Tethers: Brainstorm

War Zone City of Brussel, Apollo, 4th Month of Year 24

For a brief moment, I felt warm flesh pressed against my gloved knuckles, then a sickening groan and a cool breeze on my moist glove as I wrenched the knife out of the gut of a Bedlam officer. He was twice my height. Now he was gutted and dead on the ground. My heads-up display sensed movement on my six, so I turned, and, with a low kick, sent a tiny scrub warrior to the ground, my heavy boot compressing its stupid little chest. I put a bullet in its forehead. More movement at three and eleven o'clock; I somersaulted forward and rolled sideways, barely managing to come out in a crouch. I was dizzy and my muscles felt like gelatin, but I could make out the advancing forms of two more scrubs--I threw my knife as hard as I could at one, then I charged the other and impaled it on my bayonet.

I yanked my bloodied gun out of the oozing corpse and retrieved my knife, giving the area a brief survey as I placed the blade back in its gauntlet socket. I was shaking as I snapped a new magazine into my rifle, the--literally--dead silence surrounding me feeling more like a fleece blanket than a morbid ambiance. I clicked on my comlink.

"Sigma Two-Three checking in," I said. Calmly. Somehow, our number designations were our go-to names during battles like these.

"Somebody sounds smooth," Flare replied immediately. "For being in a hot zone, I mean."

"What hot zone?" I asked. "I killed them all."

"Bravo!" Flare said. His voice sounded jarbled as if he was running. "Wish I could say the same!"

"Cut the chatter," Storm said tersely.

Two seconds later, Tide said at a whisper: "Storm's proud of you. Really. He's being his usual compassionate self."

"Three-Seven," Storm chided, though gently. But when he used number designations for his own sister, we knew Squad Leader was still all business.

I could tell Tide was joking her brother, but I took it as a compliment. If anyone could translate Storm's brief sentiments, it was his sister. From her position on some nearby high skyscraper, I couldn't help but think that her whispers were like the voice of a guardian angel. Just as I was beginning to move on, my heads-up display's alarm went insane, and I was so startled that I barely had a moment to realize that another Bedlam officer had caught up with his buddy--then a distant shot in the silence, slightly delayed, sent the giant creature crumpling to the ground. I swallowed. "Thanks, Tide."

"I'm bored," she replied casually. She meant: "You're welcome."

She's saved my life more times than I can count. I only wish I could say the same.

"Shit! Son of a-- " Flare's transmission cut off. He must have forgotten his channel was open. Still, it made my stomach tighten; something was going wrong.

"Two-Three, rendezvous at the given coordinates. Now," Storm said through his teeth. Immediately a red dot appeared on my heads-up display, and a tiny arrow pointed me in the right direction. I was to travel directly over a pile of debris and pass two skyscrapers that appeared to have bites taken out of them like monolithic celery, then meet Storm on a street several blocks away. I started to run, my short marathon accompanied by the thunderous applause of Cross-X artillery fire to the west.

"Right," Storm said tersely as his introduction. I had barely stopped running and I was panting as he spoke. "Flare's under heavy fire. Tide's moving to cover him, and there's a VG Heavy Arms squadron en route to clear the area. We're both done here, so we're moving in too." As Storm finished, he finished loading his assault rifle and looked up at me. His eyes widened for a brief moment. "Goddamn, Puck."

I looked down at myself and gaped. I was covered in Bedlam blood and other such nonsense. "Uh..."

"Nice," Storm smirked. Only... it was sort of happy. Almost like a smile. My cheeks started to flush. Great, now I feel like a pre-teen girl! Well, who kills aliens. Lots of aliens.

"All right. We're off."

Having it in mind to run the whole way, both Storm and I were pleasantly surprised to come across an abandoned jeep. What made the discovery even better was, though battered, the jeep was still fully functional. Storm ordered me to take the wheel (which I was all too thrilled to do), and he took a seat beside me, looking uncharacteristically relaxed. I leaned around in the seat, started the engine, and I surveyed the dials and gauges. Low on gas, the check engine light was on... oh, and the passenger side door was missing. But otherwise it was fine. I gunned it, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Storm flinch, startled by the jarring jeep.

I just grinned and wheeled around a pile of rubble. Grey concrete was in crumbled piles and cracked walls--it was pretty damn easy to see that the poorly camouflaged green- and blue-skinned aliens were about ready to blow the brains out of the roaring jeep. The "brains" being Storm and I, of course. Out of the corner of my eye, I suddenly realized that the passenger seat beside me was empty - then, as if to answer the question I was about to ask myself, the jeep's gun turret went off with an obvious rhythmic reply as to why Storm had vacated his seat.

I gunned it even harder. Nobody was going to stand between us and Flare, and certainly not while we had a set of wheels.

Whatever Bedlam didn't get mauled by the jeep's jagged tires were mowed down by Storm's expert gunning, and soon we found ourselves utterly surrounded by a forest of buildings. The battlefield was immediately different, and suddenly there were no sides to the battle--friend or foe could be anywhere and remain undetected by stories and stories of concrete. Loud mechanical noises filled our ears and then a roaring engine was above us as a mobile suit unit touched down on the city block right next to us. I braked and threw the jeep in reverse to meet it. Overhead, more mobile suits passed over us, moving in the direction of where Flare and other Cross-X forces had been pinned down.

"Kilo Five-Four to Sigma Oh-Five," said the pilot with great effort. It sounded as though a clawed hand had clenched over his throat. I gazed up at the mobile suit, its humanoid robotic body painted purple and yellow and scratched with various battle wounds, but looking as healthy as ever, unlike the pilot inside. The suit's reflective "eyes" were flashing intermittently, its tiny cameras and sensors taking in the surroundings and undoubtedly picking up signals from others of the Kilo unit.

"Sigma Oh-Five responding," Storm said quickly, then immediately asked: "Are you hurt?"

I was taken aback by the pilot's alleged state until I saw that the mobile suit's "torso" had been bashed in and dented, practically undetectable with the dark purple paint. I squinted, wondering what could have dished out that sort of punishment without the result of explosion damage.

"Yeah," the pilot croaked. The mobile suit started shaking slightly as gears were unable to thrust open the cockpit. Storm and I were speechless, helpless - then the pilot must have found an emergency release, because the cockpit doors popped open.

And out came the pilot, who was not holding onto the proper lowering gear. He fell and hit the concrete with a sickening "crunch." Storm and I leapt from the jeep and sprinted to his aid. There was very little external trauma, but I didn't need to be the squad's medic to know that the fall hadn't done the pilot any service. Upon further inspection, it was apparent that the pilot had stopped breathing. No pulse.

Storm watched helplessly as I tried my hardest to perform CPR to revive the pilot (and then what?--no extraction here). Storm fidgeting as he stood and tried to stay still so I could concentrate. No luck.

I didn't have to tell Storm the obvious. I simply grabbed the ID tags from the pilot's belt and put them in a compartment on my own belt, the loss of precious life such an instant and inevitable thing in this world that it was as routine as brushing our teeth. My gut still felt it, though--the loss, that is. The pain. I stood up and looked at Storm, awaiting orders, deadpan.

He nodded, presumably out of approval, the subtly noticeable length of the nod differentiating the compliment from an acknowledgment. It meant I'd done a good job. I tried my hardest. "Get in the mobile suit, Puck. Let's get Flare out of there."

I wanted to ask where Storm would go from there, but I knew it would be to rescue Flare. It seemed unfair that I would be immersed in an armored suit, though the dead pilot was proof that even a mobile suit wasn't safe in this battle. "Yes, sir!"

The lift cable had lowered when the emergency hatch had opened. I stepped into the loop and held onto the cable, giving the corded wire several tugs until it began to lift. I situated myself awkwardly in the pilot's seat. The hatch closed with audible effort from the marred gears. I grimaced. The space under my thigh in between armor plates could feel the warmth left by the suit's old pilot.

I keyed up the mobile suit's systems and grabbed the controls.

"Everything look all right?" Storm asked.

"It's shiny, sir."

I gunned the engines and the mobile suit rose into the air. Everything sounded good, but as the suit's torso swiveled, I could hear some strange grinding noises that made me a little worried. The pull of gravity on my gut, however, made me quickly forget.

"I'll meet you there," Storm said, the roar of the jeep's engine in the background.

I was looking through two sets of heads-up displays, now, and it was beginning to overload my senses. I took in the flashing icons and images and gauges all at once, my brain processing the information that flowed into it like a tumultuous storm. It made me mildly dizzy. With a click of my back molars, I turned off my helmet's busy display, and I looked at the cockpit's screens alone as I had been taught in training.

I engaged in the Kilo squadron's channel and quickly introduced myself. "Kilo Squad Lead, this is Sigma Two-Three."

"Kilo One-Oh copying, Sigma Two-Three," a distracted woman answered.

"I've taken over the MS Unit of Four-Five and I'm moving to the RV location right now."

"Roger," Kilo One-Oh said, sounding somewhat exasperated. "Where did--" She seemed to hesitate, then said instead: "See you at the RV."

I maneuvered the mobile suit over the cityscape, watching all of the sensor screens diligently. Small Bedlam forces were moving across city blocks, and some even had the nerve to direct fire at me. What a waste. On top of the tough alloy armor, the suit had an energy shield, and really the only threat to its integrity besides anti-aircraft rounds was a mobile suit of the same (or better) caliber. So I deduced that they had no semblance of anti-aircraft guns, and ignored them. With a press of the foot pedals, I engaged the drives to get to the RV point and, subsequently, Flare.

I was dreading about the low chance of Flare's survival when the proximity alarm began to blare, and suddenly I found my own life in jeopardy. The view screen showed another mobile suit, one not of humanoid design, and therefore Bedlam. The mobile suit was grotesque in design to human standards, its "head" piece long and snout-like, arm attachments long, bulky, and ending in sharp, crab-like claws that were ostensible grappling apparatuses. Its variously-sized cannons were mounted on its shoulders and forearms, and I didn't quite have the observational skills to take in much else.

My heart rate spiked, knuckles whitening as my hands clamped tightly to the controls. I had never really fought against another mobile suit before.

Tethers: The Catacombs

Tethers: The Catacombs

A quick author's note: I'm reposting this chapter after making some minor changes to it, mostly pertaining to the change in uniform for the squad, as well as some other edits. This is what I plan to make the first 'chapter' of my Tethers compilation.

"Can you hear them?"

I made sure my com was off before I heaved a sigh, trying uselessly to ignore my squad mate's question. I squeezed my eyes shut, making the darkness around me disappear under my eyelids. Yes, I could hear them--feel them, too. The resounding "boom" was felt in the pit of my stomach, the enemy's artillery fire above us both destroying our comrades and our resolve. Well, mine, at least. I could only hope that the others weren't as nervous as I was.

Movement, the sound of armor and under lays rustling, roused me and I watched a dark figure rise. I didn't need to shroud the tunnel in my helmet's spotlight to know it was Storm, the biggest of us by far. He was only two years older than me, but he seemed much more mature, both in his size and marble demeanor, cold and unbreakable.

"We'd better get moving, then. It's time," he said in response to Flare's question, which came somewhere from up the tunnel. Storm had the grizzled voice of a soldier, though he'd only seen as much combat as the rest of us, which was hardly a boastful sum. "I'll lead. Puck, you cover my six."

I nodded, then, realizing he couldn't see me, said, "Yessir." He began to move and I followed, hefting my sniper rifle on my shoulder. Taking up the rear was never a glamorous job, but it was a task I could easily do. I have a tendency to freeze up when I'm surprised, unlike Storm, who reacts with guns blazing.

At length, Storm stopped. I shuffled to a halt behind him. He was holding up a fist, which meant his special motion sensors picked up unfriendly contacts ahead. I swallowed as he pointed to the adjacent tunnel to our right, then his finger pointed up the tunnel. I had to play sniper.

Wishing Tide was with us as I positioned myself using the corner as cover from enemy fire, I readied my sniper rifle to wait for the oncoming onslaught.

It came faster than I anticipated. I thrust the butt of the rifle under my arm, nearly knocking myself in the jaw with the sight. They were fast--one was practically on top of Storm, limbs swinging, though Storm's assault rifle was rapidly tearing mucky holes through its chest cavity. I aimed and fired a headshot, and the beast went down in a heap. The shot resonated, and time seemed to halt as we tried to make sense of the grotesque heap of flesh at Storm's feet. There was a shriek--a roar--something that sounded foul or pained, and I had the next creature in my sights and it fell. Then I scoped for more.

It felt like hours, but it was over in less than three minutes. Storm yanked the clip of ammunition out of his rifle and slapped in a new one. I lowered my sniper, also sliding in reloads, and I could feel my hands shaking with adrenaline. Glancing up, I noticed that even Storm looked pale in the face.

"What were those things?" he whispered.

The corpse at his feet was liquefying, decaying at a tremendously fast rate. And it smelled, too, with the stench of rotting tissue. I covered my mouth and nose with a gloved hand, then I tentatively knelt down and examined it, trying to find any discernable qualities amidst the gore. Its head was absent from its neck, which I suspected was a result of the sniper slug I rather forcibly inserted into its cranium. Nearly gagging, I rose, shaking my head at Storm. "I have no idea."

Storm was busy sopping blood and what I supposed were pieces of flesh from his armored suit, using a specialized rag made just for the job. Mellites, part of the Bedlam Army, the enemy we should have encountered, were attracted by the scent of their comrades' blood from great radiuses, so it was best not to roam about bathed in it. Whether or not these things were mellites, it was best not to take any unnecessary risks. Storm nodded, no longer visibly perturbed. "We need to find the others."

We weren't allowed to use our coms in the Catacomb Tunnels, though Flare had contacted us earlier right after we split. No one could be certain of what Bedlam system monitored the air waves at any given time, making electronic communications, even verbal communications very precarious. I accessed my mental map of the Catacombs, thinking about where we started and how many turns we had made. The cavernous tunnels honey combed underground, in criss-crossing patterns like the board of a game Sarge showed me called Tic-Tac-Toe. Only the map looked as thought someone didn't draw the game board with straight lines, the tunnels curved, and many of the paths led to dead ends, creating a maze. There were two ways through it, and Storm and I were covering one, Flare and Tide on the other. Our rendezvous point was at the end – and so was my personal battle, the Bedlam reactor core control center.

Storm halted again, fist held up. We were nowhere near an intersecting tunnel, which meant no cover around corners. Storm and I dug in, preparing ourselves, unsure if this onslaught will fail to use projectile weapons like the last one, or if we would even come in contact with the same monstrosities. At that point, I wasn't sure which enemy was worse. Six or seven of the same misshapen creatures approached us, and I held up my sniper to start picking them off. Through my sight, I was able to observe them for the split second before I blew off their heads. They had insect-like, bulging, red eyes with a reptilian snout, broad shoulders with disproportionately large arms, thin, crouched legs…

"They're mellites," Storm and I breathed in unison, the last of the creatures falling, dead.

"Only three times as large," I continued as we looked at each other. Mellites were tough, little aliens only about a meter high. But these things were taller than Storm, and more than able to contend with him.

"Genetically enhanced, perhaps?" Storm speculated quietly.

"Defective is more likely. Their flesh is already rotting away." I could vaguely feel moisture through my gloves, and I was sickened to realize that they were covered in torn tissue. I immediately wondered if the flesh was infectious, but I kept that grotesque curiosity to myself. Storm hummed in thought, the deep rumble in his throat simply churning with calculated thoughts that he didn't vocalize, then we started moving once more. We didn't dare to speak more or stay in that one place for too long. The truth was, I was scared shitless. It was one thing to fight normal, living enemies, albeit with plasma pistols, but it was another to fight nauseating undead.

We reached the rendezvous point after three more similar encounters with the freak mellites, but Flare and Tide weren't there. More mellites, however, were, and they greeted us with howls and swinging, clawed arms. I knocked a few off right away, but there were a lot, many at close range and hard to target for headshots. Enveloped in my sight, I didn't realize one was coming at my side, and I took a blow to the back. The shield breach alarm was trilling in my ears as I tried to move, but it felt like the hit had turned my insides into a bloody sauce.

"Puck!" Storm yelled. "Get up! Goddamn it, get up!"

I couldn't, so I rolled away, onto my back. The creature's fist smashed the ground and cracked the surface where I had been moments before. My sniper, which my frozen fingers gripped for dear life, hadn't been dropped, but I couldn't get an angle when I tried lifting the rifle. Then a shot cut through my fear, the creature's head, and it fell. Before I could react more than realizing it was Tide's doing, I was hefted to my feet.

"Tide'll cover you," Flare said after steadying me, surprisingly calm as his shotgun tore through a mellite-zombie. "Get to the core."

I nodded, though I wasn't sure if I could even move. Then, all doubt left my mind as I painfully ducked another swing of a mellite, narrowly dodging. I crawled away, heard a grunt and the thud of a boot connecting with flesh, then a shotgun shell detonation. Once on my feet, I was running somewhat sluggishly, tuning out the booms of combat that rattled my being. Half stumbling up to a computer operating console, my fingers danced shakily across the touch screen.

I wondered if they could hear us, too.