-claws brushed the weapon's stock. Just a few...more...inches...

The Lunatank's capacitates discharged. The bunker erupted in a cloud of dust and pulverized rock.

Before I had time to react, something flipped me over. A Conglomerate Security Force soldier loomed over me, holding a small mag-pistol with both hands. He aimed his weapon at my left leg, right between two armor plates. He squeezed the firing stud;

the bb-sized round punched through the stiff nanofiber like old-fashioned cardboard. The suit's airtight seal prevented complete air loss, but it did nothing to alleviate the tidal surge of pain surging through my nervous system.

A squad gathered around me. I couldn't tune into their suit radios, but I knew they were cheering the soldier on. What else would they be doing?

The soldier pressed the firing stud again. A tungsten slug tore through my belly, sending shockwaves of pain ripped through my abdomen. I could feel life leaking out of me, like He-3 from a punctured fuel tank. Unless a miracle occurred in the next twenty seconds, there was no way I was getting out of this alive.

This was the end; after foiling him for twenty years, the Reaper had finally caught me. I didn't care; the Conglomerate was defeated. That was good enough for me.

The soldier aimed his mag pistol at my head...