First Contact - Chapter 973: The Shadows of Twilight

THEN

Getting out of the taxi, Bit.nek walked down to the company area, the bag with his dress blacks over his shoulder, holding the hanger top by the front of his shoulder. Dress uniform inspection for the whole battalion, with the BCO and the BSMG in attendance wasn’t exactly something he would have picked out to do prior to moving out. Apparently with all the gear loaded up the day before they needed something to fill out the morning before they would be loading into the troop ships.

He walked through the quad, seeing everyone standing around in groups. A few people stared at him as he slouched by in his ACU, his boots dull and non-reflective, his hat tugged down to hide his eyes. They were all wearing their dress blacks, the officers with their sashes.

Bit.nek just ignored the stares. He was sober, not even hung over. He’d only drank a couple beers the night before then got a solid six hours of sleep before he’d woken up, then gone back to sleep for four more hours. Then he’d gone to the cleaners and picked up his uniform, the day bright and sunny, a warm breeze feeling good on his face.

He felt pretty good.

When he got into the company area he looked around, spotting the male bathroom and the unisex bathroom. He figured he’d change in there after putting his gong rack on the uniform and all the other stuff the Confederacy had hung on him.

Usually while he was still drunk or badly hung over.

New unit.

He wanted to try something new.

In the Ready Room, a lot of people were gathered up, all of them checking each others uniforms to make sure the awards were spaced properly, their pin-on nametags level, the awards in the correct order on the gong rack.

Bit.nek set down the uniform and set down the floppy bag, a nylon purse-like bag, that he had all his racks and pins in.

“That’s a lot of awards, Sergeant,” he heard one of the other guys say. He looked up and saw that it was a guy from Third Platoon talking to his platoon sergeant.

His eyes went to SFC LokNartwa’s uniform.

Three rows of awards. His brain automatically categorized them.

Service ribbons, but no combat rifles in miniature pinned to them. No combat action ribbons. An Expert Infantry Badge but no wreath for Combat Expert Infantry Badge. Drop pod qualification. No wreath, no wings.

Bit.nek blinked slowly, looking around.

Expert qualification ribbons. Non-combat awards.

He looked at the right sleeve.

No patch. No combat deployment time hashmarks down by the cuff.

Not even the gold ones for six months, much less the silver ones for two years.

No stars to denote how many theaters the badge had been applied to. No wreaths for their first combat deployments.

Without thinking about it, he put his hand on the floppy-bag, as if he was protecting it.

2LT YrkNrawk went by, the Rigellian female’s sash had awards.

All of them non-combat.

He turned around, slowly looking over the gathered troops.

The CO walked through.

No patches. No wreaths. No stars. No rifles.

The hashes down by his left sleeve cuff said he’d been in sixty years and six months.

None on the right.

Bit.nek turned back and looked at the black plastic bag his dress blacks were in, with his name written in yellow paint-stick.

His right cuff had the different colored hash marks to tell everyone he’d been in combat zones for forty-two years. His right cuff only had patches to show three years six months galactic. He had the blue cords of infantry, with a warsteel badge the cord was wrapped around that the Telkan Marine Corps used.

He knew his uniform was slightly different. His bag had his Mark-2 Cutting Bar (Dress) in it, that was supposed to go on his hip. He had a standard powered armor infantry hat rather than the Army “cunt-cap” that everyone else was checking.

Hell, he even had won his spurs at one point, driving a groundcycle to do spotting and recon. Hell, he even had the “Sad Flying Squidward” badge.

He looked around again and got that feeling in the pit of his stomach. That he was about to majorly fuck up and fuck up hard.

For a second, he smelled brimstone. He could smell hot warsteel, the faint smell and taste of shamblers, hear the thudding of Atrekna servitor tanks.

He closed his eyes.

ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC floated up, ghostly letters, across his vision even though he knew it wasn’t actually there.

His hands tightened on the desk.

None of them have seen combat and they’re about to drop us on a shade world, went through his head. I’m already a member of Third Telkan Marine Division, I don’t want to add another tour stripe to that.

“Private, are you all right?” 2LT YrkNrawk asked him.

He looked up, seeing the lieutenant looking at him nervously.

“Fine,” he managed to grate out, his voice suddenly hoarse and his throat hurting. “Uh, fine, sir.”

“Stand fast,” she said, then turned and walked away.

People were staring at him and he suddenly wanted a good stiff drink.

She came back in less than five minutes with the CO.

“…was red,” the LT was saying.

The CO stopped and looked at Bit.nek for a moment.

“You’re excused from formation,” the CO said. “Tell your platoon sergeant and your squad leader that you’ve got the day off.”

The CO turned and walked away.

“I’ll walk with you,” the LT said. “Grab your stuff.”

When they got outside the company building, the LT veered over to the drink machine.

“Whacher poison?” she asked.

“Liquid hate,” he said. “Unless you got a bottle of Ol’ Smokey No somewhere handy.”

“Sorry, no,” she said. She ran the back of her hand over the pay scanner and hit the Liquid Hate button. The can dropped down and she handed it to Bit.nek.

you’ll be sorry the can squeaked out.

Bit.nek slugged down a third of the Cranberry Surprise/Three Day Old Meatloaf energy drink, closing his eyes.

“What got your back up?” she asked as they started walking again.

Bit.nek noticed that she wasn’t heading straight to the barracks, rather to walk around the big building that surrounded the quad.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Going to mental health?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing they can do for me. Not this one. None of the skull twisters have any experience with Terranitis.”

She just made a humming noise.

“Wanna go to the PX? See if they have anything good?” she asked. “Maybe pick up a six-pack of Liquid Hate Super-Cooler?”

Bit.nek thought about it for a moment. “Sure.”

“We’ll drive around a bit. Your eyes are still amber.”

“Sorry,” Bit.nek said.

She shrugged. “No blood, no foul.”

Bit.nek just nodded, feeling slightly ashamed of himself for losing control after the years of learning to meditate and control it.

Acted like a Kalki damned boot, Bit, he thought to himself.

NOW

“Don’t act like a Kalki damned boot,” Bit.nek said.

The team was linked together in a tight commo group. Low power, analog, encrypted. Crouched down by the edge of the roof.

“Before we go, is everyone running silver/red HUD and visual?” Bit.nek asked.

“Uh, why?” PV2 Trekmawlka asked.

“Yeah, why?” PFC Julneerta tossed in.

“Daxin’s swinging chrome balls, didn’t any of you listen to a word I said in the classes and briefings?” Bit.nek asked. He slapped both of them, one after another, across the back of the helmet. “Full color or greyscale is how you get a shade climbing into your armor with you.”

He paused.

“299, pass it to their greenies to switch the HUD. Let me know when it’s done,” Bit.nek said.

Fifteen seconds passed.

–ready ready ready– 299 said.

Bit.nek nodded. “Here’s the waypoints. There’s where to go if we get separated,” he said. He looked at them. “I don’t know how you’re trained, but we’re on Mission First here. That means if only one of us comes back, if we succeed in the mission, we won.”

“Uh, now this is kind of sounding like suicide,” Pvt Rennart said.

“It’s the military. Going to sick call is a suicide mission,” Bit.nek said. He looked over the street. “All right. Remember: fire your paint round, give it ten seconds, jump to it. We stay at least a hundred feet off the deck. We don’t group up, at least two windows between all of us. Don’t land or stick on macroplas or crysteel.”

He took a deep breath. “From here on out, I don’t want to hear your voice unless there’s a status change. Icon flashes only.”

He marked the spots they would land on.

“299, keep the markers ahead of us. Paint the landing points. Tell the other greenies to make sure they’re copying you and paint the landing spots,” Bit.nek said. He backed up ten meters and waved at the others to follow him.

It was a good twenty meter jump.

“Ready…” he said.

All six grenade launchers chuffed, tossing out the 40mm grenades.

“Steady…”

The grenades hit six different spots, leaving red splotches that were steaming.

“GO!”

Bit.nek took off running, in the lead, throwing himself into the air. He reflexively tucked, doing a slow roll in mid-air, letting his sensors and scanners get a good globular look around him.

He landed on the far wall. Both feet shoulder width apart, left foot higher, left hand against the wall, grav-anchor driven into the wall so that it felt like his left hip was the anchor point.

All five of the others landed around him.

“Ready…”

All five icons flashed.

The grenade launchers made thwomp noises. The grenades hit again, splattering.

Bit.nek noted that the other greenies had added RFID markers to the fast drying paint rounds. His armor’s brainbox automatically computed the angle and velocity for him.

“Steady…”

The paint stopped steaming.

“GO!”

He launched off again. Rolling in midair to get the full sensor sweep.

–gonna puke–

“Don’t.”

At the tenth jump, a third of the way on the winding course, he stopped.

“Lock your joints, hang in your armor. Suck the tits and take a few breaths,” he said. He looked around slowly. “299, bring up the drone feeds. I need to cycle through them.”

–urp ok–

Bit.nek cycled through, looking at the street.

“Dammit. We’ve got a mob moving down Route Alpha,” Bit.nek said. He bit off a curse. “Have to go with Echo, Bravo has fionna dancing in the streets.”

Darkness was gathering as the sun set.

“Everyone good?” he asked.

Icons flashed.

“Switch to Route Echo. It’ll be a few more hops, but we’ll avoid Fionna and the Big-Z Mobs,” Bit.nek said.

“Ready…”

The grenade launchers fired.

Another break and eight more jumps and Bit.nek was hanging off the building, looking down.

It was a heavy weapons drop pod. He could see that with the exception of the small arms, the lockers were intact. The iris for the creation engine was shut.

“Everyone hold,” he said. “Hang and titty sucks,” he told them. “299, fab up the area denial grenades,” he said. “Get the two drones down to fifty feet, fish-eye lens. Watch out for enemy armor, mobs, or Fionna.”

–roger roger– 299 said.

Bit.nek could read the tension and anxiety in his battle buddy even through the text.

“Once we get to phase two, I want you to play music. Nice loud music. Pick something good,” Bit.nek said.

–like classic terran pre-diaspora–

“Sounds good. Just make sure its got bass,” Bit.nek said.

Bit.nek looked at the drones, double-checking for any torpid groups. He moved one around the drop pod again.

Two men were down in armor. The drone tapped their telemetry.

Total sign sign cessation. One was intact, the other was torn apart. Even the chest was clawed open.

He could see claw/finger marks on the drop pods warsteel armor and even bite marks.

“299, what mark of warsteel does the drop pod use?” he asked.

–mark one–

“Shit. It should be Mark-V,” he said. He shook his head. “That stuff is putty to phasic energy.” He took a deep breath. “OK. Fire the area denial munitions.”

His rocket launcher ripple fired the four pack, which went off ten meters over the drop pod. The mist dropped down, heavy binary chemicals. Salt and iron oxide. When the chemicals landed and mixed, they turned into crimson paint. The steam was laden with salt and iron.

A shade shrieked and fled the drop pod, swooping across the street and into the building.

“Drop a holocage,” he ordered.

The grenade launcher fired four times, dropping a hologram emitter at four points. The slowly spun up into ten foot high walls of crimson light, visible only from the outside.

He watched for a long moment before the icon of Pvt Rennart started showing the trooper making faces of disgust and gagging.

“What’s wrong? What do you smell, shamblers?” Bit.nek asked, using the red-laser commo.

“Uh, no. I farted, now my armor reeks,” the Private said.

“Your buttplug isn’t seated right. Ten hours from now and you’ll be hock deep in shit,” Bit.nek said. “Have your greenie reseat it.”

“Uh, I didn’t enable it,” Rennart admitted.

Bit.nek just stared. “Did you at least thread the cockwire?”

“No,” Rennart said. “The FOB (Forward Operating Base) was supposed to be set up inside of four hours,” he protested.

“Does it look like we’re going to get a FOB up two hours ago? Do you think we’re going to get a FOB or an FOP (Forward Observation Post) up where you can dismount the frame in the next six hours or so?” Bit.nek asked incredulously.

A light moaning started at the edge of hearing and Bit.nek looked through the drones real quick.

“Isn’t that the goal?” Rennart asked.

“No! We’ve got to fab up heavy weapons, fire support, and dedicated mission equipment, then get in contact with Battalion or Brigade and find out whose running this fuck fuck circus,” Bit.nek snarled. “If so far has been any indication, we’ll be in our armor for at least two weeks.”

“Ew,” Pv2 Trekmawlka said, grimacing. “I hate drinking the water after eight hours or so. It’s all sweat and piss.”

The moaning got louder.

“Wait, we don’t have to run the recycler on the nutripaste?” Julneerta asked.

“Yes!”

so hungry

Bit.nek froze, looking around slowly.

so hungry

He couldn’t see anything.

“Wait, are you idiots using local commo?” he asked.

“You said we could,” SPC Vreftrek said.

“I said the magic band! Have you guys been talking to each other on squad local this whole time?” Bit.nek asked.

“Well, yeah.”

Bit.nek swore, checking the feeds again.

Just in time to see the first group of a mob turn the corner.

“Shit, move the box to hard light,” Bit.nek swore.

–roger–

The leaders all had red eyes. Two looked up at the squad.

And opened their mouths.

“GET HIGH!” Bit.nek said.

The scream was intense. His armor registered it at 135 decibels. It vibrated the surface under his hands, his armor’s hearing protection cut it out even though it was from a half block away.

He was already scrambling up the wall.

The leaders exploded into a run.

It was like a damn breaking as dozens, scores, hundreds, thousands of shamblers came around the corner, roaring, howling, screaming. The ones that hit cars were slammed against them by the ones following, which were crushed by those following.

The sheer weight of bodies, the power of undead Terran muscle, began pushing the cars down the street with the scream of metal on ferrocrete asphalt.

Howlers kept screaming, the air around them rippling with the force and volume of the screams.

His armor registered some of the screams at 175.

180.

There was a group of howlers together, and Bit.nek could see the air rippling as the force of the screams pushed the air in front of it and created a slight vacuum behind it. His armor rated it as 205 decibels.

“SHUT OFF THE EXTERNAL MIKES!” he yelled to 299.

Concrete fractured around them. Macroplas shattered. The light pole above them began thrumming as the waves made it wave back and forth harder and harder.

–r0g3r===00– 299 sent back.

The sound cut out.

“Kill their commo. All of it. Whisker laser only,” Bit.nek said. He stopped fifty stories up, stared at the two groups of howlers still wailing.

The shamblers on either side of them were pulped, or had their flesh stripped away on the side of the body closest. Those nearest had dropped, flesh rent and their brains burst by the sheer force of the screams.

“EAT SHIT!” Bit.nek yelled, firing four HEDPWP grenades. They arced out, two exploded on the solid air preceding the screams but still spread Willy Pete. The other two hit.

Both groups of howlers vanished in a welter of blood and liquified tissue.

He kept moving, getting them on the move.

He had to admit, he was annoyed.

The damn deaders homed in on quark commo, just like the Atrekna and the Dwellers.

He saw the others flash their icons once they had gone more than ten jumps.

He ignored it, pushing forward.

They needed to get tough.

And he was pissed.

Thirty jumps, and hour of movement, and he kept jumping, not caring if they didn’t follow.

He fantasized about beating them with a hot iron chain.

Finally, they stopped.

Ten stories up in the framework of a building that was under construction.

He opened up the magic band low power commo.

“You fucking idiots,” he snarled.

“Hey!” one said.

“You pulled a huge mob on us. Another ten minutes and the sprinters would have started running into the building. The slow ones would have begun piling up on the building. I’ve seen them stack bodies six hundred feet high to get up to the top,” Bit.nek snapped. “I’ve seen sprinters hit the inside wall so hard they blew through two feet of reinforced ferrocrete to tackle the guy on the other side.”

He paused, feeling his hands shake.

“And you retards called them down on us by using the same commo system I told you to disable!” Bit.nek yelled.

“Holy shit, his eyes,” Julneerta said.

“Enraged Phillip stab my eyes. Pay attention!” Bit.nek snapped. He pointed out at the city. “Those are Terrans out there. They overcame their primal instincts to become the most deadly thing in the known universe. I’ve seen one wearing only a towel to cover his dick tank a point blank Atrekna mind blast to rip the Atrekna’s arm off at the shoulder with his bare hands.”

He pointed again. “And you idiots called a mob down on us! With Vat Grown Luke cursed howlers in it!”

There was silence.

He waited a second, taking deep breaths.

“You fuck up like that again, and I will shoot you in the fucking face,” he said. “When I tell you something, you do it.”

“Hey, I’m the same rank as…” Julneerta started.

“My date of rank is three years ago,” he snapped.

“Mine is…”

“I’ve got nearly fifty years in service,” Bit.nek snarled. “I’ve spent more time in direct combat than you idiots have spent in the chow line. I tanked a Warfather damned Atrekna phasic kicker atomic in a jockstrap.”

He shook his head.

“Actually, I won’t have to shoot you in the head,” he said softly. He pointed at the city. “If you don’t listen, they will kill you. If you’re lucky, some shades will pull your soul out, rip it into chunks, and eat it. If you’re unlucky, the shamblers will claw you out of your armor, dismember you, and eat you while you’re still alive and screaming. There are millions of deaders in that city. Millions!”

He turned back and looked at the construction yard.

“Back on mission, radio silence unless I open your channel or the situation changes,” he snapped.

He looked over the yard, switching to night vision and making slow pans.

Where was it. He’d seen it on the drone.

Come on, where was it.

He saw the drone hovering in the air at ten meters up.

Bit.nek smiled.

There.

“PV2 Trekmawlka, post,” he said.

The Rigellian female moved over next to him.

“You can joy ride a grav lifter, right?” he asked.

She nodded tightly.

“Can you hotwire one?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“I can. I can hotwire anything, and if I can’t, 299 can,” Bit.nek said. “Everyone get over here.”

They all shuffled up.

He pointed at the grav-lifter toward the wooden fence that surrounded the city block where the skyraker was being built. He carated it and passed it to the others so they could see it.

“We’re stealing that.”

The grav-lifter with the winch on the front of the flatbed, flanked by toolboxes, and the grav-pods on the sideboards sat in the dirt.