Dull humming of the dropship engines help to keep my mind clear. Clear of the heavy artillery fire bursting outside the hull of our metal can. Clear of the bombs booming below, scorching the unseen sand. Clear of the anticipation for the upcoming firefight. Nothing exists, not even myself, or the rifle in my hands. Only my targets, currently a quarter mile away.
"Drop in twenty!" I hear the intercom scramble out.
My eyes snap open, hidden behind my polarized visor, scanning the compartments inhabitants. Two assault-troopers sit across from me, Privates, next to them is a lone Jugg, a Gunnery Sergeant. To my left a single shotgunner fiddles with his weapon, one of the few Captains that remained.
I already decided against getting to know their names, 'cause at our present odds, they'd all be dead before nightfall.
It was a miracle we even had a military, let alone ranks. I shift the nearly hundred-and-fifty year-old rifle in my hands, deftly caressing the wooden stock. Even our weapons (What few we had), are a gift. Not from god though. No, whatever god there is, they have no care for us anymore.
Most of our gear is pieced together with odds and ends to create Frankenstein-esque monstrosities, like our armor. Or stolen, like our dropship.
A lot of soldiers died to get the damn thing.
A deep sigh escapes my lips. That's how it works, after all. We are just bodies to be thrown, toward any skirmish that the bigwigs in New Petra decide to start. I grimace at the thought of that wretched city, reeking with crime and corruption. There is no generosity, no honesty, no loyalty whatsoever... no kindness. Period.
The ninety-eight degree ghillie suit conceals my shaking. Here I am, a nearly seven-foot tall shrub, armed with enough firepower to decimate a small tank, with complete indifference to the countless lives that I have taken - and would undoubtedly be taking soon - trembling with rage and disgust over the so called "democracy", that I myself serve.
"Drop in five!"
Shaking my thoughts away, I decide to give my gear a quick once-over. Rotating and flexing my arms and legs to test the joints of my exosuit, I'm satisfied by the fluid motion. Checking my HUD, I flick my eyes over the controls, nodding slightly at the response. Lastly, my guns and pouches.
My rifle, a 1939 Mosin Nagant, chambered for the rare 7.62x54R ammunition, as well as my old S&W .500 revolver with extended barrel, the modified picatinny rail holding a flashlight. Both are in near pristine condition. I also carry two 16 oz. steel water jugs, five ration bars, three pouches of explosive ammo for my rifle as well as two more full of 'Bouncing Bethels'. These clever little fuckers were specially designed to ricochet off walls, but still penetrate flesh. Not too hard, considering most walls are made of either steel or concrete nowadays. In my other pouches I have ten extra five-shot speedloaders for my pistol, four concussion grenades and four frags, four signal flares, and my 18 in. kukri on my left shoulder.
Glancing at the other soldiers through the helmets tinted visor, I press my left arm to my side firmly, relieved by the feel of my Ruger 22/45 in its shoulder holster. I can't help but smile ever so slightly at the thought of the tiny caliber pistol, considered to be a target gun, yet no less lethal. It's an emergency sidearm, but with no small hint of sentiment, complete with original wooden grips, hidden under my armor due to the fact that it isn't standard issue.
"Ready to drop!" I glance at the speaker before switching on my jump-pack and walking to the opening ramp.
The Captain steps up beside me, switching on his pack as well, forced to shout over the sound of the wind. "You up, Kaine?"
I give a sharp nod, barely causing my helmet to dip. Luckily he catches the gesture and returns it with his own. "Ready to jump on my mark!"
The other soldiers line up in front of me, the Jugg closest to the opening. I run through the plan in my head quickly in anticipation; The assault class soldiers would be dropped directly into the center of the clusterfuck, whereas I would be dropping right outside the town limits.
"Drop! Drop! Drop!" In quick succession, the three troopers march off the ramp into the air, followed quickly by the shotgunner. I'm not expected to follow, but he gives a final glance behind as his foot leaves the steel floor.
Breathing deep, I wait and counted down the seconds, before stepping off into space myself.
******************************************8**********************************8*********************************
Sometime Earlier...
When I look back, I can easily see how everything devolved from "Charlie Foxtrot", to totally and utter shit-storm. But at the time, I was completely baffled, I thought I had followed the plan perfectly.
I landed just on the outskirts of a town, one that was not by any means small. Dropping my self to a crouch, lowering my self to a mere three-foot high crouch. Sweeping the barrel of my rifle in the same direction as my eyes, I made quick observations, and was disturbed by what I witnessed. Buildings were burned and crumbling, cars were nothing more than twisted, blackened steel skeletons. Grooves and craters were carved into the pavement, painted black with soot and shining with brass. But no bodies.
"Shit!" I cursed silently, ducking into a crater beside an upturned SUV. "Fucking Golems." My mouth went dry at the memory of stories I'd heard about the resurrected soldiers.
Insurrectionists had developed a curious method of expanding their numbers a few years back. By using 'unconventional' science, and a fair amount of robotics, they searched for a way to resurrect deceased matter and program it to kill, to help tip the balance of warfare. Long story short, they found it... and it worked. Drawing a deep breath I peaked over the car, relieved by the lack of movement.
Slinging my rifle over my shoulder, I drew my pistol and edged around the car. Checking again for any movement, I crept down the street, crouching behind cars and makeshift barriers at every opportunity. It went on like this for nearly half an hour, without even a sound whispered through the streets.
My COM didn't even so much as crackle the entire time. So try to picture, if you can, my surprise when I quite literally stumbled upon a helmet after rounding a burned-out truck. A heavy assault helmet, with a cracked and bleeding visor. Letting out a strangled yelp, I fell back on my ass, dragging myself behind the car trying to gain distance from the mangled thing. So surprised was I, that I almost missed the shattered shotgun, with the trigger finger still in the trigger well.
Steeling myself, I checked my surroundings before creeping out, and took hold of the bloody helmet. The first thing I noticed, was that it was way too heavy. The second thing, was the fountain of thickening blood that drained out when I held it upright. Resisting the urge to vomit, I turned the thing in my hands, and immediately dropped it.
Just flush with the lip of the visor, was the raggedly torn stump of a neck.
"Fuck!"
Immediately my hands shot to cover the mouthpiece of my mask, but it was too late. The sudden exclamation echoed through the empty streets, before fading to silence. I waited. And I listened. Snarls and roars began to rise from the surrounding streets, and I only had a moment to check my pistol before the attacking horde came into view.
Decaying monstrosities by the hundreds slowly charged from all sides, some as little as 150 meters away. All roads were blocked, and I didn't even have a fool's dream of shooting my way out. I searched around for any possible way of escape. There was a dumpster next to a building that I could undoubtedly scale, but then I'd be trapped on a roof. There was a semi intact car, but it would only be a matter of seconds before the Golems ripped through that. Finally my eyes settled on a manhole cover.
There were no second thoughts as I wrenched the steel lid open and dropped in, closing the cover behind me. Flipping on my flashlight, I sped through the sewers. Thankfully my helmet's ventilator system filtered out most of the smell. I realized though that the farther I ran, the darker it became, almost to the point that the flashlight's beam proved inadequate. I stopped for a moment and turned to glance at the tunnel wall, and was confused by what I saw.
There, barely visible in the darkness was an image, or rather, a group of images on the wall. At the top were two shapes, a stylized sun, and a crescent moon with a dark blue splotch behind it. Just below those was a circle comprised of six shapes, a pink six-point star, a red lightning bolt, an orange apple, a pink butterfly, a purple diamond, and a blue balloon. Six corresponding lines of the same colors stretched from the odd shapes and met at the center, turning into a multi-color swirl.
Momentarily, forgetting my current predicament, I almost considered lighting up a flare for better lighting, but was stopped by the sudden roars echoing in the area from which I came. Turning, I started to sprint in the opposite direction, but let out a muffled yell as my feet splashed down into water. Within a moment, I was dragged down into the torrential current, pulled by an unseen force. The last thing I remember, was my vision flashing white, and the scent of apples.
***********************************8****************************************8**********************************
My head is buzzing painfully, and my limbs refuse to move. I shake my head lightly and open my eyes, instantly closing them with a hiss, having been blinded by the bright sunlight. I take moment to readjust before reopening them, slowly this time. It takes a moment for me to comprehend my surroundings, but I realize that I'm in an orchard.
... An apple orchard....
If my geography proves correct, there shouldn't be any apple orchards in this part of Saudi Arabia. Needless to say, I'm starting to panic. Shaking my head I rise to my feet, breathing deep to keep my head clear. It's then that I hear the sounds, close sounds, screams and gunfire. Without a second's thought, I run toward the sounds of battle. My feet fail to miss a beat as I unsling my rifle and charge the bolt, loading a round into the chamber. Smoke is starting to rise above the trees, and as I jump onto a dirt road I see the cause.
An old frontier-style farmhouse is in flames, the intense heat barely sealed out by my suit. But that isn't my primary focus; Strangely Technicolor miniature horse are running into the orchard fields to my right, whereas to my left, backs turned to me, five men are firing bolt-action rifles into the trees, followed by one of the unluckier horses dropping limply to the ground.
Dropping to a crouch, I pull up my rifle and aim down the open sights toward the nearest man. I don't know them, and I don't care. They burned a house, probably killed the owners, and are slaughtering animals needlessly. That's Insurgent behavior.
BANG. The HEI round tears off the man's left arm in a bloody shower. As his comrades try to process the shock of their partner's brutal death, I slam the bolt back and forward, loading a second round. The four heads only begin to turn toward me, one man raising his rifle when my bullet removes everything above his jawbone. Rather quickly the remaining insurgents shake away their shock and fire back, forcing me to dodge left onto the open road. Gritting my teeth, I duck into a roll and fire into the group blindly, an ungodly scream confirming a hit.
The last two split in opposite directions, so picking the one on the left I fire and watch as his leg is removed at the knee. Irritatingly enough, neither his wound nor the crash into the earth dissuades him from sweeping his rifle in my direction and firing a shot, clipping my left shoulder. My armor absorbs the impact well enough, before I snap my rifle forward and fire directly into his eye socket.
This distracted me however as I notice a movement from the corner of my visor. Spinning to see the second insurgent rushing me, I pull the trigger again, only for the bolt to click empty. I attempt to reach for a new stripper-clip, but too late as the man stabs at me with a bayonet that I had not noticed before. Swinging my left arm in a wide arc, I am once again grateful for my armor as my wrist catches the blade and knocks it off course, dropping my rifle I draw my kukri with my right hand and in one swift motion decapitate my attacker.
