This particular fic will be a little different from my other offerings, though set in the same universe they are about a very high-tech mercenary hired by Pendleton in order to neutralized the Communist tech advantage. I have put them under the Allan Whitcomb stories because he is mentioned in parts, even though he shares the headline in this story.
I should also tell you that parts of this story is a collusion with another writer MJ12 or MJ12-Commando.
Prologue
Chapter I - Preperations
Chapter II - Last Night in Pendleton
Chapter III - Adventure in the Starway
Chapter IV - Khatloons Conquest
Chapter V – Dost Khans Wedding
Chapter VI – New Arrivals
Chapter VII – The Battle is Joined
Chapter VIII – Another Point of View
Chapter IX – Curtain Call
And that concludes Operation Golden Serpent.
Operation Golden Serpent
Moderator: LadyTevar
Operation Golden Serpent
Last edited by Norseman on 2006-07-23 05:49am, edited 12 times in total.
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Operation Golden Serpent - Prologue
Janurary 1, 1006
0545 hours, military time
Pendleton
If anyone had been looking through the window, the strange sight of a man seemingly talking to himself would have greeted them. The man was out of place, a single sculpture representing endless refinement of artificial muscle, bone, and cybernetic enhancement surrounded by an ocean of magic and industrial-age technology. In this new age, there were so many ways to create the ultimate soldier, and he was one of the expressions. The mages here would probably, by some people's reckonings, be another.
"So... this was your genius idea. No electricity, no datalinks, nothing for me to tap into when I'm bored with your conversation, not that you're very good at it." The man fiddled with the suit of combat armor he wore, color shifting from jet black to a pixelated urban combat camo pattern the suit advised him was optimal for the situation at hand and back again. He looked on the desk, opening the simple steel suitcase, removing the components of the weapon and starting to reassemble it. The weapon, too, was just as advanced as the soldier and his invisible friend.
"...you did ask me to get a job. They're hiring mercenaries, and aren't we close enough for the bill? Of course, your exalted presence keeps reminding me about how much your existence cost..." Even through this conversation, the man's hands moved calmly, linking scope, launcher, and rifle components back onto the disassembled device.
"Charles, Charles. I wouldn't tell you that if it wasn't true. And in this case, it is. Polymorphic self-repairing armor, adaptive shield systems, integrated variable threat weapons systems, and of course stealth, self-repair of internal components and also adaptability. It's the perfect suit for someone who doesn't know what he's about to get into. Like you."
"What? I know what mages are like. Fought with and against them a few times. And they die just like normal people, too, when you manage to catch them completely unawares."
"Whatever the case is, I have a bad feeling about this."
"Dominion, you're the voice of pessimism that I count on to have bad feelings about everything."
03 Janurary 1006
0920 Military Time
Pendleton
Patterson brought up the scanned map on his HUD, his powersuit using landmarks that they passed to create a very rough impromptu navigation system. It wasn't satellite coordinate positioning, or anything resembling accurate precision location fixing, but it worked well enough if you weren't trying to guide bombs to a building. He ignored the passers-by staring at the complete wrongness of a roughly humanoid obsidian figure, moving at what looked like a fast jog but was really for the cyborg and the suit just a fairly slow pace.
The setting did put both the suit and the man on edge. They didn't blend in, at all.
"What is it with people and their fascination for fortifications? You'd think that people would embrace mobile fast-response war."
"That paradigm requires things they don't have right now, Dom. And I don't know if Clarke's law works the other way. Quite a few physical laws don't."
"True, but you'd think they'd at least prepare for it."
"What can you do? They're not that high up in the tech scale. Lots of magic from what I've heard, but training mages takes a lot of time. And anyways, if they were prepared for it completely, we'd be out looking for another job to pay the bills."
"Well, I'll give you that much at least."
"There we are. The headquarters of the BOSS guys."
"Nice. It has the look of age to it. Age and also something else. It looks like a not-so-secret headquarters of a not-so-secret intelligence agency."
"Well, thank your obviousness subroutine."
03 Jan 1006
Pendleton
1145 military time
Introductions were quick, brief, and polite, although Patterson still hadn't adjusted to local customs very well, and tea wasn't exactly his preferred beverage, but it was hardly worse than stagnant water, or various other liquids one ingested because they had no other choice.
They just wanted proof he was capable of actually doing what he said. Hence two tests. One for stealth, one for combat prowess. The stealth one he put off till later. The combat one... it didn't sound that hard.
Something like that put every alarm in Dominon's neural net and Patterson's brain screeching. Whenever cakewalk exams were given, there was invaribly the unmentioned ambush. The drab buildings of the replica enemy encampment were clear in his view, and so were about a squad of 'guards'. Summoned creatures, most likely, looking like malformed humans with no sense of symmetry. Even with their limps and strange gaits, they could move, though. And the massive arms and hands told him that it might not be smart to get close.
"Range one hundred meters. Wind is negligible... why am I even telling you this information when you can read and our weapon doesn't care?" Dominion groused, directly to the aural nerves of the other.
"Old habit from sniping," Patterson replied.
"All systems at peak functionality. Switching to combat form."
The stealthy humanoid shape of the power armor shifted in color and shape. A quartet of bladed fins expanded to full activity, and the multipurpose skin hardened, trading stealth for pure combat ability. He could probably try his stealth systems for this. He also didn't want to give anything away in the off chance they had surveillance. The camo pattern disappeared, replaced with flat off-white.
The four mock sentries noticed, but they weren't all that good at aiming their ranged weapons (which looked to be clones of some kind of assault rifle-he'd seen designs almost identical.) They were charging him, which further reduced accuracy, and he had an advantage in that he had a built-in targeting assistance system plus better training.
The brief azure flash of the MICW's directed energy component illuminated the scene briefly as he fired in short bursts, even using a recoilless energy weapon. Old habits died hard. The last one got in a bit too close and the hypersonic whip-crack of a shotgun fan of razor-blades also contributed as the creature was quite literally torn to tatters from the multiple hypersharp stingers.
"That was fun for a warmup."
"You do realize that the rest of them are going to be in urban combat?"
"Oh? I can do urban combat."
"Yes, yes, I know, but it's still something you'd have to keep in mind. They might have crap for aim and wouldn't hurt you that much anyways, but they're probably going to be dangerous in close quarters."
"I'll keep that in mind."
He holstered the MICW, pulling out the two bulky black pistols he had nicknamed. They were important enough in his arsenal, being far more manuverable in close quarters.
Close quarters were his forte, and the creatures were more dangerous. Not enough to overcome the advantages of superior training and ability, plus one extremely good suit of powered infantry armor.
Several got close enough to score hits with massive powerful fists or with primitive axes or knives. Shallow gashes attested to the test, but none of them were remotely close to critical damage.
"You know, that last one would have gone through if you were in stealth mode."
"I know that, and that's why I'm not using stealth mode. This place is so confining and lacking in alternate routes stealth is useless anyways."
"What? No convenient ventilation shafts to crawl through?"
"Not all sneaking entails ventilation shafts. And I don't even know where that meme came from."
Save for a few almost-but-not-quite close calls, that test was uneventful. Combat was something he did well enough, and the test was designed against people of lower caliber in mind, not someone with training catering to the exact situation. The majority of mercenaries, after all, weren't teched up, jacked up, and armored up with advanced equipment.
Janurary 7, 1006
2145 hours, military time
Pendleton
"The test time is in three hours." Dominion reminded him. Patterson was busy hunched over maps of the library, studying potential entry methods and probable patrol routes. The suit helmet has folded into a makeshift collar around his head, and the bluish veinlike patterning running down his neck was also a giveaway for augmentation. But he rarely snuck around in plain sight, preferring to rely on the shadows and his own ability.
"And I'm already trying to fight off the pre-combat jitters. This isn't a good sign."
"I told you dealing with mages wasn't ever a good idea."
"It might not be, but our stealth ability isn't exactly posted for all to see. There isn't anyone telling them exact cloak duration, visibility reduction indices, protection values, agility. We're a wild card. And we can play on that. They know we can sneak around, but I chance that they don't quite know how good we are at it."
"Always assume..."
"The enemy knows everything about you. I realize that. And I'm planning for that case."
"In any case, what's PAL doing? You didn't let him off the ship yet, and something with the attention span of a precocious ten-year-old and more good cheer than should be legal isn't going to be well-behaved if he's cooped up on a stealth cruiser for days."
"I'm letting him explore around as soon as we get a job and steady employment. Plus a permanent room and some entertainment. I don't want any complaints because he accidentally broke some kind of valuable artifact, or accidentally released an evil demon, or something of that nature."
"At least that's reasonably smart, can't say much else for your actions on this job."
"I'm smart enough to know that I'm good at blowing shit up and too dumb to take up a trade where I get shot at less. What can I say?"
"And my neural net here thought it was because you liked blowing shit up."
"That's a overly shallow stereotype! I don't just blow random property up, keeping property values low, I also contribute to population control by shooting enemy soldiers or killing them with various bladed weapons."
"A good samaritan you are. Now, onto the mission at hand. We're going in at night, into a library. Just need to steal one book and get out undetected or un-caught. Technology is at a lowish level, flashlights will probably be the most capable electronics equipment. No NVGs, thermals, ether viewing, ultrasound-we're not dealing with the detection modes we're used to defeating, so we'll have to play this different. Oh, and no killing. Mages are a problem, and Pendleton has some very nasty ones, but ethervision systems should be able to pick them out. In theory. If we don't... well, it's better to find out now than later." the sentient powersuit noted. "I'd recommend you switch all your variable mode weapons to stun or something nonlethal, lest you accidentally mulch a guard."
"I've got control. I won't be accidentally or on-purpose breaking people's heads."
"Good. We don't want to piss off potential employers if we don't have to. Now loadouts... what are you taking?"
"Standard stealth. 35 mil launcher. As for ammo for the thirty-five, Less-Than-Lethals of various sorts-adhesive electrostun projectiles, riot control 'rubber bullets', airfoil projectiles, nonlethal toxin grenades, nonlethal toxin laced miniflechettes, the works. Multipistols set to maximum area, minimal power. I recall they'd cause massive pain, but no real permanent damage. Mostly a major full-body sunburn. I'm not taking extra powercells, don't need them. Standard combat vibroknife in case there's something I need to cut through. Lockpicking gear. A scan of this map, extrapolated in 3D. And of course, all your vision modes, enhancements, internal systems, and my own cyborg enhancements."
"Sounds good enough for a stealth mission. Did you bring them all, though?"
"Yes, I'm not going to be begging them for sticky shockers."
Pendleton City
Pendleton
8 January 1006
00:15
It's just a library, how hard could it be?
Those words echoed through Pattersons mind as he made it up onto the roof of the library, there was a very convenient skylight here through which he could make an entrance. The city itself was surprisingly dark, certainly it had electrical streetlights, but come night there were shadows and dark dangerous places. The roofs were covered in dark soot, and he noticed that he did make some marks in the soot as he made his way across it, but it was doubtful that anyone would notice before the morning.
Kneeling down at the skylight he examined it carefully, the advanced sensors in his helmet looking for any ether signatures or other anomalies. After a few moments a smile crossed his lips a simple electrical alarm if you opened the skylight directly a circuit was broken and... It was almost embarrassingly simple to bypass it, but still worth noticing.
<< Be careful the floors may be rigged as well >> Dominion reminded him as they lowered themselves onto the floor.
"Yeah, yeah," Patterson muttered into the helmet, the library was the typical slightly musty place, with row upon row of bookcases stuffed with leather bound volumes. Cheap carpets on the floor though, scanning them he noticed that there were places where electrical wires ran under the floors step on those boards and... why do I have this feeling this isn't a normal library?
<< Nightingale floors, electrical conduits, lots of good things for you to step into >>
"Maybe I should go into agility mode and stick to the ceiling," Patterson mused, at that very moment a pair of bright orbs floated beneath him, they didn't seem to notice him but looked very out of place.
<< Sure go climbing around like a monkey while the mages send magic spy orbs around the library, excellent idea >>
"I guess this really isn't a normal library."
<< Not a normal library? You mean they'd test us by sending us into something harder to rob than Thornythistle Branch Library? >>
Patterson ignored Dominion, the suit was acting rather more sarcastic than ordinary, but he did notice that there seemed to be two orbs floating around in a pattern of sorts, and it was probably best to avoid them. He stuck in the ceiling for a few minutes more, timing the passing of the orbs, then he switched into agility mode and scampered over the ceiling at an amazing clip. Then he stopped and turned on stealth again, just in time to watch the orbs pass beneath him again.
"Not so bad for a monkey?"
He moved forward like that in sudden bursts until he drew near to the grand reading hall, it was your typical two level reading hall: A foot walk went around the second level, and dozens of desks down at the floor of the first level. The bookcases were so high that you needed little ladders with wheels to reach the upper levels. There was a lot of dark wood, thick carpets, and of course thick drapes covering the large gothic windows, the room was very quiet, indeed it seemed designed to absorb sounds.
Here he spotted more of the orbs, and some of them seemed to move in a random pattern. He waited for ten, fifteen minutes, but he couldn't discern any pattern to those two orbs.
"Any suggestions?"
<< Yes now would be a good time to use those probes >>
Patterson waited for the random orbs to make another pass, they were annoying in part because he didn't know what exactly they were, for all he knew they could be just a light show to deter burglars but somehow he doubted that. He released a couple of probes, small insect like devices the feed from them was abysmal but it was more than adequate to spot the bright orbs.
The probes took a few minutes to position themselves, at one time he took a deep breath as one of them was almost caught flying around when suddenly the orbs made a quick random reversal. Then he waited, the other orbs were easily mapped, so all he had to do was wait for the random ones to be so far away that they couldn't make it back before he was done moving.
Right above the lectern where the book in question was stored, or not right above it but close enough, there was a chandelier and he could spot a very sturdy hook holding it up. It was a little too convenient though, but after studying it he decided that it would keep his weight, and there didn't seem to be any alarms attached. The chandelier itself was probably security enough, it was one of those insanely ornate affairs with crystal and silver enough to keep a mid-sized witches coven happy for over a year, in short touch it and it would make a lot of tingling noises.
He didn't give up though, instead he studied the rest of the room, if he could find a second attachment he could lower himself down without touching the chandelier. That second attachment point wasn't hard to find, the heavy drapes required a sturdy curtain pole, and between that and the hook. It took him a moment to attach connection points to both using a very thing monofilament wire strong enough to carry his weight, but practically invisible to the eye. Then he lowered himself down, upside down in fact, to get a closer look at the lectern.
What the... "I can't believe this."
<< They were a bit clever >>
"Right a pressure pad that the whole lectern is on, weight sensitive of course, and an electrical circuit breaker behind the book so if it's removed the circuit is broken..."
<< Getting sloppy, book is in a glass case >>
Patterson was about to ask why that mattered when he noticed something, the book seemed to have a greenish tinge, "Ether..." the sensors showed it too but only faintly.
<< Etheric gas, if opened the gas is released and... >>
He yanked the pulley, dragging himself back up just in time to dodge the return of the glowing orbs. He had to fix all three things quickly, and without leaving any obvious marks, in case he had to pause halfway through.
Now he had to wait, the orbs were moving around in their annoying pattern, but he had to wait until both the random orbs and the regular ones were out of the way. The moment that happened he dipped down at high speed, almost all the way to the floor, then he jammed a piece of metal into the mechanism of the pressure pad freezing it into place.
The circuit behind the lectern was a bit harder to deal with, but a bit of quick work with a piece of wire fixed that soon enough. Then with great aplomb he grabbed the whole glass case, carefully carrying it with him as he was lifted back up.
<< Bit less violent than your usual fare >>
"Yeah, don't feel like a real mission..."
He sighed, then he slid along side the monofilament cable till he reached the curtain pole, speed was key now! The top of the window, or part of it, could be opened to let the air in on a warm day, and he forced that open now. Only problem was that it wouldn't open enough to let him out, precious seconds went by while he struggled, finally he just sighed and applied pressure, the cast iron gave in with a bit of a groan, but before he found out if anyone had noticed he had flung himself outside and scurried up the side of the building.
The moment he reached the roof he found himself nose to nose with... a woman, a somewhat attractive woman in a dress, though he didn't know it the dress was pretty, a little old fashioned, but tailor made. The woman smiled, "I'm most impressed Mr..." his fist ran for her face, hard and fast enough to knock her out but nothing more, unfortunately his hand passed through her as if she wasn't even there.
"I must say," came a voice behind him, and there floating serenely in the air was the woman, "One is not supposed to hit a Lady!"
"The hell..." Patterson said, she had vanished without any of the etheric emissions that he would expect from a mage.
"No one has actually gotten this far," she continued, then suddenly she vanished again just in time to dodge a rather high powered stun rounds.
"How do I deal with that?" he asked internally to the suit.
<< I think the words run, hell and fast are appropriate >>
"You ARE aware that the test ends after you leave the library?" the womans voice came again.
"Bull, test ends when this is handed over to the head of BOSS!" Patterson said as he leapt up in the air and began to scramble away, he ran directly into her looking very cross.
"Present," she said.
<< I think she means that she IS the head of BOSS >>
"Fine I'll give you the book," Patterson said, he smiled "Catch!" he yelled as he threw the book at her very hard.
The glass book case cracked as it hit her chest "EEEEP!" she yelped as she fell of the side of the roof.
"So do I pass?" he shouted.
"Mr Patterson that was ... rude, ungentlemanly, and I'm of half a mind to turn you into a newt!" she said as she appeared again, looking a bit frazzled.
"Well?"
"Yes you pass!"
Pendleton City, Pendleton
Janurary 8th, 1006 NE
0205 hours military time
It was early, but covert operations didn't work very well in daylight. It wasn't exactly a culture which was conducive to daylight chats and tea with the people you were trying to squeeze information out of-that was another type of agent's mission. Patterson was the agent you never saw, not the agent you never suspected.
"Sorry about that. Combat reflexes."
And you weren't supposed to do that, I suppose. You're lucky she didn't fail you out of spite the suit responded.
Combat reflexes, Dominion. What part of reflexes does your genius-level mind not get?
The reason you left them on at that point?
Heat of the moment, plus because mages give me the willies.
And here I thought you were controlled enough not to forget that.
You'd have been shitting your pants if you had any pants to shit in, too.
I feel very fortunate that your body functions aren't as involuntary as that of a normal human now, for some reason.
With a soft hiss, the helmet split like something living, the material briefly turning flexible. The pieces of the helmet folded back from his head and face, collapsing into a parody of a scarf around the cyborg's neck. Patterson let his eyes adjust briefly to the light, shunting from external optics to his own eyes, light amplification systems going online, computer image enhancement deactivating. He felt the air upon his face again-a sensation different from that in the suit, as its tactile sensors had been designed for combat work more than everyday use-as his nervous system switched back to taking data from his own body than from the suit, at least for that body part. "Well, since you're apparently the head of my now-current employers, perhaps you can tell me what you wanted mercenaries for? I presume it's not stealing books out of your own libraries."
"Well I think maybe we should find a more relaxed place to talk, roof tops are cold, dirty, and not necessarily entirely safe," with this she motions to the sky light, "I've turned of the scrying orbs, and," holding up the book she mutters something, the glass seals properly before the whole thing simply vanishes, "My office is available there."
"Not entirely safe because of odd people with dangerous skills and evil ideas? Such as stalkers with military training, perhaps?" Patterson remarked, smiling. "In any case, let us go."
"Excellent," the woman said impishly. "Oh yes, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Lady Angelica de Vincour, head librarian at the National Library," she continued after seeing his disbelief, "It's true Mr Patterson, it says so on a nice brass plaque on my door."
Down into the library they went. Patterson noted the conspicuous lack of glowing sentry orbs, and the lights had been turned back on. Amazingly quickly. The office was in the back, and there was actually a plaque reading "Lady Vincour - Comtesse de Vincour". The office was quite florid for his tastes, which, admittedly, had atrophied given his normal job as either special forces or mercenary-for-hire.
"Want any refreshments?" Lady Vincour asked.
"Thanks for the offer, but I'm good to go for another six or seven hours or so. Head librarian and leader of a covert operations agency? I've seen wierder day jobs, but not by much. In any case, your job offer. What do you want me to do?"
"We need you to go to Azhistan, lovely place if you ignore the natives, the weather, and the Communists, we have something of an altercation with the Communists but lately it has developed in ways not entirely to our advantage you see," Lady Vincour began.
"The prevalence of heavy weaponry and communists? I suppose among your other talents, you also have one for understatement," Patterson noted.
"Well quite, it's not as bad as it could be since we still control the countryside. The Communists seem curiously unaware that this is where the bulk of the population live, but they have the cities and the roads... what we require is someone like you to help us knock out some strategic locations and personnel, something that should be well within your abilities. The people on the ground there can give you a better explanation, but there are at the very least certain pupper rulers, a group of Communist ... ah we call them the Tin Men, they are some sort of machines, robots you call them I think, who are trying to kill our noble ally Dost Khan. Finally of course there are certain Communist officers and supply dumps that should be handled. However as I say the precise details will be handled by the men on the ground."
"Tin men. I have some theories on what they are, but I'll let Dom explain. Just tell me what they can do and what they look like. Dom's listening in through my feeds." Patterson replied. Another voice rasped out from the suit itself, sounding suitably demonic and inhuman for the first syllables, then shifting into a fascimile of a normal human voice, androgynous in its tenor, "I'm here, milady. Give me the data, and I'll give you a best guess from what I know. And I daresay it's a lot more than the gun nut wearing me knows."
"Robots completely impervious to our SMLE rounds, or as far as we could tell anyway, before you ask I am quite certain that our men hit their intended targets. They were also immune to bayonet charges I fear. It took one of our 3.75 inch cannon and some trickery to blow one of them up. They managed to destroy the bulk of our forces still in the town, but failed to grab Dost Khans family, our Mage Hunters and Commandoes prevented that. However during the flight these robots pursued our men, and survived being burried by a sandstorm, quite implacable moving at five miles an hour no matter what. I should add that they had powerful beam weapons capable of burning a man to crisp," she studied Patterson carefully, "They are mortal though."
"The recommended response against killer robots is running away, I recall." Dominion replied cheekily. "Okay, immune to small caliber rifles, bladed weapons, and heavy energy weapons. Movement speed low, apparently no mentions of advanced agility. I've got some references to assassin bots being built that way, although I don't see the purpose. Weapons are probably forerunners of the Modular Individual Energy Weapon's Directed Energy component, minus, apparently, kinetic energy launcher and modular systems." The suit noted. "And if that's too much technobabble, you go translate, Charlie."
"What he's saying," the soldier translated, "is that they're probably early infiltration designs. Most likely not designed specifically to go against an actual military force head-to-head, unless they're at a lower technology level. They've got beam weapons like the MICW," Patterson held up the sleek black rifle to the light, for better examination, and released a few catches. The lower part slid off easily, and Lady Vincour could see that it would suffice as a carbine if quarters became too tight. "Except for, obviously, miniaturization and modular systems. This thing's fully modular. I could turn it into a long range sniper weapon, or a shotgun for close quarters, or as you saw on the rooftop, it right now mounts a thirty-five millimeter launcher. Loaded with nonlethal projectiles now, but I can stick a clip of lethal ammunition in." The soldier removed the bullpup-configuration clip on the back of the launcher, and she could clearly see marked on it, in gray lettering, "AMMUNITION, 35MM, RING AIRFOIL, LTL."
""Well all the easier for you to destroy them then, they are quite the nuisance you see, though..." she pauses for a moment, "Of course if you're willing to take the job I will introduce you to some gentlemen who have been there, and who can give you a more in-depth briefing before we open up the gateway to Azhistan.""
"If I wasted my time taking entrance exams and didn't take the job, I'd be incapable of paying my bills. Who are these people, where can I meet them, and how soon can you arrange for transport to Azhisthan? I also want reports of the culture, the people, technology, enemies, and maps. That, and do you have a few others? Four or five bright men or women, don't mind either. They have to be flexible, adapatble, and combat trained." Patterson noted. "You see, I may need more firepower, and although I bring a lot to the table, there are spare weapons I can't use with only two arms in Darklight, some spare light body armor and, of course, communications equipment. You might have radios, but I'll probably be saying the truth when I say that I've got some comm headsets that aren't quite up to Dominion's standards, but are probably better than what you have."
"Don't worry, all of that, as well as detailed After Action Reports will be made available, and I should think we can find some suitable men to accompany you..." a smile crossed her lips, "The Republic does not, however, think that the fair and frail female sex is capable of military operations."
0545 hours, military time
Pendleton
If anyone had been looking through the window, the strange sight of a man seemingly talking to himself would have greeted them. The man was out of place, a single sculpture representing endless refinement of artificial muscle, bone, and cybernetic enhancement surrounded by an ocean of magic and industrial-age technology. In this new age, there were so many ways to create the ultimate soldier, and he was one of the expressions. The mages here would probably, by some people's reckonings, be another.
"So... this was your genius idea. No electricity, no datalinks, nothing for me to tap into when I'm bored with your conversation, not that you're very good at it." The man fiddled with the suit of combat armor he wore, color shifting from jet black to a pixelated urban combat camo pattern the suit advised him was optimal for the situation at hand and back again. He looked on the desk, opening the simple steel suitcase, removing the components of the weapon and starting to reassemble it. The weapon, too, was just as advanced as the soldier and his invisible friend.
"...you did ask me to get a job. They're hiring mercenaries, and aren't we close enough for the bill? Of course, your exalted presence keeps reminding me about how much your existence cost..." Even through this conversation, the man's hands moved calmly, linking scope, launcher, and rifle components back onto the disassembled device.
"Charles, Charles. I wouldn't tell you that if it wasn't true. And in this case, it is. Polymorphic self-repairing armor, adaptive shield systems, integrated variable threat weapons systems, and of course stealth, self-repair of internal components and also adaptability. It's the perfect suit for someone who doesn't know what he's about to get into. Like you."
"What? I know what mages are like. Fought with and against them a few times. And they die just like normal people, too, when you manage to catch them completely unawares."
"Whatever the case is, I have a bad feeling about this."
"Dominion, you're the voice of pessimism that I count on to have bad feelings about everything."
03 Janurary 1006
0920 Military Time
Pendleton
Patterson brought up the scanned map on his HUD, his powersuit using landmarks that they passed to create a very rough impromptu navigation system. It wasn't satellite coordinate positioning, or anything resembling accurate precision location fixing, but it worked well enough if you weren't trying to guide bombs to a building. He ignored the passers-by staring at the complete wrongness of a roughly humanoid obsidian figure, moving at what looked like a fast jog but was really for the cyborg and the suit just a fairly slow pace.
The setting did put both the suit and the man on edge. They didn't blend in, at all.
"What is it with people and their fascination for fortifications? You'd think that people would embrace mobile fast-response war."
"That paradigm requires things they don't have right now, Dom. And I don't know if Clarke's law works the other way. Quite a few physical laws don't."
"True, but you'd think they'd at least prepare for it."
"What can you do? They're not that high up in the tech scale. Lots of magic from what I've heard, but training mages takes a lot of time. And anyways, if they were prepared for it completely, we'd be out looking for another job to pay the bills."
"Well, I'll give you that much at least."
"There we are. The headquarters of the BOSS guys."
"Nice. It has the look of age to it. Age and also something else. It looks like a not-so-secret headquarters of a not-so-secret intelligence agency."
"Well, thank your obviousness subroutine."
03 Jan 1006
Pendleton
1145 military time
Introductions were quick, brief, and polite, although Patterson still hadn't adjusted to local customs very well, and tea wasn't exactly his preferred beverage, but it was hardly worse than stagnant water, or various other liquids one ingested because they had no other choice.
They just wanted proof he was capable of actually doing what he said. Hence two tests. One for stealth, one for combat prowess. The stealth one he put off till later. The combat one... it didn't sound that hard.
Something like that put every alarm in Dominon's neural net and Patterson's brain screeching. Whenever cakewalk exams were given, there was invaribly the unmentioned ambush. The drab buildings of the replica enemy encampment were clear in his view, and so were about a squad of 'guards'. Summoned creatures, most likely, looking like malformed humans with no sense of symmetry. Even with their limps and strange gaits, they could move, though. And the massive arms and hands told him that it might not be smart to get close.
"Range one hundred meters. Wind is negligible... why am I even telling you this information when you can read and our weapon doesn't care?" Dominion groused, directly to the aural nerves of the other.
"Old habit from sniping," Patterson replied.
"All systems at peak functionality. Switching to combat form."
The stealthy humanoid shape of the power armor shifted in color and shape. A quartet of bladed fins expanded to full activity, and the multipurpose skin hardened, trading stealth for pure combat ability. He could probably try his stealth systems for this. He also didn't want to give anything away in the off chance they had surveillance. The camo pattern disappeared, replaced with flat off-white.
The four mock sentries noticed, but they weren't all that good at aiming their ranged weapons (which looked to be clones of some kind of assault rifle-he'd seen designs almost identical.) They were charging him, which further reduced accuracy, and he had an advantage in that he had a built-in targeting assistance system plus better training.
The brief azure flash of the MICW's directed energy component illuminated the scene briefly as he fired in short bursts, even using a recoilless energy weapon. Old habits died hard. The last one got in a bit too close and the hypersonic whip-crack of a shotgun fan of razor-blades also contributed as the creature was quite literally torn to tatters from the multiple hypersharp stingers.
"That was fun for a warmup."
"You do realize that the rest of them are going to be in urban combat?"
"Oh? I can do urban combat."
"Yes, yes, I know, but it's still something you'd have to keep in mind. They might have crap for aim and wouldn't hurt you that much anyways, but they're probably going to be dangerous in close quarters."
"I'll keep that in mind."
He holstered the MICW, pulling out the two bulky black pistols he had nicknamed. They were important enough in his arsenal, being far more manuverable in close quarters.
Close quarters were his forte, and the creatures were more dangerous. Not enough to overcome the advantages of superior training and ability, plus one extremely good suit of powered infantry armor.
Several got close enough to score hits with massive powerful fists or with primitive axes or knives. Shallow gashes attested to the test, but none of them were remotely close to critical damage.
"You know, that last one would have gone through if you were in stealth mode."
"I know that, and that's why I'm not using stealth mode. This place is so confining and lacking in alternate routes stealth is useless anyways."
"What? No convenient ventilation shafts to crawl through?"
"Not all sneaking entails ventilation shafts. And I don't even know where that meme came from."
Save for a few almost-but-not-quite close calls, that test was uneventful. Combat was something he did well enough, and the test was designed against people of lower caliber in mind, not someone with training catering to the exact situation. The majority of mercenaries, after all, weren't teched up, jacked up, and armored up with advanced equipment.
Janurary 7, 1006
2145 hours, military time
Pendleton
"The test time is in three hours." Dominion reminded him. Patterson was busy hunched over maps of the library, studying potential entry methods and probable patrol routes. The suit helmet has folded into a makeshift collar around his head, and the bluish veinlike patterning running down his neck was also a giveaway for augmentation. But he rarely snuck around in plain sight, preferring to rely on the shadows and his own ability.
"And I'm already trying to fight off the pre-combat jitters. This isn't a good sign."
"I told you dealing with mages wasn't ever a good idea."
"It might not be, but our stealth ability isn't exactly posted for all to see. There isn't anyone telling them exact cloak duration, visibility reduction indices, protection values, agility. We're a wild card. And we can play on that. They know we can sneak around, but I chance that they don't quite know how good we are at it."
"Always assume..."
"The enemy knows everything about you. I realize that. And I'm planning for that case."
"In any case, what's PAL doing? You didn't let him off the ship yet, and something with the attention span of a precocious ten-year-old and more good cheer than should be legal isn't going to be well-behaved if he's cooped up on a stealth cruiser for days."
"I'm letting him explore around as soon as we get a job and steady employment. Plus a permanent room and some entertainment. I don't want any complaints because he accidentally broke some kind of valuable artifact, or accidentally released an evil demon, or something of that nature."
"At least that's reasonably smart, can't say much else for your actions on this job."
"I'm smart enough to know that I'm good at blowing shit up and too dumb to take up a trade where I get shot at less. What can I say?"
"And my neural net here thought it was because you liked blowing shit up."
"That's a overly shallow stereotype! I don't just blow random property up, keeping property values low, I also contribute to population control by shooting enemy soldiers or killing them with various bladed weapons."
"A good samaritan you are. Now, onto the mission at hand. We're going in at night, into a library. Just need to steal one book and get out undetected or un-caught. Technology is at a lowish level, flashlights will probably be the most capable electronics equipment. No NVGs, thermals, ether viewing, ultrasound-we're not dealing with the detection modes we're used to defeating, so we'll have to play this different. Oh, and no killing. Mages are a problem, and Pendleton has some very nasty ones, but ethervision systems should be able to pick them out. In theory. If we don't... well, it's better to find out now than later." the sentient powersuit noted. "I'd recommend you switch all your variable mode weapons to stun or something nonlethal, lest you accidentally mulch a guard."
"I've got control. I won't be accidentally or on-purpose breaking people's heads."
"Good. We don't want to piss off potential employers if we don't have to. Now loadouts... what are you taking?"
"Standard stealth. 35 mil launcher. As for ammo for the thirty-five, Less-Than-Lethals of various sorts-adhesive electrostun projectiles, riot control 'rubber bullets', airfoil projectiles, nonlethal toxin grenades, nonlethal toxin laced miniflechettes, the works. Multipistols set to maximum area, minimal power. I recall they'd cause massive pain, but no real permanent damage. Mostly a major full-body sunburn. I'm not taking extra powercells, don't need them. Standard combat vibroknife in case there's something I need to cut through. Lockpicking gear. A scan of this map, extrapolated in 3D. And of course, all your vision modes, enhancements, internal systems, and my own cyborg enhancements."
"Sounds good enough for a stealth mission. Did you bring them all, though?"
"Yes, I'm not going to be begging them for sticky shockers."
Pendleton City
Pendleton
8 January 1006
00:15
It's just a library, how hard could it be?
Those words echoed through Pattersons mind as he made it up onto the roof of the library, there was a very convenient skylight here through which he could make an entrance. The city itself was surprisingly dark, certainly it had electrical streetlights, but come night there were shadows and dark dangerous places. The roofs were covered in dark soot, and he noticed that he did make some marks in the soot as he made his way across it, but it was doubtful that anyone would notice before the morning.
Kneeling down at the skylight he examined it carefully, the advanced sensors in his helmet looking for any ether signatures or other anomalies. After a few moments a smile crossed his lips a simple electrical alarm if you opened the skylight directly a circuit was broken and... It was almost embarrassingly simple to bypass it, but still worth noticing.
<< Be careful the floors may be rigged as well >> Dominion reminded him as they lowered themselves onto the floor.
"Yeah, yeah," Patterson muttered into the helmet, the library was the typical slightly musty place, with row upon row of bookcases stuffed with leather bound volumes. Cheap carpets on the floor though, scanning them he noticed that there were places where electrical wires ran under the floors step on those boards and... why do I have this feeling this isn't a normal library?
<< Nightingale floors, electrical conduits, lots of good things for you to step into >>
"Maybe I should go into agility mode and stick to the ceiling," Patterson mused, at that very moment a pair of bright orbs floated beneath him, they didn't seem to notice him but looked very out of place.
<< Sure go climbing around like a monkey while the mages send magic spy orbs around the library, excellent idea >>
"I guess this really isn't a normal library."
<< Not a normal library? You mean they'd test us by sending us into something harder to rob than Thornythistle Branch Library? >>
Patterson ignored Dominion, the suit was acting rather more sarcastic than ordinary, but he did notice that there seemed to be two orbs floating around in a pattern of sorts, and it was probably best to avoid them. He stuck in the ceiling for a few minutes more, timing the passing of the orbs, then he switched into agility mode and scampered over the ceiling at an amazing clip. Then he stopped and turned on stealth again, just in time to watch the orbs pass beneath him again.
"Not so bad for a monkey?"
He moved forward like that in sudden bursts until he drew near to the grand reading hall, it was your typical two level reading hall: A foot walk went around the second level, and dozens of desks down at the floor of the first level. The bookcases were so high that you needed little ladders with wheels to reach the upper levels. There was a lot of dark wood, thick carpets, and of course thick drapes covering the large gothic windows, the room was very quiet, indeed it seemed designed to absorb sounds.
Here he spotted more of the orbs, and some of them seemed to move in a random pattern. He waited for ten, fifteen minutes, but he couldn't discern any pattern to those two orbs.
"Any suggestions?"
<< Yes now would be a good time to use those probes >>
Patterson waited for the random orbs to make another pass, they were annoying in part because he didn't know what exactly they were, for all he knew they could be just a light show to deter burglars but somehow he doubted that. He released a couple of probes, small insect like devices the feed from them was abysmal but it was more than adequate to spot the bright orbs.
The probes took a few minutes to position themselves, at one time he took a deep breath as one of them was almost caught flying around when suddenly the orbs made a quick random reversal. Then he waited, the other orbs were easily mapped, so all he had to do was wait for the random ones to be so far away that they couldn't make it back before he was done moving.
Right above the lectern where the book in question was stored, or not right above it but close enough, there was a chandelier and he could spot a very sturdy hook holding it up. It was a little too convenient though, but after studying it he decided that it would keep his weight, and there didn't seem to be any alarms attached. The chandelier itself was probably security enough, it was one of those insanely ornate affairs with crystal and silver enough to keep a mid-sized witches coven happy for over a year, in short touch it and it would make a lot of tingling noises.
He didn't give up though, instead he studied the rest of the room, if he could find a second attachment he could lower himself down without touching the chandelier. That second attachment point wasn't hard to find, the heavy drapes required a sturdy curtain pole, and between that and the hook. It took him a moment to attach connection points to both using a very thing monofilament wire strong enough to carry his weight, but practically invisible to the eye. Then he lowered himself down, upside down in fact, to get a closer look at the lectern.
What the... "I can't believe this."
<< They were a bit clever >>
"Right a pressure pad that the whole lectern is on, weight sensitive of course, and an electrical circuit breaker behind the book so if it's removed the circuit is broken..."
<< Getting sloppy, book is in a glass case >>
Patterson was about to ask why that mattered when he noticed something, the book seemed to have a greenish tinge, "Ether..." the sensors showed it too but only faintly.
<< Etheric gas, if opened the gas is released and... >>
He yanked the pulley, dragging himself back up just in time to dodge the return of the glowing orbs. He had to fix all three things quickly, and without leaving any obvious marks, in case he had to pause halfway through.
Now he had to wait, the orbs were moving around in their annoying pattern, but he had to wait until both the random orbs and the regular ones were out of the way. The moment that happened he dipped down at high speed, almost all the way to the floor, then he jammed a piece of metal into the mechanism of the pressure pad freezing it into place.
The circuit behind the lectern was a bit harder to deal with, but a bit of quick work with a piece of wire fixed that soon enough. Then with great aplomb he grabbed the whole glass case, carefully carrying it with him as he was lifted back up.
<< Bit less violent than your usual fare >>
"Yeah, don't feel like a real mission..."
He sighed, then he slid along side the monofilament cable till he reached the curtain pole, speed was key now! The top of the window, or part of it, could be opened to let the air in on a warm day, and he forced that open now. Only problem was that it wouldn't open enough to let him out, precious seconds went by while he struggled, finally he just sighed and applied pressure, the cast iron gave in with a bit of a groan, but before he found out if anyone had noticed he had flung himself outside and scurried up the side of the building.
The moment he reached the roof he found himself nose to nose with... a woman, a somewhat attractive woman in a dress, though he didn't know it the dress was pretty, a little old fashioned, but tailor made. The woman smiled, "I'm most impressed Mr..." his fist ran for her face, hard and fast enough to knock her out but nothing more, unfortunately his hand passed through her as if she wasn't even there.
"I must say," came a voice behind him, and there floating serenely in the air was the woman, "One is not supposed to hit a Lady!"
"The hell..." Patterson said, she had vanished without any of the etheric emissions that he would expect from a mage.
"No one has actually gotten this far," she continued, then suddenly she vanished again just in time to dodge a rather high powered stun rounds.
"How do I deal with that?" he asked internally to the suit.
<< I think the words run, hell and fast are appropriate >>
"You ARE aware that the test ends after you leave the library?" the womans voice came again.
"Bull, test ends when this is handed over to the head of BOSS!" Patterson said as he leapt up in the air and began to scramble away, he ran directly into her looking very cross.
"Present," she said.
<< I think she means that she IS the head of BOSS >>
"Fine I'll give you the book," Patterson said, he smiled "Catch!" he yelled as he threw the book at her very hard.
The glass book case cracked as it hit her chest "EEEEP!" she yelped as she fell of the side of the roof.
"So do I pass?" he shouted.
"Mr Patterson that was ... rude, ungentlemanly, and I'm of half a mind to turn you into a newt!" she said as she appeared again, looking a bit frazzled.
"Well?"
"Yes you pass!"
Pendleton City, Pendleton
Janurary 8th, 1006 NE
0205 hours military time
It was early, but covert operations didn't work very well in daylight. It wasn't exactly a culture which was conducive to daylight chats and tea with the people you were trying to squeeze information out of-that was another type of agent's mission. Patterson was the agent you never saw, not the agent you never suspected.
"Sorry about that. Combat reflexes."
And you weren't supposed to do that, I suppose. You're lucky she didn't fail you out of spite the suit responded.
Combat reflexes, Dominion. What part of reflexes does your genius-level mind not get?
The reason you left them on at that point?
Heat of the moment, plus because mages give me the willies.
And here I thought you were controlled enough not to forget that.
You'd have been shitting your pants if you had any pants to shit in, too.
I feel very fortunate that your body functions aren't as involuntary as that of a normal human now, for some reason.
With a soft hiss, the helmet split like something living, the material briefly turning flexible. The pieces of the helmet folded back from his head and face, collapsing into a parody of a scarf around the cyborg's neck. Patterson let his eyes adjust briefly to the light, shunting from external optics to his own eyes, light amplification systems going online, computer image enhancement deactivating. He felt the air upon his face again-a sensation different from that in the suit, as its tactile sensors had been designed for combat work more than everyday use-as his nervous system switched back to taking data from his own body than from the suit, at least for that body part. "Well, since you're apparently the head of my now-current employers, perhaps you can tell me what you wanted mercenaries for? I presume it's not stealing books out of your own libraries."
"Well I think maybe we should find a more relaxed place to talk, roof tops are cold, dirty, and not necessarily entirely safe," with this she motions to the sky light, "I've turned of the scrying orbs, and," holding up the book she mutters something, the glass seals properly before the whole thing simply vanishes, "My office is available there."
"Not entirely safe because of odd people with dangerous skills and evil ideas? Such as stalkers with military training, perhaps?" Patterson remarked, smiling. "In any case, let us go."
"Excellent," the woman said impishly. "Oh yes, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Lady Angelica de Vincour, head librarian at the National Library," she continued after seeing his disbelief, "It's true Mr Patterson, it says so on a nice brass plaque on my door."
Down into the library they went. Patterson noted the conspicuous lack of glowing sentry orbs, and the lights had been turned back on. Amazingly quickly. The office was in the back, and there was actually a plaque reading "Lady Vincour - Comtesse de Vincour". The office was quite florid for his tastes, which, admittedly, had atrophied given his normal job as either special forces or mercenary-for-hire.
"Want any refreshments?" Lady Vincour asked.
"Thanks for the offer, but I'm good to go for another six or seven hours or so. Head librarian and leader of a covert operations agency? I've seen wierder day jobs, but not by much. In any case, your job offer. What do you want me to do?"
"We need you to go to Azhistan, lovely place if you ignore the natives, the weather, and the Communists, we have something of an altercation with the Communists but lately it has developed in ways not entirely to our advantage you see," Lady Vincour began.
"The prevalence of heavy weaponry and communists? I suppose among your other talents, you also have one for understatement," Patterson noted.
"Well quite, it's not as bad as it could be since we still control the countryside. The Communists seem curiously unaware that this is where the bulk of the population live, but they have the cities and the roads... what we require is someone like you to help us knock out some strategic locations and personnel, something that should be well within your abilities. The people on the ground there can give you a better explanation, but there are at the very least certain pupper rulers, a group of Communist ... ah we call them the Tin Men, they are some sort of machines, robots you call them I think, who are trying to kill our noble ally Dost Khan. Finally of course there are certain Communist officers and supply dumps that should be handled. However as I say the precise details will be handled by the men on the ground."
"Tin men. I have some theories on what they are, but I'll let Dom explain. Just tell me what they can do and what they look like. Dom's listening in through my feeds." Patterson replied. Another voice rasped out from the suit itself, sounding suitably demonic and inhuman for the first syllables, then shifting into a fascimile of a normal human voice, androgynous in its tenor, "I'm here, milady. Give me the data, and I'll give you a best guess from what I know. And I daresay it's a lot more than the gun nut wearing me knows."
"Robots completely impervious to our SMLE rounds, or as far as we could tell anyway, before you ask I am quite certain that our men hit their intended targets. They were also immune to bayonet charges I fear. It took one of our 3.75 inch cannon and some trickery to blow one of them up. They managed to destroy the bulk of our forces still in the town, but failed to grab Dost Khans family, our Mage Hunters and Commandoes prevented that. However during the flight these robots pursued our men, and survived being burried by a sandstorm, quite implacable moving at five miles an hour no matter what. I should add that they had powerful beam weapons capable of burning a man to crisp," she studied Patterson carefully, "They are mortal though."
"The recommended response against killer robots is running away, I recall." Dominion replied cheekily. "Okay, immune to small caliber rifles, bladed weapons, and heavy energy weapons. Movement speed low, apparently no mentions of advanced agility. I've got some references to assassin bots being built that way, although I don't see the purpose. Weapons are probably forerunners of the Modular Individual Energy Weapon's Directed Energy component, minus, apparently, kinetic energy launcher and modular systems." The suit noted. "And if that's too much technobabble, you go translate, Charlie."
"What he's saying," the soldier translated, "is that they're probably early infiltration designs. Most likely not designed specifically to go against an actual military force head-to-head, unless they're at a lower technology level. They've got beam weapons like the MICW," Patterson held up the sleek black rifle to the light, for better examination, and released a few catches. The lower part slid off easily, and Lady Vincour could see that it would suffice as a carbine if quarters became too tight. "Except for, obviously, miniaturization and modular systems. This thing's fully modular. I could turn it into a long range sniper weapon, or a shotgun for close quarters, or as you saw on the rooftop, it right now mounts a thirty-five millimeter launcher. Loaded with nonlethal projectiles now, but I can stick a clip of lethal ammunition in." The soldier removed the bullpup-configuration clip on the back of the launcher, and she could clearly see marked on it, in gray lettering, "AMMUNITION, 35MM, RING AIRFOIL, LTL."
""Well all the easier for you to destroy them then, they are quite the nuisance you see, though..." she pauses for a moment, "Of course if you're willing to take the job I will introduce you to some gentlemen who have been there, and who can give you a more in-depth briefing before we open up the gateway to Azhistan.""
"If I wasted my time taking entrance exams and didn't take the job, I'd be incapable of paying my bills. Who are these people, where can I meet them, and how soon can you arrange for transport to Azhisthan? I also want reports of the culture, the people, technology, enemies, and maps. That, and do you have a few others? Four or five bright men or women, don't mind either. They have to be flexible, adapatble, and combat trained." Patterson noted. "You see, I may need more firepower, and although I bring a lot to the table, there are spare weapons I can't use with only two arms in Darklight, some spare light body armor and, of course, communications equipment. You might have radios, but I'll probably be saying the truth when I say that I've got some comm headsets that aren't quite up to Dominion's standards, but are probably better than what you have."
"Don't worry, all of that, as well as detailed After Action Reports will be made available, and I should think we can find some suitable men to accompany you..." a smile crossed her lips, "The Republic does not, however, think that the fair and frail female sex is capable of military operations."
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Operation Golden Serpent - Chapter I
Bleak Castle
Pendleton City
Pendleton
Erde
Thursday 11 January 1006
It was a smoke filled room lit by several powerful incandescent bulbs, the scent of tobacco seemed to cling to everything there, even the leather upholstery of the chairs. Patterson however was fortunate that he could filter out the more poignant scents, and no one else seemed to mind.
The briefing was very low tech the visuals consisted of drawings, hand made maps, and a few scattered pieces of captured communist gear. However more interesting was the after action reports, and the records of interrogations of Communist soldiers and their native puppets.
Patterson had made quick assessments of everyone there, most of them seemed professional, a couple seemed like ciphers but so far every BOSS agent he had encountered had been competent at the very least. He quickly recapped them in his mind...
Colonel Brown, a man apparently in his forties or fifties with reddish-brown hair with streaks of grey showing at the temples, and the keen eyes of a trained officer and huntsman. Patterson suspected he was older though, and probably a sniper in his youth, but that was just a guess.
Captain Allan Whitcomb, late twenties early thirties, but there was definitely something about him, he was definitely a fighting man, and a spook to boot. His uniform was spotless though, and other than a few medal ribbons there was little to give him away from that.
Sir Hubert Westingstoke, a middle-aged man with dark hair and a neat moustache, he looked kind of foppish in a white suit with a white vest, and even a white panama hat. Pattersons sensors told him that there was indeed a sword cane that Sir Hubert was carrying, and though the man had added some weight he was still in good shape.
There were some other people there too, a couple of men in tweed suits, he forgot their names and they didn't seem to matter much, and of course the omnipresent servants. Slaves most likely but he didn't bother to dwell on that, they were very quiet, and you'd hardly notice them if you didn't remember to keep track.
Colonel Brown was finishing his presentation, "You see Mr Patterson we have a problem... the Communists are technologically superior to us, and of course so far our assets in the region have been limited. Your place in this is as a force multiplier, specifically to strike at the enemy headquarters in Konduz, which the Communists call Suleymaniyah."
"That city has far too many names Colonel," Patterson said, he shifted and the chair creaked under his weight, "But okay, I can do that, I can hit that place pretty hard but I'd like some backup."
"I am certain we can arrange that Sir, Mr Whitcomb do you know any likely candidates?" Colonel Brown asked.
Whitcomb nodded, "Yes I can think of several, it depends on how many Mr Patterson wants."
"Four or five should do it Captain, if they're good, and they should preferably have experience in the field," Patterson said.
Once more Whitcomb nodded, "I see, well Mr Patterson I can find for you four Mage Hunters, or any number of Commandoes."
"I have heard the Mage Hunters mentioned, but I've gotten little detailed information."
"It's a job description, in the old days we would hunt down and kill enemy mages. It was a rather difficult and often thankless task, and only the very good or the very lucky survived."
"Hmmmm... I have some advanced kit that they'd need if they're going to work with me, we should do some exercises before we go down there..."
"Of course, I think that Colonel Brown had arranged something, Sir?" Whitcomb looked expectantly at him.
"Yes we have the old military training ground at Übergammerau, it is as close to Azhistani mountains as we can come, if it were summer in Azhistan I'd recommend the Southern Islands as well," there was a slight silence at the mention of the Southern Islands, enough for Patterson to notice. Colonel Brown ploughed on, "No one will see anything odd about strange goings on at Übergammerau Mr Patterson."
"I should also like to see some of the Commie prisoners Sir, if that is possible?" Patterson asked.
"Yes well... they are kept at Seal Island, in the prison there or one of them, I believe that is Sir Huberts field more than mine."
Sir Hubert chimed in at that, "Indeed the Southern Islands is an Old Haunt of mine, I can arrange a meeting easily enough before or after the training session?"
"After, definitely after, I have some kit that needs fetching," Patterson said, then he looked up, "In fact why don't you bring the people and I'll show them my ship, help bring them up to date."
There was a moment of silence as Colonel Brown contemplated, then he gave a quick curt nod, "Yes that sounds acceptable, Mr Whitcomb please make your choice and direct them to Mr Patterson."
The cruiser Darklight
Croneleigh Spaceport
Friday 12 January 1006
Croneleigh was representative of Pendleton with gravel or macadam landing fields, a dozen wooden warehouses painted in primary colours, and three two story stone houses in the Victorian Gothic style. In short aside from the various shuttles and other craft docked there you'd think it was just another aerodrome.
The Darklight looked very out of place, it hovered serenely three feet above the ground, with no visible means of support, but the gravel directly beneath it was entirely undisturbed. The ship was a dull black that seemed to absorb light, the hull shape was sleek like a sharks, and the only thing that broke the lines were vague hard to see outlines on the hull.
Patterson approached it, ignoring the curious looks from the spaceport dockers, behind him came four men in civilian clothes. For a casual observer there was nothing particularly military about them, though they were young and fit, they had mastered that most complicated task for any lifetime military man: Not marching in unison.
"Here we are, the Darklight," Patterson announced proudly, he could see the four men studying it discreetly. Suddenly one of the rectangular outlines on the ship came to life, it began to move as if it was made from hot wax flowing down to reveal an opening into the ship. The flowing material coalesced into a set of steps leading up to the newly formed opening, through it they could see a dimly lit interior with smooth organic like shapes.
Patterson ran up the stairs without making a sound, then he turned around and waited for the others, the first pair walked slightly gingerly testing the steps stomping on them to see if they were solid. Their attitude was not helped by a feminine voice coming out of nowhere, "Don't worry, I very rarely let anyone drop through the floor."
The four Mage Hunters had not entered the ship before something new came to disturb them, it was about three foot tall, it had caterpillar tracks instead of legs, and it seemed very friendly. "Hello! Visitors! How wonderful, I've baked you brownies!" it called as it offered up a tray filled with slightly charred cookies that had the right colour, and of course several tall glasses containing a vaguely yellowish-white liquid.
Total silence, four men in suits and bowler hats blinked in unison, then Sergeant Smith spoke up, "Right... brownies eh?"
"Yes, it's an ancient family recipe," the cheerful round little bobble headed robot announced, lifting the tray up even higher, "Apparently it was created by a lanky fellow and his talking dog."
"I see..." Sgt Smith said, not quite sure how to address a talking whatever it was, and his men knew enough not to speak.
"It has all kinds of delicious herbs," the robot announced.
<< Well isn't that nice, your mother made snacks for your friends >>
Patterson looked up as Dominion contacted him, he sub-vocalized "Knock it off!"
<< Of course, now if just Darklight would show up it'd be a family gathering >>
"Perfect, just perfect," then out loud, "Pal-22?"
The robot turned around on the spot, moving the tray just out of the Sergeants reach, "Yes Charles? How may I help?" While he spoke one of the privates snatched a brownie and tried it, ignoring a stern look from his fellows, then he had a funny look as his eyebrow went up.
"Never mind," Patterson said, to the four he added, "It's a childrens companion."
"I see Sir," Sergeant Smith said, then with a forced smile he accepted a glass and a brownie. None of them looked particularly uncomfortable as they ate a brownie and drank some of the glass, but the corner of Smith's mouth did twitch slightly, "I say, ah, what's the recipe for this drink?"
"Why it is a concoction I call PAL Sunrise!" Pal announced with glee, "It's a mixture of milk, egg, and lemonade."
The private that took the first brownie smiled, "Why Pal I 'aven't 'ad a meal this good since mah survival training!"
"Yeah I know what you mean," Patterson said, he ran his hand across his bald pate, "He's a wonderful cook..."
As if to make the scene complete the doorway sealed up again, somewhat disconcerting it looked like it flowed upwards, and then there was a very gentle shudder. It was the kind of shudder where you wonder if you are moving, your stomach tells you that you are, but you're not quite certain.
At that precise moment there was a flicker in the air, and suddenly a woman appeared, dressed rather scandalously by local mores: A skin tight black outfit that was barely more than a second skin, fortunately, or not depending on how you see it, it was just enough to hide the more interesting parts.
"Hello there, so you've brought friends," she said, "Hello I'm the ships avatar it's like... I don't know..."
"Ships spirit?" Sergeant Smith asked.
"Well yes, that would work," she smiled charmingly at the four, who were starting to look a tad surprised, despite their training, it was simply too much in too short time.
"Now if you'd please come with me and I'll show you the armoury," Darklight said as she walked away, motioning them to come along, at least she'd left the high heels but she was distracting enough anyway.
The interior of the ship was a bit cramped, there was room for maybe ten men with some minimal comfort, and the interior was very organic in shape. To the rear they had the storage area where dozens of membranous-looking clear bubbles lined the walls and ceiling, inside of each bubble, floating roughly in the centre of it, was all kinds of bewildering gear: Rifles and strange goggles, odd uniforms, breastplates, and other things they couldn't identify at all.
"Well, we'll begin with the night vision gear," Patterson said as he stuck his hands into one of the bubbles, they passed through the membrane without resistance, and pulled out a strange pair of goggles, "Very handy that..."
"It works by light amplification you see," Darklight began in that chatty tone that men instinctively tune out, "Therefore it will not work in total darkness, image may also..."
An hour later
The five of them sat around examining the weapons, the high tech rifles were of course fully automatic, and with "More electrical wires than the company wireless!" as Corporal Banks put it. They had pushed the augmented reality goggles up to their foreheads while they did last minute checks of the weapons.
Patterson watched them carefully, they were disciplined, they kept their fingers from the trigger, they never once aimed the barrel at anyone, and aside from being confused by how complex the weapon was they seemed fine. "Now then you can pull the goggles down," he began, "as you may see there are some menus that come up..."
"What's a Microsoft and why did it do something illegal?" Private Cooper asked, he was the smart aleck that had first tasted the cookies, young, blond, athletic and a roughly handsome face like most of them.
"What did you do?" Patterson asked.
"I just looked up at down and coughed a bit, and then suddenly everything went blue and now it says that ..."
Well the tender reader doesn't want to hear the full story of the troubles they went through, suffice it to say that the electronic computation machines and the instructions that they use are finicky and often hard to understand for people from slightly primitive worlds.
"Perhaps we should just disable some of the options?" Darklight eventually suggested, there were some murmurs at that, but nothing serious.
"I think we should simply disable those options we don't need for the mission, after all you can train with those later," Patterson said, Assuming there is a later.
"Yes Sir, I agree entirely with your suggestion," Sgt Smith agreed.
"But I just..." Darklight said, then she rolled her eyes and went into the background.
"We'll be at Übergammerau in about an hour, so we'll go through this a bit longer and then we'll get a chance to go through it there, have any of you been there earlier?" Patterson asked, all of the Mage Hunters answered affirmatively, "Good... then you can tell me where everything is."
Übergammerau
Helvetia
Friday 12 January 1006
Late Afternoon
Even in the late afternoon the view of Übergammerau was astounding, it was nestled in among majestic snow-capped mountains, in a typical glacial valley with a U shaped bottom and steep sides covered in trees. The training area itself looked like a large village or small town, neat cleared streets, gingerbread houses, and a large church in the centre. Indeed only the odd craters, broken trees, and the gun positions in the mountain side revealed the true nature of the place.
Inside the Darklight an image of the valley was projected onto a screen, despite the inertial compensation in the ship everyone felt the speed and movement as the camera showed them diving down into the valley flashing over trees at 700 miles an hour. In the distance tiny shapes could be seen running to anti-air artillery positions, they didn't appear hostile, but quite willing to defend their position.
"I have taken the liberty of giving our access code to the air-traffic control, they want us to land just outside the city," Darklight said.
"Good, do that," Patterson said, Primitive, if I were hostile I could have fired, reloaded, and fired again before they got to shoot once.
The Darklight came to a rest just outside the city, floating about three feet above the thin layer of fresh snow that covered the field. Outside sensors showed the ship that a small group of men approached, they were dressed in warm army great cloaks, and strange fur hats. Several of them seemed uncomfortable in the cold, their breath turning to smoke, but their officers pressed on towards the strange ship.
"Open the door and lets say hello," Patterson said.
Outside a couple of the soldiers tensed when they saw the door turn liquid and transform into a set of steps, but they didn't break formation. Patterson walked out first, the snow gave under his feet he sunk in about six inches into the snow and grass.
One of the officers, a tall man with golden shoulderboards surrounded by gold braid, approached and saluted, "Mr Patterson, I am Major George Burke, and I welcome you to Übergammerau, I have been instructed to provide you whatever help you require."
Patterson returned the salute out of professional courtesy, then he began talking "Good Major Burke, I'll need barracks, a conference room, a firing range, a training area, and someone useful to be a liaison and organiser."
"It's all been taken care of Mr Patterson, and as for a Liaison," the Major motioned and one of the other soldiers approached, no gold on his uniform just three chevrons with an eagle right above them, "Colour Sergeant Winston Smith is one of my best men."
<< Bit curt weren't you? >> Dominion quizzed.
"No point in beating around a bush." Patterson said.
<< I don't think he liked that >>
"No point in beating around a bush."
CSgt Winston Smith approached and saluted, crisp clean salute, Patterson returned it, "Alright then, someone show us the way," he said simply.
Major Burke suppressed a reaction, "Quite Mr Patterson, Colour Sergeant Smith please escort the ... Mr Patterson and his squad to their quarters."
"Yes Sir," CSgt Smith said, then he turned back to Patterson, "If you'd come with me Sir."
"Sure Colour Sergeant," Patterson said, then he and his small squad began to walk towards the village. It was cold, and the snow crunched beneath their feet, but this bothered his squad, who shivered and turned slightly blue, more than it did him.
<< I think something could have been gained by being a bit more polite >>
"I've spent too much time ... No I'll never see his sorry ass again, so why bother with an hour of small talk?"
Übergammerau training ground
Helvetia
Wednesday 17 January 1006
They had been training for several days now, and they made good progress, however even though the Mage Hunters were excellent soldiers they found much of the advanced technology to be hard to understand. Training had to be quite intensive too, and Patterson was working with primitive facilities, but still they made excellent progress.
Some of the problems were not obvious, and some things that you'd think would be troublesome caused very little trouble, for instance the new rifles: The soldiers had been very sceptical when they got a lecture about bullet speeds, but once they had been told that a smaller faster round was better for penetrating body armour they had accepted that and quickly learned to compensate their aim. On the other hand, a set of relatively simple night vision goggles, or a suit of armour that included several electronic systems that caused no end of difficulties because it was so utterly different from anything they had ever encountered before.
However when he watched them go through the assault course he could definitely see progress, the assault course have to be described first though: Imagine an urban obstacle course with pop-up dummies, now throw in the use of light magic on the part of the opposition, and scatter the area with nominally non-lethal traps. Pendleton was more liberal with such things than many other forces, since healing magics could quickly and easily heal broken bones and other injuries.
The four were running, in a hunched over posture to avoid exposing themselves, down a narrow dark alley with a pile of garbage just outside a door. Above them there were a couple of narrow windows in the fake brick buildings, then were the perfect spot for an ambush so two of them covered the windows while the others advanced. Nothing happened, but there was no time for relief, they threw themselves down behind the pile of garbage and peered ahead right in front of them was a wide open space they'd have to cross neatly simulating the square in front of the palace.
"Here goes Sargn't," Corporal Banks muttered, he peered at across the snow covered square, in front of it was a wall with a small door in it. Then there were the two tall and rather rickety towers that had been erected, the simulated minarets, sniper nest for sure.
Sgt Smith gave a low grunt in response, "Corporal take up the rear with Pvt Cooper, me and Pvt Jones run across, then you follow when I signal, right?"
"Right Sargn't," Cpl Banks said, then he pulled a bit back into a more secure position, "Cooper you with me right?"
"Aye," Cooper said as he moved into a position opposite of Banks.
Sgt Smith waited for a second, then he gave the nod to Pvt Jones, "Oy, go!" they both ran across the open space as fast as they could. It was nerve wracking, every time their boots struck the gravel and spun up pebble mixed snow they wondered if they'd get hit.
Sitting in his perch in one of the minarets Patterson felt satisfied, and slightly worried that the wobbly tower would fall over, "Time to see how good you are..." He had a little box, a tiny wireless remote controller that could trigger each of the target dummies, now he began triggering whole groups of them wholesale.
Everywhere around them dummies began popping up, they were scarecrows with wooden backing and fake AK-47s. Just to make things more realistic, most of them had strings of firecrackers attached, set to trigger when the dummies did, so when they popped up it was with a terrific crackle of gunpowder.
Cpl Banks and Pvt Cooper didn't hesitate though, with calls of "Aye right!" they opened fire, short aimed bursts mainly, but a couple of long bursts where there were groups of densely packed enemies. Their aim was excellent, a couple of the dummies were struck before they got up into full position, others were hit a split second later, wooden chests and heads cracked apart by precision three round bursts.
When Sgt Smith was a quarter of the way away from the wall a large group of dummies popped up, maybe a dozen or so of them, the racket they made was terrific as hundreds of firecrackers went off at once. "Up unnerbar fletch!" Cpl Banks yelled, like they were one he and Pvt Cooper stepped slightly forward, their rifles raised, and their attached under barrel grenade launchers fired simultaneously.
Two small shells flew forward, within a split second both had exploded in mid-air releasing scores of tiny flechettes small metal arrows that flew towards the dummies like a swarm of angry wasps. Then they struck it was a peculiar sound like grapeshot against wood, thunking noises, and several of the dummies were shredded outright; dozens of impacts made holes big enough to see through, and what remained were gunned down by rapid bursts from the rifles.
Sgt Smith and Pvt Jones hit the wall, "Bit close Sargn't," Pvt Jones offered.
Sgt Smith grunted again, "Grenade," he said then the both of them pulled out a grenade, and pulled the splint out. They waited a couple of seconds, cooking the grenade then they threw them in unison, the grenades exploded just over the wall. The door was next, an explosive charge jammed into the lock and detonated tearing a big hole in the door, letting them open it.
Moments later the signal was given and Cpl Banks and Pvt Cooper ran across the square, another set of dummies came popping up, this lot was gunned down by Sgt Smith and Pvt Jones. It was uncanny though because the firecrackers kept going off even though the dummies were "dead" meaning that the air was constantly filled with the cacophonous sounds of gunshot like explosions.
They both slammed into the wall, not full speed perhaps but it was better to let it stop you than to slow down away from cover, Sgt Smith gave the next order jabbing his finger through the doorway "GO!"
The garden was covered in snow, and it didn't look very Azhistani, but it didn't hold any surprises like the Palace surely would. "Here we go," Sgt Smith said, and in through the entrance into the Palace they went.
Room to room fighting in something like the Azhistani palace is hard to simulate, especially when the alarm has been raised. However there is always a moment of confusion and chaos that an attacker can take advantage of, even if the attack is known then the attacker isn't, or you don't know where he is. Speed is of the essence, they had to move so fast that the enemy never got a chance to swamp them with superior numbers, and that was the hard part.
Running through the halls of the faked palace, poorly faked in the main since piles of unused timber could still be seen laying about, they were constantly faced with groups of dummies. More importantly they were faced with traps, the nasty kind where dozens of spears might come through the air against them, or stones might drop from the ceiling.
There was of course only one way to deal with this, and that was to use non-traditional methods, or in other words don't head down the hallways but make your own route. They'd stick explosive charges to the walls and blow holes, piling through them, and sneaking around the dummies while cutting a beeline for where the target was.
Finally they reached the grand hall, crude attempts had been made at decorating it in the Azhistani style piles of carpets scattered around without any obvious design in mind, huge crescent moons painted on the floor and ceiling, and gibberish lines standing in for calligraphy on the walls. The most obvious thing though was the large crude throne, the large crude empty throne.
"Damnation, spread out..." Sgt Smith began, at that very same moment he was struck quite hard in the chest, the wall behind him and his chest was coloured red.
To their credit the rest of the team didn't give in because of this, they hit the dirt and scrambled for cover, Pvt Jones was struck next creating a circle of red as his lower body was hit.
Cpl Banks and Pvt Cooper reached cover, Banks behind a heavy couch and Cooper at the base of some stairs, they both looked up trying to find the enemy. The moment that Cooper saw motion he opened up, leading his rounds towards the source of the motion, he wasn't sure but he thought he had hit something... that was when he saw the odd canister serenely gliding through the air towards him! He managed to get ten feet away before it landed, then it exploded with enough force to send him sprawling before he was struck in the chest and a splatter of red spread slowly across the floor.
At that precise moment Cpl Banks fired a grenade from the underbarrel launcher, at the same time he moved side ways firing long deliberate bursts into what he hoped was the right area. He ran fast, but it seemed that time had stopped, he fired a second grenade, there was a whumph as the first one triggered, then he opened up fire again. He wasn't sure where the impact came from, the one that turned his vision red and sent him down, but it was bad then everything was black.
Pendleton City
Pendleton
Erde
Thursday 11 January 1006
It was a smoke filled room lit by several powerful incandescent bulbs, the scent of tobacco seemed to cling to everything there, even the leather upholstery of the chairs. Patterson however was fortunate that he could filter out the more poignant scents, and no one else seemed to mind.
The briefing was very low tech the visuals consisted of drawings, hand made maps, and a few scattered pieces of captured communist gear. However more interesting was the after action reports, and the records of interrogations of Communist soldiers and their native puppets.
Patterson had made quick assessments of everyone there, most of them seemed professional, a couple seemed like ciphers but so far every BOSS agent he had encountered had been competent at the very least. He quickly recapped them in his mind...
Colonel Brown, a man apparently in his forties or fifties with reddish-brown hair with streaks of grey showing at the temples, and the keen eyes of a trained officer and huntsman. Patterson suspected he was older though, and probably a sniper in his youth, but that was just a guess.
Captain Allan Whitcomb, late twenties early thirties, but there was definitely something about him, he was definitely a fighting man, and a spook to boot. His uniform was spotless though, and other than a few medal ribbons there was little to give him away from that.
Sir Hubert Westingstoke, a middle-aged man with dark hair and a neat moustache, he looked kind of foppish in a white suit with a white vest, and even a white panama hat. Pattersons sensors told him that there was indeed a sword cane that Sir Hubert was carrying, and though the man had added some weight he was still in good shape.
There were some other people there too, a couple of men in tweed suits, he forgot their names and they didn't seem to matter much, and of course the omnipresent servants. Slaves most likely but he didn't bother to dwell on that, they were very quiet, and you'd hardly notice them if you didn't remember to keep track.
Colonel Brown was finishing his presentation, "You see Mr Patterson we have a problem... the Communists are technologically superior to us, and of course so far our assets in the region have been limited. Your place in this is as a force multiplier, specifically to strike at the enemy headquarters in Konduz, which the Communists call Suleymaniyah."
"That city has far too many names Colonel," Patterson said, he shifted and the chair creaked under his weight, "But okay, I can do that, I can hit that place pretty hard but I'd like some backup."
"I am certain we can arrange that Sir, Mr Whitcomb do you know any likely candidates?" Colonel Brown asked.
Whitcomb nodded, "Yes I can think of several, it depends on how many Mr Patterson wants."
"Four or five should do it Captain, if they're good, and they should preferably have experience in the field," Patterson said.
Once more Whitcomb nodded, "I see, well Mr Patterson I can find for you four Mage Hunters, or any number of Commandoes."
"I have heard the Mage Hunters mentioned, but I've gotten little detailed information."
"It's a job description, in the old days we would hunt down and kill enemy mages. It was a rather difficult and often thankless task, and only the very good or the very lucky survived."
"Hmmmm... I have some advanced kit that they'd need if they're going to work with me, we should do some exercises before we go down there..."
"Of course, I think that Colonel Brown had arranged something, Sir?" Whitcomb looked expectantly at him.
"Yes we have the old military training ground at Übergammerau, it is as close to Azhistani mountains as we can come, if it were summer in Azhistan I'd recommend the Southern Islands as well," there was a slight silence at the mention of the Southern Islands, enough for Patterson to notice. Colonel Brown ploughed on, "No one will see anything odd about strange goings on at Übergammerau Mr Patterson."
"I should also like to see some of the Commie prisoners Sir, if that is possible?" Patterson asked.
"Yes well... they are kept at Seal Island, in the prison there or one of them, I believe that is Sir Huberts field more than mine."
Sir Hubert chimed in at that, "Indeed the Southern Islands is an Old Haunt of mine, I can arrange a meeting easily enough before or after the training session?"
"After, definitely after, I have some kit that needs fetching," Patterson said, then he looked up, "In fact why don't you bring the people and I'll show them my ship, help bring them up to date."
There was a moment of silence as Colonel Brown contemplated, then he gave a quick curt nod, "Yes that sounds acceptable, Mr Whitcomb please make your choice and direct them to Mr Patterson."
The cruiser Darklight
Croneleigh Spaceport
Friday 12 January 1006
Croneleigh was representative of Pendleton with gravel or macadam landing fields, a dozen wooden warehouses painted in primary colours, and three two story stone houses in the Victorian Gothic style. In short aside from the various shuttles and other craft docked there you'd think it was just another aerodrome.
The Darklight looked very out of place, it hovered serenely three feet above the ground, with no visible means of support, but the gravel directly beneath it was entirely undisturbed. The ship was a dull black that seemed to absorb light, the hull shape was sleek like a sharks, and the only thing that broke the lines were vague hard to see outlines on the hull.
Patterson approached it, ignoring the curious looks from the spaceport dockers, behind him came four men in civilian clothes. For a casual observer there was nothing particularly military about them, though they were young and fit, they had mastered that most complicated task for any lifetime military man: Not marching in unison.
"Here we are, the Darklight," Patterson announced proudly, he could see the four men studying it discreetly. Suddenly one of the rectangular outlines on the ship came to life, it began to move as if it was made from hot wax flowing down to reveal an opening into the ship. The flowing material coalesced into a set of steps leading up to the newly formed opening, through it they could see a dimly lit interior with smooth organic like shapes.
Patterson ran up the stairs without making a sound, then he turned around and waited for the others, the first pair walked slightly gingerly testing the steps stomping on them to see if they were solid. Their attitude was not helped by a feminine voice coming out of nowhere, "Don't worry, I very rarely let anyone drop through the floor."
The four Mage Hunters had not entered the ship before something new came to disturb them, it was about three foot tall, it had caterpillar tracks instead of legs, and it seemed very friendly. "Hello! Visitors! How wonderful, I've baked you brownies!" it called as it offered up a tray filled with slightly charred cookies that had the right colour, and of course several tall glasses containing a vaguely yellowish-white liquid.
Total silence, four men in suits and bowler hats blinked in unison, then Sergeant Smith spoke up, "Right... brownies eh?"
"Yes, it's an ancient family recipe," the cheerful round little bobble headed robot announced, lifting the tray up even higher, "Apparently it was created by a lanky fellow and his talking dog."
"I see..." Sgt Smith said, not quite sure how to address a talking whatever it was, and his men knew enough not to speak.
"It has all kinds of delicious herbs," the robot announced.
<< Well isn't that nice, your mother made snacks for your friends >>
Patterson looked up as Dominion contacted him, he sub-vocalized "Knock it off!"
<< Of course, now if just Darklight would show up it'd be a family gathering >>
"Perfect, just perfect," then out loud, "Pal-22?"
The robot turned around on the spot, moving the tray just out of the Sergeants reach, "Yes Charles? How may I help?" While he spoke one of the privates snatched a brownie and tried it, ignoring a stern look from his fellows, then he had a funny look as his eyebrow went up.
"Never mind," Patterson said, to the four he added, "It's a childrens companion."
"I see Sir," Sergeant Smith said, then with a forced smile he accepted a glass and a brownie. None of them looked particularly uncomfortable as they ate a brownie and drank some of the glass, but the corner of Smith's mouth did twitch slightly, "I say, ah, what's the recipe for this drink?"
"Why it is a concoction I call PAL Sunrise!" Pal announced with glee, "It's a mixture of milk, egg, and lemonade."
The private that took the first brownie smiled, "Why Pal I 'aven't 'ad a meal this good since mah survival training!"
"Yeah I know what you mean," Patterson said, he ran his hand across his bald pate, "He's a wonderful cook..."
As if to make the scene complete the doorway sealed up again, somewhat disconcerting it looked like it flowed upwards, and then there was a very gentle shudder. It was the kind of shudder where you wonder if you are moving, your stomach tells you that you are, but you're not quite certain.
At that precise moment there was a flicker in the air, and suddenly a woman appeared, dressed rather scandalously by local mores: A skin tight black outfit that was barely more than a second skin, fortunately, or not depending on how you see it, it was just enough to hide the more interesting parts.
"Hello there, so you've brought friends," she said, "Hello I'm the ships avatar it's like... I don't know..."
"Ships spirit?" Sergeant Smith asked.
"Well yes, that would work," she smiled charmingly at the four, who were starting to look a tad surprised, despite their training, it was simply too much in too short time.
"Now if you'd please come with me and I'll show you the armoury," Darklight said as she walked away, motioning them to come along, at least she'd left the high heels but she was distracting enough anyway.
The interior of the ship was a bit cramped, there was room for maybe ten men with some minimal comfort, and the interior was very organic in shape. To the rear they had the storage area where dozens of membranous-looking clear bubbles lined the walls and ceiling, inside of each bubble, floating roughly in the centre of it, was all kinds of bewildering gear: Rifles and strange goggles, odd uniforms, breastplates, and other things they couldn't identify at all.
"Well, we'll begin with the night vision gear," Patterson said as he stuck his hands into one of the bubbles, they passed through the membrane without resistance, and pulled out a strange pair of goggles, "Very handy that..."
"It works by light amplification you see," Darklight began in that chatty tone that men instinctively tune out, "Therefore it will not work in total darkness, image may also..."
An hour later
The five of them sat around examining the weapons, the high tech rifles were of course fully automatic, and with "More electrical wires than the company wireless!" as Corporal Banks put it. They had pushed the augmented reality goggles up to their foreheads while they did last minute checks of the weapons.
Patterson watched them carefully, they were disciplined, they kept their fingers from the trigger, they never once aimed the barrel at anyone, and aside from being confused by how complex the weapon was they seemed fine. "Now then you can pull the goggles down," he began, "as you may see there are some menus that come up..."
"What's a Microsoft and why did it do something illegal?" Private Cooper asked, he was the smart aleck that had first tasted the cookies, young, blond, athletic and a roughly handsome face like most of them.
"What did you do?" Patterson asked.
"I just looked up at down and coughed a bit, and then suddenly everything went blue and now it says that ..."
Well the tender reader doesn't want to hear the full story of the troubles they went through, suffice it to say that the electronic computation machines and the instructions that they use are finicky and often hard to understand for people from slightly primitive worlds.
"Perhaps we should just disable some of the options?" Darklight eventually suggested, there were some murmurs at that, but nothing serious.
"I think we should simply disable those options we don't need for the mission, after all you can train with those later," Patterson said, Assuming there is a later.
"Yes Sir, I agree entirely with your suggestion," Sgt Smith agreed.
"But I just..." Darklight said, then she rolled her eyes and went into the background.
"We'll be at Übergammerau in about an hour, so we'll go through this a bit longer and then we'll get a chance to go through it there, have any of you been there earlier?" Patterson asked, all of the Mage Hunters answered affirmatively, "Good... then you can tell me where everything is."
Übergammerau
Helvetia
Friday 12 January 1006
Late Afternoon
Even in the late afternoon the view of Übergammerau was astounding, it was nestled in among majestic snow-capped mountains, in a typical glacial valley with a U shaped bottom and steep sides covered in trees. The training area itself looked like a large village or small town, neat cleared streets, gingerbread houses, and a large church in the centre. Indeed only the odd craters, broken trees, and the gun positions in the mountain side revealed the true nature of the place.
Inside the Darklight an image of the valley was projected onto a screen, despite the inertial compensation in the ship everyone felt the speed and movement as the camera showed them diving down into the valley flashing over trees at 700 miles an hour. In the distance tiny shapes could be seen running to anti-air artillery positions, they didn't appear hostile, but quite willing to defend their position.
"I have taken the liberty of giving our access code to the air-traffic control, they want us to land just outside the city," Darklight said.
"Good, do that," Patterson said, Primitive, if I were hostile I could have fired, reloaded, and fired again before they got to shoot once.
The Darklight came to a rest just outside the city, floating about three feet above the thin layer of fresh snow that covered the field. Outside sensors showed the ship that a small group of men approached, they were dressed in warm army great cloaks, and strange fur hats. Several of them seemed uncomfortable in the cold, their breath turning to smoke, but their officers pressed on towards the strange ship.
"Open the door and lets say hello," Patterson said.
Outside a couple of the soldiers tensed when they saw the door turn liquid and transform into a set of steps, but they didn't break formation. Patterson walked out first, the snow gave under his feet he sunk in about six inches into the snow and grass.
One of the officers, a tall man with golden shoulderboards surrounded by gold braid, approached and saluted, "Mr Patterson, I am Major George Burke, and I welcome you to Übergammerau, I have been instructed to provide you whatever help you require."
Patterson returned the salute out of professional courtesy, then he began talking "Good Major Burke, I'll need barracks, a conference room, a firing range, a training area, and someone useful to be a liaison and organiser."
"It's all been taken care of Mr Patterson, and as for a Liaison," the Major motioned and one of the other soldiers approached, no gold on his uniform just three chevrons with an eagle right above them, "Colour Sergeant Winston Smith is one of my best men."
<< Bit curt weren't you? >> Dominion quizzed.
"No point in beating around a bush." Patterson said.
<< I don't think he liked that >>
"No point in beating around a bush."
CSgt Winston Smith approached and saluted, crisp clean salute, Patterson returned it, "Alright then, someone show us the way," he said simply.
Major Burke suppressed a reaction, "Quite Mr Patterson, Colour Sergeant Smith please escort the ... Mr Patterson and his squad to their quarters."
"Yes Sir," CSgt Smith said, then he turned back to Patterson, "If you'd come with me Sir."
"Sure Colour Sergeant," Patterson said, then he and his small squad began to walk towards the village. It was cold, and the snow crunched beneath their feet, but this bothered his squad, who shivered and turned slightly blue, more than it did him.
<< I think something could have been gained by being a bit more polite >>
"I've spent too much time ... No I'll never see his sorry ass again, so why bother with an hour of small talk?"
Übergammerau training ground
Helvetia
Wednesday 17 January 1006
They had been training for several days now, and they made good progress, however even though the Mage Hunters were excellent soldiers they found much of the advanced technology to be hard to understand. Training had to be quite intensive too, and Patterson was working with primitive facilities, but still they made excellent progress.
Some of the problems were not obvious, and some things that you'd think would be troublesome caused very little trouble, for instance the new rifles: The soldiers had been very sceptical when they got a lecture about bullet speeds, but once they had been told that a smaller faster round was better for penetrating body armour they had accepted that and quickly learned to compensate their aim. On the other hand, a set of relatively simple night vision goggles, or a suit of armour that included several electronic systems that caused no end of difficulties because it was so utterly different from anything they had ever encountered before.
However when he watched them go through the assault course he could definitely see progress, the assault course have to be described first though: Imagine an urban obstacle course with pop-up dummies, now throw in the use of light magic on the part of the opposition, and scatter the area with nominally non-lethal traps. Pendleton was more liberal with such things than many other forces, since healing magics could quickly and easily heal broken bones and other injuries.
The four were running, in a hunched over posture to avoid exposing themselves, down a narrow dark alley with a pile of garbage just outside a door. Above them there were a couple of narrow windows in the fake brick buildings, then were the perfect spot for an ambush so two of them covered the windows while the others advanced. Nothing happened, but there was no time for relief, they threw themselves down behind the pile of garbage and peered ahead right in front of them was a wide open space they'd have to cross neatly simulating the square in front of the palace.
"Here goes Sargn't," Corporal Banks muttered, he peered at across the snow covered square, in front of it was a wall with a small door in it. Then there were the two tall and rather rickety towers that had been erected, the simulated minarets, sniper nest for sure.
Sgt Smith gave a low grunt in response, "Corporal take up the rear with Pvt Cooper, me and Pvt Jones run across, then you follow when I signal, right?"
"Right Sargn't," Cpl Banks said, then he pulled a bit back into a more secure position, "Cooper you with me right?"
"Aye," Cooper said as he moved into a position opposite of Banks.
Sgt Smith waited for a second, then he gave the nod to Pvt Jones, "Oy, go!" they both ran across the open space as fast as they could. It was nerve wracking, every time their boots struck the gravel and spun up pebble mixed snow they wondered if they'd get hit.
Sitting in his perch in one of the minarets Patterson felt satisfied, and slightly worried that the wobbly tower would fall over, "Time to see how good you are..." He had a little box, a tiny wireless remote controller that could trigger each of the target dummies, now he began triggering whole groups of them wholesale.
Everywhere around them dummies began popping up, they were scarecrows with wooden backing and fake AK-47s. Just to make things more realistic, most of them had strings of firecrackers attached, set to trigger when the dummies did, so when they popped up it was with a terrific crackle of gunpowder.
Cpl Banks and Pvt Cooper didn't hesitate though, with calls of "Aye right!" they opened fire, short aimed bursts mainly, but a couple of long bursts where there were groups of densely packed enemies. Their aim was excellent, a couple of the dummies were struck before they got up into full position, others were hit a split second later, wooden chests and heads cracked apart by precision three round bursts.
When Sgt Smith was a quarter of the way away from the wall a large group of dummies popped up, maybe a dozen or so of them, the racket they made was terrific as hundreds of firecrackers went off at once. "Up unnerbar fletch!" Cpl Banks yelled, like they were one he and Pvt Cooper stepped slightly forward, their rifles raised, and their attached under barrel grenade launchers fired simultaneously.
Two small shells flew forward, within a split second both had exploded in mid-air releasing scores of tiny flechettes small metal arrows that flew towards the dummies like a swarm of angry wasps. Then they struck it was a peculiar sound like grapeshot against wood, thunking noises, and several of the dummies were shredded outright; dozens of impacts made holes big enough to see through, and what remained were gunned down by rapid bursts from the rifles.
Sgt Smith and Pvt Jones hit the wall, "Bit close Sargn't," Pvt Jones offered.
Sgt Smith grunted again, "Grenade," he said then the both of them pulled out a grenade, and pulled the splint out. They waited a couple of seconds, cooking the grenade then they threw them in unison, the grenades exploded just over the wall. The door was next, an explosive charge jammed into the lock and detonated tearing a big hole in the door, letting them open it.
Moments later the signal was given and Cpl Banks and Pvt Cooper ran across the square, another set of dummies came popping up, this lot was gunned down by Sgt Smith and Pvt Jones. It was uncanny though because the firecrackers kept going off even though the dummies were "dead" meaning that the air was constantly filled with the cacophonous sounds of gunshot like explosions.
They both slammed into the wall, not full speed perhaps but it was better to let it stop you than to slow down away from cover, Sgt Smith gave the next order jabbing his finger through the doorway "GO!"
The garden was covered in snow, and it didn't look very Azhistani, but it didn't hold any surprises like the Palace surely would. "Here we go," Sgt Smith said, and in through the entrance into the Palace they went.
Room to room fighting in something like the Azhistani palace is hard to simulate, especially when the alarm has been raised. However there is always a moment of confusion and chaos that an attacker can take advantage of, even if the attack is known then the attacker isn't, or you don't know where he is. Speed is of the essence, they had to move so fast that the enemy never got a chance to swamp them with superior numbers, and that was the hard part.
Running through the halls of the faked palace, poorly faked in the main since piles of unused timber could still be seen laying about, they were constantly faced with groups of dummies. More importantly they were faced with traps, the nasty kind where dozens of spears might come through the air against them, or stones might drop from the ceiling.
There was of course only one way to deal with this, and that was to use non-traditional methods, or in other words don't head down the hallways but make your own route. They'd stick explosive charges to the walls and blow holes, piling through them, and sneaking around the dummies while cutting a beeline for where the target was.
Finally they reached the grand hall, crude attempts had been made at decorating it in the Azhistani style piles of carpets scattered around without any obvious design in mind, huge crescent moons painted on the floor and ceiling, and gibberish lines standing in for calligraphy on the walls. The most obvious thing though was the large crude throne, the large crude empty throne.
"Damnation, spread out..." Sgt Smith began, at that very same moment he was struck quite hard in the chest, the wall behind him and his chest was coloured red.
To their credit the rest of the team didn't give in because of this, they hit the dirt and scrambled for cover, Pvt Jones was struck next creating a circle of red as his lower body was hit.
Cpl Banks and Pvt Cooper reached cover, Banks behind a heavy couch and Cooper at the base of some stairs, they both looked up trying to find the enemy. The moment that Cooper saw motion he opened up, leading his rounds towards the source of the motion, he wasn't sure but he thought he had hit something... that was when he saw the odd canister serenely gliding through the air towards him! He managed to get ten feet away before it landed, then it exploded with enough force to send him sprawling before he was struck in the chest and a splatter of red spread slowly across the floor.
At that precise moment Cpl Banks fired a grenade from the underbarrel launcher, at the same time he moved side ways firing long deliberate bursts into what he hoped was the right area. He ran fast, but it seemed that time had stopped, he fired a second grenade, there was a whumph as the first one triggered, then he opened up fire again. He wasn't sure where the impact came from, the one that turned his vision red and sent him down, but it was bad then everything was black.
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Operation Golden Serpent - Chapter II
Helvetia
Janurary 17 1006 NE
0652 military time
Moment later Patterson called out, "Not bad, but if there are a half a dozen Commienators in the throne hall you really need to be better prepared." As he spoke the four Mage Hunters rose up, wiping the red paint from their helmets and vision fields, "Time for debriefing I think..." Patterson added.
The Mage Hunters groaned silently, but at least the real thing should go a lot smoother than the exercises... hopefully anyway.
The cyborg soldier jumped down from his hiding spot, decloaking as he dropped. He crouched briefly as he hit the ground, legs absorbing the fall, and stood up, suit still in its stealth form. The early morning light from sunrise dimly illuminated the field, wreathing the cybercommando, whose color scheme had shifted from absolute light-drinking black to an off-white again.
"Well, nothing wrong about your technique." Patterson said. "But I'm not trying to make you into better shots or runners. Can you guess what I was trying to train you to do, Private..." the soldier checked his tactical display, looking at the name tag and beacon which suddenly appeared over the young Mage Hunter's head, "Cooper? It isn't that hard of a question."
"Sir, ummm... you're trying to train us... to use our new equipment... to the fullest, sir?"
"Yes and no." Patterson said, smile hidden by the armor. "You have to realize that this equipment is just a force multiplier, it won't replace you. You cannot expect it to do your job for you-it might tell you information, feed you data, but the final decision is your own."
And in my case? Dominion asked, snarkily.
You're sentient enough to fit in the 'autonomous combat drone' category instead of the 'force multiplier' category. Just that you can be worn. I'm talking about arms and armor which don't do much of the thinking for you.
You still rely a lot on your weapons and implants to get you through shit storms. Isn't that what you're trying to warn them about? Dominion asked him. Or does it not apply if you're a supersoldier?
In my case, if I don't put my faith in technology, I'm dead. Because unlike them, near-absolute trust in technology isn't optional or undesirable when you're augmented up to your ears. Especially when those augmentations are all that's been keeping you alive on some of those missions. So were you asking just to disagree on principle, or an actual question?
"In other words, we should rely on our own eyes and ears?" Sergeant Smith asked.
"As I said, yes and no. The mission was supposed to check if you could balance trusting the technology and not using it. Had you been using the threat indicator systems in your armor HUDs and ignoring your training, you would have walked into a trap in the corridors. The threat indicator is good at finding enemy firearms or alerting you to incoming fire. What it wouldn't have told you is of that pit trap." Patterson mentioned.
"On the other hand, you didn't use it often enough. All of you kept the vision mode for your optics on light-amp, which didn't help much when you could have seen the six tangos in the throne room through the walls if you had been checking the other vision modes. Night vision is useful, but it's not the end all of seeing in the dark. And yes, I know it's probably somewhat hypocritical to lecture you about these little nuances in technology when I'm wearing this suit, but it's something you have to worry about and that I don't."
Patterson paused for a moment to let it sink in, and continued talking. "Otherwise, there was nothing wrong, except for the underusage of alternative sensing modes. Some of those modes are extremely useful in specific situations. It might get confusing, but learning roughly which mode works best in the current situation, so you see the enemy before they can see you, is going to help your ability to fight much better than your new assault rifles, or ballistic armor, or almost anything else I can give you. If you can see it, you can kill it or avoid it. If you can't see it, it has the advantage over you."
"Otherwise, I think you're doing fine. I know I wouldn't have adapted to such a leap in weapons and armor ability in such a short period of time as well as you guys did. Get used to the integrated electronics more, and you'll only get better. And I'm not quite sure how long we're going to have before we get shipped out, so I'm going to need to know who to ask for transportation. Write letters to loved ones on the trip if you must, and keep a last will and testament handy. This is warfare, survival is not guaranteed."
And they all know that already. Dominion said.
Can't ever say that too many times. War isn't a VR game.
What happened to 'their drills are bloodless battles and their battles are bloody drills'? Dominion asked again.
Only when you aren't in special forces. You can't practice for every available situation, so as both of us know, we need to know when to improvise.
"Had fun playing in the mud?" Darklight asked sweetly, as they piled back in.
"Yeah, loads of fun."
"Why can't I get to play in the mud?" PAL asked meekly.
"Don't worry, I'll get someone to keep you company before we leave." Patterson said kindly. "Besides, this is the kind of playing in the mud which gets dangerous. Grunt work always is."
"And here we thought some future-guy with all your gadgets would have it different." Private Cooper remarked.
"It's only when you're in the cavalry where you get air conditioned comfort and comfy chairs. In the infantry, save for having extra eyes and ears and armor, some things never change." Patterson said. His helmet was undeployed now and they saw his face clearly. He looked to be in his twenties, regeneration and augmentation having eliminated any signs of aging, but there was no mistaking him for anything except a soldier. Maybe it was the economy of motion or the eyes revealing every second of combat he had seen, but there was something that screamed 'veteran commando' to the Mage Hunters.
"ETA?" Patterson asked out of habit.
"Two hours, same as usual. Still going at high subsonic, we don't want to disturb anyone sleeping." Darklight replied, humoring him.
"Well then. Get some sleep, write those letters, or finish the book you're reading. Next stop is BOSS HQ, and then Azhistan." Patterson announced.
Golden Serpent: A Night in Pendleton
Bleak Castle
Pendleton City
Pendleton
Erde
Wednesday 17 January 1006
Sir Hubert clenched his ivory cigarette holder between his teeth while he looked up at the ceiling, a thin stream of smoke rose drifted up towards the ceiling, "It's a damnable thing!"
Colonel Brown could but nod to that, "Yes indeed it is, but the risks involved are too great".
"I don't care about risks, I care about victory!" Sir Hubert said.
"Sir Hubert this is not the place for that," Colonel Brown said.
"My apologies Sir, no offence intended, but it is frustrating that we are blocked from using our best resource..." Sir Hubert took another puff of his cigarette, "There must be some way?"
"Certainly we must use old fashioned shipping, we still have ten suitable freighters, I'm sure the Deep Sky Fleet can be made to see reason" Colonel Brown explained.
Before anything else could be said a grey looking functionary stuck his head through the door and announced, "Gentlemen, Mr Patterson is here."
"Send him in Fredricks," Col Brown said.
"Yes Sir," the functionary retreated. Moments later Patterson entered the office, he was still wearing his usual, not entirely inconspicuous, combat armour.
"Mr Patterson, please have a seat," Colonel Brown offered, after that Patterson had sat down he continued, "Now then to cut to the chase we won't be able to open a gateway to Azhistan. So we are working on arranging alternate transport."
"Why not Sir?" Patterson asked.
"Apparently the Bolshies can close our gates, and, well... you'll hear this soon enough we've accidentally picked a bit of a fight with Tartarus."
"Didn't you already have one going? I mean they sent the commienators around."
"Yes, quite, but that was just Bolshie solidarity, this time it's personal."
Patterson let out a low whistle, "You certainly know how to pick a fight Colonel, but I may be able to help you with transport." Both Pendletonians paid attention at that, "If you are willing to pay the cost that is," he quickly added.
"We are willing to provide ether I assume you mean your cruiser?"
"What else? Darklight can move up to fifty men if we make room."
Negotiations were short and to the point after that, and though the Pendletonians found it a bit dear a highly advanced cruiser is nothing to sneeze at for this kind of work.
Wentworth & Schüler
"Now Sir if you will just raise your arms for me to make some adjustments."
Anyone who entered the tailor shop of Wentworth & Schüler would have been greeted with a peculiar sight, in the middle of a very cluttered but quite orderly tailor shop a tall man in a peculiar bulky suit of armour was being measured and adjusted by a birdlike white haired tailor who scarcely reached up to his shoulders. Allan Whitcomb, the third and last man in the room, watched the scene with bemusement from where he sat.
"You look good," Whitcomb said.
Patterson turned a bit, and looked into one of the full length mirrors, "I look ridiculous," he said indicating the long fur coat that he was wearing.
"It's the local custom," Whitcomb said.
<< See everyone else will also look like an idiot >>
Patterson turned back to Whitcomb forcing the tailor to half run to continue taking measurements, "Sir! Please!" the poor chap said, muttering under his breath even after Patterson stopped.
"Ever had to deal with snide machines?" Patterson asked.
"Other than a chess playing Golem I encountered when I was twelve? No not really."
"You are a big fellow," the tailor mumbled, "We'll have to adjust this..."
After a few moments Whitcomb wagged his finger a bit, "Maybe you should try a beard?"
"I can't be bothered with a false beard."
"No a real one, big one, St Nicholas size, they have beards in Azhistan," Whitcomb mused.
"Do we have time for me to grow one?"
"No, but one of the mages could cast a spell, they can make hair grow from a stone..."
Patterson rubbed his cheek, he gave Whitcomb a long sceptical look, "Magic?"
"It would be good camouflage."
The only response from Patterson was a mixture of a grunt and a sigh. Then the tailor began to pull at the long fur coat while chatting amiably, "I think Sir that if we hurry, and work the night, that we could have all of this done," he pulled of the fur coat and placed it over his arm, "Say 11 AM tomorrow?"
"Yeah okay," Patterson offered, then back to Whitcomb he added, "I'll use a false beard, they shouldn't see my face anyway."
"Of course, of course," Whitcomb said, he rose up from his cheer and gave Patterson a friendly smile, "So then interested in a look at Pendleton before we leave?"
"Actually yeah, I am, I am..."
They walked out into the darkening twilight, the air was filled with a scent of horse manure, coal, and the various smells hundreds of thousands of human beings living in a city as large as Pendleton. Stretched out before them was the home of five million people, and even at night the streets were never empty.
Streets of Pendleton
Darkness was falling upon Pendleton, a darkness broken only by the streetlights for the dark sooty clouds and the thick grey fog blocked out the sky, in places even the electric streetlights were nothing more than distantly paced blobs of light like a golden thread that kept you roughly on the main streets.
For Patterson this was not so troublesome, he could see through the gloom with the advanced sensors in his suit, and in the smog no one noticed anything strange about a bulky figure in a long cloak. The city he saw was primitive, poor, and extremely brutal, with flimsily clad women selling their bodies in each alley. Every other alley had a couple of thugs in it, but they shied away from two sturdy young gentlemen that walked with an air of confidence.
In the darker more backwards parts of the town, where they were going, they still used gaslights, filling the alleys with even deeper and more flickering shadows. The women were more aggressive too with their shouts of "Oy ey, com'n geddit lads!" or some bawd calling "Com' gents! Faaaain yong girls just off the carriage from the country!"
"Well you asked for the seedy side, and here you have it," Whitcomb said indicating the misery around them.
Patterson took a deep breath, the air was filthy, and though there was a lot of crime it was the simple tawdry sort and not the organised crime cartels he'd been hoping for. Hanging up on a tattered wall he could see an advertisement for "Dr Mabuses' Heroin Cough Syrup," that was one reason there was no mafia here, the other was that every other vice seemed to be legal.
He took another deep breath, "Well what now?"
"I thought you might want to see a boxing match," Whitcomb said, he put a cigarette in a silver holder and lit it, holding his hands protectively cupped around the lighter and the flame, moments later he let out a smoky breath, "Spot of good old fun!"
"Queensbury rules huh?"
<< I doubt they've even heard of Queensbury, far less care >>
"Who?"
<< I am right once more >>
"Sounds interesting, what rules do you use then?" Patterson asked.
"Pendleton Ring of course, what else?"
The Cat and the Fiddle
The Cat and the Fiddle was not really what you thought about when you heard the words "Pendleton Pub," it wasn't the cosy little place filled with either hardworking proles in sixpenny caps, or middle-class chaps with patches on their elbows, and of course the big but kind barkeep.
This was a slum, a dive, on other worlds a bikers bar, filled with all kinds of lowlife; scarred nasty looking criminals, furtive looking men in worn clothes, scowling huge bouncers with tattoos that seemed to come alive each time their owner twitched a muscle, gentlemen with a slight bulge from their revolvers, and of course the harlots.
It was loud and filled with smoke and life, every now and again a couple of the patrons would start shouting insults at one another, and as if by magic one of the bouncers would come up and go "Mebbe ye'd better take it outside?"
Once a group of the patrons, four lower class young men wearing fancy but heavily used clothes, and lots of cheap jewellery, decided to pick a fight "You don't look so tough!" One of them pulled a knife, the others put up a half snarl and looked cocky. Moments later they lay sobbing in a pile, clutching a broken rib or hand, before they were unceremoniously dragged outside and given a sound trashing.
Meanwhile Whitcomb and Patterson found a table by a wall, right beneath a huge printed poster of a pair of boxers going at it. Moments later a waitress came by, her brass collar jingling a bit as she walked, "Wha' can I get you for?"
"Grübach Helvetian 12 years old," Whitcomb said.
"The same," Patterson said, not sure what the locals were drinking.
A few minutes later the barkeep sounded a bell, he cleared his voice and announced "Ladies and Gentlemen! We have a double feature for your viewing pleasure tonight, a fight between Howlin' Jack Vincent and Wulf Morgan, with a warm up between Scrappy Joe Robson and Harry the Hammer Harris!"
Most of the patrons began to mill towards a side door which had been thrown wide open, by the side of it stood a bouncer, and one of the barkeeps assistants holding a large box. There was a steady stream of small and large silver coins into the box, small coins went straight on in, big coins got to walk up a set of stairs partially hidden by the doorway.
When they got there Whitcomb pulled out two shillings and plunked them in, "I and him," he announced, he got a nod in return and they walked up the stairway which led up to a platform or gallery of sorts.
Behind them they could hear a brief scuffle and a call of "Oy! I kin hear the diff'rence 'tween a real coin an..." then the noise of the throng cut it off.
They found themselves on top of a rather large platform held up by four big timbers, and a simple wooden railing surrounded the top. The whole platform creaked a bit from all the gentlemen and their fancy women that thronged together on top of it. They did however have an excellent view of the main room, lit as it were by a bunch of electrical lights in the ceiling, surrounding the elevated boxing ring was a crowd getting pushed closer and closer together as more people came inside. The murmur of the crowd was such that you had to stick your heads together and talk loudly to be heard, and there was a scent of sweat, dirt, sand, cheap perfume from the harlots behind them, and raw excitement.
A man climbed into the boxing ring and began chiming a bell, then he bellowed "OY!" he had an incredible voice. "Gents, we've gots a fancy show for you tonight, first up is Scrappy Joe Robson and Harry the Hammer Harris! You've seen Scrappy Joe before, a freeman of Cumbershire, and Harry the Hammer property of Mr Tippett there," he motioned up towards the platform where a stout gentleman gave a polite nod and wave.
Suddenly someone in the crowd began shouting "Fight! Fight!" and the cry was picked up by the whole crowd for a few moments, the referee let out another "OY!" he had a voice like a foghorn "The fight'll be on now! So clear a road, clear a road, fighters comin' through!"
There was a bit of scuffling then two paths were cleared and a pair of fighters with a pair of tenders each made the trip to the ring, all to the cheer of the crowd. Scrappy Joe was about 5'11", a bit thin and wiry, with a scraggly beard and short hair, but he definitely looked quite tough. Harry the Hammer was a different sort of fellow, same height but heavier, not ostentatiously muscular but a big fellow with thick arms and legs, a well developed and quite hairy chest. Each of them drew cheers from the crowd as they climbed into the ring and gave each other a look, there was a nod as each went to their corner.
For a few minutes before the fight bookies went about collecting bets, they did a brisk business and several small morocco notebooks were filled with chicken scratch notes. At the platform there was an upscale bookie taking the bets of the gents, he wasn't very obtrusive but somehow he always managed to pop up next to any gentleman that hadn't bet yet.
"Who'll win," Patterson asked.
Whitcomb just shook his head, "I don't know, too even I think, but I'm down for a half sovereign on Harry the Hammer."
Next the fight began, the two men eyed each other carefully for a while in the first round, dancing around each other, making small probing jabs and punches. The crowd jeered a bit, but neither of them seemed to have the confidence to push too hard.
"Not pushing very hard are they?" Patterson asked.
"They're just getting started, wait and see," Whitcomb said.
The second round bore that out, the crowd was a bit antsy and mumbling, and there was determined gleam in Harry's face. The moment the bell rang he came at Joe with a staggering pace, a huge fist slammed into Joe's face splitting his lip, and then Harry grabbed Joe in a bearhug shaking him about before throwing him to the ground.
"Is that legal?"
"Of course, and..."
Harry grabbed Joe in another beerhug, shaking him again, but this time the Scrappy fighter rammed an elbow into Harry's face, and kneed him a couple of times to boot barely wriggling out of the lethal hold. Both fighters were bleeding a bit, but Harry was definitely looking better.
Round three was much the same, with Harry coming in hard and pummelling Scrappy Joe, but after that the fight seemed to slow down, both fighters keeping their distance and trying to slowly break down their adversary. Blood ran from countless cuts, and big nasty bruises covered their bodies, in the old days their knuckles and fingers would be shot, but now they wore protective leather straps wrapped around them.
IT wasn't until the last two rounds that the fight picked up again, both of them eager, or desperate to win, both of them going at it like madmen. It was a brutal spectacle, two men beating each other into a bloody pulp, broken noses, swollen eyes that needed cutting, and throughout it all the wild cheering of the crowd each time a spray of blood spread across the ring.
There was silence for a moment, and Whitcomb watched cautiously, "A warm up match only goes on for ten rounds, then the referee must decide," he explained to Patterson. Moments later the referee lifted Scrappy Joe's hand up high and half the crowd cheered and rushed towards the bookies, while the other half tore apart scraps of paper, or just cursed often loudly. A brief outburst of "Damnation!" could be heard from Harry the Hammers owner, who looked quite upset.
Moments later after that the ring had been cleaned up, there came the same spectacle of clearing the path, and of letting the fighters parade themselves while the referee announced them out loud: "Here's Howlin' Jack Vincent, local champ and property of Mr Plasse there," Mr Plasse gave a nod, and then "Wulf Morgan, the challenger, property of Mr Berra who is represented by his overseer!" The overseer was a cold looking man with light grey eyes, for some reason Whitcomb disliked him at once.
The betting was fast and furious here, with Whitcomb betting two guineas on the champion, "I have a feel for this."
"Invincible is he?"
"No just that I don't think Wulf Morgan is the man to beat him..."
"You were wrong earlier."
"Come now... I said they were too close to decide."
The bell rang for the first round and Howlin' Jack did get the better of that fight, but they were both good, very good, far better than the two that went before them. There was a flurry of punches and kicks, both sides moving slowly in circles, waiting for an opening, jabbing lightning fast.
Studying the two men as they fought over the next few rounds Patterson could observe a faint criss-crossing outline of Wulf Morgans back, and he also noticed how the grey eyed overseer kept a close eye on the fight. Howlin' Jacks style was delivering hard lightning fast blows and keeping his distance, while Wulf Morgan went for feints, kicks, and getting in close to deliver his punches.
It was in the fourth round that things resolved, Howlin' Jack let his guard down for a fraction of a second. That was enough, Wulf Morgan struck him on the jaw, and then followed it with a rapid and brutal pummelling. You could hear the thud when the fists struck flesh, the occasional brutal crack as a rib broke, and then Howlin' Jack crashed down to the ground, drool and blood running from his mouth, and big black bruises discolouring his guts.
Wulf Morgan quietly walked back to his corner, relaxing a bit, still looking at Howlin' Jack while the referee began to count "Oneeeeeee... twoooooo... threeeeeee..." slowly and deliberately.
Someone in the ground yelled "'ow much did Plasse pay ye ya bleedin' beggar!" there were other jeers and catcalls there while up on the platform Mr Plasse tried to seem innocent and indignant.
"Did he bribe the referee?" Patterson whispered.
"Of course he did," Whitcomb said half disbelieving as the referee seemed to slow down even more.
Finally the count of "Teeeeeennn..." was reached with Howlin' Jack only barely managing to try to rise, just to sink down again coughing.
The grey eyed overseer smiled satisfied and lit a cigarillo, then he applauded gently as he looked at Wulf Morgan and gave a small satisfied nod.
Janurary 17 1006 NE
0652 military time
Moment later Patterson called out, "Not bad, but if there are a half a dozen Commienators in the throne hall you really need to be better prepared." As he spoke the four Mage Hunters rose up, wiping the red paint from their helmets and vision fields, "Time for debriefing I think..." Patterson added.
The Mage Hunters groaned silently, but at least the real thing should go a lot smoother than the exercises... hopefully anyway.
The cyborg soldier jumped down from his hiding spot, decloaking as he dropped. He crouched briefly as he hit the ground, legs absorbing the fall, and stood up, suit still in its stealth form. The early morning light from sunrise dimly illuminated the field, wreathing the cybercommando, whose color scheme had shifted from absolute light-drinking black to an off-white again.
"Well, nothing wrong about your technique." Patterson said. "But I'm not trying to make you into better shots or runners. Can you guess what I was trying to train you to do, Private..." the soldier checked his tactical display, looking at the name tag and beacon which suddenly appeared over the young Mage Hunter's head, "Cooper? It isn't that hard of a question."
"Sir, ummm... you're trying to train us... to use our new equipment... to the fullest, sir?"
"Yes and no." Patterson said, smile hidden by the armor. "You have to realize that this equipment is just a force multiplier, it won't replace you. You cannot expect it to do your job for you-it might tell you information, feed you data, but the final decision is your own."
And in my case? Dominion asked, snarkily.
You're sentient enough to fit in the 'autonomous combat drone' category instead of the 'force multiplier' category. Just that you can be worn. I'm talking about arms and armor which don't do much of the thinking for you.
You still rely a lot on your weapons and implants to get you through shit storms. Isn't that what you're trying to warn them about? Dominion asked him. Or does it not apply if you're a supersoldier?
In my case, if I don't put my faith in technology, I'm dead. Because unlike them, near-absolute trust in technology isn't optional or undesirable when you're augmented up to your ears. Especially when those augmentations are all that's been keeping you alive on some of those missions. So were you asking just to disagree on principle, or an actual question?
"In other words, we should rely on our own eyes and ears?" Sergeant Smith asked.
"As I said, yes and no. The mission was supposed to check if you could balance trusting the technology and not using it. Had you been using the threat indicator systems in your armor HUDs and ignoring your training, you would have walked into a trap in the corridors. The threat indicator is good at finding enemy firearms or alerting you to incoming fire. What it wouldn't have told you is of that pit trap." Patterson mentioned.
"On the other hand, you didn't use it often enough. All of you kept the vision mode for your optics on light-amp, which didn't help much when you could have seen the six tangos in the throne room through the walls if you had been checking the other vision modes. Night vision is useful, but it's not the end all of seeing in the dark. And yes, I know it's probably somewhat hypocritical to lecture you about these little nuances in technology when I'm wearing this suit, but it's something you have to worry about and that I don't."
Patterson paused for a moment to let it sink in, and continued talking. "Otherwise, there was nothing wrong, except for the underusage of alternative sensing modes. Some of those modes are extremely useful in specific situations. It might get confusing, but learning roughly which mode works best in the current situation, so you see the enemy before they can see you, is going to help your ability to fight much better than your new assault rifles, or ballistic armor, or almost anything else I can give you. If you can see it, you can kill it or avoid it. If you can't see it, it has the advantage over you."
"Otherwise, I think you're doing fine. I know I wouldn't have adapted to such a leap in weapons and armor ability in such a short period of time as well as you guys did. Get used to the integrated electronics more, and you'll only get better. And I'm not quite sure how long we're going to have before we get shipped out, so I'm going to need to know who to ask for transportation. Write letters to loved ones on the trip if you must, and keep a last will and testament handy. This is warfare, survival is not guaranteed."
And they all know that already. Dominion said.
Can't ever say that too many times. War isn't a VR game.
What happened to 'their drills are bloodless battles and their battles are bloody drills'? Dominion asked again.
Only when you aren't in special forces. You can't practice for every available situation, so as both of us know, we need to know when to improvise.
"Had fun playing in the mud?" Darklight asked sweetly, as they piled back in.
"Yeah, loads of fun."
"Why can't I get to play in the mud?" PAL asked meekly.
"Don't worry, I'll get someone to keep you company before we leave." Patterson said kindly. "Besides, this is the kind of playing in the mud which gets dangerous. Grunt work always is."
"And here we thought some future-guy with all your gadgets would have it different." Private Cooper remarked.
"It's only when you're in the cavalry where you get air conditioned comfort and comfy chairs. In the infantry, save for having extra eyes and ears and armor, some things never change." Patterson said. His helmet was undeployed now and they saw his face clearly. He looked to be in his twenties, regeneration and augmentation having eliminated any signs of aging, but there was no mistaking him for anything except a soldier. Maybe it was the economy of motion or the eyes revealing every second of combat he had seen, but there was something that screamed 'veteran commando' to the Mage Hunters.
"ETA?" Patterson asked out of habit.
"Two hours, same as usual. Still going at high subsonic, we don't want to disturb anyone sleeping." Darklight replied, humoring him.
"Well then. Get some sleep, write those letters, or finish the book you're reading. Next stop is BOSS HQ, and then Azhistan." Patterson announced.
Golden Serpent: A Night in Pendleton
Bleak Castle
Pendleton City
Pendleton
Erde
Wednesday 17 January 1006
Sir Hubert clenched his ivory cigarette holder between his teeth while he looked up at the ceiling, a thin stream of smoke rose drifted up towards the ceiling, "It's a damnable thing!"
Colonel Brown could but nod to that, "Yes indeed it is, but the risks involved are too great".
"I don't care about risks, I care about victory!" Sir Hubert said.
"Sir Hubert this is not the place for that," Colonel Brown said.
"My apologies Sir, no offence intended, but it is frustrating that we are blocked from using our best resource..." Sir Hubert took another puff of his cigarette, "There must be some way?"
"Certainly we must use old fashioned shipping, we still have ten suitable freighters, I'm sure the Deep Sky Fleet can be made to see reason" Colonel Brown explained.
Before anything else could be said a grey looking functionary stuck his head through the door and announced, "Gentlemen, Mr Patterson is here."
"Send him in Fredricks," Col Brown said.
"Yes Sir," the functionary retreated. Moments later Patterson entered the office, he was still wearing his usual, not entirely inconspicuous, combat armour.
"Mr Patterson, please have a seat," Colonel Brown offered, after that Patterson had sat down he continued, "Now then to cut to the chase we won't be able to open a gateway to Azhistan. So we are working on arranging alternate transport."
"Why not Sir?" Patterson asked.
"Apparently the Bolshies can close our gates, and, well... you'll hear this soon enough we've accidentally picked a bit of a fight with Tartarus."
"Didn't you already have one going? I mean they sent the commienators around."
"Yes, quite, but that was just Bolshie solidarity, this time it's personal."
Patterson let out a low whistle, "You certainly know how to pick a fight Colonel, but I may be able to help you with transport." Both Pendletonians paid attention at that, "If you are willing to pay the cost that is," he quickly added.
"We are willing to provide ether I assume you mean your cruiser?"
"What else? Darklight can move up to fifty men if we make room."
Negotiations were short and to the point after that, and though the Pendletonians found it a bit dear a highly advanced cruiser is nothing to sneeze at for this kind of work.
Wentworth & Schüler
"Now Sir if you will just raise your arms for me to make some adjustments."
Anyone who entered the tailor shop of Wentworth & Schüler would have been greeted with a peculiar sight, in the middle of a very cluttered but quite orderly tailor shop a tall man in a peculiar bulky suit of armour was being measured and adjusted by a birdlike white haired tailor who scarcely reached up to his shoulders. Allan Whitcomb, the third and last man in the room, watched the scene with bemusement from where he sat.
"You look good," Whitcomb said.
Patterson turned a bit, and looked into one of the full length mirrors, "I look ridiculous," he said indicating the long fur coat that he was wearing.
"It's the local custom," Whitcomb said.
<< See everyone else will also look like an idiot >>
Patterson turned back to Whitcomb forcing the tailor to half run to continue taking measurements, "Sir! Please!" the poor chap said, muttering under his breath even after Patterson stopped.
"Ever had to deal with snide machines?" Patterson asked.
"Other than a chess playing Golem I encountered when I was twelve? No not really."
"You are a big fellow," the tailor mumbled, "We'll have to adjust this..."
After a few moments Whitcomb wagged his finger a bit, "Maybe you should try a beard?"
"I can't be bothered with a false beard."
"No a real one, big one, St Nicholas size, they have beards in Azhistan," Whitcomb mused.
"Do we have time for me to grow one?"
"No, but one of the mages could cast a spell, they can make hair grow from a stone..."
Patterson rubbed his cheek, he gave Whitcomb a long sceptical look, "Magic?"
"It would be good camouflage."
The only response from Patterson was a mixture of a grunt and a sigh. Then the tailor began to pull at the long fur coat while chatting amiably, "I think Sir that if we hurry, and work the night, that we could have all of this done," he pulled of the fur coat and placed it over his arm, "Say 11 AM tomorrow?"
"Yeah okay," Patterson offered, then back to Whitcomb he added, "I'll use a false beard, they shouldn't see my face anyway."
"Of course, of course," Whitcomb said, he rose up from his cheer and gave Patterson a friendly smile, "So then interested in a look at Pendleton before we leave?"
"Actually yeah, I am, I am..."
They walked out into the darkening twilight, the air was filled with a scent of horse manure, coal, and the various smells hundreds of thousands of human beings living in a city as large as Pendleton. Stretched out before them was the home of five million people, and even at night the streets were never empty.
Streets of Pendleton
Darkness was falling upon Pendleton, a darkness broken only by the streetlights for the dark sooty clouds and the thick grey fog blocked out the sky, in places even the electric streetlights were nothing more than distantly paced blobs of light like a golden thread that kept you roughly on the main streets.
For Patterson this was not so troublesome, he could see through the gloom with the advanced sensors in his suit, and in the smog no one noticed anything strange about a bulky figure in a long cloak. The city he saw was primitive, poor, and extremely brutal, with flimsily clad women selling their bodies in each alley. Every other alley had a couple of thugs in it, but they shied away from two sturdy young gentlemen that walked with an air of confidence.
In the darker more backwards parts of the town, where they were going, they still used gaslights, filling the alleys with even deeper and more flickering shadows. The women were more aggressive too with their shouts of "Oy ey, com'n geddit lads!" or some bawd calling "Com' gents! Faaaain yong girls just off the carriage from the country!"
"Well you asked for the seedy side, and here you have it," Whitcomb said indicating the misery around them.
Patterson took a deep breath, the air was filthy, and though there was a lot of crime it was the simple tawdry sort and not the organised crime cartels he'd been hoping for. Hanging up on a tattered wall he could see an advertisement for "Dr Mabuses' Heroin Cough Syrup," that was one reason there was no mafia here, the other was that every other vice seemed to be legal.
He took another deep breath, "Well what now?"
"I thought you might want to see a boxing match," Whitcomb said, he put a cigarette in a silver holder and lit it, holding his hands protectively cupped around the lighter and the flame, moments later he let out a smoky breath, "Spot of good old fun!"
"Queensbury rules huh?"
<< I doubt they've even heard of Queensbury, far less care >>
"Who?"
<< I am right once more >>
"Sounds interesting, what rules do you use then?" Patterson asked.
"Pendleton Ring of course, what else?"
The Cat and the Fiddle
The Cat and the Fiddle was not really what you thought about when you heard the words "Pendleton Pub," it wasn't the cosy little place filled with either hardworking proles in sixpenny caps, or middle-class chaps with patches on their elbows, and of course the big but kind barkeep.
This was a slum, a dive, on other worlds a bikers bar, filled with all kinds of lowlife; scarred nasty looking criminals, furtive looking men in worn clothes, scowling huge bouncers with tattoos that seemed to come alive each time their owner twitched a muscle, gentlemen with a slight bulge from their revolvers, and of course the harlots.
It was loud and filled with smoke and life, every now and again a couple of the patrons would start shouting insults at one another, and as if by magic one of the bouncers would come up and go "Mebbe ye'd better take it outside?"
Once a group of the patrons, four lower class young men wearing fancy but heavily used clothes, and lots of cheap jewellery, decided to pick a fight "You don't look so tough!" One of them pulled a knife, the others put up a half snarl and looked cocky. Moments later they lay sobbing in a pile, clutching a broken rib or hand, before they were unceremoniously dragged outside and given a sound trashing.
Meanwhile Whitcomb and Patterson found a table by a wall, right beneath a huge printed poster of a pair of boxers going at it. Moments later a waitress came by, her brass collar jingling a bit as she walked, "Wha' can I get you for?"
"Grübach Helvetian 12 years old," Whitcomb said.
"The same," Patterson said, not sure what the locals were drinking.
A few minutes later the barkeep sounded a bell, he cleared his voice and announced "Ladies and Gentlemen! We have a double feature for your viewing pleasure tonight, a fight between Howlin' Jack Vincent and Wulf Morgan, with a warm up between Scrappy Joe Robson and Harry the Hammer Harris!"
Most of the patrons began to mill towards a side door which had been thrown wide open, by the side of it stood a bouncer, and one of the barkeeps assistants holding a large box. There was a steady stream of small and large silver coins into the box, small coins went straight on in, big coins got to walk up a set of stairs partially hidden by the doorway.
When they got there Whitcomb pulled out two shillings and plunked them in, "I and him," he announced, he got a nod in return and they walked up the stairway which led up to a platform or gallery of sorts.
Behind them they could hear a brief scuffle and a call of "Oy! I kin hear the diff'rence 'tween a real coin an..." then the noise of the throng cut it off.
They found themselves on top of a rather large platform held up by four big timbers, and a simple wooden railing surrounded the top. The whole platform creaked a bit from all the gentlemen and their fancy women that thronged together on top of it. They did however have an excellent view of the main room, lit as it were by a bunch of electrical lights in the ceiling, surrounding the elevated boxing ring was a crowd getting pushed closer and closer together as more people came inside. The murmur of the crowd was such that you had to stick your heads together and talk loudly to be heard, and there was a scent of sweat, dirt, sand, cheap perfume from the harlots behind them, and raw excitement.
A man climbed into the boxing ring and began chiming a bell, then he bellowed "OY!" he had an incredible voice. "Gents, we've gots a fancy show for you tonight, first up is Scrappy Joe Robson and Harry the Hammer Harris! You've seen Scrappy Joe before, a freeman of Cumbershire, and Harry the Hammer property of Mr Tippett there," he motioned up towards the platform where a stout gentleman gave a polite nod and wave.
Suddenly someone in the crowd began shouting "Fight! Fight!" and the cry was picked up by the whole crowd for a few moments, the referee let out another "OY!" he had a voice like a foghorn "The fight'll be on now! So clear a road, clear a road, fighters comin' through!"
There was a bit of scuffling then two paths were cleared and a pair of fighters with a pair of tenders each made the trip to the ring, all to the cheer of the crowd. Scrappy Joe was about 5'11", a bit thin and wiry, with a scraggly beard and short hair, but he definitely looked quite tough. Harry the Hammer was a different sort of fellow, same height but heavier, not ostentatiously muscular but a big fellow with thick arms and legs, a well developed and quite hairy chest. Each of them drew cheers from the crowd as they climbed into the ring and gave each other a look, there was a nod as each went to their corner.
For a few minutes before the fight bookies went about collecting bets, they did a brisk business and several small morocco notebooks were filled with chicken scratch notes. At the platform there was an upscale bookie taking the bets of the gents, he wasn't very obtrusive but somehow he always managed to pop up next to any gentleman that hadn't bet yet.
"Who'll win," Patterson asked.
Whitcomb just shook his head, "I don't know, too even I think, but I'm down for a half sovereign on Harry the Hammer."
Next the fight began, the two men eyed each other carefully for a while in the first round, dancing around each other, making small probing jabs and punches. The crowd jeered a bit, but neither of them seemed to have the confidence to push too hard.
"Not pushing very hard are they?" Patterson asked.
"They're just getting started, wait and see," Whitcomb said.
The second round bore that out, the crowd was a bit antsy and mumbling, and there was determined gleam in Harry's face. The moment the bell rang he came at Joe with a staggering pace, a huge fist slammed into Joe's face splitting his lip, and then Harry grabbed Joe in a bearhug shaking him about before throwing him to the ground.
"Is that legal?"
"Of course, and..."
Harry grabbed Joe in another beerhug, shaking him again, but this time the Scrappy fighter rammed an elbow into Harry's face, and kneed him a couple of times to boot barely wriggling out of the lethal hold. Both fighters were bleeding a bit, but Harry was definitely looking better.
Round three was much the same, with Harry coming in hard and pummelling Scrappy Joe, but after that the fight seemed to slow down, both fighters keeping their distance and trying to slowly break down their adversary. Blood ran from countless cuts, and big nasty bruises covered their bodies, in the old days their knuckles and fingers would be shot, but now they wore protective leather straps wrapped around them.
IT wasn't until the last two rounds that the fight picked up again, both of them eager, or desperate to win, both of them going at it like madmen. It was a brutal spectacle, two men beating each other into a bloody pulp, broken noses, swollen eyes that needed cutting, and throughout it all the wild cheering of the crowd each time a spray of blood spread across the ring.
There was silence for a moment, and Whitcomb watched cautiously, "A warm up match only goes on for ten rounds, then the referee must decide," he explained to Patterson. Moments later the referee lifted Scrappy Joe's hand up high and half the crowd cheered and rushed towards the bookies, while the other half tore apart scraps of paper, or just cursed often loudly. A brief outburst of "Damnation!" could be heard from Harry the Hammers owner, who looked quite upset.
Moments later after that the ring had been cleaned up, there came the same spectacle of clearing the path, and of letting the fighters parade themselves while the referee announced them out loud: "Here's Howlin' Jack Vincent, local champ and property of Mr Plasse there," Mr Plasse gave a nod, and then "Wulf Morgan, the challenger, property of Mr Berra who is represented by his overseer!" The overseer was a cold looking man with light grey eyes, for some reason Whitcomb disliked him at once.
The betting was fast and furious here, with Whitcomb betting two guineas on the champion, "I have a feel for this."
"Invincible is he?"
"No just that I don't think Wulf Morgan is the man to beat him..."
"You were wrong earlier."
"Come now... I said they were too close to decide."
The bell rang for the first round and Howlin' Jack did get the better of that fight, but they were both good, very good, far better than the two that went before them. There was a flurry of punches and kicks, both sides moving slowly in circles, waiting for an opening, jabbing lightning fast.
Studying the two men as they fought over the next few rounds Patterson could observe a faint criss-crossing outline of Wulf Morgans back, and he also noticed how the grey eyed overseer kept a close eye on the fight. Howlin' Jacks style was delivering hard lightning fast blows and keeping his distance, while Wulf Morgan went for feints, kicks, and getting in close to deliver his punches.
It was in the fourth round that things resolved, Howlin' Jack let his guard down for a fraction of a second. That was enough, Wulf Morgan struck him on the jaw, and then followed it with a rapid and brutal pummelling. You could hear the thud when the fists struck flesh, the occasional brutal crack as a rib broke, and then Howlin' Jack crashed down to the ground, drool and blood running from his mouth, and big black bruises discolouring his guts.
Wulf Morgan quietly walked back to his corner, relaxing a bit, still looking at Howlin' Jack while the referee began to count "Oneeeeeee... twoooooo... threeeeeee..." slowly and deliberately.
Someone in the ground yelled "'ow much did Plasse pay ye ya bleedin' beggar!" there were other jeers and catcalls there while up on the platform Mr Plasse tried to seem innocent and indignant.
"Did he bribe the referee?" Patterson whispered.
"Of course he did," Whitcomb said half disbelieving as the referee seemed to slow down even more.
Finally the count of "Teeeeeennn..." was reached with Howlin' Jack only barely managing to try to rise, just to sink down again coughing.
The grey eyed overseer smiled satisfied and lit a cigarillo, then he applauded gently as he looked at Wulf Morgan and gave a small satisfied nod.
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Operation Golden Serpent - Chapter III
Pendleton-Rum Starway
Janurary 20 1006 NE
Cruiser Darklight
The journey had been mostly uneventful. Patterson wished it'd stay that way. Eventful trips tended to involve flak and various other nasty weapons. In a vehicle designed for stealth insertion instead of combat, the chance of happening onto a bigger fish with larger weapons tended to be rather large, and sneaking away from the enemy wasn't always possible.
He did have some thoughts about what he had seen in Pendleton, most of all I could clean up in the boxing matches, a meeting with some local champ, a few bets in the right spots... the odds would definitely be in my favour. Then again if was definitely something that would be done later on, once the mission was over, and if he didn't have anything else to do.
Speaking of Pendleton the natives had been behaving themselves well enough for the trip. Some were writing about their adventures. Writings which probably didn't have more than a grain of truth to them, he thought, but would most likely be confiscated at the end anyway as they would reveal secret of the state which could never be divulged.
As for Patterson when he wasn't training or checking his equipment, he watched the Pendletons, and otherwise waited. Virtual reality training might not be as good as the real thing, but it was better than nothing. It also kept his mind off the journey. Patterson didn't have a full scale VR system, though, or even headsets. It was an oversight he might or might not have to correct, if the next mission wasn't for a power which didn't have direct neural interfaces. In addition there was that slight sense of unrealism, that sense of falsehood you could never quite pin on one specific factor, but rather just a wrongness emanating from the gestalt of sensations.
Right now, he had gotten in position in his virtual scenario, dodging the enemy tac squads, evading sentries and watches, and crouched in an empty building, waiting for the shot. The MICW proclaimed its readiness to fire. Wind and range indicators danced across his vision, along with air resistance, temperature, and various other factors which barely affected the shot path. Reduce displayed information, tolerance minimal. Patterson thought, and Dominion rapidly made it so. Now they only displayed a range to target. The target, an important enemy official, was behind a wood wall, sitting down. His sensors gave him a rough picture. He couldn't make out details, or much of anything which wasn't practically adjacent to the wall, but luckily for him the man was close enough, sitting down, probably surrounded by guards.
The wooden construction of the buildings would provide little obstacle to any of his fire modes, but it'd take time to chew through the walls with the energy component, as at a kilometre range plus an intervening wall, the DEW system would be attenuated to limited usefulness. Neither his launcher nor the shotgun could reach that far, and although the anti-armour function could toss a shaped-charge mini-missile past that range, he didn't have it. It was far too large, bulky, and noisy to carry around unless one was expecting armor. << Sniper mode >> he commanded the weapon, and it started shifting in form to accommodate the extended barrel and lengthened projectiles that the weapon used in this function. The clip of flechettes dropped out, hitting the ground with a metal rattle. The weapon shifted and transformed as he added the barrel extensions, absorbing the new additions. Patterson brought the scope up, reacquired the target, reticule dancing. The lengthened barrel of the sniper rifle peeked out of the window. Programs brought themselves online, recognizing the ammunition, loading their knowledge of the rounds' terminal ballistics, bringing up aim assistance programming, anti-jitter correction systems, and the weapon's own limited artificial intelligence spoke back to the soldier and his combat armour.
<< Weapon is online. Ammunition is confirmed as 25mm APFSDS. Velocity setting is at maximum. Range is 1024.353 meters, ballistic drop during flight calculated to be 0.75 meters. Terminal velocity is sufficient for penetration and 99.799% chance of kill. Aim offset taken into account in reticle. Fire when ready. >>
"One shot one kill." Patterson whispered, activating the aim assisted 'sniper mode'. He re-centered the weapon on the man's head, pulled the trigger. A yellow overlay graphic appeared on the scope view, showing exactly where he was aiming. He held down the trigger, and the gun knew to wait for the weapon to align exactly with that point. Patterson knew that such caution was overkill, that chances were he could hit it, but he wasn't about to take chances at this range. Although aim assist killed his rate of fire, he wasn't shooting at someone who already knew he was there. He could take his first shot slowly.
Three things happened at that point, within two seconds. First, the gun noticed that it and the target were in alignment. The simulated accelerator systems activated, slamming a simulated anti-materiel sniper round which wouldn't have been out of place being fed into a vehicle-grade autocannon at a muzzle velocity which was well into the hypersonic range. The projectile crossed the distance within a third of a second, its dense material coping well against the wind resistance, the aim completely true, everything possible factored in to make the flight path as accurate and terminal for the victim as possible. Second, the assassination target's head was reduced to so much virtual red paint as the projectile, still flying at the speed of a rifle bullet, followed its calculated flight path faithfully, intersecting with the man's head with terminal results. Third, and lastly, even as the target's guards reacted, Patterson was yanked out of VR by an emergency signal.
"And here I was about to get to the hard part-the hauling ass section of the simulation. It's always easier to get in than out." Patterson muttered to himself. "And here I was about to get to the hard part-the hauling ass section of the simulation. It's always easier to get in than out." Patterson muttered to himself.
<< Well, at least you got to take that shot. Good for stress relief. >> Dominion told him.
"I'll give you that much. Darklight, what's happening?"
"We've detected an anomaly."
"An anomaly? Very nice choice of words. I presume it's not shooting at us?"
"It's in no condition to shoot at us. Target looks like a very large freighter, badly beaten up. Feeding visual directly to your optic nerves... right now."
He saw the ship, a dark shape silhouetted by light from various stars. He switched his view from Darklight's sensor feeds, and saw the ship's outlines clearly in enhanced vision, saw the decrepit state, wondering how it had still held together. There were signs of age and decay, and he wondered why nobody had spotted it before him, or perhaps they had, and the denizens were too dangerous for them to deal with...
<< It's a derelict. Well, we could always check it for loot, >> Dominion supplied.
<< And what if it's dangerous? A space hulk like that could be filled with demons or worse, >> Darklight mentioned.
<< Well, it's not doing anyone any good just sitting there, I think we need to do some scans and possibly a boarding, >> Patterson commented quickly, before Dominion could retort.
Who do you think you are? A space marine or something? We're not supposed to board strange ships in the middle of nowhere! Darklight warned.
<< But it's... there... and the promise of riches is there as well. And someone's going to do something real stupid like board it anyway, so we might as well beat them to it. >>
<< Sometimes I wonder if getting shot messed up your brain any. >>
"I'm going anyways, and I think some of the Pendletonians will want to come as well."
Derelict Ship
Pendleton-Rum Starway
January 20 1006 NE
2142 military time
The ship hadn't been large enough for them to all fit through, but it had docking rings, and the door locks hadn't rusted in place. Sure, they groaned a bit when he tried to open them, but what was an abandoned ship without strange moaning and groaning? Or skeletal remains of previous travellers. He looked at the skeletons left there, bones reflecting entry and exit wounds by some kind of projectile weapon, and commanded his suit to switch from stealth to assault mode. The armor proclaimed its readiness a second later, carapace transforming from a low-sensor-return stealth material into something designed to deflect 'real' weapons fire. He saw the cause of the dead adventurers immediately. A single auto turret greeted him with futile twitching, its motors and ammunition feed systems had decayed into uselessness years ago. Patterson cut the wiring and snapped the barrels to make sure, even though the wiring had already seen most of its insulation either rot or be chewed off long ago and even though the barrels had been weakened to the point they bent easily, age having taken its toll.
"Well, this ship's seen better days." Darklight commented. At this range, communications with the ship was wideband, and she saw everything he did. "Database doesn't have a match to the owners, but it looks like a freighter, not a warship."
"That's good to hear. Makes the chances of encountering deadly weapons slightly lower."
"Well, auto-turrets aren't deadly anymore?" Darklight asked fastidiously.
"Working deadly weapons. Freighter maintenance is slightly more 'iffy', shall we say, than military ships, and this thing looks like its last checkup was about twenty thousand Great Leagues before."
"I'm just saying that you should be careful. There might be surprises in store."
2215 military time
Patterson checked his motion tracker again. There had been a short blip, barely noticeable even with his reaction time augmentation turned to max, even when every step felt like wading through neck-high mud and even when everything moved at a snail's pace. The slow drumbeat of his feet hitting metal deck and the following Mage Hunters, wearing their new armor and weapons in their first (potential) combat situation, added to the atmosphere.
It wasn't the type of atmosphere that he liked. The eerie groans of the failing structural members both warned him that the ship probably wouldn't be holding together for much longer, and also set a primal primitive part of his mind on edge. The calming influence of his combat wiring started managing his mental state, damping emotions with sedatives and other pharmatech, managing tasks such as breathing for maximum efficiency, keeping him in the proper state for full combat. The damping equipment only kicked in when the user was in a state of anxiety or hatred-something which might cause a soldier to react irrationally, waste ammunition or give away his position or do one of the million little things which could cause an infantryman to die pointlessly on the field of battle.
Patterson rarely had to use the damper system. Normally he was in control, a ghost in the shadows, invisible death. The damper for its part rarely intruded on his mind, a tiny calming influence, the metaphorical 'voice of reason'. However, the aura of horror the ship exuded went beyond rational thought. He knew that he shouldn't be on edge to that extent. Yet he couldn't help it. The soldier welcomed the calm washing over him with open arms. Even with the damper on full, he still felt some sense of unease, but the normal detachment came as well. No longer was the shattered skeleton a source of anxiety, but rather a signpost, telling of potential threats. The blips on his tracker and occasional ghost images were not disturbing but rather intriguing. The world felt sharper, more clear, less degraded by the fears and wants of the subconscious, less degraded by what made one human.
<< I've always wondered how much of me has been tweaked like that. >> Patterson asked out of curiosity.
<< Your neural wiring doesn't seem to go beyond aggression controllers and reflex boosters plus the standard-issue DNI systems. That's all everyone needs, isn't it? >> Darklight mentioned.
The five Mage Hunters fanned out as they passed the corridor. Unlike Patterson, they didn't have the benefit of his combat wiring. They were as on-edge as humans could be, and they were glancing behind them more often than not.
<< You know what this reminds me of? One of those horror stories. >> Dominion said. The environment was enough to stop even it from being anything except serious. Not a good sign.
<< We can handle it. Wait. What was that? >> Patterson asked. He checked the motion scanner. << Whatever it is, it's coming towards us. >>
"Wait." He called out, motioning for the Mage Hunters. "Cover that door."
They did so with admirable precision, considering that every one of them was in an environment which, either by accident or by design, had been practically made to turn someone into a gibbering wreck.
"I don't see nothing!" One of them called out.
"Distance twenty meters. Ten. Five. It's on top of you."
The commandos focused weapon-mounted flashlights on the doorway, illumination amped to eye-hurting brightness. Out of the door a dog-sized lizard scurried out, attempted to sink its teeth in the plating of the body armour one of the commandos wore, failed miserably, and ran off again.
"False alarm," Patterson said, infuriatingly calmly. "Form up, I'm taking point again. Support gunner to rearguard."
"Is this your idea of a practical joke, sir?" Cooper asked, sweating bullets even in the cold freighter.
"Soldier, shut up and soldier," Sergeant Smith snapped.
"I'm just as worried as you are, private. Carry on." Patterson said, Or at least I would be if I wasn't doped up to the eyeballs.
"What you think that thing's been eating?" Cpl Banks asked.
<< And people say nightvision makes you unafraid of the dark. >> Dominion commented.
"Well, don't just stand there and gawk, keep moving!" Sergeant Smith yelled. He paused, decided to take his own advice, and followed the cyborg through the next corridor.
In the background Cooper whispered "Corpses were picked clean weren't they?"
"Bloody hell," "Blimey," and other mutterings came from the other troops, the idea of being a nicely nibbled skeleton was not appealing.
The corridor, like most on the ship, exuded age and poor maintenance. Rust had consumed the pipes, leaving bare wrecks. Puddles of some unrecognizable greenish glowing substance sat there, motionless. The soldiers took one look, decided that stepping through them would be hazardous to continued life and procreation, and spent time gingerly stepping around or over the glop.
"Coolant pipes, I'd presume," Dominion told everyone, "It's probably not that toxic. Under normal circumstances."
That almost-but-not-quite-reassurance didn't actually reassure anyone. If anything, they were even more careful about not stepping into the emerald-coloured muck.
The ghost returns came again, multiple blips on his trackers, brief flashes in ether viewing, but he ignored them. None of them were threats. Just glimpses of things which didn't exist. "Full of sound and fury. Signifying nothing," someone whispered. It might have been Dominion or Darklight, or Patterson himself. It didn't matter.
"Clear." Patterson hollered. "No hostiles, nothing fighting us as of yet."
<< Let's hope it stays that way. >> Dominion said. << Everyone's really jumpy right now. >>
"Jumpy is bad." Patterson agreed.
<< New contact! Closing fast. Sonics are spiking. >>.
<< I can hear that. >> Patterson snarled, as the massive elephantine pounding of... something... echoed across the ship.
The Mage Hunters looked around quickly, searching for potential entryways.
Patterson switched to enhanced vision, looking through the walls and floor like so much glass, seeing nothing coming through the halls.
<< Where is it? Motion tracker says 4 meters away. >>
<< BEHIND YOU! >>
<< The wall? >>
<< YES, GENIUS! >> Dominion yelled.
"Through the walls! It's going through the wall!" Patterson snarled out loud.
The unknown entity slammed through the age-weakened wall, a blur of gunmetal gray. Patterson reacted to the creature bursting through, spinning around, weapon in firing position. He squeezed the trigger, a razor sharp fan of death coming to meet the enemy. He saw it clearly for the first time, limbs moving in slow motion. Gunmetal gray armor, just as aged as the rest of the ship, but still evidently military. No evidence of rust, although some kind of lichen had apparently decided to make its home on it. A pilot inside, some kind of deformed monstrosity, all muscular bulk and teeth. He saw the thing regard him with glowing yellow orbs, then look down to the entry wound where the razors had cut through rusted alloy and into flesh, and then heard it roar. His implants immediately damped the sound, keeping him in the fight. The helmets did the same for the Mage Hunters. The creature slapped him with a heavy weapon, the massive gun looking like something torn off a vehicle and given a handle more than any personal weapon, and then started firing even as Patterson landed in a heap. The creature seemed to ignore the Mage Hunters' fire, even though the assault rifles were harming it, at least when they hit vulnerable joints. When they hit the clear helmet dome, or the hard plating, they ricocheted off with lound pings.
Patterson was not ignored by the brute. His shot had, at close range and at maximum power, cut a bloody hole in the creature's torso. Instead of blood though, proper blood, there was some kind of blackish ichor dripping from the wound. He slammed into the wall, hard enough to cause a concussion in any normal human, and took a dozen shots from the enemy in a mere fraction of a second. Fortunately enough, the creature didn't think he rated precision aiming.
Armour attempted to weather the assault admirably, the slugs stopping without penetration on the hardened artificial carapace, but flashing armor integrity indicators told Patterson it wouldn't hold for long. Even when morphed for full assault, the suit wasn't designed for standing in the open and deflecting hundreds of rounds. He dove to the relative cover of a metal barrel, the enemy weapon tracing a line of holes behind him, and returned fire. Sparks flew and small molten trickles ran down the enemy armour as Patterson opened up.
It roared like a bear while it staggered forward, but the huge weapon was difficult to handle in the cramped corridor and with surprise gone it couldn't really bring its firepower to bear. The Mage Hunters spread out a bit, seeking cover.
Sgt Smith plinked several rounds of its helmet, a couple of bullets penetrated and tore away the skin on its head, but it didn't seem to mind. "Oy! You ugly lump o' dung!" the Sgt yelled, only to be ignored, "Lets have a got at 'im!"
Seeing an enemy made from flesh and blood seemed to give the Mage Hunters some nerve, Sgt Smith and Pvt Cooper "had a go" at it. Basically this meant that they moved very close blazing away, as if preparing to bayonet the thing. Distracted as it were it didn't deem it necessary to notice them before they were right on top of it, then it roared and swung the enormous weapon hitting Sgt Smith square in the chest and flinging him against a wall. Pvt Cooper ducked down and opened up at it, but it was turning back to Patterson now, yet the pair of Mage Hunter had given Patterson just the opening he needed.
CRACK CRACK CRACK the sound of a bullet going supersonic without the benefit of a powder charge is quite uncanny, there's no boom only the a whip-snap like sound. One of the shotgun shells fired a mixture of explosive pellets and regular tungsten cored iron balls, it struck the creature straight in the face.
The result was quite impressive, not least because the things helmet suddenly bulged out like a tin can left for a week in the blazing sun, if you imagine that tin can being pierced with a big blunt nail the rest of the scene should be pretty evident to you too.
The creatures weapon was still firing though, brass shells rolling onto the floor, and a line of bullet holes and big dents traced in the wall before it stopped with a final metallic click.
The aftermath was marked with deathly silence, and a greyish white smoke from gunshots, but also from where parts of the insulation had burned away. The creature twitched, encouraging Patterson to put a couple more rounds in it just to make sure, tearing a few new holes in the heavy armour.
"Blimey, he was a tough'un," Pvt Jones said.
"I need a cig," Cpl Banks muttered as he peered at the beast, "What the devil was that thing?" He fumbled with a set of matches, getting one to light up before he realised he was wearing a helmet.
For a split second Pattersons attention was turned to where Pvt Cooper was helping the Sarge to get up. When he looked back to the corpse he saw something disturbing, a small cloud of yellowish smoke was rising from the holes in the armour, especially from the shattered helmet. The smoke then began to move out towards the four Mage Hunters and Patterson.
Banks dropped his burning match into his matchbook, and both of them fell to the floor as he reached for his rifle. When the flickering yellowish smoke struck the flame it caught fire, explosively so, like methane gas, and the flame flashed back to the body of the creature. Everyone were a bit dazzled but none the worse for the wear.
<< What was that? >> Patterson asked at once as he proceeded to scan the place more thoroughly.
<< Some kind of fungal infection >>
<< Fungus? A mushroom did this? >>
<< Not quite, it's fungus, it manufactures several drugs which effectively turn an infected person into a homicidal maniac, and it goes down from there >>
Sgt Smith now looked at Banks, "Corporal Banks."
"Yes Sarg'nt?"
"I will let this pass this time, but the next time that you light a match inside an alien spaceship my boot will be so far up your backside that you'll be able to taste your own dung, clear?"
"Aye Sargn't."
"You ought to know that the gas was fungus spores, and they're infectious, it may be what..." Patterson began, then they peered through the hole that the creature had made.
"Blimey" someone said, very suitably, there was a rather large room, maybe a cargo bay, with walls covered in yellowish fungus, and several big cocoons one of which had recently opened. Scattered around in the room were rotting bones, and scraps of clothes and equipment. Right in the middle of the room, among one of the thickest fungus concentrations, were a couple of odd looking artillery shells.
"Looks like a bio-weapon escaped its containment," Patterson mused.
"A what Sir?" Sgt Smith asked.
Patterson gave him a quick look, then he noticed that some of the fungal growths seemed to, well, pulse in an eerie way, and a couple of cocoons opened slowly. There was a series of metallic sounds as rifles were loaded, then utter silence. Slowly an arm still wrapped in a tattered space suit pushed out through one of the cocoons. Patterson looked at the four mage hunters who looked somewhat worried, then he pulled out a grenade, "Fire at will."
A sheet of flame licked out, tearing through the fungus, ripping apart the cocoons, a couple of them broke utterly revealing thoroughly rotted fungus infected corpses that nevertheless twitched faintly as they dropped on the ground. The remainder however seemed disturbingly ambulatory, and now a cloud of yellowish spores rose from the places where the bullets had struck.
"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" Patterson called as he threw the grenade into the cargo bay.
There was a whoooooooooomph sound that was quite indescribable, the torn wall bulged outwards from the explosive force, and the very frame of the ship shuddered making specs of rust and peeling paint fall down on Patterson and the Mage Hunters.
<< Brilliant idea set off a grenade in a rickety hulk that is held together by paint >>
<< Relax it worked didn't it? >> Patterson replied as he bent his head around the opening into the cargo bay, it was filled with burning... things... heaps of them in fact. "Well lets see what else there is in here..."
Further into the rickety ship they want, looking for whatever might come their way, most of the time it was tiny squeaking rats, quite a few tiny squeaking rats, and behind them they could see that big lizardlike thing. Further, and further they went, past empty corridors pockmarked by blaster bolts, and burned half eaten corpses.
"Eeeeh," Pvt Cooper seemed a bit edgy, "What were those critters eating, and how come they haven't been possessed?"
"Infected," Patterson said, << and that was a very good question, Dominion? >>
<< Lower life forms like rats and lizards may be immune >>
"We're good private, the critters can't catch it..." Patterson said, but now he noticed that the battle scarring was getting worse. The area was filled with torn apart armoured suits, disturbingly similar to what the creature had been using, and there were discarded weapons everywhere. That was good it meant something important had been stored here...
Suddenly the winding corridors became straight leading right up to an opening into a smallish cargo bay where a number of large crates could be seen. The opening seemed to shimmer though, faintly, and there was a low buzzing sound in the air. Patterson knelt down and picked up a piece of the ceiling that had dropped down, then with an overhand throw he threw it through the opening... nothing happened and it skittered away landing on the floor.
<< and if you're done with the low-tech testing I can tell you that the forcefield flickers on and off every quarter of a second or so >> Dominion informed him.
"Wait here," Patterson told the mage hunters who took up position around the opening, he tensed a bit, and at the precise right moment they leapt through the opening. The room was filled with dust, looking around he could see two corpses; both of them ancient, covered in dust, and a brownish-red stain on the walls behind them.
"Sir," Sgt Smith called from the other side.
"Nothing here but some crates, and two dead bodies," Patterson looked more closely, "Look like they ate a gun."
"Ate a gun Sir?"
"Killed themselves, trapped on this hulk, no way out," Patterson brushed the dust from one of the crates QUARTER MASTER GENERAL - PAYROLL OFFICE he translated oh yeah... He cracked open the crate, and a big smile spread on his face oh yeah... now here's a nice bonus! A golden glow reflected on his face, no wonder they had fought so hard for this spot: This was where the pay chest was stored!
Janurary 20 1006 NE
Cruiser Darklight
The journey had been mostly uneventful. Patterson wished it'd stay that way. Eventful trips tended to involve flak and various other nasty weapons. In a vehicle designed for stealth insertion instead of combat, the chance of happening onto a bigger fish with larger weapons tended to be rather large, and sneaking away from the enemy wasn't always possible.
He did have some thoughts about what he had seen in Pendleton, most of all I could clean up in the boxing matches, a meeting with some local champ, a few bets in the right spots... the odds would definitely be in my favour. Then again if was definitely something that would be done later on, once the mission was over, and if he didn't have anything else to do.
Speaking of Pendleton the natives had been behaving themselves well enough for the trip. Some were writing about their adventures. Writings which probably didn't have more than a grain of truth to them, he thought, but would most likely be confiscated at the end anyway as they would reveal secret of the state which could never be divulged.
As for Patterson when he wasn't training or checking his equipment, he watched the Pendletons, and otherwise waited. Virtual reality training might not be as good as the real thing, but it was better than nothing. It also kept his mind off the journey. Patterson didn't have a full scale VR system, though, or even headsets. It was an oversight he might or might not have to correct, if the next mission wasn't for a power which didn't have direct neural interfaces. In addition there was that slight sense of unrealism, that sense of falsehood you could never quite pin on one specific factor, but rather just a wrongness emanating from the gestalt of sensations.
Right now, he had gotten in position in his virtual scenario, dodging the enemy tac squads, evading sentries and watches, and crouched in an empty building, waiting for the shot. The MICW proclaimed its readiness to fire. Wind and range indicators danced across his vision, along with air resistance, temperature, and various other factors which barely affected the shot path. Reduce displayed information, tolerance minimal. Patterson thought, and Dominion rapidly made it so. Now they only displayed a range to target. The target, an important enemy official, was behind a wood wall, sitting down. His sensors gave him a rough picture. He couldn't make out details, or much of anything which wasn't practically adjacent to the wall, but luckily for him the man was close enough, sitting down, probably surrounded by guards.
The wooden construction of the buildings would provide little obstacle to any of his fire modes, but it'd take time to chew through the walls with the energy component, as at a kilometre range plus an intervening wall, the DEW system would be attenuated to limited usefulness. Neither his launcher nor the shotgun could reach that far, and although the anti-armour function could toss a shaped-charge mini-missile past that range, he didn't have it. It was far too large, bulky, and noisy to carry around unless one was expecting armor. << Sniper mode >> he commanded the weapon, and it started shifting in form to accommodate the extended barrel and lengthened projectiles that the weapon used in this function. The clip of flechettes dropped out, hitting the ground with a metal rattle. The weapon shifted and transformed as he added the barrel extensions, absorbing the new additions. Patterson brought the scope up, reacquired the target, reticule dancing. The lengthened barrel of the sniper rifle peeked out of the window. Programs brought themselves online, recognizing the ammunition, loading their knowledge of the rounds' terminal ballistics, bringing up aim assistance programming, anti-jitter correction systems, and the weapon's own limited artificial intelligence spoke back to the soldier and his combat armour.
<< Weapon is online. Ammunition is confirmed as 25mm APFSDS. Velocity setting is at maximum. Range is 1024.353 meters, ballistic drop during flight calculated to be 0.75 meters. Terminal velocity is sufficient for penetration and 99.799% chance of kill. Aim offset taken into account in reticle. Fire when ready. >>
"One shot one kill." Patterson whispered, activating the aim assisted 'sniper mode'. He re-centered the weapon on the man's head, pulled the trigger. A yellow overlay graphic appeared on the scope view, showing exactly where he was aiming. He held down the trigger, and the gun knew to wait for the weapon to align exactly with that point. Patterson knew that such caution was overkill, that chances were he could hit it, but he wasn't about to take chances at this range. Although aim assist killed his rate of fire, he wasn't shooting at someone who already knew he was there. He could take his first shot slowly.
Three things happened at that point, within two seconds. First, the gun noticed that it and the target were in alignment. The simulated accelerator systems activated, slamming a simulated anti-materiel sniper round which wouldn't have been out of place being fed into a vehicle-grade autocannon at a muzzle velocity which was well into the hypersonic range. The projectile crossed the distance within a third of a second, its dense material coping well against the wind resistance, the aim completely true, everything possible factored in to make the flight path as accurate and terminal for the victim as possible. Second, the assassination target's head was reduced to so much virtual red paint as the projectile, still flying at the speed of a rifle bullet, followed its calculated flight path faithfully, intersecting with the man's head with terminal results. Third, and lastly, even as the target's guards reacted, Patterson was yanked out of VR by an emergency signal.
"And here I was about to get to the hard part-the hauling ass section of the simulation. It's always easier to get in than out." Patterson muttered to himself. "And here I was about to get to the hard part-the hauling ass section of the simulation. It's always easier to get in than out." Patterson muttered to himself.
<< Well, at least you got to take that shot. Good for stress relief. >> Dominion told him.
"I'll give you that much. Darklight, what's happening?"
"We've detected an anomaly."
"An anomaly? Very nice choice of words. I presume it's not shooting at us?"
"It's in no condition to shoot at us. Target looks like a very large freighter, badly beaten up. Feeding visual directly to your optic nerves... right now."
He saw the ship, a dark shape silhouetted by light from various stars. He switched his view from Darklight's sensor feeds, and saw the ship's outlines clearly in enhanced vision, saw the decrepit state, wondering how it had still held together. There were signs of age and decay, and he wondered why nobody had spotted it before him, or perhaps they had, and the denizens were too dangerous for them to deal with...
<< It's a derelict. Well, we could always check it for loot, >> Dominion supplied.
<< And what if it's dangerous? A space hulk like that could be filled with demons or worse, >> Darklight mentioned.
<< Well, it's not doing anyone any good just sitting there, I think we need to do some scans and possibly a boarding, >> Patterson commented quickly, before Dominion could retort.
Who do you think you are? A space marine or something? We're not supposed to board strange ships in the middle of nowhere! Darklight warned.
<< But it's... there... and the promise of riches is there as well. And someone's going to do something real stupid like board it anyway, so we might as well beat them to it. >>
<< Sometimes I wonder if getting shot messed up your brain any. >>
"I'm going anyways, and I think some of the Pendletonians will want to come as well."
Derelict Ship
Pendleton-Rum Starway
January 20 1006 NE
2142 military time
The ship hadn't been large enough for them to all fit through, but it had docking rings, and the door locks hadn't rusted in place. Sure, they groaned a bit when he tried to open them, but what was an abandoned ship without strange moaning and groaning? Or skeletal remains of previous travellers. He looked at the skeletons left there, bones reflecting entry and exit wounds by some kind of projectile weapon, and commanded his suit to switch from stealth to assault mode. The armor proclaimed its readiness a second later, carapace transforming from a low-sensor-return stealth material into something designed to deflect 'real' weapons fire. He saw the cause of the dead adventurers immediately. A single auto turret greeted him with futile twitching, its motors and ammunition feed systems had decayed into uselessness years ago. Patterson cut the wiring and snapped the barrels to make sure, even though the wiring had already seen most of its insulation either rot or be chewed off long ago and even though the barrels had been weakened to the point they bent easily, age having taken its toll.
"Well, this ship's seen better days." Darklight commented. At this range, communications with the ship was wideband, and she saw everything he did. "Database doesn't have a match to the owners, but it looks like a freighter, not a warship."
"That's good to hear. Makes the chances of encountering deadly weapons slightly lower."
"Well, auto-turrets aren't deadly anymore?" Darklight asked fastidiously.
"Working deadly weapons. Freighter maintenance is slightly more 'iffy', shall we say, than military ships, and this thing looks like its last checkup was about twenty thousand Great Leagues before."
"I'm just saying that you should be careful. There might be surprises in store."
2215 military time
Patterson checked his motion tracker again. There had been a short blip, barely noticeable even with his reaction time augmentation turned to max, even when every step felt like wading through neck-high mud and even when everything moved at a snail's pace. The slow drumbeat of his feet hitting metal deck and the following Mage Hunters, wearing their new armor and weapons in their first (potential) combat situation, added to the atmosphere.
It wasn't the type of atmosphere that he liked. The eerie groans of the failing structural members both warned him that the ship probably wouldn't be holding together for much longer, and also set a primal primitive part of his mind on edge. The calming influence of his combat wiring started managing his mental state, damping emotions with sedatives and other pharmatech, managing tasks such as breathing for maximum efficiency, keeping him in the proper state for full combat. The damping equipment only kicked in when the user was in a state of anxiety or hatred-something which might cause a soldier to react irrationally, waste ammunition or give away his position or do one of the million little things which could cause an infantryman to die pointlessly on the field of battle.
Patterson rarely had to use the damper system. Normally he was in control, a ghost in the shadows, invisible death. The damper for its part rarely intruded on his mind, a tiny calming influence, the metaphorical 'voice of reason'. However, the aura of horror the ship exuded went beyond rational thought. He knew that he shouldn't be on edge to that extent. Yet he couldn't help it. The soldier welcomed the calm washing over him with open arms. Even with the damper on full, he still felt some sense of unease, but the normal detachment came as well. No longer was the shattered skeleton a source of anxiety, but rather a signpost, telling of potential threats. The blips on his tracker and occasional ghost images were not disturbing but rather intriguing. The world felt sharper, more clear, less degraded by the fears and wants of the subconscious, less degraded by what made one human.
<< I've always wondered how much of me has been tweaked like that. >> Patterson asked out of curiosity.
<< Your neural wiring doesn't seem to go beyond aggression controllers and reflex boosters plus the standard-issue DNI systems. That's all everyone needs, isn't it? >> Darklight mentioned.
The five Mage Hunters fanned out as they passed the corridor. Unlike Patterson, they didn't have the benefit of his combat wiring. They were as on-edge as humans could be, and they were glancing behind them more often than not.
<< You know what this reminds me of? One of those horror stories. >> Dominion said. The environment was enough to stop even it from being anything except serious. Not a good sign.
<< We can handle it. Wait. What was that? >> Patterson asked. He checked the motion scanner. << Whatever it is, it's coming towards us. >>
"Wait." He called out, motioning for the Mage Hunters. "Cover that door."
They did so with admirable precision, considering that every one of them was in an environment which, either by accident or by design, had been practically made to turn someone into a gibbering wreck.
"I don't see nothing!" One of them called out.
"Distance twenty meters. Ten. Five. It's on top of you."
The commandos focused weapon-mounted flashlights on the doorway, illumination amped to eye-hurting brightness. Out of the door a dog-sized lizard scurried out, attempted to sink its teeth in the plating of the body armour one of the commandos wore, failed miserably, and ran off again.
"False alarm," Patterson said, infuriatingly calmly. "Form up, I'm taking point again. Support gunner to rearguard."
"Is this your idea of a practical joke, sir?" Cooper asked, sweating bullets even in the cold freighter.
"Soldier, shut up and soldier," Sergeant Smith snapped.
"I'm just as worried as you are, private. Carry on." Patterson said, Or at least I would be if I wasn't doped up to the eyeballs.
"What you think that thing's been eating?" Cpl Banks asked.
<< And people say nightvision makes you unafraid of the dark. >> Dominion commented.
"Well, don't just stand there and gawk, keep moving!" Sergeant Smith yelled. He paused, decided to take his own advice, and followed the cyborg through the next corridor.
In the background Cooper whispered "Corpses were picked clean weren't they?"
"Bloody hell," "Blimey," and other mutterings came from the other troops, the idea of being a nicely nibbled skeleton was not appealing.
The corridor, like most on the ship, exuded age and poor maintenance. Rust had consumed the pipes, leaving bare wrecks. Puddles of some unrecognizable greenish glowing substance sat there, motionless. The soldiers took one look, decided that stepping through them would be hazardous to continued life and procreation, and spent time gingerly stepping around or over the glop.
"Coolant pipes, I'd presume," Dominion told everyone, "It's probably not that toxic. Under normal circumstances."
That almost-but-not-quite-reassurance didn't actually reassure anyone. If anything, they were even more careful about not stepping into the emerald-coloured muck.
The ghost returns came again, multiple blips on his trackers, brief flashes in ether viewing, but he ignored them. None of them were threats. Just glimpses of things which didn't exist. "Full of sound and fury. Signifying nothing," someone whispered. It might have been Dominion or Darklight, or Patterson himself. It didn't matter.
"Clear." Patterson hollered. "No hostiles, nothing fighting us as of yet."
<< Let's hope it stays that way. >> Dominion said. << Everyone's really jumpy right now. >>
"Jumpy is bad." Patterson agreed.
<< New contact! Closing fast. Sonics are spiking. >>.
<< I can hear that. >> Patterson snarled, as the massive elephantine pounding of... something... echoed across the ship.
The Mage Hunters looked around quickly, searching for potential entryways.
Patterson switched to enhanced vision, looking through the walls and floor like so much glass, seeing nothing coming through the halls.
<< Where is it? Motion tracker says 4 meters away. >>
<< BEHIND YOU! >>
<< The wall? >>
<< YES, GENIUS! >> Dominion yelled.
"Through the walls! It's going through the wall!" Patterson snarled out loud.
The unknown entity slammed through the age-weakened wall, a blur of gunmetal gray. Patterson reacted to the creature bursting through, spinning around, weapon in firing position. He squeezed the trigger, a razor sharp fan of death coming to meet the enemy. He saw it clearly for the first time, limbs moving in slow motion. Gunmetal gray armor, just as aged as the rest of the ship, but still evidently military. No evidence of rust, although some kind of lichen had apparently decided to make its home on it. A pilot inside, some kind of deformed monstrosity, all muscular bulk and teeth. He saw the thing regard him with glowing yellow orbs, then look down to the entry wound where the razors had cut through rusted alloy and into flesh, and then heard it roar. His implants immediately damped the sound, keeping him in the fight. The helmets did the same for the Mage Hunters. The creature slapped him with a heavy weapon, the massive gun looking like something torn off a vehicle and given a handle more than any personal weapon, and then started firing even as Patterson landed in a heap. The creature seemed to ignore the Mage Hunters' fire, even though the assault rifles were harming it, at least when they hit vulnerable joints. When they hit the clear helmet dome, or the hard plating, they ricocheted off with lound pings.
Patterson was not ignored by the brute. His shot had, at close range and at maximum power, cut a bloody hole in the creature's torso. Instead of blood though, proper blood, there was some kind of blackish ichor dripping from the wound. He slammed into the wall, hard enough to cause a concussion in any normal human, and took a dozen shots from the enemy in a mere fraction of a second. Fortunately enough, the creature didn't think he rated precision aiming.
Armour attempted to weather the assault admirably, the slugs stopping without penetration on the hardened artificial carapace, but flashing armor integrity indicators told Patterson it wouldn't hold for long. Even when morphed for full assault, the suit wasn't designed for standing in the open and deflecting hundreds of rounds. He dove to the relative cover of a metal barrel, the enemy weapon tracing a line of holes behind him, and returned fire. Sparks flew and small molten trickles ran down the enemy armour as Patterson opened up.
It roared like a bear while it staggered forward, but the huge weapon was difficult to handle in the cramped corridor and with surprise gone it couldn't really bring its firepower to bear. The Mage Hunters spread out a bit, seeking cover.
Sgt Smith plinked several rounds of its helmet, a couple of bullets penetrated and tore away the skin on its head, but it didn't seem to mind. "Oy! You ugly lump o' dung!" the Sgt yelled, only to be ignored, "Lets have a got at 'im!"
Seeing an enemy made from flesh and blood seemed to give the Mage Hunters some nerve, Sgt Smith and Pvt Cooper "had a go" at it. Basically this meant that they moved very close blazing away, as if preparing to bayonet the thing. Distracted as it were it didn't deem it necessary to notice them before they were right on top of it, then it roared and swung the enormous weapon hitting Sgt Smith square in the chest and flinging him against a wall. Pvt Cooper ducked down and opened up at it, but it was turning back to Patterson now, yet the pair of Mage Hunter had given Patterson just the opening he needed.
CRACK CRACK CRACK the sound of a bullet going supersonic without the benefit of a powder charge is quite uncanny, there's no boom only the a whip-snap like sound. One of the shotgun shells fired a mixture of explosive pellets and regular tungsten cored iron balls, it struck the creature straight in the face.
The result was quite impressive, not least because the things helmet suddenly bulged out like a tin can left for a week in the blazing sun, if you imagine that tin can being pierced with a big blunt nail the rest of the scene should be pretty evident to you too.
The creatures weapon was still firing though, brass shells rolling onto the floor, and a line of bullet holes and big dents traced in the wall before it stopped with a final metallic click.
The aftermath was marked with deathly silence, and a greyish white smoke from gunshots, but also from where parts of the insulation had burned away. The creature twitched, encouraging Patterson to put a couple more rounds in it just to make sure, tearing a few new holes in the heavy armour.
"Blimey, he was a tough'un," Pvt Jones said.
"I need a cig," Cpl Banks muttered as he peered at the beast, "What the devil was that thing?" He fumbled with a set of matches, getting one to light up before he realised he was wearing a helmet.
For a split second Pattersons attention was turned to where Pvt Cooper was helping the Sarge to get up. When he looked back to the corpse he saw something disturbing, a small cloud of yellowish smoke was rising from the holes in the armour, especially from the shattered helmet. The smoke then began to move out towards the four Mage Hunters and Patterson.
Banks dropped his burning match into his matchbook, and both of them fell to the floor as he reached for his rifle. When the flickering yellowish smoke struck the flame it caught fire, explosively so, like methane gas, and the flame flashed back to the body of the creature. Everyone were a bit dazzled but none the worse for the wear.
<< What was that? >> Patterson asked at once as he proceeded to scan the place more thoroughly.
<< Some kind of fungal infection >>
<< Fungus? A mushroom did this? >>
<< Not quite, it's fungus, it manufactures several drugs which effectively turn an infected person into a homicidal maniac, and it goes down from there >>
Sgt Smith now looked at Banks, "Corporal Banks."
"Yes Sarg'nt?"
"I will let this pass this time, but the next time that you light a match inside an alien spaceship my boot will be so far up your backside that you'll be able to taste your own dung, clear?"
"Aye Sargn't."
"You ought to know that the gas was fungus spores, and they're infectious, it may be what..." Patterson began, then they peered through the hole that the creature had made.
"Blimey" someone said, very suitably, there was a rather large room, maybe a cargo bay, with walls covered in yellowish fungus, and several big cocoons one of which had recently opened. Scattered around in the room were rotting bones, and scraps of clothes and equipment. Right in the middle of the room, among one of the thickest fungus concentrations, were a couple of odd looking artillery shells.
"Looks like a bio-weapon escaped its containment," Patterson mused.
"A what Sir?" Sgt Smith asked.
Patterson gave him a quick look, then he noticed that some of the fungal growths seemed to, well, pulse in an eerie way, and a couple of cocoons opened slowly. There was a series of metallic sounds as rifles were loaded, then utter silence. Slowly an arm still wrapped in a tattered space suit pushed out through one of the cocoons. Patterson looked at the four mage hunters who looked somewhat worried, then he pulled out a grenade, "Fire at will."
A sheet of flame licked out, tearing through the fungus, ripping apart the cocoons, a couple of them broke utterly revealing thoroughly rotted fungus infected corpses that nevertheless twitched faintly as they dropped on the ground. The remainder however seemed disturbingly ambulatory, and now a cloud of yellowish spores rose from the places where the bullets had struck.
"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" Patterson called as he threw the grenade into the cargo bay.
There was a whoooooooooomph sound that was quite indescribable, the torn wall bulged outwards from the explosive force, and the very frame of the ship shuddered making specs of rust and peeling paint fall down on Patterson and the Mage Hunters.
<< Brilliant idea set off a grenade in a rickety hulk that is held together by paint >>
<< Relax it worked didn't it? >> Patterson replied as he bent his head around the opening into the cargo bay, it was filled with burning... things... heaps of them in fact. "Well lets see what else there is in here..."
Further into the rickety ship they want, looking for whatever might come their way, most of the time it was tiny squeaking rats, quite a few tiny squeaking rats, and behind them they could see that big lizardlike thing. Further, and further they went, past empty corridors pockmarked by blaster bolts, and burned half eaten corpses.
"Eeeeh," Pvt Cooper seemed a bit edgy, "What were those critters eating, and how come they haven't been possessed?"
"Infected," Patterson said, << and that was a very good question, Dominion? >>
<< Lower life forms like rats and lizards may be immune >>
"We're good private, the critters can't catch it..." Patterson said, but now he noticed that the battle scarring was getting worse. The area was filled with torn apart armoured suits, disturbingly similar to what the creature had been using, and there were discarded weapons everywhere. That was good it meant something important had been stored here...
Suddenly the winding corridors became straight leading right up to an opening into a smallish cargo bay where a number of large crates could be seen. The opening seemed to shimmer though, faintly, and there was a low buzzing sound in the air. Patterson knelt down and picked up a piece of the ceiling that had dropped down, then with an overhand throw he threw it through the opening... nothing happened and it skittered away landing on the floor.
<< and if you're done with the low-tech testing I can tell you that the forcefield flickers on and off every quarter of a second or so >> Dominion informed him.
"Wait here," Patterson told the mage hunters who took up position around the opening, he tensed a bit, and at the precise right moment they leapt through the opening. The room was filled with dust, looking around he could see two corpses; both of them ancient, covered in dust, and a brownish-red stain on the walls behind them.
"Sir," Sgt Smith called from the other side.
"Nothing here but some crates, and two dead bodies," Patterson looked more closely, "Look like they ate a gun."
"Ate a gun Sir?"
"Killed themselves, trapped on this hulk, no way out," Patterson brushed the dust from one of the crates QUARTER MASTER GENERAL - PAYROLL OFFICE he translated oh yeah... He cracked open the crate, and a big smile spread on his face oh yeah... now here's a nice bonus! A golden glow reflected on his face, no wonder they had fought so hard for this spot: This was where the pay chest was stored!
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Operation Golden Serpent - Chapter IV
The Wilderness
Kingdom of Khatloon
Azhistan
Monday 1 January 1006
It was a cold dark winter night, the kind where the stars are particularly clear, and the air tears at your nose whenever you breathe. It was silent, aside from the sound of a wolf or wild dog howling in the distance. Then a blast of cold wind blew across the Khatlooni wasteland, somewhere in the distance a group of horses began to neigh nervously, and stomp their feet in the ground.
The winter camp of Dost Khan was an impressive sight in this heathen wilderness, hundreds of tents, thousands of horses, and countless torches and campfires reflecting against the snow. A few guards could be seen briefly passing inside the circle of light created by the fires, before stomping through the knee high snow as they continued their rounds.
Within the camp itself there was one section set slightly aside, where the tents were arranged according to a grid network. Here you'd find Captain Augustus Thornboroughs' tent, it was lit by a couple of oil lamps, and the flickering light seeping in from outside.
There was a council among the Pendletonian officers, they sat in a semi circle around a primitive map, while Thornborough used a stick to point at the various landmarks. Finally Thornborough looked around the council, resting his eyes appraisingly on each officer, before he spoke in a low but clear voice "This is their capital city of Khatloon, we've driven them back this far... gentlemen do you feel up for battering down the walls?"
There was an awkward silence, and it was Mage Captain Ingersoll that finally broke it, "Yes... I dare say we are ready Sir, God willing you won't need to spend any artillery shells." The other mages around the camp nodded in agreement, and didn't see fit to add to Ingersoll's statement.
"Hmmm..." Thornborough looked at the map again, "Then we move Gentlemen, the moment the weather permits..." then he stabbed at Khatloon with his stick, "Khatloon!"
The Wilderness
Kingdom of Khatloon
Azhistan
Wednesday 3 January 1006
A great host of cavalry moved across the plains of Khatloon tiny clouds of light powdery snow rose around the hoofs of the horses, as they dashed across the field. Among the host were banner bearers, holding the green or black banners embroidered with surahs from the Koran, primitive tribesmen with swords and blackpowder rifles, if not jezails, mixed with other tribesmen clutching captured Communist rifles. White smoke rose from their mouths, like steam from a boiling kettle, each time they shouted "ALLAHU AKBAR!" or "KONDUZ E DOST KHAN!"
Behind them an enormous force of infantry followed, some of them holding up colourful banners with embroidered themes, others displaying swords or even animals. No one soldier seemed alike, some wore thick fur caps and coats, others had wrapped themselves up in long lengths of cloth to protect their hands and feet against the cold. Wild battle cries rose up from the host, shrill cries that carried for miles, and every now and again once of the familiar war cries would start somewhere in the army and slowly spread out like ripples in a pond.
Royal Palace
City of Khatloon
"By Allah! I curse the day that the wretched Mushrikeen those sons of Shaytan, came to Khatloon! And you! You bringer of bad advice! By Allah the pits of Hell have been stoked for the likes of you!"
At those words the King of Khatloon tore at his clothes, making the trembling vizier prostrating himself at the Kings feet tremble even more in terror. Briefly the vizier plaintive voice could be heard "Mercy O Lord of the ..."
"Mercy? Mercy? Away with him! Bring me back his head, and that of his sons!" the King cried.
As two sturdy guards grabbed the aging vizier that gentleman cried out more pleas for mercy, even as they dragged him away into the distance.
The king walked over to the window and threw it open, letting air and snow flutter into the coarse throne hall, he peered out above the walls of Khatloon and into the hills. There in the distance he could see three columns of Konduzi warriors, mounted and on foot, advance towards his city. Among them he could make out the menacing forms of heavy cannon, but it was not they that worried him...
"Bismillah!" the turned to look at his remaining courtiers, "Have we any means to stop their magics?"
The courtiers bowed and praised him, "O Lord, O King, O Noble King," they began, and each offered a solution, "Attack them first and smash them outside our walls!", "Call upon the Komoni forces, and bid them correct the troubles they caused!", or even "The walls are mighty, and Allah is with us, let them falter against the walls!"
King Ashraf felt his death approach, "Unless a solution is found before the end of this day you shall all pay with the forfeit of your lives!" A dramatic uttering, and then he turned around and walked out letting his robe flutter behind him.
Behind him his advisers tore at their robes, "Bismillah!" A couple wept making the kohl run, "Have mercy! How ever shall we make the enemy retreat from our gates?"
Royal Harem
As he often did when he was saddened, or worried, King Ahraf went to his harem, and there, among the silk couches and exotic pets gathered from all over Azhistan, he lay back and complained of his woe! As he lay there on the couch, he suddenly noticed that a presence was drawing near, and heard a silvery voice call out "Father!"
"Layla! The apple of my eye!" he said with despair in his voice.
At once she asked him "O Father, is it true that Dost Khan and his army is coming here?"
"Yes O Love of mine, it is true! By Allah! If only it were not!" King Ahraf lamented.
"O King! Do not be troubled, I beg you, forgive me, but in my folly I've listened to the whispers of the palace..." she began, cautiously, but as he listened eagerly she continued, "They say that it is the custom of Dost Khan to ride out to hunt every day..."
Khatlooni Wilderness
The hunting party carried long spears and rifles, riding through the snow as they chased down deer and wolves, or whatever other creatures they might encounter. They were all dressed in thick furs against the cold, and the horses easily pushed through the light powdery snow, a grand time was had by all in the chase. Suddenly one of the men on the flank pointed a finger and cried out, "Behold! A White Deer!"
He was as true as his word, there, standing by a copse of trees where a hill began to rise, stood an enormous white deer, prancing its hooves in the snow, throwing its head, and gazing defiantly upon the hunters. Then before any of them could strike it leapt majestically up in the air, and with five or six bounds had reached the top of the nearest hill; whereupon it stopped and snorted.
"By Allah! That deer is mine!" Dost Khan shouted, he readied his lance and drove his horse upwards, "Attend me! And let no one else claim it!" he yelled as he charged the deer.
The deer bucked and bounded as it leapt past the scattered trees, over the hills, and between huge snow covered rocks, always out of reach but never out of sight. It so enraged Dost Khan that he drove his horse even harder, lathering it in sweat, leaving all his companions further and further behind, though they called, "O Lord! O King! Wait for us!" he ignored them in his desire to claim the deer.
Finally he caught up with it, right on the edge of a cliff, wafts of white smoke rose up beyond the edge of the cliff, partially obscuring the deer. He was far away from his companions, though he could hear them calling in the distance.
"Allah is Great!" exclaimed Dost Khan, "Now I have you!" he spurred his horse on and readied his spear, but just as he struck the deer leapt and was merely injured when the spear grazed its thighs! Blood sprayed from the wound onto the snow, and then the deer leapt off the edge of the cliff!
In anger Dost Khan cried out "Allah preserve me! But I shall have you yet!" he dismounted and walked to the end of the cliff, and peering down he saw that there was a hot spring deep below; but of the deer there was no sign. Therefore he began to climb down the cliff, and finding a patch he made good speed, before too long he had reach the bottom but there he spotted a figure in the hot spring. Cautious that he might be in danger he hid behind some large rocks, and spied upon the figure behind the haze.
There, submerged up to the waist, was a beautiful young woman washing her hair, her waist was narrow, in form like a gazelle, her breast like two perfect large apples, her hair as dark as the night, flowing like silk, and her skin and lips like snow and the deers blood that had dripped on it. Dost Khan felt as if he had been struck by lightning as the apparition, the Jinn began to comb its hair, the smoke rising from the hot spring obscured her, but when she turned he could see the perfect red cheeks and a face like that of an angel!
"Bismillah! Praise be on to Allah the Creator for making such beauty!" Dost Khan said, he made to move forward, to speak to this woman, and ask her name and who she might belong to, but alas... his foot brushed against some pebbles, and at once her head turned to face him. She covered herself, and ran up on the other side of the hot springs, ignoring his cry of "Wait! By Allah! I mean you no harm!" and vanished into the mist.
It was then that two of his companions, Lieutenant Harold Flowers, and his Aide de Camp Agha arrived at the edge of the cliff. Looking down they spotted Dost Khan and called out to him. He was still stunned by the apparition he had seen, and determined to find where she had gone he ran to the other side of the hot springs. There was nothing there, other than some footprints in the snow, footprints which suddenly vanished about ten or fifteen steps away from the edge of the hot springs.
When Agha and Lt Flowers came upon him he still stood there searching for further trails, "O King! O Lord! Why do you stand here amazed?" Agha cried.
"Where is the woman of exquisite beauty O Learned one!" Dost Khan asked.
"We saw no woman," Agha added, and to this Lt Flowers gave his assent.
"Yet there her footprints vanish! O such an apparition! By Allah I think her the fairest looking woman that I ever laid eyes upon," Dost Khan cried out as if in pain.
"Tarry not here please O Lord," Lt Flowers called, he had drawn his revolver and sent cautious glances towards the many hiding places, "By the Lord I tell you that I smell some mischief whether it be magic or the godless ones!"
"He speaks the truth O Lord," Agha agreed, now he pulled his sabre too, "O Lord, we daren't tarry, and while we wait our horses may flee from us!"
Dost Khan cast a wistful glance in the direction that the girl had vanished, then he stroked his beard, "By Allah! She must be a famous beauty, whomever she is! We shall return at once and interrogate the prisoners, that one of them might tell us who she is!"
Dost Khans Tent
The travelling jeweller trembled where he lay prostrating himself before Dost Khan, his colourful robes were wrinkled and disordered, and his turban becoming undone. Dost Khan however looked majestic and furious as ever as he sat upon the improvised hardwood throne, draped with the fur of a great bear, "Do you know why you were brought before me?"
"No O Great Lord, I beg you in the name of Allah the Merciful, the Compassionate, to show pity on an old man!" the merchant said in a pitiful pleading voice, his head barely rising as he pled.
"Do you know of the city of Khatloon?" Dost Khan asked commandingly.
"Yes O Lord! For I visit often, and though cruelly abused and poorly paid I have, humble man that I am, seen much of the city, but O Lord by Allah I know nothing of its defences for I am but a humble Jewellery with no interest in such matters. Have mercy O Lord on an ignorant old man." The Jeweller begged and pleaded, while shaking like an aspen leaf.
"I care not for their defences! I care for the beauties of the city, tell me O Jeweller, you who sell trinkets to all kinds of women, have you seen one with hair as black as the night and as smooth as silk! Skin like snow and lips like blood! Her being like a gazelle, her waist narrow, her breasts like... a peerless beauty of all kinds!"
The Jeweller was silent at hearing this, then trembling far more he gave his answer, "Mercy O Great Lord! I know but one woman of such surpassing beauty, and that is the daughter of the King himself!"
Hearing this Dost Khan was first pleased, but then he was angry, he leapt up from his throne, "How would you know of the beauty of the Kings daughter!"
"Mercy, mercy O Lord!" wailed the Jeweller, from his prostrate position he let his arms rise and fall from the ground in submission, "I'm not worthy O Lord! But I was told to make a miniature broach with her likeness."
"By Allah! Where is this broach? Speak up O Jeweller for I would reward you well for it!"
"By Allah the Most Great! I don't have it, but I have my drawings, forgive me, and could make another..." the Jeweller said in between prostrations.
"Then do so at once!" Dost Khan said, he seated himself once more.
"Alas O Great Lord, O Merciful Lord, I no longer have my tools as your men took my humble donkeys and their load," the Jeweller complained, he pushed his head against the ground, "Forgive me O Great Lord, if only I had my tools..."
"Return this mans property at once!" Dost Khan called out, "and now then what say you?"
"O Lord, have mercy, but I lack materials, I am a poor man, a humble man," the Jewellers voice was still whiny and pleading, but the trembling was faked now.
Dost Khan casually threw a purse to him, "Take this and buy what you need, now go!" The Jeweller grabbed the purse and bowed again, slowly backing out, while bowing again and again, but just before he could leave Dost Khan added, "You have until the next sunrise! Or else your head is forfeit!"
Outskirts of the Camp
The Jeweller sat moaning in despair near a copse of trees, finally he cried out "O Merciful Allah! Deliver your slave from his misfortune!" Then he wept as he gazed upon the setting sun, "O Allah! Give that the sun should never set! Or that it should never rise again!"
From behind him he heard an angry voice, "O Wicked Wretch! How dare you make such a prayer! Allah punish you for your impiety!" There he could see a figure hidden in the trees, dressed in the manner of a boy of some note.
"Mercy O Worthy Youth, for I perceive your father must be mighty indeed, but if you knew the misfortune that led to my prayer you would not be so harsh!" the Jeweller complained.
"What misfortunes would drive a man to impiety?" the youth asked.
"That the King Dost Khan summoned me to his tent, and there he interrogated me as to the beauties of Khatloon, but alas... I told him that there was but one true beauty surpassing all others, oh woe is me! It was the Kings daughter, who is the most perfect picture of womanly beauty!"
"Surely," the youth began, he stepped a little closer, "Surely you exaggerate, among the thousands of other beauties is she as peerless as that?"
"Allah forgive me!" the Jeweller said looking up, then he snorted, "O Youth, your father may be great, but ye have little experience with women! Surely there is none as beautiful as the daughter of the King of Khatloon, for she is perfect in every way! Skin as white as snow and as perfect as silk, red lips like a rose, yea, her hair is dark and yet it shines, her every move filled with grace! Nay she is perfect! Lord help me I know!"
"My I hear your tale of her beauty, but how should you know? Is she not an honourable woman sequestered in the harem?"
"She is honourable and virtuous like none other, but her father, who dearly loves her, commanded me an unworthy Jeweller to make a miniature painting of her... O Woe, if only there had been some in Khatloon with my skill, that I had not been summoned, but I was... so when I told Dost Khan of this he ordered that before the sun should rise again I must have a copy ready! But alas it took me no less than a month to make the last, how should I do this? Now my head is forfeit, for the price of a purse of gold!"
"O Jeweller, surely your misfortune is great! But say... if some happy Jinn should give you the miniature you seek, would you give him a tenth of the gold Dost Khan gave you?"
"I would!"
"A quarter?"
"By Allah I would! Is not my head worth more than this gold?"
"A half?"
"I swear O Youth that you are chiding me! By Allah the Great and Merciful I would give half of the gold that Dost Khan gave me if it would keep this," he touched his head, "and this," whereupon he touched his body, "joined together for but a day longer!"
The youth then fished something out of a pocket, and held it up before the eyes of, "'tis a fair bargain O Jeweller," and there in his hands, unmistakable to the Jewellers eyes, was the broach with the miniature painting. Then the youth moved back and looked at it, "It's very pretty, but is she truly as beautiful as this..."
"She is that and more," the Jeweller assured the youth, but then a frown crossed his face, "By Allah! Where did you get the broach?" Then he covered his face with his hands, "Allah give me health! Surely I am speaking to a thief!"
"Silence you!" the youth said, his voice and mien angry, "I am not a thief, and if you raise a cry I will run through the trees and escape, and then you will keep your gold and lose your head!"
"Nay! I plead with you O Young Lord, I did not mean it thus, O Most Excellent Youth with you I shall gladly share, if you will just give me the miniature in your hand!" the Jeweller pleaded.
"Then trade me thus! Throw onto me the purse that was given, and I shall throw onto you the broach, then surely as Allah wills it you shall receive all that is thine due!"
"As you would have it!"
The Jeweller threw the purse, it drifted in the air for a moment, and the Jeweller feared that the young thief, for surely he was a thief, would run away with it and the broach! But praise be to he who made him, the youth threw the broach to the Jeweller who immediately ran to recover it... alas when he looked up the youth was nowhere to be seen, and neither was the purse!
"By Allah! Surely I am the most wretched man alive!" the Jeweller complained, but then he hid the broach in his turban and returned to his tent. There he was greeted by his slave girl who had been returned to him with all of his other possessions, and to her he told his tail of woe!
After listening she told him at once "Forgive me O Master, but surely you are really most fortunate, and praise be onto Allah the Omnipotent for his grace!"
"How can you speak thus when your master was cheated out of his gold," the Jeweller shouted as he rose up, "By Allah and the Prophets! Surely you have earned a beating for your impudence!"
"Nay! For think! Your property has been restored, and now the broach is found, and the King who would have you beheaded will be your friend, and is not your head worth all of the gold which you had earned? Indeed if the youth had asked would you not have given him all?" the slavegirl protested.
Now the Jeweller assented, and saw that truly all had been arranged for the best, for no man can escape his fate.
Kingdom of Khatloon
Azhistan
Monday 1 January 1006
It was a cold dark winter night, the kind where the stars are particularly clear, and the air tears at your nose whenever you breathe. It was silent, aside from the sound of a wolf or wild dog howling in the distance. Then a blast of cold wind blew across the Khatlooni wasteland, somewhere in the distance a group of horses began to neigh nervously, and stomp their feet in the ground.
The winter camp of Dost Khan was an impressive sight in this heathen wilderness, hundreds of tents, thousands of horses, and countless torches and campfires reflecting against the snow. A few guards could be seen briefly passing inside the circle of light created by the fires, before stomping through the knee high snow as they continued their rounds.
Within the camp itself there was one section set slightly aside, where the tents were arranged according to a grid network. Here you'd find Captain Augustus Thornboroughs' tent, it was lit by a couple of oil lamps, and the flickering light seeping in from outside.
There was a council among the Pendletonian officers, they sat in a semi circle around a primitive map, while Thornborough used a stick to point at the various landmarks. Finally Thornborough looked around the council, resting his eyes appraisingly on each officer, before he spoke in a low but clear voice "This is their capital city of Khatloon, we've driven them back this far... gentlemen do you feel up for battering down the walls?"
There was an awkward silence, and it was Mage Captain Ingersoll that finally broke it, "Yes... I dare say we are ready Sir, God willing you won't need to spend any artillery shells." The other mages around the camp nodded in agreement, and didn't see fit to add to Ingersoll's statement.
"Hmmm..." Thornborough looked at the map again, "Then we move Gentlemen, the moment the weather permits..." then he stabbed at Khatloon with his stick, "Khatloon!"
The Wilderness
Kingdom of Khatloon
Azhistan
Wednesday 3 January 1006
A great host of cavalry moved across the plains of Khatloon tiny clouds of light powdery snow rose around the hoofs of the horses, as they dashed across the field. Among the host were banner bearers, holding the green or black banners embroidered with surahs from the Koran, primitive tribesmen with swords and blackpowder rifles, if not jezails, mixed with other tribesmen clutching captured Communist rifles. White smoke rose from their mouths, like steam from a boiling kettle, each time they shouted "ALLAHU AKBAR!" or "KONDUZ E DOST KHAN!"
Behind them an enormous force of infantry followed, some of them holding up colourful banners with embroidered themes, others displaying swords or even animals. No one soldier seemed alike, some wore thick fur caps and coats, others had wrapped themselves up in long lengths of cloth to protect their hands and feet against the cold. Wild battle cries rose up from the host, shrill cries that carried for miles, and every now and again once of the familiar war cries would start somewhere in the army and slowly spread out like ripples in a pond.
Royal Palace
City of Khatloon
"By Allah! I curse the day that the wretched Mushrikeen those sons of Shaytan, came to Khatloon! And you! You bringer of bad advice! By Allah the pits of Hell have been stoked for the likes of you!"
At those words the King of Khatloon tore at his clothes, making the trembling vizier prostrating himself at the Kings feet tremble even more in terror. Briefly the vizier plaintive voice could be heard "Mercy O Lord of the ..."
"Mercy? Mercy? Away with him! Bring me back his head, and that of his sons!" the King cried.
As two sturdy guards grabbed the aging vizier that gentleman cried out more pleas for mercy, even as they dragged him away into the distance.
The king walked over to the window and threw it open, letting air and snow flutter into the coarse throne hall, he peered out above the walls of Khatloon and into the hills. There in the distance he could see three columns of Konduzi warriors, mounted and on foot, advance towards his city. Among them he could make out the menacing forms of heavy cannon, but it was not they that worried him...
"Bismillah!" the turned to look at his remaining courtiers, "Have we any means to stop their magics?"
The courtiers bowed and praised him, "O Lord, O King, O Noble King," they began, and each offered a solution, "Attack them first and smash them outside our walls!", "Call upon the Komoni forces, and bid them correct the troubles they caused!", or even "The walls are mighty, and Allah is with us, let them falter against the walls!"
King Ashraf felt his death approach, "Unless a solution is found before the end of this day you shall all pay with the forfeit of your lives!" A dramatic uttering, and then he turned around and walked out letting his robe flutter behind him.
Behind him his advisers tore at their robes, "Bismillah!" A couple wept making the kohl run, "Have mercy! How ever shall we make the enemy retreat from our gates?"
Royal Harem
As he often did when he was saddened, or worried, King Ahraf went to his harem, and there, among the silk couches and exotic pets gathered from all over Azhistan, he lay back and complained of his woe! As he lay there on the couch, he suddenly noticed that a presence was drawing near, and heard a silvery voice call out "Father!"
"Layla! The apple of my eye!" he said with despair in his voice.
At once she asked him "O Father, is it true that Dost Khan and his army is coming here?"
"Yes O Love of mine, it is true! By Allah! If only it were not!" King Ahraf lamented.
"O King! Do not be troubled, I beg you, forgive me, but in my folly I've listened to the whispers of the palace..." she began, cautiously, but as he listened eagerly she continued, "They say that it is the custom of Dost Khan to ride out to hunt every day..."
Khatlooni Wilderness
The hunting party carried long spears and rifles, riding through the snow as they chased down deer and wolves, or whatever other creatures they might encounter. They were all dressed in thick furs against the cold, and the horses easily pushed through the light powdery snow, a grand time was had by all in the chase. Suddenly one of the men on the flank pointed a finger and cried out, "Behold! A White Deer!"
He was as true as his word, there, standing by a copse of trees where a hill began to rise, stood an enormous white deer, prancing its hooves in the snow, throwing its head, and gazing defiantly upon the hunters. Then before any of them could strike it leapt majestically up in the air, and with five or six bounds had reached the top of the nearest hill; whereupon it stopped and snorted.
"By Allah! That deer is mine!" Dost Khan shouted, he readied his lance and drove his horse upwards, "Attend me! And let no one else claim it!" he yelled as he charged the deer.
The deer bucked and bounded as it leapt past the scattered trees, over the hills, and between huge snow covered rocks, always out of reach but never out of sight. It so enraged Dost Khan that he drove his horse even harder, lathering it in sweat, leaving all his companions further and further behind, though they called, "O Lord! O King! Wait for us!" he ignored them in his desire to claim the deer.
Finally he caught up with it, right on the edge of a cliff, wafts of white smoke rose up beyond the edge of the cliff, partially obscuring the deer. He was far away from his companions, though he could hear them calling in the distance.
"Allah is Great!" exclaimed Dost Khan, "Now I have you!" he spurred his horse on and readied his spear, but just as he struck the deer leapt and was merely injured when the spear grazed its thighs! Blood sprayed from the wound onto the snow, and then the deer leapt off the edge of the cliff!
In anger Dost Khan cried out "Allah preserve me! But I shall have you yet!" he dismounted and walked to the end of the cliff, and peering down he saw that there was a hot spring deep below; but of the deer there was no sign. Therefore he began to climb down the cliff, and finding a patch he made good speed, before too long he had reach the bottom but there he spotted a figure in the hot spring. Cautious that he might be in danger he hid behind some large rocks, and spied upon the figure behind the haze.
There, submerged up to the waist, was a beautiful young woman washing her hair, her waist was narrow, in form like a gazelle, her breast like two perfect large apples, her hair as dark as the night, flowing like silk, and her skin and lips like snow and the deers blood that had dripped on it. Dost Khan felt as if he had been struck by lightning as the apparition, the Jinn began to comb its hair, the smoke rising from the hot spring obscured her, but when she turned he could see the perfect red cheeks and a face like that of an angel!
"Bismillah! Praise be on to Allah the Creator for making such beauty!" Dost Khan said, he made to move forward, to speak to this woman, and ask her name and who she might belong to, but alas... his foot brushed against some pebbles, and at once her head turned to face him. She covered herself, and ran up on the other side of the hot springs, ignoring his cry of "Wait! By Allah! I mean you no harm!" and vanished into the mist.
It was then that two of his companions, Lieutenant Harold Flowers, and his Aide de Camp Agha arrived at the edge of the cliff. Looking down they spotted Dost Khan and called out to him. He was still stunned by the apparition he had seen, and determined to find where she had gone he ran to the other side of the hot springs. There was nothing there, other than some footprints in the snow, footprints which suddenly vanished about ten or fifteen steps away from the edge of the hot springs.
When Agha and Lt Flowers came upon him he still stood there searching for further trails, "O King! O Lord! Why do you stand here amazed?" Agha cried.
"Where is the woman of exquisite beauty O Learned one!" Dost Khan asked.
"We saw no woman," Agha added, and to this Lt Flowers gave his assent.
"Yet there her footprints vanish! O such an apparition! By Allah I think her the fairest looking woman that I ever laid eyes upon," Dost Khan cried out as if in pain.
"Tarry not here please O Lord," Lt Flowers called, he had drawn his revolver and sent cautious glances towards the many hiding places, "By the Lord I tell you that I smell some mischief whether it be magic or the godless ones!"
"He speaks the truth O Lord," Agha agreed, now he pulled his sabre too, "O Lord, we daren't tarry, and while we wait our horses may flee from us!"
Dost Khan cast a wistful glance in the direction that the girl had vanished, then he stroked his beard, "By Allah! She must be a famous beauty, whomever she is! We shall return at once and interrogate the prisoners, that one of them might tell us who she is!"
Dost Khans Tent
The travelling jeweller trembled where he lay prostrating himself before Dost Khan, his colourful robes were wrinkled and disordered, and his turban becoming undone. Dost Khan however looked majestic and furious as ever as he sat upon the improvised hardwood throne, draped with the fur of a great bear, "Do you know why you were brought before me?"
"No O Great Lord, I beg you in the name of Allah the Merciful, the Compassionate, to show pity on an old man!" the merchant said in a pitiful pleading voice, his head barely rising as he pled.
"Do you know of the city of Khatloon?" Dost Khan asked commandingly.
"Yes O Lord! For I visit often, and though cruelly abused and poorly paid I have, humble man that I am, seen much of the city, but O Lord by Allah I know nothing of its defences for I am but a humble Jewellery with no interest in such matters. Have mercy O Lord on an ignorant old man." The Jeweller begged and pleaded, while shaking like an aspen leaf.
"I care not for their defences! I care for the beauties of the city, tell me O Jeweller, you who sell trinkets to all kinds of women, have you seen one with hair as black as the night and as smooth as silk! Skin like snow and lips like blood! Her being like a gazelle, her waist narrow, her breasts like... a peerless beauty of all kinds!"
The Jeweller was silent at hearing this, then trembling far more he gave his answer, "Mercy O Great Lord! I know but one woman of such surpassing beauty, and that is the daughter of the King himself!"
Hearing this Dost Khan was first pleased, but then he was angry, he leapt up from his throne, "How would you know of the beauty of the Kings daughter!"
"Mercy, mercy O Lord!" wailed the Jeweller, from his prostrate position he let his arms rise and fall from the ground in submission, "I'm not worthy O Lord! But I was told to make a miniature broach with her likeness."
"By Allah! Where is this broach? Speak up O Jeweller for I would reward you well for it!"
"By Allah the Most Great! I don't have it, but I have my drawings, forgive me, and could make another..." the Jeweller said in between prostrations.
"Then do so at once!" Dost Khan said, he seated himself once more.
"Alas O Great Lord, O Merciful Lord, I no longer have my tools as your men took my humble donkeys and their load," the Jeweller complained, he pushed his head against the ground, "Forgive me O Great Lord, if only I had my tools..."
"Return this mans property at once!" Dost Khan called out, "and now then what say you?"
"O Lord, have mercy, but I lack materials, I am a poor man, a humble man," the Jewellers voice was still whiny and pleading, but the trembling was faked now.
Dost Khan casually threw a purse to him, "Take this and buy what you need, now go!" The Jeweller grabbed the purse and bowed again, slowly backing out, while bowing again and again, but just before he could leave Dost Khan added, "You have until the next sunrise! Or else your head is forfeit!"
Outskirts of the Camp
The Jeweller sat moaning in despair near a copse of trees, finally he cried out "O Merciful Allah! Deliver your slave from his misfortune!" Then he wept as he gazed upon the setting sun, "O Allah! Give that the sun should never set! Or that it should never rise again!"
From behind him he heard an angry voice, "O Wicked Wretch! How dare you make such a prayer! Allah punish you for your impiety!" There he could see a figure hidden in the trees, dressed in the manner of a boy of some note.
"Mercy O Worthy Youth, for I perceive your father must be mighty indeed, but if you knew the misfortune that led to my prayer you would not be so harsh!" the Jeweller complained.
"What misfortunes would drive a man to impiety?" the youth asked.
"That the King Dost Khan summoned me to his tent, and there he interrogated me as to the beauties of Khatloon, but alas... I told him that there was but one true beauty surpassing all others, oh woe is me! It was the Kings daughter, who is the most perfect picture of womanly beauty!"
"Surely," the youth began, he stepped a little closer, "Surely you exaggerate, among the thousands of other beauties is she as peerless as that?"
"Allah forgive me!" the Jeweller said looking up, then he snorted, "O Youth, your father may be great, but ye have little experience with women! Surely there is none as beautiful as the daughter of the King of Khatloon, for she is perfect in every way! Skin as white as snow and as perfect as silk, red lips like a rose, yea, her hair is dark and yet it shines, her every move filled with grace! Nay she is perfect! Lord help me I know!"
"My I hear your tale of her beauty, but how should you know? Is she not an honourable woman sequestered in the harem?"
"She is honourable and virtuous like none other, but her father, who dearly loves her, commanded me an unworthy Jeweller to make a miniature painting of her... O Woe, if only there had been some in Khatloon with my skill, that I had not been summoned, but I was... so when I told Dost Khan of this he ordered that before the sun should rise again I must have a copy ready! But alas it took me no less than a month to make the last, how should I do this? Now my head is forfeit, for the price of a purse of gold!"
"O Jeweller, surely your misfortune is great! But say... if some happy Jinn should give you the miniature you seek, would you give him a tenth of the gold Dost Khan gave you?"
"I would!"
"A quarter?"
"By Allah I would! Is not my head worth more than this gold?"
"A half?"
"I swear O Youth that you are chiding me! By Allah the Great and Merciful I would give half of the gold that Dost Khan gave me if it would keep this," he touched his head, "and this," whereupon he touched his body, "joined together for but a day longer!"
The youth then fished something out of a pocket, and held it up before the eyes of, "'tis a fair bargain O Jeweller," and there in his hands, unmistakable to the Jewellers eyes, was the broach with the miniature painting. Then the youth moved back and looked at it, "It's very pretty, but is she truly as beautiful as this..."
"She is that and more," the Jeweller assured the youth, but then a frown crossed his face, "By Allah! Where did you get the broach?" Then he covered his face with his hands, "Allah give me health! Surely I am speaking to a thief!"
"Silence you!" the youth said, his voice and mien angry, "I am not a thief, and if you raise a cry I will run through the trees and escape, and then you will keep your gold and lose your head!"
"Nay! I plead with you O Young Lord, I did not mean it thus, O Most Excellent Youth with you I shall gladly share, if you will just give me the miniature in your hand!" the Jeweller pleaded.
"Then trade me thus! Throw onto me the purse that was given, and I shall throw onto you the broach, then surely as Allah wills it you shall receive all that is thine due!"
"As you would have it!"
The Jeweller threw the purse, it drifted in the air for a moment, and the Jeweller feared that the young thief, for surely he was a thief, would run away with it and the broach! But praise be to he who made him, the youth threw the broach to the Jeweller who immediately ran to recover it... alas when he looked up the youth was nowhere to be seen, and neither was the purse!
"By Allah! Surely I am the most wretched man alive!" the Jeweller complained, but then he hid the broach in his turban and returned to his tent. There he was greeted by his slave girl who had been returned to him with all of his other possessions, and to her he told his tail of woe!
After listening she told him at once "Forgive me O Master, but surely you are really most fortunate, and praise be onto Allah the Omnipotent for his grace!"
"How can you speak thus when your master was cheated out of his gold," the Jeweller shouted as he rose up, "By Allah and the Prophets! Surely you have earned a beating for your impudence!"
"Nay! For think! Your property has been restored, and now the broach is found, and the King who would have you beheaded will be your friend, and is not your head worth all of the gold which you had earned? Indeed if the youth had asked would you not have given him all?" the slavegirl protested.
Now the Jeweller assented, and saw that truly all had been arranged for the best, for no man can escape his fate.
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Operation Golden Serpent - Chapter V
Dost Khan's Camp
Kingdom of Khatloon
Azhistan
Wednesday 3 January 1006
The morning sun was slowly turning the east blood red, the colours reflected of the snow, and it looked like the forests to the east were on fire. Though this sight was such that poets would surely write splendid verses about it there was the foreboding sense of premonition of fire and blood to come, for surely this matter could not end in any other way?
Dost Khan had seated himself in his throne inside his tent, large braziers had been placed beside it for warmth, and the tent flaps throw wide open so that the assembly could witness the audience. Dost had his fur coat wrapped around him, and between his legs rested a heavy scimitar, he looked most imposing and frightening; tall and strongly built, his dark eyes sharp and piercing, he had a long black beard, and when he laughed his teeth flashed like those of a lion.
What a contrast to the Jeweller that lay trembling before him! It was like a lion compared to a sheep, for the Jeweller wore no weapon and no fur coat, but only his common robes and a plain blue turban tightly wrapped around his head.
"The day is up O Jeweller, and behold," Dost Khan lifted his hand and pointed to two slaves that stood there: One was an enormous fellow with arms like the trunks of a tree, and he held an enormous two handed scimitar; the other a humble eunuch, bald headed, who held a basket of woven grass.
"Merciful King! Have pity on an old man!" the Jeweller began.
"Pity! By Allah if you have not produced the miniature then on this day your head shall be placed in a basket!"
"Nay! Pray, for behold O King," the Jeweller then held up the broach, "I have brought this to you!"
"By Allah!" Dost Khan said, he rose up from his throne and grabbed the broach, gazing upon the painting of the princess, "Have this been fashioned by a Jinn?"
"Nay O King, by my own unworthy hands," the Jeweller said as he remained low.
"By Allah, if this is your work then I shall make you head jeweller of my court!" Dost Khan announced, but his eyes did not leave the beauty displayed on the broach. He clutched it in his hand, which he held over his chest, "By Allah the Merciful and Beneficent! She shall be mine!" He grabbed his scimitar and ran out the tent, holding the sword high in the air, "ON TO KHATLOON!"
The cry was picked up by the entire host gathered outside, and like one they ran towards their horses, even before they mounted up the sound of feet was like thunder that could be heard even in Khatloon! No one was faster than Dost Khan though, who leapt onto the saddle of his snow white stallion and spurred it on, crashing through the snow, as Dost Khan waved his scimitar, and yelled "ON! ON! ON!"
The Pendleton advisers barely had timed to mount their own horses, pursuing Dost Khan closely as they rode through the winter landscape; past snowed down abandoned peasant hovels, past tall fir trees so laden down with snow that they looked like upside down icicles.
There before them were the walls of Khatloon, and if they were all that stood between this horde and the city then woe, WOE to the defenders! The walls were but twenty feet tall, with crenulations like the teeth of an old hag; broken and often missing altogether with only stumps jutting up from a foul and cracked foundation. The walls were fashioned from brick separated with mortar, and in many places the mortar was so poor so bad that bushes and crawling plants had found homes in the cracks.
Without hesitating, and ignoring the agitation of the defenders Dost Khan rode up to beneath the walls, laughing as he saw them scramble. He rode down alongside the walls, ignoring the scattered shots that rained down around him, and waving his scimitar in the air! Then he pulled a while back, and stopped there, ignoring the bullets singing around his ears, the shattering of a large stone nearby.
Seeing that he had their attention he let out a loud cry "WHERE IS KING AHRAF! TELL HIM DOST KHAN HAS COME! I WISH TO SPEAK TO HIM!" the sound carried through the valley and into the city, like the roar of a lion.
It was not long before a figure dressed in fineries climbed up on the wall, only a slight twisting of the light, and perhaps him being a little too daring in exposing himself, revealed the magic wards protecting him.
King Ahraf looked worriedly at the mounted figure just outside his walls, and at the enormous horde that was drawing up near but still at a respectful distance from the walls. He pulled himself up majestically and cried, "What do you want O King of Konduz!" his voice carried far but lacked the timbre of his opposite.
"TO BRING YOU GOOD TIDINGS!" Dost Khan yelled back.
"By Allah the Most Great, the Compassionating, the Compassionate!" King Ahraf cried, he pulled at his robe, "What cruel jest is this? You bring an army to my walls and call it good tidings!"
"By Allah I make no jest! For if you will it O Gracious King you may yet gain a an ally and a son in law, rather than lose a crown!" Dost Khan yelled back.
"And what bridal price would you pay!" King Ahraf cried back.
Dost Khan laughed with joy, "By Allah! I will grand thee her weight in silver" then he stopped and brushed his beard, "Nay! I shall grant ye her weight in gold! And my alliance beside, but as her dowry I call upon your alliance for all time, and clothes, and food, and slaves, and all other needful things!"
"By Allah! These are joyous tidings indeed!" King Ahraf called back, "Let us meet, share bread and salt, and proclaim the wedding feast to the world!"
So it came to pass that Dost Khan and King Ahraf met just outside the gates, both walking alone towards one another, and there they embraced like brothers and shared bread and salt! The vast multitude of Dost Khans army set up camp outside of Khatloon, while the entirety of the land rejoiced that instead of a siege they should have a wedding.
In truth from the street seller to the imam to the vizier they were all amazed, they praised the wisdom of the king, the beauty of his daughter, and proclaimed "By Allah the Most Great, the Compassionating, the Compassionate! We have been delivered from a great peril!"
Yet in his quarters King Ahraf was most saddened, despite the adoration laid on him by his subject, and all the people, he lamented the agreement that had been made: "O woe! Woe is me!"
When his daughter heard he was disturbed she reproached him gently, "Allah upon thee O Father! Surely this should be a joyous day, and not one of mourning, for your daughter leaves your house to be married to a man of great import!"
"O daughter of mine, do you not realise that we are a poor kingdom, and that if your wedding feast be not our ruin, then your dowry will be, why you are as light as a gazelle O Daughter of mine! Even four times your weight in gold should not save us from ruin, and already money lenders are at the Royal Doors, and even the King durst not drive them away for among them is the Aemir of Ghazni!"
"Truly these are bad tidings O Father! But Allah alone governs and we are all bound by fate, and if it be our fate to be ruined then so be it, but Praise Allah that he seems to have ordained a different fate for us!"
"What knowledge do you have O Daughter that you can say this?"
Now Layla told him "Father! I own a veil that has such a wondrous quality that it can render he who wears it as light as a feather, or weigh her down like she were made from lead. So pray! Take even greater loans, and have no fears, but make the greatest feast of all time that all may see the wealth of Khatloon!"
King Ahraf clapped his hands together and leapt up with joy, "Allah be praised! That he deliver us from misfortune! And your wedding shall be so splendid that men shall speak of it for a hundred years."
Before the wedding there was a great feast that was held within the palace of King Ahraf, and for that feast the King had ordered that only the finest meals should be served: Fine deer captured in the woods, all manner of fruits, sherbets, and wine in such amounts that it flowed like water. Even the tables were of ivory, and finely adorned, golden bands tying the tusks together.
The air was warm and filled with sweet scents, for instead of firewood the King had ordered his servants to fuel the oven with sandalwood! By each oven stood an eunuch in silken garb, feeding the oven until it was so warm that many marvelled and asked "By Allah is it summer that has come?"
The guests of honour were spread out on silken couches, drinking from silvered cups, while servants in splendid robes kept their cups filled, and made certain that their golden plates would never be empty! Here too lay the men of Pendleton, watching the proceedings avidly as a group of dancing girls entered.
They were like gazelles, their eyes dark and passionate, their face chastely covered by a thin silken veil that revealed the almond shaped fair visage beneath. Their dance was scandalous and most displeasing to modesty, as they swirled and toyed with their veil, pretending at times to be modest and flee from the interest of the guests; and at other times to be bold and wanton, approaching the guests and swaying their hips most suggestively.
Finally Dost Khan, already deep in his cups, finished his conversation with King Ahraf after which he rose and cried, "And now it is time to deliver the bridal price!" He clapped his hands and a group of sturdy slaves began to carry in large chests, so heavy that it took four of them to carry each one!
Then a thick curtain dividing the room was pulled away, revealing that the artisans of the city had built a giant sent of scales for the weighing! All gasped at the sight, and craned forward to witness the King receiving the dowry.
Princess Layla appeared now, dressed in a splendid gown, her hair covered by a scarf embroidered with gold, and her face by a veil that revealed only her eyes. She stood upon the far scale, but even covered in all her finery the fair lines of her body, and her lithe shape was obvious to all! Yea her eyes were covered in kohl, she batted her long eyelashes, and then looked down modestly, only peering up occasionally to look at her husband to be.
Dost Khan himself stood as if struck by lighting, remembering well those eyes, and he gripped the back of a chair to keep himself from leaping forth and taking her in his arms right away.
Dost Khans' men began to pile up gold coins and bars of gold onto the other scale, but even though Layla was but a slender maiden they were astounded by how much had to be placed on the scales! Even if her gown was made of lead it would not have given her such weight, but they kept piling up gold like a freezing man throwing logs onto a fireplace. Yet the scales only began to shake a little, lifting the princess perhaps an inch or so above the ground.
King Ahraf was egging on the men that were piling up the gold, "Are you such weedy men that ye cannot pile up enough weight to lift a maiden?" With such words he angered them so that they redoubled their efforts.
"Allah be merciful!" Dost Khan said, loud enough to be heard by one of the men of Pendleton, Mage Captain Hendley.
"A spell for sure O King," Hendley whispered, then he squeezed a golden coin of foreign make into Dost Khans hand, "But do ye this! Place that coin on the other scale and she shall surely be lifted into the air!"
"By Allah your speech is wise! I need but lay it on the pile?" Dost Khan asked in a whisper.
"Aye O King."
Dost Khan let out a mighty laugh, "Weedy men perhaps! Move aside servants," he dropped the coin into one of the chests filled with gold, and then with a mighty effort he lifted the chest up from the ground. His sinews and muscles trembled under the weight, but he carried it forward much to the horror of King Ahraf and the delight of everyone else! Then came a mighty crash as he threw it down on the pile of gold that was already there, and all of a sudden the scales tipped so that Princess Layla was lifted high up in the air.
"Bismillah! There here is your bridal price!" Dost Khan told King Ahraf.
Now they summoned the Cadi who officiated, while the great men among the guests acted as the witnesses, that Layla and Dost Khan both signed onto the marriage contract. Then the marriage knot was formally tied in full view of all.
Thus as the wedding-feast ended Dost Khan brought his bride with him to his tent, to dwell there 'ere he brought an end to the depredations of the godless who had taken Konduz. Yet as they had entered the tent and she disrobed, revealing that wondrous beauty he had seen bathing in the mountain; but all of a sudden she let out a cry of pain and grabbed her thigh!
"What is this?" Dost Khan called, "Are you hurt?"
"O Husband, it is but a flesh wound," and as she spoke she revealed that upon her right thigh there was a stab wound perhaps two inches deep.
"By Allah! Who did this?" Dost Khan exclaimed, but at her silence he suddenly smiled, and to her astonishment he laughed out loud "By Allah! I see it now, here I think I have it right: If there are no more mysterious deer that appear when I am hunting, there shall be no more wounds on your thigh!"
And propriety forbids us from saying what happened next...
Kingdom of Khatloon
Azhistan
Wednesday 3 January 1006
The morning sun was slowly turning the east blood red, the colours reflected of the snow, and it looked like the forests to the east were on fire. Though this sight was such that poets would surely write splendid verses about it there was the foreboding sense of premonition of fire and blood to come, for surely this matter could not end in any other way?
Dost Khan had seated himself in his throne inside his tent, large braziers had been placed beside it for warmth, and the tent flaps throw wide open so that the assembly could witness the audience. Dost had his fur coat wrapped around him, and between his legs rested a heavy scimitar, he looked most imposing and frightening; tall and strongly built, his dark eyes sharp and piercing, he had a long black beard, and when he laughed his teeth flashed like those of a lion.
What a contrast to the Jeweller that lay trembling before him! It was like a lion compared to a sheep, for the Jeweller wore no weapon and no fur coat, but only his common robes and a plain blue turban tightly wrapped around his head.
"The day is up O Jeweller, and behold," Dost Khan lifted his hand and pointed to two slaves that stood there: One was an enormous fellow with arms like the trunks of a tree, and he held an enormous two handed scimitar; the other a humble eunuch, bald headed, who held a basket of woven grass.
"Merciful King! Have pity on an old man!" the Jeweller began.
"Pity! By Allah if you have not produced the miniature then on this day your head shall be placed in a basket!"
"Nay! Pray, for behold O King," the Jeweller then held up the broach, "I have brought this to you!"
"By Allah!" Dost Khan said, he rose up from his throne and grabbed the broach, gazing upon the painting of the princess, "Have this been fashioned by a Jinn?"
"Nay O King, by my own unworthy hands," the Jeweller said as he remained low.
"By Allah, if this is your work then I shall make you head jeweller of my court!" Dost Khan announced, but his eyes did not leave the beauty displayed on the broach. He clutched it in his hand, which he held over his chest, "By Allah the Merciful and Beneficent! She shall be mine!" He grabbed his scimitar and ran out the tent, holding the sword high in the air, "ON TO KHATLOON!"
The cry was picked up by the entire host gathered outside, and like one they ran towards their horses, even before they mounted up the sound of feet was like thunder that could be heard even in Khatloon! No one was faster than Dost Khan though, who leapt onto the saddle of his snow white stallion and spurred it on, crashing through the snow, as Dost Khan waved his scimitar, and yelled "ON! ON! ON!"
The Pendleton advisers barely had timed to mount their own horses, pursuing Dost Khan closely as they rode through the winter landscape; past snowed down abandoned peasant hovels, past tall fir trees so laden down with snow that they looked like upside down icicles.
There before them were the walls of Khatloon, and if they were all that stood between this horde and the city then woe, WOE to the defenders! The walls were but twenty feet tall, with crenulations like the teeth of an old hag; broken and often missing altogether with only stumps jutting up from a foul and cracked foundation. The walls were fashioned from brick separated with mortar, and in many places the mortar was so poor so bad that bushes and crawling plants had found homes in the cracks.
Without hesitating, and ignoring the agitation of the defenders Dost Khan rode up to beneath the walls, laughing as he saw them scramble. He rode down alongside the walls, ignoring the scattered shots that rained down around him, and waving his scimitar in the air! Then he pulled a while back, and stopped there, ignoring the bullets singing around his ears, the shattering of a large stone nearby.
Seeing that he had their attention he let out a loud cry "WHERE IS KING AHRAF! TELL HIM DOST KHAN HAS COME! I WISH TO SPEAK TO HIM!" the sound carried through the valley and into the city, like the roar of a lion.
It was not long before a figure dressed in fineries climbed up on the wall, only a slight twisting of the light, and perhaps him being a little too daring in exposing himself, revealed the magic wards protecting him.
King Ahraf looked worriedly at the mounted figure just outside his walls, and at the enormous horde that was drawing up near but still at a respectful distance from the walls. He pulled himself up majestically and cried, "What do you want O King of Konduz!" his voice carried far but lacked the timbre of his opposite.
"TO BRING YOU GOOD TIDINGS!" Dost Khan yelled back.
"By Allah the Most Great, the Compassionating, the Compassionate!" King Ahraf cried, he pulled at his robe, "What cruel jest is this? You bring an army to my walls and call it good tidings!"
"By Allah I make no jest! For if you will it O Gracious King you may yet gain a an ally and a son in law, rather than lose a crown!" Dost Khan yelled back.
"And what bridal price would you pay!" King Ahraf cried back.
Dost Khan laughed with joy, "By Allah! I will grand thee her weight in silver" then he stopped and brushed his beard, "Nay! I shall grant ye her weight in gold! And my alliance beside, but as her dowry I call upon your alliance for all time, and clothes, and food, and slaves, and all other needful things!"
"By Allah! These are joyous tidings indeed!" King Ahraf called back, "Let us meet, share bread and salt, and proclaim the wedding feast to the world!"
So it came to pass that Dost Khan and King Ahraf met just outside the gates, both walking alone towards one another, and there they embraced like brothers and shared bread and salt! The vast multitude of Dost Khans army set up camp outside of Khatloon, while the entirety of the land rejoiced that instead of a siege they should have a wedding.
In truth from the street seller to the imam to the vizier they were all amazed, they praised the wisdom of the king, the beauty of his daughter, and proclaimed "By Allah the Most Great, the Compassionating, the Compassionate! We have been delivered from a great peril!"
Yet in his quarters King Ahraf was most saddened, despite the adoration laid on him by his subject, and all the people, he lamented the agreement that had been made: "O woe! Woe is me!"
When his daughter heard he was disturbed she reproached him gently, "Allah upon thee O Father! Surely this should be a joyous day, and not one of mourning, for your daughter leaves your house to be married to a man of great import!"
"O daughter of mine, do you not realise that we are a poor kingdom, and that if your wedding feast be not our ruin, then your dowry will be, why you are as light as a gazelle O Daughter of mine! Even four times your weight in gold should not save us from ruin, and already money lenders are at the Royal Doors, and even the King durst not drive them away for among them is the Aemir of Ghazni!"
"Truly these are bad tidings O Father! But Allah alone governs and we are all bound by fate, and if it be our fate to be ruined then so be it, but Praise Allah that he seems to have ordained a different fate for us!"
"What knowledge do you have O Daughter that you can say this?"
Now Layla told him "Father! I own a veil that has such a wondrous quality that it can render he who wears it as light as a feather, or weigh her down like she were made from lead. So pray! Take even greater loans, and have no fears, but make the greatest feast of all time that all may see the wealth of Khatloon!"
King Ahraf clapped his hands together and leapt up with joy, "Allah be praised! That he deliver us from misfortune! And your wedding shall be so splendid that men shall speak of it for a hundred years."
Before the wedding there was a great feast that was held within the palace of King Ahraf, and for that feast the King had ordered that only the finest meals should be served: Fine deer captured in the woods, all manner of fruits, sherbets, and wine in such amounts that it flowed like water. Even the tables were of ivory, and finely adorned, golden bands tying the tusks together.
The air was warm and filled with sweet scents, for instead of firewood the King had ordered his servants to fuel the oven with sandalwood! By each oven stood an eunuch in silken garb, feeding the oven until it was so warm that many marvelled and asked "By Allah is it summer that has come?"
The guests of honour were spread out on silken couches, drinking from silvered cups, while servants in splendid robes kept their cups filled, and made certain that their golden plates would never be empty! Here too lay the men of Pendleton, watching the proceedings avidly as a group of dancing girls entered.
They were like gazelles, their eyes dark and passionate, their face chastely covered by a thin silken veil that revealed the almond shaped fair visage beneath. Their dance was scandalous and most displeasing to modesty, as they swirled and toyed with their veil, pretending at times to be modest and flee from the interest of the guests; and at other times to be bold and wanton, approaching the guests and swaying their hips most suggestively.
Finally Dost Khan, already deep in his cups, finished his conversation with King Ahraf after which he rose and cried, "And now it is time to deliver the bridal price!" He clapped his hands and a group of sturdy slaves began to carry in large chests, so heavy that it took four of them to carry each one!
Then a thick curtain dividing the room was pulled away, revealing that the artisans of the city had built a giant sent of scales for the weighing! All gasped at the sight, and craned forward to witness the King receiving the dowry.
Princess Layla appeared now, dressed in a splendid gown, her hair covered by a scarf embroidered with gold, and her face by a veil that revealed only her eyes. She stood upon the far scale, but even covered in all her finery the fair lines of her body, and her lithe shape was obvious to all! Yea her eyes were covered in kohl, she batted her long eyelashes, and then looked down modestly, only peering up occasionally to look at her husband to be.
Dost Khan himself stood as if struck by lighting, remembering well those eyes, and he gripped the back of a chair to keep himself from leaping forth and taking her in his arms right away.
Dost Khans' men began to pile up gold coins and bars of gold onto the other scale, but even though Layla was but a slender maiden they were astounded by how much had to be placed on the scales! Even if her gown was made of lead it would not have given her such weight, but they kept piling up gold like a freezing man throwing logs onto a fireplace. Yet the scales only began to shake a little, lifting the princess perhaps an inch or so above the ground.
King Ahraf was egging on the men that were piling up the gold, "Are you such weedy men that ye cannot pile up enough weight to lift a maiden?" With such words he angered them so that they redoubled their efforts.
"Allah be merciful!" Dost Khan said, loud enough to be heard by one of the men of Pendleton, Mage Captain Hendley.
"A spell for sure O King," Hendley whispered, then he squeezed a golden coin of foreign make into Dost Khans hand, "But do ye this! Place that coin on the other scale and she shall surely be lifted into the air!"
"By Allah your speech is wise! I need but lay it on the pile?" Dost Khan asked in a whisper.
"Aye O King."
Dost Khan let out a mighty laugh, "Weedy men perhaps! Move aside servants," he dropped the coin into one of the chests filled with gold, and then with a mighty effort he lifted the chest up from the ground. His sinews and muscles trembled under the weight, but he carried it forward much to the horror of King Ahraf and the delight of everyone else! Then came a mighty crash as he threw it down on the pile of gold that was already there, and all of a sudden the scales tipped so that Princess Layla was lifted high up in the air.
"Bismillah! There here is your bridal price!" Dost Khan told King Ahraf.
Now they summoned the Cadi who officiated, while the great men among the guests acted as the witnesses, that Layla and Dost Khan both signed onto the marriage contract. Then the marriage knot was formally tied in full view of all.
Thus as the wedding-feast ended Dost Khan brought his bride with him to his tent, to dwell there 'ere he brought an end to the depredations of the godless who had taken Konduz. Yet as they had entered the tent and she disrobed, revealing that wondrous beauty he had seen bathing in the mountain; but all of a sudden she let out a cry of pain and grabbed her thigh!
"What is this?" Dost Khan called, "Are you hurt?"
"O Husband, it is but a flesh wound," and as she spoke she revealed that upon her right thigh there was a stab wound perhaps two inches deep.
"By Allah! Who did this?" Dost Khan exclaimed, but at her silence he suddenly smiled, and to her astonishment he laughed out loud "By Allah! I see it now, here I think I have it right: If there are no more mysterious deer that appear when I am hunting, there shall be no more wounds on your thigh!"
And propriety forbids us from saying what happened next...
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Operation Golden Serpent - Chapter VI
Cruiser Darklight
Terminus of the Rum-Azhistan Starway
Azhistan
Tuesday 6 February 1006
There was only a bare hint of motion as the cloaked black cruiser exited the starway, only a few misty swirls of ether shifted in its wake, hopefully undetectable even by the advanced technology of the Communists. Slowly and carefully it began to move towards the distant planet, past the outer iceball planets, and the massive gas giants in the middle of the system.
None of them drew any particular attention, even though they had been the centre of Azhistani astrology for nearly a millennia. There was something odd though, a constellation that had not been visible for many centuries, the two gas giants known locally as Dzhang and Khatarnaak had entered the seventh house; at the same time the astrologers over Ghazni predicted a total lunar eclipse... to a rationalist like Patterson these were but coincidences, but the astrologers could only make one prediction: Rivers of blood!
Two days later when Shaykh Ahmed al-Biruni Taraki stood on the top of his house in Ghazni, and peered up at the sky making his observations, he saw a falling star come down towards the great plains district! So he spoke those words that defeat evil "There is no Majesty and there is no Might save in Allah, the Glorious, the Great!" and made a journal of this evil omen.
River valley
Konduzi Territory
Azhistan
Thursday 8 February 1006
The Darklight descended in darkness, the advanced cruiser had no need for daylight to navigate, the scattered stars above was enough to see even if it didn't have more subtle means of spotting obstacles. The Darklight swooped into the long river valley, the tall cliffsides towered over the ship, but nothing could be seen other than the distant campfires of shepherds, or the scattered lights of even more distant villages.
On the ships bridge Patterson studied the three-dimensional display showing him the riverbed, and the odd animal that began running as the Darklight whooshed by. "So this is the place Captain?" he asked Whitcomb.
"Yes, there should be a copse of trees near the remnants of an old rockslide, the ship can be hidden there, and we'll link up with our allies at that point," Whitcomb pointed ahead as he spoke, seemingly unaffected by the sheer speed at which the Darklight was navigating through the valley.
"Affirmative," Patterson said.
The Darklight suddenly began to slow down rapidly; the cliffsides that had earlier been just a blur now came into focus revealing the broken texture of the rock, and a few shrubs clinging to its side. Right ahead of them was a big pile of rocks, just like Whitcomb had said, and the cruiser gently lowered itself down next to them. Then with a crunching sound it settled itself in the pebble bed next to the river.
From behind them came a female voice "Well gentlemen, we have arrived!"
"Rude to sneak up on people like that," Patterson told Darklight, or rather her avatar.
"Pft, I'm a heavily armed cruiser, I do what I like," Darklight said, she almost stuck out her tongue at him.
"So Captain where are these allies of yours?" Patterson asked.
"Don't worry Sir, if they're not here already they'll be here shortly..." Whitcomb began as he peered at the displays, "I'm sorry Ma'am but can you see if there's anything nearby?"
"No one is visible Sir," Darklight said, slipping into the more formal Pendletonish way of speaking. Then she blinked once, and a smile crossed her lips. "My..." the screen came alive and showed a fuzzy image of a tent with the outline of a man in the opening, "Yours Sir?"
"I should think so Ma'am," Whitcomb said, as he watched the image grew fuzzier, and suddenly vanished entirely, showing only a few shrubs.
"Let me guess, magic?" Patterson asked, he had already risen from his seat and was moving towards the back of the ship.
"Mmm, yes I should think so," Whitcomb agreed, following closely behind the mercenary.
In the cargo bay the Pendleton soldiers were ready, they snapped to attention and saluted the officers, Sgt Smith called out, "Squad ready Sir!"
Whitcomb returned the salute, "Very good, Sergeant prepare to deploy, this is our rendezvous point but we'll be careful anyway."
"Yes Sir!"
Patterson quickly suited up, "All clear?" he asked Dominion.
<< Certainly, better be careful heavy commie guns could be trouble >>
"I'll go out first, then you," Patterson told them, a split second later an opening appeared in the floor and he dropped through it, silently landing on the ground twenty feet below.
A couple of seconds later a doorway formed in the side of the ship, and a gangway also extended. Immediately they ran down the gangway, before it had properly formed, it was a strange experience like running down a slow flowing mudslide; the ground constantly twisting under their feet. Once on the ground they spread out and crouched down, moving for cover, despite the protective bulk of the cruiser which probably provided far more protection than rocks and shrubs ever could.
After a few moments on the ground Whitcomb peered in the direction of the cave, and he let out a loud warbling whistle, if anyone on Azhistan had known what a Trumble bird sounded like they'd have recognised the tone at once; immediately afterwards there came a tone like a robin whistling back, confirming that they were dealing with Pendletons.
"I say, you may come out now," Whitcomb announced.
Suddenly a couple of men seemed to just pop out of the ground, one moment there was nothing there but shrubs and stones, the next two slightly surprised Mage Hunters stood there saluting. One of them spoke out, "Lance Corporal Botkins Sir, and beggin' sirs pardon but we thought we were well hidden!"
"You were corporal, and quite well too, but our new allies have a trick or two up their sleeve," Whitcomb looked around but couldn't see a sign of Patterson, but he could feel the mans presence somewhat to his left, and so wasn't surprised when the battlesuited mercenary appeared from that direction.
"Friends of yours?" Patterson asked, the two Pendletons that had been hiding in the rock pile immediately haunched down, but didn't do anything hostile like aim their rifles.
"Indeed Captain indeed," Whitcomb replied, then turning back to the two Mage Hunters on guard he quickly asked, "And your orders are?"
"To await new arrivals Sir, and take'em to the CO."
"I see, well then... lead the way," Whitcomb mused.
Azhistani Camp
Konduzi Territory
Azhistan
Thursday 8 February 1006
The camp was well hidden, beneath a cliff outhang, it was also high up in the hillside beyond the valley of the Helman river. The tents were mostly native cloth designs, dark and dusty they blended in well with the countryside; you could walk right past without noticing it if you were but thirty feet away. Whitcombs and Pattersons keen eyes did not fail to notice it though, nor did they fail to take note of the sniper standing guard high up in the hill.
When they entered the camp they were at once greeted by another Mage Hunter, this one a private who saluted them silently, and a handful of dour natives who sent long suspicious glares at the newcomers. Not before Whitcomb offered his Salaam did they thaw up a bit, returning his greeting, and touching their chests and foreheads.
"Cheerful lot," Patterson whispered.
"Who can blame them, even on the best of days a stranger is likely to steal your cattle and your women, and this Sir is not the best of days," Whitcomb nodded towards Konduz, even from the distance the damage to the city was obvious.
After entering the camp they noticed a figure hidden in the shrubs, he was wearing a pair of western boots, and facing towards the city. Corporal Botkins saluted the boots and called out, "Sir! Report that visitors have arrived!"
Moments later there was a grunt, and the boots, and the legs, began to move backwards out of the shrub and slowly a figure began to appear; he was dressed in a mixture of Mage Hunter uniform and native garb, but other than that it was hard to see the difference between him and any native even after he had revealed himself.
"Captain Whitcomb!"
"Lieutenant Flowers!" Whitcomb said, "studying the enemy?" he added with a nod towards the city.
"More than that Sir," Flowers assured him, then he spotted the other newcomers, "and who are?"
Whitcomb was quick to introduce them, "Mr Patterson, this is Lieutenant Harold Flowers. Lt Flowers this is Charles Patterson, an independent contractor of some note," mercenary in other words was the unspoken understanding between Whitcomb and Flowers, "and these are a team of mage hunters assigned to aid him in his task."
Flowers gave a brief nod to this, "I see Sir," then curiousity won over and he added, "If I may Sir what is the task?"
"To slay Suleyman Khan..."
Later that evening
Sitting around a hooded kerosone lamp inside one of the tents two Pendleton officers, and Patterson, huddled around a map of the city. Lt Flowers was finishing the description of the patrols, and of the safe houses, "so gentlemen that is what we have now..."
"Hmmmm..." Patterson studied the map, it was hand drawn, "Your work Lieutenant?"
"Why yes Sir, I got a good view from up here," Flowers answered.
"Well then, barring any unforseen events you should be able to sneak in tomorrow or the day after tomorrow," Whitcomb mused, he peered at the map again, "Not a lot of changes since I was there..."
"You should come," Patterson suggested, "You know this place better than anyone, all the rest of us have is a map and the spies inside."
"I wish I could, but I can't stay that long, in fact I've stayed too long as it is, I must hie to and get to the main front," Whitcomb said, then he tapped the map a bit, "Lieutenant, if, God forbid, it should all go wrong can they find this place?"
Lt Flowers almost seemed offended, "I'd say no Sir, we communicate by way of sheets being hung to dry, different colours and combinations for different messages. If I get the right message I send a man to the rendezvous point, all very safe."
"Good... good..." Whitcomb and Patterson both agreed.
Friday 9 February 1006
Officers tent
The Pendleton officers were fortunate enough to have a tent of their own, or rather Whitcomb was let into Lt Flowers' tent, but despite the cramped space it was orderly and comfortable. In the early morning a small kerosene lamp still provided light, and some heat, while the two men were having a quiet discussion.
"So what is it?" Whitcomb asked.
"What is what Sir?" Flowers said.
"I say, I've known you long enough to know when there is something wrong, and unless it's something local I think it has something to do with the mission," Whitcomb said, he felt bad about pressing a fellow officer like this but in matters such as these everyone should know where the others stand; also the Mage Hunters were far more close knit than many other units making them much like a family.
"Very well Sir... I don't like the idea of assassinating a foreign head of state, even if he is a communist stooge, doesn't seem cricket somehow," Flowers' said.
"I know, but the Communists broke that taboo first," Whitcomb mused, but a gloomy feeling had invaded the tent. Flowers' was a bit naive for the Mage Hunters, dealing with barbarians and such softer feelings, and romantic notions of war were often unsuitable; but he was despite it all a first rate officer that would never fail his duty no matter what his personal feelings.
Outside in the camp
Outide Patterson was prepping his little group for the trip into the city, whether it'd be today or tomorrow night...
Terminus of the Rum-Azhistan Starway
Azhistan
Tuesday 6 February 1006
There was only a bare hint of motion as the cloaked black cruiser exited the starway, only a few misty swirls of ether shifted in its wake, hopefully undetectable even by the advanced technology of the Communists. Slowly and carefully it began to move towards the distant planet, past the outer iceball planets, and the massive gas giants in the middle of the system.
None of them drew any particular attention, even though they had been the centre of Azhistani astrology for nearly a millennia. There was something odd though, a constellation that had not been visible for many centuries, the two gas giants known locally as Dzhang and Khatarnaak had entered the seventh house; at the same time the astrologers over Ghazni predicted a total lunar eclipse... to a rationalist like Patterson these were but coincidences, but the astrologers could only make one prediction: Rivers of blood!
Two days later when Shaykh Ahmed al-Biruni Taraki stood on the top of his house in Ghazni, and peered up at the sky making his observations, he saw a falling star come down towards the great plains district! So he spoke those words that defeat evil "There is no Majesty and there is no Might save in Allah, the Glorious, the Great!" and made a journal of this evil omen.
River valley
Konduzi Territory
Azhistan
Thursday 8 February 1006
The Darklight descended in darkness, the advanced cruiser had no need for daylight to navigate, the scattered stars above was enough to see even if it didn't have more subtle means of spotting obstacles. The Darklight swooped into the long river valley, the tall cliffsides towered over the ship, but nothing could be seen other than the distant campfires of shepherds, or the scattered lights of even more distant villages.
On the ships bridge Patterson studied the three-dimensional display showing him the riverbed, and the odd animal that began running as the Darklight whooshed by. "So this is the place Captain?" he asked Whitcomb.
"Yes, there should be a copse of trees near the remnants of an old rockslide, the ship can be hidden there, and we'll link up with our allies at that point," Whitcomb pointed ahead as he spoke, seemingly unaffected by the sheer speed at which the Darklight was navigating through the valley.
"Affirmative," Patterson said.
The Darklight suddenly began to slow down rapidly; the cliffsides that had earlier been just a blur now came into focus revealing the broken texture of the rock, and a few shrubs clinging to its side. Right ahead of them was a big pile of rocks, just like Whitcomb had said, and the cruiser gently lowered itself down next to them. Then with a crunching sound it settled itself in the pebble bed next to the river.
From behind them came a female voice "Well gentlemen, we have arrived!"
"Rude to sneak up on people like that," Patterson told Darklight, or rather her avatar.
"Pft, I'm a heavily armed cruiser, I do what I like," Darklight said, she almost stuck out her tongue at him.
"So Captain where are these allies of yours?" Patterson asked.
"Don't worry Sir, if they're not here already they'll be here shortly..." Whitcomb began as he peered at the displays, "I'm sorry Ma'am but can you see if there's anything nearby?"
"No one is visible Sir," Darklight said, slipping into the more formal Pendletonish way of speaking. Then she blinked once, and a smile crossed her lips. "My..." the screen came alive and showed a fuzzy image of a tent with the outline of a man in the opening, "Yours Sir?"
"I should think so Ma'am," Whitcomb said, as he watched the image grew fuzzier, and suddenly vanished entirely, showing only a few shrubs.
"Let me guess, magic?" Patterson asked, he had already risen from his seat and was moving towards the back of the ship.
"Mmm, yes I should think so," Whitcomb agreed, following closely behind the mercenary.
In the cargo bay the Pendleton soldiers were ready, they snapped to attention and saluted the officers, Sgt Smith called out, "Squad ready Sir!"
Whitcomb returned the salute, "Very good, Sergeant prepare to deploy, this is our rendezvous point but we'll be careful anyway."
"Yes Sir!"
Patterson quickly suited up, "All clear?" he asked Dominion.
<< Certainly, better be careful heavy commie guns could be trouble >>
"I'll go out first, then you," Patterson told them, a split second later an opening appeared in the floor and he dropped through it, silently landing on the ground twenty feet below.
A couple of seconds later a doorway formed in the side of the ship, and a gangway also extended. Immediately they ran down the gangway, before it had properly formed, it was a strange experience like running down a slow flowing mudslide; the ground constantly twisting under their feet. Once on the ground they spread out and crouched down, moving for cover, despite the protective bulk of the cruiser which probably provided far more protection than rocks and shrubs ever could.
After a few moments on the ground Whitcomb peered in the direction of the cave, and he let out a loud warbling whistle, if anyone on Azhistan had known what a Trumble bird sounded like they'd have recognised the tone at once; immediately afterwards there came a tone like a robin whistling back, confirming that they were dealing with Pendletons.
"I say, you may come out now," Whitcomb announced.
Suddenly a couple of men seemed to just pop out of the ground, one moment there was nothing there but shrubs and stones, the next two slightly surprised Mage Hunters stood there saluting. One of them spoke out, "Lance Corporal Botkins Sir, and beggin' sirs pardon but we thought we were well hidden!"
"You were corporal, and quite well too, but our new allies have a trick or two up their sleeve," Whitcomb looked around but couldn't see a sign of Patterson, but he could feel the mans presence somewhat to his left, and so wasn't surprised when the battlesuited mercenary appeared from that direction.
"Friends of yours?" Patterson asked, the two Pendletons that had been hiding in the rock pile immediately haunched down, but didn't do anything hostile like aim their rifles.
"Indeed Captain indeed," Whitcomb replied, then turning back to the two Mage Hunters on guard he quickly asked, "And your orders are?"
"To await new arrivals Sir, and take'em to the CO."
"I see, well then... lead the way," Whitcomb mused.
Azhistani Camp
Konduzi Territory
Azhistan
Thursday 8 February 1006
The camp was well hidden, beneath a cliff outhang, it was also high up in the hillside beyond the valley of the Helman river. The tents were mostly native cloth designs, dark and dusty they blended in well with the countryside; you could walk right past without noticing it if you were but thirty feet away. Whitcombs and Pattersons keen eyes did not fail to notice it though, nor did they fail to take note of the sniper standing guard high up in the hill.
When they entered the camp they were at once greeted by another Mage Hunter, this one a private who saluted them silently, and a handful of dour natives who sent long suspicious glares at the newcomers. Not before Whitcomb offered his Salaam did they thaw up a bit, returning his greeting, and touching their chests and foreheads.
"Cheerful lot," Patterson whispered.
"Who can blame them, even on the best of days a stranger is likely to steal your cattle and your women, and this Sir is not the best of days," Whitcomb nodded towards Konduz, even from the distance the damage to the city was obvious.
After entering the camp they noticed a figure hidden in the shrubs, he was wearing a pair of western boots, and facing towards the city. Corporal Botkins saluted the boots and called out, "Sir! Report that visitors have arrived!"
Moments later there was a grunt, and the boots, and the legs, began to move backwards out of the shrub and slowly a figure began to appear; he was dressed in a mixture of Mage Hunter uniform and native garb, but other than that it was hard to see the difference between him and any native even after he had revealed himself.
"Captain Whitcomb!"
"Lieutenant Flowers!" Whitcomb said, "studying the enemy?" he added with a nod towards the city.
"More than that Sir," Flowers assured him, then he spotted the other newcomers, "and who are?"
Whitcomb was quick to introduce them, "Mr Patterson, this is Lieutenant Harold Flowers. Lt Flowers this is Charles Patterson, an independent contractor of some note," mercenary in other words was the unspoken understanding between Whitcomb and Flowers, "and these are a team of mage hunters assigned to aid him in his task."
Flowers gave a brief nod to this, "I see Sir," then curiousity won over and he added, "If I may Sir what is the task?"
"To slay Suleyman Khan..."
Later that evening
Sitting around a hooded kerosone lamp inside one of the tents two Pendleton officers, and Patterson, huddled around a map of the city. Lt Flowers was finishing the description of the patrols, and of the safe houses, "so gentlemen that is what we have now..."
"Hmmmm..." Patterson studied the map, it was hand drawn, "Your work Lieutenant?"
"Why yes Sir, I got a good view from up here," Flowers answered.
"Well then, barring any unforseen events you should be able to sneak in tomorrow or the day after tomorrow," Whitcomb mused, he peered at the map again, "Not a lot of changes since I was there..."
"You should come," Patterson suggested, "You know this place better than anyone, all the rest of us have is a map and the spies inside."
"I wish I could, but I can't stay that long, in fact I've stayed too long as it is, I must hie to and get to the main front," Whitcomb said, then he tapped the map a bit, "Lieutenant, if, God forbid, it should all go wrong can they find this place?"
Lt Flowers almost seemed offended, "I'd say no Sir, we communicate by way of sheets being hung to dry, different colours and combinations for different messages. If I get the right message I send a man to the rendezvous point, all very safe."
"Good... good..." Whitcomb and Patterson both agreed.
Friday 9 February 1006
Officers tent
The Pendleton officers were fortunate enough to have a tent of their own, or rather Whitcomb was let into Lt Flowers' tent, but despite the cramped space it was orderly and comfortable. In the early morning a small kerosene lamp still provided light, and some heat, while the two men were having a quiet discussion.
"So what is it?" Whitcomb asked.
"What is what Sir?" Flowers said.
"I say, I've known you long enough to know when there is something wrong, and unless it's something local I think it has something to do with the mission," Whitcomb said, he felt bad about pressing a fellow officer like this but in matters such as these everyone should know where the others stand; also the Mage Hunters were far more close knit than many other units making them much like a family.
"Very well Sir... I don't like the idea of assassinating a foreign head of state, even if he is a communist stooge, doesn't seem cricket somehow," Flowers' said.
"I know, but the Communists broke that taboo first," Whitcomb mused, but a gloomy feeling had invaded the tent. Flowers' was a bit naive for the Mage Hunters, dealing with barbarians and such softer feelings, and romantic notions of war were often unsuitable; but he was despite it all a first rate officer that would never fail his duty no matter what his personal feelings.
Outside in the camp
Outide Patterson was prepping his little group for the trip into the city, whether it'd be today or tomorrow night...
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Operation Golden Serpent - Chapter VII
[Ed Note: This chapter was written by MJ-12, cleaned up slightly by me]
Konduz
Azhistan
Saturday Feburary 10, 1006 NE
0020 hours military time
The city of Konduz had proven to be a tough nut. It wasn't inherently dangerous, any more than any other city would be, but it was a place where special operations could go horribly wrong. He hoped that, at least for once, this wouldn't.
"What's your plan, Mister Patterson?" Sergeant Smith asked.
"This isn't going to be fun. The palace looks to be pretty well defended, and from the intel says it's going to have some heavy resistance."
"But do you think you can get the mission done?" one of the Pendletonian spies asked, anxiously.
"Possibly. I can't guarantee anything, though. Okay the plan is, you get Dominion. You're going to try finding and hitting his advisers, with my suit's support. I'll be going in, alone, for your man."
"Bring us his head as proof, so they can't replace him."
"I'll do that if I have time and I'm not getting shot at. Otherwise, no guarantees." Patterson said coldly, suit opening. He opened the armored case he brought with extra ammunition and equipment with an ominous click, taking out a simple low-visibility suit. He grabbed the MICW as well, the smooth black of the lethal device drinking up the meager light in the room, and holstered his pistols.
The infiltration suit fit as well as he had remembered it. Patterson rarely used it anymore, preferring the safety of powered infantry armor and the security of being able to back up his ability with force, if necessary. This time, force would probably mean his mission had failed. "Myth. Firepower is the deciding factor in any engagement. Fact. Mobility is the deciding factor. Pack light, conserve ammo, and when under fire, relocate, reacquire, and eliminate." he muttered to himself. Touching the material brought him to battlefields long gone, long forgotten, reminded him of the close calls that had happened and how it felt to no longer be safely cocooned in centimeters of smart armor.
"What?" Smith asked, hearing the barely audible mutters.
"Just telling myself something that holds true. Most of the time. But when it doesn't, it bites you on the ass really hard."
"Well, good luck and happy headshotting." Dominion said. "Try not to get shot up too much without me mothering you."
"Given that you lack a spine, I don't think I need to warn you to keep your head down." Patterson retorted.
"Oh shut up. Don't you have a mission to do?"
"I can multitask."
"So can I, doesn't mean it's always a good idea."
It turns out, sometimes it truly wasn't.
Safehouse
Sunday February 11, 1006 NE
0125 hours military time.
"Team A, that's you guys, will be borrowing the combat suit. Your objective is to make enough of a distraction to get me in and then get out if possible. Secondary is to take out secondary command assets. This man's advisors, bigwigs, Communist generals if you see any visiting, things like that. I'll be going lone wolf. My mission and objective is to infiltrate the complex and eliminate your target from stealth, then exfiltrate out here. The city isn't wired up, so as soon as we get out, if they aren't literally hot on our tails, we'll be fine. Your intel says that there are at least some places we can hide which aren't populated, as we don't want to alert them of your safehouses. Pack light but make sure to carry at least enough supplies for a day or so in case we need to hunker down. After that we can just scavenge what we need. It's riskier than bringing goods but I think on a mission like this the weight penalty would be too disadvantageous." Patterson said, gesturing to the paper map.
"By packing light you mean ammo or just food and water?" One of the Mage Hunters asked.
"Both. In this case moving fast and quiet is a lot more important than carrying bullets. If all else fails you can normally scavenge from your enemy in a quiet moment. You do know how to aim, load, and fire their rifles, right?"
"All right then. When do we move out?" Sergeant Smith asked.
"Tomorrow, 0100. Get everything ready before then."
Konduz
Sunday Feburary 11, 1006 NE
0300 hours military time
Two hours. Two hours to move from a safehouse after planning, evade all detection using cover of night, and make it into position. There had been an incident or two, near misses when a civilian almost saw him, points where he considered killing to ease his job. Morally repugnant? Perhaps. But in a world beset by manipulations from outside, torn by sides which were not black and white, but rather shades of gray, who put any stock in morality? But they never quite made it necessary for him to make that decision. They didn't expect to see a covert operative in the shadows, so they didn't see one.
Otherwise, it was as uneventful as sneaking through a city could be. The palace was an ornate affair, clearly built using the profits from his deal with the Communists. At least he isn't starving his own people for them. Patterson thought. But for all its obvious lavishness, the security system was fairly primitive. Nothing like the advanced affairs that he was used to. They had a lot of guards on site-probably to make up for the dearth of advanced alarms and sensors.
He was a ghost in the darkness. The guards hadn't noticed him yet, even though he was barely three feet away from them. His luck had been finding a relatively undefended area. If he accidentally made a wrong move, or they moved where he didn't want them to move, they'd see him. But such was the way of stealth. As long as they didn't pay attention though, the guards were dead men.
Right now the two guards were talking cheerfully-conversation with no important information content, just small talk. Their helmets were off and the lights would have destroyed their night vision. Nobody, after all, expected people to assault the palace. And guards were still human.
"Team A is in position."
"Good. Make your move. I'll be following." Patterson said quietly, not wanting to get the attention of the sentries below him.
Without waiting for an answer, he moved quickly, the mono-blade knife in his hand flashing once, cutting through throat armor and flesh and bone easily with his enhanced muscles behind the blow. It flashed out again before the other guard could react, his lifeless body hitting the ground almost immediately after the first. The slick black blade shed the fluid easily. He bounded over the gate and landed with a slight thudding noise, too quiet for the patrolling soldiers to notice.
He tapped his link to the combat armor for a brief spurt, checking the progress of the other team. They hadn't gotten held up by combat yet, and that was a good sign. Inasmuch anything could be good in this type of situation.
Nearly invisible in the shadows, he deftly dodged the attentions of wandering guards, checking the floor plan of the palace overlaid on his vision. Occasionally, a guard got too close for comfort and needed elimination. This he did with knives or bare hands for the most part, rarely unholstering his pistols or the MICW to do his dirty work. Ammunition was precious when you didn't bother carrying more than a few extra clips. When he did use them, it was on minimal power, doing damage silently and invisibly instead of the overly energetic effects full power shots would have.
"Nearly in position. How's your situation?" Patterson sent, holed up in an empty room, preparing to move.
"We're at the Vizier's quarters... breaching now. Nobody there? What?" Patterson could hear vague footstep-like sounds in the background.
"Incoming!" A mage hunter yelled. "We've got company!"
"Hostile contact. Open fire." Dominion snarled, opening up with his own weapons. << You wanted a distraction, Charles, you've got it. Now get your job done. >>
The cloth-ripping sound of enemy assault rifle fire filled the link as Patterson cut it. He checked the door, shooting through it in time to catch another patrolling sentry in the head, opening it, and heading out. In the dim light of the inside, he was more visible than he liked, but not visible enough that he regretted giving up the power armor. It sounded as if they needed it, anyways.
Minutes of aching tension as guards ran to reinforce their comrades, once passing literally inches from where he had been crouching, and then short bursts of movement, as fast as his body could possibly move. The combination of nerve-wracking tension as he was surrounded by enemies and couldn't so much as twitch, plus sheer horror as he ran, even a glimpse possibly meaning death or a unacceptable delay, and he knew he wasn't having a good day. There seemed to be more guards than they expected, which meant bad things for his life span. Patterson didn't think of himself as selfish, but he preferred to be alive, especially when he'd be dying for a cause he only joined because of the money.
He was there. Just find the right door now and he'd be done.
Open the door. The quarters are here, might be this bedroom, he thought. Definitely opulent enough. First one's empty.
Next one. Two guards and not much else. Open the door. Two headshots later, nothing in the room to note save cooling corpses. He closed the door quietly.
More rooms. Nothing of importance inside, just take a peek via IR and stay quiet.
It was like this the entire way, down a stretch of hallway which was short, but due to the tension and the reaction boosts, felt as if it was nearly endless to Patterson
Last one. This has got to be it.
Infrared imaging showed three people inside Suleyman's quarters. He kicked the door off its hinges, one of his pistols already out. He interrupted Khan, looking at the fighting. It looked as if the Hunters and Dominion were doing fairly well, all things considered. The sound of the door opening, though, seemed to cause the guards to take notice, and they realized what was happening. Their interference could not be allowed.
The guards started turning, impossibly slow to his point of view. His arm snapped up in an action done so often it was almost ingrained reflex. He calmly sighted on the first and blasted three neat holes through the man's forehead, rounds splintering inside the armored helmet. He moved to deal with the other, running diagonally towards the soldier, fountains of dust and wood splinters geysering out at Patterson's feet as the guard couldn't quite move his weapon quickly enough to hit. Then Patterson was in melee range, slamming a hardened pistol butt into his skull and a knee into his groin, knife flashing again and cutting through the neck.
"Just answer my questions. I've got some things I need to ask you, and as long as you don't lie, I'll keep you alive. No guarantees, though." A lie, but the leader wouldn't be questioning it, not if Patterson read the man right. He didn't look like a soldier.
He read wrong. Khan moved towards something under the table, faster than he should have been able to. Patterson guessed some kind of weapon. He sighted on the man's hand and fired. The rifle dropped out of his hand, falling to the ground in a slow parabolic arc, clattering to the ground noisly.
"Wrong. Violence is not the answer. Unless you're..." he was cut off in mid sentence as he saw 'Khan' make another motion and grab an energy pistol with the same hand. That's not possible! That shot should have blown his hand off. Patterson thought. He then looked at the glint of silvery metal, coated with a thin crimson film of blood. I think our job just got wayyy more complicated. Patterson noted, as orange bolts flew at where he had been. He ran. Without much cover in the room, and without armor, his sole protection was agility.
He kept firing even as he started dodging, a steady stream of microflechettes hammering at the infiltrator bot. The room quickly filled with the smell of ozone and burnt materials as the duel continued. Guards responding to the situation all ducked before a stray plasma bolt or flechette could cut their lives short. With both the false Suleyman Khan and Patterson dancing the dance of war and death, there wasn't much they could do except die or take cover and watch.
Patterson dropped his knife, the black object embedding itself into the floor up to the hilt from its own weight as he drew his other pistol, firing rapidly. A low ammunition warning displayed on his HUD, but he ignored it. The remaining magazine of microflechettes and the remaining energy cell would have to suffice for his right-hand pistol. His left-hand weapon was fresh, and he brought it to bear, the twin streams of projectile death flaying metal and synthflesh off of the enemy, cutting into what looked like a metal parody of a human skeleton. His fire seemed to have an effect-the enemy was moving slower, firing less accurately. Patterson was still hammering, not letting up even as it started to stagger, even as his fire flayed the last vestiges of its human appearance away.
The guards couldn't fire, lest they hit Suleyman or his pretender, whichever it was. They merely waited for the fight to finish, and hoped that their charge would survive.
A lucky shot as he fired on the machine's arm, and its weapon arm fell, severed, to the ground. Patterson holstered his right hand pistol, grabbing his knife, his motion making a deep furrow into the wooden floor. "Time to end this." he snarled, as he started slashing at the damaged machine with the monoblade knife. It moved to block his attacks with its remaining limb, trying to reduce damage, but it wasn't quite fast enough to stop. Neither was it fast enough to connect with its kicks.
It started to fall, knees damaged too much to support its weight anymore, limbs too damaged to move, its body little more than scrap metal. Patterson started shooting at the guards, the braver members of whom had finally summoned up the courage to start shooting at the intruder.
"Why are you helping these degenerates?" A voice growled out from the hulk. "It can only bring your downfall. Mister Patterson..."
He glanced back at the machine instinctively. A shot hit him, the infiltration suit's limited armor just barely managing to deflect it. He had worse worries, though. Patterson noted the series of beeps which tended to be the sign of a fuse, and the blinking light inside the smashed-open torso. He immediately realized that staying in the room could have adverse consequences, and crashed through the window, hitting the ground in a roll. He heard the explosion behind him and felt the heat of the fireball.
"Technically, that could be construed as mission success. How goes it on your side, Dominion?" he asked, comm up, gazing around.
"Very fucking bad, Patterson. We're getting screwed. Everyone's been hit at least once, Banks and Cooper are dead, and Smith doesn't look to be in much better shape. He's gotten his leg smashed by a frag. I'm working in assault mode, but it's not working all that well." Without video connection in a warzone, Patterson only heard the battle. His perceptions and the ones transmitted through the link blurred together.
"Shit! Jones is hit! I repeat, Jones is hit! He's dead."
"We're taking fire from what looks like a few hundred infantry, plus some LAVs. They just keep fucking coming."
"Target is mission killed. Round right through the railgun barrel. Won't be firing for a while more."
"Another one? What the fuck is happening here? Don't they ever run out of warm bodies or vehicles?"
"Got you you mother fucker!" A different voice from all of them, thick, heavy, almost brutish. The sounds of explosions. A short scream. Bullets ripping through rock and concrete. A almost static buzz. Silence.
Comms faded out. Indicators winked yellow then red. Datalink cut out, replaced with a 'SIGNAL LOST' blinking in Patterson's vision.
"Shit!" Patterson snarled, as a guard walked into his field of vision.
Patterson leapt up and into a run, hearing the harsh barks of the enemy assault rifles firing erratically. Dust and rock sprayed wildly as the guards fired in his general direction. He sought concealment and found it in the form of a ventilation shaft, breathing heavily as the guards walked up and around, looking for him.
"Lost contact!" He heard someone say. He hoped he was hidden well enough in the darkness. He suspected that if he wasn't he'd know very quickly.
He waited for the guards to pass then slowly eased himself out of the shaft, landing softly and following his beacon. He checked his suit datalink again. Audio transmission, limited. Nothing else worked. It might be salvagable in this case, then. He activated it.
"We got all of them, I think."
"How many?"
"Intel said five men. One body there, the other's there, I think that smear is what happens when two Pendles stand too close to high explosives. The combat armor makes five."
"Good. I'll tell them everything's secure on this end then. The colonel can move on to the safehouse after we're done cleaning up. Hazard team's been called, they're going to take whatever remains of the suit back for examination."
Patterson crept towards the beacon, watching the crush of soldiers around the battle site. He waited for them to leave, agonizing minutes where he couldn't do anything lest he be detected. Then, finally, most of the soldiers left. Thirty-five remained. Floodlights illuminated the perimeter with harsh white light.
He crept towards the site slowly, not knowing how he'd be able to deal with the guards without being spotted. He had left his MICW attachments at the safehouse, attempting to stay stealthy for the mission. Intuition said to keep going, though.
He looked around the battlezone. The weapons of the fallen hadn't been retrieved yet. They'd probably wait for a while before doing that, they needed to keep the suit under guard until the 'proper authorities' got there.
One of them had a sniper rifle. It was of a type he had used before. Not as good as he had hoped but it was good enough. Rifling through the pockets of the fallen for ammunition, he scanned the cordon of guards. They were situated around the wreckage in positions that gave ample cover. He raised the rifle, aimed, and fired.
The round fell short, digging into concrete a centimeter to the left and four centimeters below where he was aiming. The target looked confused. Patterson immediately realized that he was lucky to be using a Communist weapon, or else the entire base would have gone on alert.
Damn. Forgot that this doesn't have aimpoint compensation. Way too used to high-tech trappings. Doesn't have a wind indicator either. He thought, aiming it properly to adjust for wind.
This time the round hit properly and he was rewarded as the soldier fell face-down into the dust. Another shot, another kill.
He emptied the magazine taking out the nearest soldiers, and reloaded before he shattered the floodlights with rifle fire. Patterson discarded the rifle and the empty magazines and dashed towards the cordon before anyone could notice something was amiss.
"What's happening? Something's definitely wrong here!" someone yelled. "You, what's happening? I heard rifle fire!"
Patterson quickly realized that the soldier was looking at him. He responded by slamming his hand into the man's helmet, causing the soldier to drop unconscious or dead. It didn't matter to him.
"You active, Dominion?"
"Just barely. 18% functionality."
Patterson donned the power armor quickly, knowing that he didn't have much time. He heard the soldiers' chatter as he ran.
"Someone took out another five sentries."
"Same guy?"
"Don't know. He used this."
"One of our weapons?"
"Seems that way. It appears that either this is another man, or our assailant is multitalented. And doesn't seem to die when he's supposed to, either."
<< What are you doing, Charlie? >> Dominion asked.
<< Buying some time. >> Patterson replied as he stuck the microbomb to something that looked like an armory. Sadly there wasn't anything major in it, just small arms and the occasional RPG. He crept off carefully.
The microbombs went off as planned. A small orange fireball blossomed into the sky.
"What was that?"
"The armory building. Check it out."
Patterson heard that and ran. With the soldiers distracted exfiltration was quite easy.
"Now, may we never. Ever. Get into that kind of fuckup again." Patterson said to himself as he walked slowly through the city streets. The torn rags that he had appropriated from a home wouldn't hold up to serious scrutiny-for one he far looked too healthy to be poor even after the night's mission, but it was getting light and he didn't want any beggar in hopes for reward telling the Communists where he went. Maybe if he was lucky they'd presume him killed.
Konduz
Azhistan
Saturday Feburary 10, 1006 NE
0020 hours military time
The city of Konduz had proven to be a tough nut. It wasn't inherently dangerous, any more than any other city would be, but it was a place where special operations could go horribly wrong. He hoped that, at least for once, this wouldn't.
"What's your plan, Mister Patterson?" Sergeant Smith asked.
"This isn't going to be fun. The palace looks to be pretty well defended, and from the intel says it's going to have some heavy resistance."
"But do you think you can get the mission done?" one of the Pendletonian spies asked, anxiously.
"Possibly. I can't guarantee anything, though. Okay the plan is, you get Dominion. You're going to try finding and hitting his advisers, with my suit's support. I'll be going in, alone, for your man."
"Bring us his head as proof, so they can't replace him."
"I'll do that if I have time and I'm not getting shot at. Otherwise, no guarantees." Patterson said coldly, suit opening. He opened the armored case he brought with extra ammunition and equipment with an ominous click, taking out a simple low-visibility suit. He grabbed the MICW as well, the smooth black of the lethal device drinking up the meager light in the room, and holstered his pistols.
The infiltration suit fit as well as he had remembered it. Patterson rarely used it anymore, preferring the safety of powered infantry armor and the security of being able to back up his ability with force, if necessary. This time, force would probably mean his mission had failed. "Myth. Firepower is the deciding factor in any engagement. Fact. Mobility is the deciding factor. Pack light, conserve ammo, and when under fire, relocate, reacquire, and eliminate." he muttered to himself. Touching the material brought him to battlefields long gone, long forgotten, reminded him of the close calls that had happened and how it felt to no longer be safely cocooned in centimeters of smart armor.
"What?" Smith asked, hearing the barely audible mutters.
"Just telling myself something that holds true. Most of the time. But when it doesn't, it bites you on the ass really hard."
"Well, good luck and happy headshotting." Dominion said. "Try not to get shot up too much without me mothering you."
"Given that you lack a spine, I don't think I need to warn you to keep your head down." Patterson retorted.
"Oh shut up. Don't you have a mission to do?"
"I can multitask."
"So can I, doesn't mean it's always a good idea."
It turns out, sometimes it truly wasn't.
Safehouse
Sunday February 11, 1006 NE
0125 hours military time.
"Team A, that's you guys, will be borrowing the combat suit. Your objective is to make enough of a distraction to get me in and then get out if possible. Secondary is to take out secondary command assets. This man's advisors, bigwigs, Communist generals if you see any visiting, things like that. I'll be going lone wolf. My mission and objective is to infiltrate the complex and eliminate your target from stealth, then exfiltrate out here. The city isn't wired up, so as soon as we get out, if they aren't literally hot on our tails, we'll be fine. Your intel says that there are at least some places we can hide which aren't populated, as we don't want to alert them of your safehouses. Pack light but make sure to carry at least enough supplies for a day or so in case we need to hunker down. After that we can just scavenge what we need. It's riskier than bringing goods but I think on a mission like this the weight penalty would be too disadvantageous." Patterson said, gesturing to the paper map.
"By packing light you mean ammo or just food and water?" One of the Mage Hunters asked.
"Both. In this case moving fast and quiet is a lot more important than carrying bullets. If all else fails you can normally scavenge from your enemy in a quiet moment. You do know how to aim, load, and fire their rifles, right?"
"All right then. When do we move out?" Sergeant Smith asked.
"Tomorrow, 0100. Get everything ready before then."
Konduz
Sunday Feburary 11, 1006 NE
0300 hours military time
Two hours. Two hours to move from a safehouse after planning, evade all detection using cover of night, and make it into position. There had been an incident or two, near misses when a civilian almost saw him, points where he considered killing to ease his job. Morally repugnant? Perhaps. But in a world beset by manipulations from outside, torn by sides which were not black and white, but rather shades of gray, who put any stock in morality? But they never quite made it necessary for him to make that decision. They didn't expect to see a covert operative in the shadows, so they didn't see one.
Otherwise, it was as uneventful as sneaking through a city could be. The palace was an ornate affair, clearly built using the profits from his deal with the Communists. At least he isn't starving his own people for them. Patterson thought. But for all its obvious lavishness, the security system was fairly primitive. Nothing like the advanced affairs that he was used to. They had a lot of guards on site-probably to make up for the dearth of advanced alarms and sensors.
He was a ghost in the darkness. The guards hadn't noticed him yet, even though he was barely three feet away from them. His luck had been finding a relatively undefended area. If he accidentally made a wrong move, or they moved where he didn't want them to move, they'd see him. But such was the way of stealth. As long as they didn't pay attention though, the guards were dead men.
Right now the two guards were talking cheerfully-conversation with no important information content, just small talk. Their helmets were off and the lights would have destroyed their night vision. Nobody, after all, expected people to assault the palace. And guards were still human.
"Team A is in position."
"Good. Make your move. I'll be following." Patterson said quietly, not wanting to get the attention of the sentries below him.
Without waiting for an answer, he moved quickly, the mono-blade knife in his hand flashing once, cutting through throat armor and flesh and bone easily with his enhanced muscles behind the blow. It flashed out again before the other guard could react, his lifeless body hitting the ground almost immediately after the first. The slick black blade shed the fluid easily. He bounded over the gate and landed with a slight thudding noise, too quiet for the patrolling soldiers to notice.
He tapped his link to the combat armor for a brief spurt, checking the progress of the other team. They hadn't gotten held up by combat yet, and that was a good sign. Inasmuch anything could be good in this type of situation.
Nearly invisible in the shadows, he deftly dodged the attentions of wandering guards, checking the floor plan of the palace overlaid on his vision. Occasionally, a guard got too close for comfort and needed elimination. This he did with knives or bare hands for the most part, rarely unholstering his pistols or the MICW to do his dirty work. Ammunition was precious when you didn't bother carrying more than a few extra clips. When he did use them, it was on minimal power, doing damage silently and invisibly instead of the overly energetic effects full power shots would have.
"Nearly in position. How's your situation?" Patterson sent, holed up in an empty room, preparing to move.
"We're at the Vizier's quarters... breaching now. Nobody there? What?" Patterson could hear vague footstep-like sounds in the background.
"Incoming!" A mage hunter yelled. "We've got company!"
"Hostile contact. Open fire." Dominion snarled, opening up with his own weapons. << You wanted a distraction, Charles, you've got it. Now get your job done. >>
The cloth-ripping sound of enemy assault rifle fire filled the link as Patterson cut it. He checked the door, shooting through it in time to catch another patrolling sentry in the head, opening it, and heading out. In the dim light of the inside, he was more visible than he liked, but not visible enough that he regretted giving up the power armor. It sounded as if they needed it, anyways.
Minutes of aching tension as guards ran to reinforce their comrades, once passing literally inches from where he had been crouching, and then short bursts of movement, as fast as his body could possibly move. The combination of nerve-wracking tension as he was surrounded by enemies and couldn't so much as twitch, plus sheer horror as he ran, even a glimpse possibly meaning death or a unacceptable delay, and he knew he wasn't having a good day. There seemed to be more guards than they expected, which meant bad things for his life span. Patterson didn't think of himself as selfish, but he preferred to be alive, especially when he'd be dying for a cause he only joined because of the money.
He was there. Just find the right door now and he'd be done.
Open the door. The quarters are here, might be this bedroom, he thought. Definitely opulent enough. First one's empty.
Next one. Two guards and not much else. Open the door. Two headshots later, nothing in the room to note save cooling corpses. He closed the door quietly.
More rooms. Nothing of importance inside, just take a peek via IR and stay quiet.
It was like this the entire way, down a stretch of hallway which was short, but due to the tension and the reaction boosts, felt as if it was nearly endless to Patterson
Last one. This has got to be it.
Infrared imaging showed three people inside Suleyman's quarters. He kicked the door off its hinges, one of his pistols already out. He interrupted Khan, looking at the fighting. It looked as if the Hunters and Dominion were doing fairly well, all things considered. The sound of the door opening, though, seemed to cause the guards to take notice, and they realized what was happening. Their interference could not be allowed.
The guards started turning, impossibly slow to his point of view. His arm snapped up in an action done so often it was almost ingrained reflex. He calmly sighted on the first and blasted three neat holes through the man's forehead, rounds splintering inside the armored helmet. He moved to deal with the other, running diagonally towards the soldier, fountains of dust and wood splinters geysering out at Patterson's feet as the guard couldn't quite move his weapon quickly enough to hit. Then Patterson was in melee range, slamming a hardened pistol butt into his skull and a knee into his groin, knife flashing again and cutting through the neck.
"Just answer my questions. I've got some things I need to ask you, and as long as you don't lie, I'll keep you alive. No guarantees, though." A lie, but the leader wouldn't be questioning it, not if Patterson read the man right. He didn't look like a soldier.
He read wrong. Khan moved towards something under the table, faster than he should have been able to. Patterson guessed some kind of weapon. He sighted on the man's hand and fired. The rifle dropped out of his hand, falling to the ground in a slow parabolic arc, clattering to the ground noisly.
"Wrong. Violence is not the answer. Unless you're..." he was cut off in mid sentence as he saw 'Khan' make another motion and grab an energy pistol with the same hand. That's not possible! That shot should have blown his hand off. Patterson thought. He then looked at the glint of silvery metal, coated with a thin crimson film of blood. I think our job just got wayyy more complicated. Patterson noted, as orange bolts flew at where he had been. He ran. Without much cover in the room, and without armor, his sole protection was agility.
He kept firing even as he started dodging, a steady stream of microflechettes hammering at the infiltrator bot. The room quickly filled with the smell of ozone and burnt materials as the duel continued. Guards responding to the situation all ducked before a stray plasma bolt or flechette could cut their lives short. With both the false Suleyman Khan and Patterson dancing the dance of war and death, there wasn't much they could do except die or take cover and watch.
Patterson dropped his knife, the black object embedding itself into the floor up to the hilt from its own weight as he drew his other pistol, firing rapidly. A low ammunition warning displayed on his HUD, but he ignored it. The remaining magazine of microflechettes and the remaining energy cell would have to suffice for his right-hand pistol. His left-hand weapon was fresh, and he brought it to bear, the twin streams of projectile death flaying metal and synthflesh off of the enemy, cutting into what looked like a metal parody of a human skeleton. His fire seemed to have an effect-the enemy was moving slower, firing less accurately. Patterson was still hammering, not letting up even as it started to stagger, even as his fire flayed the last vestiges of its human appearance away.
The guards couldn't fire, lest they hit Suleyman or his pretender, whichever it was. They merely waited for the fight to finish, and hoped that their charge would survive.
A lucky shot as he fired on the machine's arm, and its weapon arm fell, severed, to the ground. Patterson holstered his right hand pistol, grabbing his knife, his motion making a deep furrow into the wooden floor. "Time to end this." he snarled, as he started slashing at the damaged machine with the monoblade knife. It moved to block his attacks with its remaining limb, trying to reduce damage, but it wasn't quite fast enough to stop. Neither was it fast enough to connect with its kicks.
It started to fall, knees damaged too much to support its weight anymore, limbs too damaged to move, its body little more than scrap metal. Patterson started shooting at the guards, the braver members of whom had finally summoned up the courage to start shooting at the intruder.
"Why are you helping these degenerates?" A voice growled out from the hulk. "It can only bring your downfall. Mister Patterson..."
He glanced back at the machine instinctively. A shot hit him, the infiltration suit's limited armor just barely managing to deflect it. He had worse worries, though. Patterson noted the series of beeps which tended to be the sign of a fuse, and the blinking light inside the smashed-open torso. He immediately realized that staying in the room could have adverse consequences, and crashed through the window, hitting the ground in a roll. He heard the explosion behind him and felt the heat of the fireball.
"Technically, that could be construed as mission success. How goes it on your side, Dominion?" he asked, comm up, gazing around.
"Very fucking bad, Patterson. We're getting screwed. Everyone's been hit at least once, Banks and Cooper are dead, and Smith doesn't look to be in much better shape. He's gotten his leg smashed by a frag. I'm working in assault mode, but it's not working all that well." Without video connection in a warzone, Patterson only heard the battle. His perceptions and the ones transmitted through the link blurred together.
"Shit! Jones is hit! I repeat, Jones is hit! He's dead."
"We're taking fire from what looks like a few hundred infantry, plus some LAVs. They just keep fucking coming."
"Target is mission killed. Round right through the railgun barrel. Won't be firing for a while more."
"Another one? What the fuck is happening here? Don't they ever run out of warm bodies or vehicles?"
"Got you you mother fucker!" A different voice from all of them, thick, heavy, almost brutish. The sounds of explosions. A short scream. Bullets ripping through rock and concrete. A almost static buzz. Silence.
Comms faded out. Indicators winked yellow then red. Datalink cut out, replaced with a 'SIGNAL LOST' blinking in Patterson's vision.
"Shit!" Patterson snarled, as a guard walked into his field of vision.
Patterson leapt up and into a run, hearing the harsh barks of the enemy assault rifles firing erratically. Dust and rock sprayed wildly as the guards fired in his general direction. He sought concealment and found it in the form of a ventilation shaft, breathing heavily as the guards walked up and around, looking for him.
"Lost contact!" He heard someone say. He hoped he was hidden well enough in the darkness. He suspected that if he wasn't he'd know very quickly.
He waited for the guards to pass then slowly eased himself out of the shaft, landing softly and following his beacon. He checked his suit datalink again. Audio transmission, limited. Nothing else worked. It might be salvagable in this case, then. He activated it.
"We got all of them, I think."
"How many?"
"Intel said five men. One body there, the other's there, I think that smear is what happens when two Pendles stand too close to high explosives. The combat armor makes five."
"Good. I'll tell them everything's secure on this end then. The colonel can move on to the safehouse after we're done cleaning up. Hazard team's been called, they're going to take whatever remains of the suit back for examination."
Patterson crept towards the beacon, watching the crush of soldiers around the battle site. He waited for them to leave, agonizing minutes where he couldn't do anything lest he be detected. Then, finally, most of the soldiers left. Thirty-five remained. Floodlights illuminated the perimeter with harsh white light.
He crept towards the site slowly, not knowing how he'd be able to deal with the guards without being spotted. He had left his MICW attachments at the safehouse, attempting to stay stealthy for the mission. Intuition said to keep going, though.
He looked around the battlezone. The weapons of the fallen hadn't been retrieved yet. They'd probably wait for a while before doing that, they needed to keep the suit under guard until the 'proper authorities' got there.
One of them had a sniper rifle. It was of a type he had used before. Not as good as he had hoped but it was good enough. Rifling through the pockets of the fallen for ammunition, he scanned the cordon of guards. They were situated around the wreckage in positions that gave ample cover. He raised the rifle, aimed, and fired.
The round fell short, digging into concrete a centimeter to the left and four centimeters below where he was aiming. The target looked confused. Patterson immediately realized that he was lucky to be using a Communist weapon, or else the entire base would have gone on alert.
Damn. Forgot that this doesn't have aimpoint compensation. Way too used to high-tech trappings. Doesn't have a wind indicator either. He thought, aiming it properly to adjust for wind.
This time the round hit properly and he was rewarded as the soldier fell face-down into the dust. Another shot, another kill.
He emptied the magazine taking out the nearest soldiers, and reloaded before he shattered the floodlights with rifle fire. Patterson discarded the rifle and the empty magazines and dashed towards the cordon before anyone could notice something was amiss.
"What's happening? Something's definitely wrong here!" someone yelled. "You, what's happening? I heard rifle fire!"
Patterson quickly realized that the soldier was looking at him. He responded by slamming his hand into the man's helmet, causing the soldier to drop unconscious or dead. It didn't matter to him.
"You active, Dominion?"
"Just barely. 18% functionality."
Patterson donned the power armor quickly, knowing that he didn't have much time. He heard the soldiers' chatter as he ran.
"Someone took out another five sentries."
"Same guy?"
"Don't know. He used this."
"One of our weapons?"
"Seems that way. It appears that either this is another man, or our assailant is multitalented. And doesn't seem to die when he's supposed to, either."
<< What are you doing, Charlie? >> Dominion asked.
<< Buying some time. >> Patterson replied as he stuck the microbomb to something that looked like an armory. Sadly there wasn't anything major in it, just small arms and the occasional RPG. He crept off carefully.
The microbombs went off as planned. A small orange fireball blossomed into the sky.
"What was that?"
"The armory building. Check it out."
Patterson heard that and ran. With the soldiers distracted exfiltration was quite easy.
"Now, may we never. Ever. Get into that kind of fuckup again." Patterson said to himself as he walked slowly through the city streets. The torn rags that he had appropriated from a home wouldn't hold up to serious scrutiny-for one he far looked too healthy to be poor even after the night's mission, but it was getting light and he didn't want any beggar in hopes for reward telling the Communists where he went. Maybe if he was lucky they'd presume him killed.
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Operation Golden Serpent - Chapter VIII
Pendleton Safe House
Konduz
Azhistan
Sunday 11 February 1006
1:10 AM
The second column stood ready, Sgt Smith, Cpl Banks, Pvt Cooper, and Pvt Jones were smoking their last cigarette, occasionally casting a glance towards the silent bulk of the battlesuit Dominion. It was odd really to think about a mechanical suit of armour able to move about and fight on its own, but in a way it was no stranger than many of the strange gadgets that dotted their own uniforms.
The clock was ticking though, Sgt Smith was peering down at his pocket watch, a solid brass piece he bought nearly a decade ago, for some reason he just couldn't trust these flimsy elek-tronik things that Patterson had given them. "Ten minutes," he announced, then he slid the clock into his pocket and slowly opened the side door.
It was cold outside, surprisingly so, and the slightly mouldy, earthy scent of the alley mixed with that of rotting vegetables and dung, the smells of the city. They slipped out one by one, taking advantage of the darkness as they moved through the silent streets, avoiding the very occasional oil lamp or traveller.
In the distance the palace loomed, the stone dome over the Sultans palace was still cracked from the magics used to instigate the first rebellion. As they drew even nearer they could still spot bullet holes, chipped stones, and several cracks in the wall surrounding the palace. There were guards patrolling the compound, but they seemed to concentrate on the damaged sections, where it was easier to get inside.
Palace
Konduz
Azhistan
Sunday 11 February 1006
3:00 AM
Bypassing some of the guards they reached the wall, the top of the wall was covered with sharp metal spikes, but when Dominion examined them with his sensors he saw that they were just spikes; no electric current or tracking devices to be seen.
"It's all clear, follow me!" he announced before leaping up onto the wall, grabbing it and rolling up on top of it, covering the sharp spikes. They scratched his armour a bit, but aside from a bit of cosmetic damage they couldn't hurt him.
Sgt Smith pulled a light strong hemp rope from his backpack and tied it around his waist. "Go," he said, and at once Privates Cooper and Jones gave him a boost so he could scramble over the tall wall. He landed with a light thud on the other side, and at once he spun around and grabbed the rope, pulling at it, and making sure that it stayed on top of Dominions back, so that the other Mage Hunters wouldn't fall on those six inch long razor sharp iron spikes.
One by one the Mage Hunters scrambled up the rope, and across Dominions back, before letting themselves fall silently onto the palace lawn. The whole operation took less than ten seconds, and then Dominion himself, or itself, dropped down on the same side. The garden was silent, and filled with the scent of wet earth, the only noise was that of their own breathing; normally overpowered by even the regular night noises, but now it seemed so loud that the guards surely couldn't help but notice.
They scurried over to the nearest building, and pressed up against the wall, Dominion stopped to send a brief message over a frequency hopping band "Team A is in position."
<< Good. Make your move. I'll be following. >> Patterson replied, and Dominion gave the team a nod.
Moving alongside the wall they came to a small side door, a semi-concealed servants entrance, "Cooper, can you pick it?" Sgt Smith asked.
"Yes Sargn't," Cooper said, he gave his best boyish smile before kneeling down in front of the door, and pulling out several lock-picks, ten seconds later there was a soft click "No challenge really..." he whispered.
Sgt Smith frowned a bit, but it was not visible under his mask, he tapped his finger over his lips, then he motioned his hand. Cooper moved aside from the door, and everyone knelt down on either side before Smith reached forward and pushed the door inwards with the butt of his rifle. There was a soft creaking, but no other sound.
"Go!" Sgt Smith said, and with Dominion in the lead they ran into the Viziers palace, the place was oh so silent, but fortunately the ever present carpeting served to silence the sound of their boots as they ran.
Fortunately they did have maps, they were quite accurate maps too after all it was only a few months ago that the palace was still in Dost Khans hands. It didn't appear that the basic layout had been changed in the weeks and months after Suleyman Khan returned, and soon they entered a more ornate section of the palace. The Arabic calligraphy, and floral murals that had decorated the walls were worn and chipped from the fight all those months ago, and in some places it had been damaged further by insulated wiring and the holes cut through the walls for the wiring to pass through.
They passed by several doors, stopping briefly to listen, but everything was silent. Only once did they hear a set of footsteps echoing in the distance, immediately they sought shelter in one of the doorways, drawing their blackened knives in case the poor fellow was about to go near them. Fortunately for everyone the footsteps kept the same leisurely pace as they drew a bit closer, and then began to move away again as the walker continued down a separate corridor.
Just then Patterson radioed them, << Nearly in position. How's your situation? >>
"We're at the viziers quarters," Dominion replied, the mage hunters had carefully placed explosives alongside the lock and hinges of the main door; there was no point in discretion from now on since gunshots and explosions would be a foregone conclusion, "Breaching now."
The soldiers hunkered down on either side of the doorway, then there was an earth shattering roar of explosives, sharp wooden splinters flew across the corridor several big splinters struck the masonry with such force that they were stuck either in the mortar or in the decorations.
They rushed into the smoke filled room beyond, their weapons up and at the ready, moving out to take cover behind the heavy ornate furniture, as they ran towards the bedroom. There was no door separating the bedroom from the rest of the quarters, only a screen made from countless strings of beads, but the bedroom beyond was quite empty... the bed was made up, but there was no one here, not even the servants you'd expect.
"Nobody here!" Dominion announced.
"What?" Sgt Smith looked worried.
Suddenly there was a low pitched whining sound, "INCOMING!" Smith, and the mage hunters dove for cover.
"We got company!" Corporal Banks yelled, down the far side there was the sound of trampling boots, but at that very moment the room shook from the explosive force, and a rain of dust and chipped rock came down on them.
There was a snarl of heavy automatic fire as the Commies began to shoot through the initial doorway, but worse yet a couple of them poked barrels through concealed loopholes that'd been carved in the walls! The mage hunters were thus pinned down, and struggling just to stay alive.
The first group of commies that tried to rush through the main doorway were cut down by concentrated fire, but they kept coming! Godless Slavs they might be, but by thunder they were MEN! The men of the first squad were all slain, making a pile of bodies before the doorway. Then afterwards they stuck their rifles around the corner and blazed away, a couple of smoke grenades also went in, but with the improved kit the Pendletons were able to cut down the ones that tried to enter under cover of smoke! After that they used real grenades, sending clouds of shrapnel around the room, but doing little real damage.
Things went no better for the lot trying to sneak in through the back entrance, they too were gunned down, but the fire from the loopholes in the walls forced the Mage Hunters to remain under cover. It did not force Dominion to do anything though, and it leapt forward, the bullets plinking of its advance armour, as it leapt over to the walls; one by one it grabbed the rifle barrels and yanked them forward, before applying pressure to them bending them into an L-shape! More than once there was a loud explosion, and curses in a guttural language as some poor sod tried to pull the trigger after the barrel had been abused like this. Worse yet they couldn't stick in anymore rifles, the first one created an effective plug!
"Lets' go!" Dominion yelled as it leapt through the string bead entrance, guns blazing as it began cutting a path through the communists, but a few rifle launched grenades forced even Dominion to seek cover.
Following closely behind Dominion Corporal Banks had taken off the satchel where he stored the explosives, "Plastique! Six pounds or so!" He worked in a fuse and handed it to Dominion who held it behind his back, like a parent hiding a treat, and ran towards the door shrugging of the damage from the shrapnel and bullets; then he threw the satchel through the doorway!
The explosion was quite horrid, a mixture of sand and blood seemed to literally rain on them, red blood running in tiny streams down their goggles, leaving dirt patterns behind. They couldn't stop to think though, couldn't stop to notice anything, they leapt over the dead and the wounded and ran into the corridor blasting away at anyone who dared to show his face.
For the Mage Hunters there was still a chance to preserve the mission, and that was to get out and draw fire away from Patterson, incidentally this might also preserve their own hides which made it seem like a very good plan indeed.
"Where to?" Cpl Banks shouted.
"Outside fast," Sgt Smith replied, in a brief pause he added, "Cross the servants quarters to exit two, then cross the city!"
They ran across the servants quarters, that happened to be entirely empty, something which proved amply that this whole thing had been a trap. Doors were smashed down as Dominion literally ran through them, leaving little more than wooden tatters slowly swinging on the bent iron hinges. Fortunately they did not encounter any boobytraps, that would have stopped the great escape rather abruptly.
Behind them they could hear the wild cries of the Commies, as they tried to catch up with the retreating Pendletons; Private Cooper pulled the splint from a couple of grenades and threw them behind him, just to discourage them a little. Seconds later they heard twin explosions, and a couple of loud screams followed by guttural curses in Russian.
The second servants exit lead out into a large courtyard behind the palace, where the Mage Hunters had managed to evacuate Dost Khans family when the palace first fell. The windows leading out to the courtyard were boarded up, not a good sign, but in the pale moonlight the courtyard looked deserted. They ran past giant marble flower pots holding exotic flowers, most of them wilted, wide benches, and a disabled fountain filled with stagnant smelly water.
Behind them a few shots rang out, some of the cobblestones chipped or cracked as they were struck, and richochets k-pinked off both the buildings, and the huge stone pots. The Mage Hunters ran forward, zig-zagging across the courtyard, while moving from pot to pot, and bench to bench.
Dominion had a terrible feeling that something was wrong, in the distance he could hear the rumbling of vehicles, and there was motion on the rooftops as well. That said there was no point in running back inside, they'd merely be pinned down and slowly worn down, no it was either rushing forward with a chance of success or staying with a guarantee of failure.
That was when about a dozen spotlights were turned on at once, bathing the courtyard in light, and sending the Mage Hunters and Dominion scurrying for cover behind the enormous marble pots. As if to complete the transformation from empty courtyard to deadly trap a huge spout of water rose from the fountain, and then six more spouts rose from the sides, tingling clear water bubbling forth, and then slowly starting to spill over the side of the fountain; first the rotting greenish sludge, and then brownish dirty water spread slowly across the cobblestones.
Seconds later a group of large eightwheeled APCs, ugly and boxlike with small turrets on top, rolled up in front of the courtyard, blocking the only escape route. Behind the vehicles small groups of Commie soldiers could be seen, taking cover behind the armoured bulk of the APCs, and clutching their rifles tightly. Worse yet along the roof tops small groups of Commie troopers were lining up, aiming long barreled rifles down at the Mage Hunters.
Instead of opening fire though a small stocky fellow with a peaked cap, with a menacing black brim, got up in the rear and began to yell at them through a megaphone "SURRENDER NOW AND..."
They never found out what he was going to say next, since his head exploded when Private Cooper shot him. That was when everyone opened fire at once, the entire Soviet battleline, and the roof tops, seemed to be covered in a single sheet of fire! The large stone flower pots were struck so heavily that a cloud of white stone dust rose up from them, and a rain of shattered cobblestones, spent richochets, and tiny rock fragments fell upon the courtyard.
Somehow, by a miracle, and a bit of luck, the Mage Hunters had found cover, hugging the wall tightly, crouching behind a giant flower pot, or else hiding behind Dominion who was getting quite dented from the massive amount of shot.
"Why did you do that?" Dominion asked, sounding almost reproachful, even though he had to amp up the loudspeakers to be heard over the din.
"BLOODY AWFUL CONVERSATIONALIST HE WAS!" Pvt Cooper yelled back.
"NOW!" Sgt Smith yelled, and they all popped up, backs to the wall they began to shoot at the snipers on the opposite site, rapid three-round bursts fired so fast that it sounded almost like they were using full auto. The Commies returned fire, but they were being slaughtered, gutshots, head shots, and even being shot in the arms was enough to knock'em out of the fight; meanwhile their friends directly above the Mage Hunters could do nothing, since they would have had to bend over the edge of the roof and aim a heavy rifle straight down. A couple of them tried, a couple of them died, and fell right down with a resounding thud, bouncing slightly from the shock of the impact.
"WE CAN'T STAY!" Dominion told them, then casually he fired his heavy weapon at the wall right behind him. Even before the dust settled, even before they knew what was really there, even before they regained their hearing, the Mage Hunters ran right towards that very spot diving straight through the three by three foot hole that had been made.
On the other side there was a moment of brief respide as they looked around the dark and narrow corridor they found themselves in. Then all of a sudden there was another low thunder, and dozens, scores, then hundreds of tiny dots of lights appeared in the wall; bulletholes ranging in size from a penny to that of a fist, and with those holes came a rain of rubble and dust. The logical thing was of course to run away from the line of APCs, back to the palace, and set up a defensive position there.
That, of course, was why they ran directly towards the APCs, ducking low, though Banks and Jones were already bleading from some grazing hits. The rain of bullets was moving down the hallway, moving away from them, a clear sign that the Commies also figured they'd be running in that direction.
When they reached the end of the hallway, and also the end of that wing of the building, they could see the line of vehicles and men through the boarded up windows. Dominion looked at them, "Ready?" he asked.
"Yes..."
"GO!"
The boarded up windows exploded outwards as Dominion entered assault mode, now it didn't even think about stealth, or even mobility, it leapt forward towards the flanks of the APCs! It shot the first one through the side, then, without hesitating or waiting to see the effect, it leapt upwards and laded on the roof of the lead APC, and leapt again firing downwards at the APCs! None of their heavy weapons had the slightest chance of hitting him, even though two of the APCs began to turn their turrets, and a couple of tanks could be seen nearby, none of them could elevate their turrets high enough to strike such a small and mobile target.
Worse yet for the infantry on the ground, after first being stunned by the wall exploding and an unexpected flank attack, they now found themselves facing not only a demonic armour leaping above them, but also four Mage Hunters charging them with guns blazing!
For a moment, the Commie soldiers went down from the Pendleton fire, and as the APCs exploded in black smoke and twisted metal sides, with the very occasional crewman managing to flee before a second flash of fire wrecked his vehicle. For that moment the Pendletons might almost think that they could win, that they would overpower the Communists and get away.
That's when another tank flanked by two APCs appeared, with a group of Commie soldiers running along them, bright red enamel stars reflected the light of the fires... for a moment the soldiers watched the scene with slackjawed horror, then as one they roared "URREEEEEE!" and charged, guns blazing. Just as the Pendles noticed this new threat one of the tanks fired its gun.
Banks and Cooper were a little too close together, even experienced soldiers sometimes make mistakes, this was their last... the high explosive shell struck two feet away. They never felt what hit them, Sgt Smith felt something though, a light drizzle, and when he turned around he saw a smear of red on the ground.
"Damnation!" then he felt a tap on his leg, and it seemed to grow weak somehow, looking down he saw a piece of metal, not very large, sticking out, and a small trickle of blood running down his leg. This is the end pal... he knew full well there was no getting out now.
At that very moment Patterson contacted Dominion once more, << How goes it on your side Dominion? >>
Analysing the carnage with his electronic sensors Dominion replied, << Very fucking bad, Patterson. We're getting screwed. Everyone's been hit at least once, Banks and Cooper are dead, and Smith doesn't look to be in much better shape. He's gotten his leg smashed by a frag. I'm working in assault mode, but it's not working all that well. >>
At that very moment there was another thunk, Jones' helmet showed a nasty hole, and squirts of blood and brains gushed out as he dropped down onto the floor.
<< Shit! Jones is hit! I repeat, Jones is hit! He's dead. We're taking fire from what looks like a few hundred infantry, plus some LAVs. They just keep fucking coming. >>
One of the light tanks drew nearer, aiming its barrel at Dominion, but a single round struck the barrel, twisting it slightly, and making electric sparks rise from the electrionics.
<< Target is mission killed. Round right through the railgun barrel. Won't be firing for a while more. >>
At that very moment another light tank appeared, rolling over a score dead bodies, and pushing a burnt out APC out of the way.
<< Another one? What the fuck is happening here? Don't they ever run out of warm bodies or vehicles? >>
Some of the Commie soldiers were getting closer, Smith was blazing away at them, leaning against one of the burned out APCs, he felt the blazing heat against his back but he was past caring. He was bleeding from his guts as well as from his leg, but he kept shooting, and somehow no one managed to land a fatal shot at him.
These particular Commies were different though, they seemed to shrug off the bullets, and moved with a speed that was truly inhuman. One of them went for Dominion, the other for Sgt Smith. From two feet away Sgt Smith fired three round right at the attackers head, the bullets bounced off, but one of them cut through flesh to reveal metal beneath.
A metal man...
It smiled at Sgt Smith "Got you you mother fucker!" Then it struck him, the Sergeant smashed against the APC side, he let out a short scream, and then only blood came out of his mouth.
There was a lot of gunfire and fighting then, Dominion went down fighting, but in the blaze of fire and explosive shells even that advanced combat suit could not resist the sheer weight of men and metal. Then there was silence, a silence only slowly broken by the moans of the wounded.
Konduz
Azhistan
Sunday 11 February 1006
1:10 AM
The second column stood ready, Sgt Smith, Cpl Banks, Pvt Cooper, and Pvt Jones were smoking their last cigarette, occasionally casting a glance towards the silent bulk of the battlesuit Dominion. It was odd really to think about a mechanical suit of armour able to move about and fight on its own, but in a way it was no stranger than many of the strange gadgets that dotted their own uniforms.
The clock was ticking though, Sgt Smith was peering down at his pocket watch, a solid brass piece he bought nearly a decade ago, for some reason he just couldn't trust these flimsy elek-tronik things that Patterson had given them. "Ten minutes," he announced, then he slid the clock into his pocket and slowly opened the side door.
It was cold outside, surprisingly so, and the slightly mouldy, earthy scent of the alley mixed with that of rotting vegetables and dung, the smells of the city. They slipped out one by one, taking advantage of the darkness as they moved through the silent streets, avoiding the very occasional oil lamp or traveller.
In the distance the palace loomed, the stone dome over the Sultans palace was still cracked from the magics used to instigate the first rebellion. As they drew even nearer they could still spot bullet holes, chipped stones, and several cracks in the wall surrounding the palace. There were guards patrolling the compound, but they seemed to concentrate on the damaged sections, where it was easier to get inside.
Palace
Konduz
Azhistan
Sunday 11 February 1006
3:00 AM
Bypassing some of the guards they reached the wall, the top of the wall was covered with sharp metal spikes, but when Dominion examined them with his sensors he saw that they were just spikes; no electric current or tracking devices to be seen.
"It's all clear, follow me!" he announced before leaping up onto the wall, grabbing it and rolling up on top of it, covering the sharp spikes. They scratched his armour a bit, but aside from a bit of cosmetic damage they couldn't hurt him.
Sgt Smith pulled a light strong hemp rope from his backpack and tied it around his waist. "Go," he said, and at once Privates Cooper and Jones gave him a boost so he could scramble over the tall wall. He landed with a light thud on the other side, and at once he spun around and grabbed the rope, pulling at it, and making sure that it stayed on top of Dominions back, so that the other Mage Hunters wouldn't fall on those six inch long razor sharp iron spikes.
One by one the Mage Hunters scrambled up the rope, and across Dominions back, before letting themselves fall silently onto the palace lawn. The whole operation took less than ten seconds, and then Dominion himself, or itself, dropped down on the same side. The garden was silent, and filled with the scent of wet earth, the only noise was that of their own breathing; normally overpowered by even the regular night noises, but now it seemed so loud that the guards surely couldn't help but notice.
They scurried over to the nearest building, and pressed up against the wall, Dominion stopped to send a brief message over a frequency hopping band "Team A is in position."
<< Good. Make your move. I'll be following. >> Patterson replied, and Dominion gave the team a nod.
Moving alongside the wall they came to a small side door, a semi-concealed servants entrance, "Cooper, can you pick it?" Sgt Smith asked.
"Yes Sargn't," Cooper said, he gave his best boyish smile before kneeling down in front of the door, and pulling out several lock-picks, ten seconds later there was a soft click "No challenge really..." he whispered.
Sgt Smith frowned a bit, but it was not visible under his mask, he tapped his finger over his lips, then he motioned his hand. Cooper moved aside from the door, and everyone knelt down on either side before Smith reached forward and pushed the door inwards with the butt of his rifle. There was a soft creaking, but no other sound.
"Go!" Sgt Smith said, and with Dominion in the lead they ran into the Viziers palace, the place was oh so silent, but fortunately the ever present carpeting served to silence the sound of their boots as they ran.
Fortunately they did have maps, they were quite accurate maps too after all it was only a few months ago that the palace was still in Dost Khans hands. It didn't appear that the basic layout had been changed in the weeks and months after Suleyman Khan returned, and soon they entered a more ornate section of the palace. The Arabic calligraphy, and floral murals that had decorated the walls were worn and chipped from the fight all those months ago, and in some places it had been damaged further by insulated wiring and the holes cut through the walls for the wiring to pass through.
They passed by several doors, stopping briefly to listen, but everything was silent. Only once did they hear a set of footsteps echoing in the distance, immediately they sought shelter in one of the doorways, drawing their blackened knives in case the poor fellow was about to go near them. Fortunately for everyone the footsteps kept the same leisurely pace as they drew a bit closer, and then began to move away again as the walker continued down a separate corridor.
Just then Patterson radioed them, << Nearly in position. How's your situation? >>
"We're at the viziers quarters," Dominion replied, the mage hunters had carefully placed explosives alongside the lock and hinges of the main door; there was no point in discretion from now on since gunshots and explosions would be a foregone conclusion, "Breaching now."
The soldiers hunkered down on either side of the doorway, then there was an earth shattering roar of explosives, sharp wooden splinters flew across the corridor several big splinters struck the masonry with such force that they were stuck either in the mortar or in the decorations.
They rushed into the smoke filled room beyond, their weapons up and at the ready, moving out to take cover behind the heavy ornate furniture, as they ran towards the bedroom. There was no door separating the bedroom from the rest of the quarters, only a screen made from countless strings of beads, but the bedroom beyond was quite empty... the bed was made up, but there was no one here, not even the servants you'd expect.
"Nobody here!" Dominion announced.
"What?" Sgt Smith looked worried.
Suddenly there was a low pitched whining sound, "INCOMING!" Smith, and the mage hunters dove for cover.
"We got company!" Corporal Banks yelled, down the far side there was the sound of trampling boots, but at that very moment the room shook from the explosive force, and a rain of dust and chipped rock came down on them.
There was a snarl of heavy automatic fire as the Commies began to shoot through the initial doorway, but worse yet a couple of them poked barrels through concealed loopholes that'd been carved in the walls! The mage hunters were thus pinned down, and struggling just to stay alive.
The first group of commies that tried to rush through the main doorway were cut down by concentrated fire, but they kept coming! Godless Slavs they might be, but by thunder they were MEN! The men of the first squad were all slain, making a pile of bodies before the doorway. Then afterwards they stuck their rifles around the corner and blazed away, a couple of smoke grenades also went in, but with the improved kit the Pendletons were able to cut down the ones that tried to enter under cover of smoke! After that they used real grenades, sending clouds of shrapnel around the room, but doing little real damage.
Things went no better for the lot trying to sneak in through the back entrance, they too were gunned down, but the fire from the loopholes in the walls forced the Mage Hunters to remain under cover. It did not force Dominion to do anything though, and it leapt forward, the bullets plinking of its advance armour, as it leapt over to the walls; one by one it grabbed the rifle barrels and yanked them forward, before applying pressure to them bending them into an L-shape! More than once there was a loud explosion, and curses in a guttural language as some poor sod tried to pull the trigger after the barrel had been abused like this. Worse yet they couldn't stick in anymore rifles, the first one created an effective plug!
"Lets' go!" Dominion yelled as it leapt through the string bead entrance, guns blazing as it began cutting a path through the communists, but a few rifle launched grenades forced even Dominion to seek cover.
Following closely behind Dominion Corporal Banks had taken off the satchel where he stored the explosives, "Plastique! Six pounds or so!" He worked in a fuse and handed it to Dominion who held it behind his back, like a parent hiding a treat, and ran towards the door shrugging of the damage from the shrapnel and bullets; then he threw the satchel through the doorway!
The explosion was quite horrid, a mixture of sand and blood seemed to literally rain on them, red blood running in tiny streams down their goggles, leaving dirt patterns behind. They couldn't stop to think though, couldn't stop to notice anything, they leapt over the dead and the wounded and ran into the corridor blasting away at anyone who dared to show his face.
For the Mage Hunters there was still a chance to preserve the mission, and that was to get out and draw fire away from Patterson, incidentally this might also preserve their own hides which made it seem like a very good plan indeed.
"Where to?" Cpl Banks shouted.
"Outside fast," Sgt Smith replied, in a brief pause he added, "Cross the servants quarters to exit two, then cross the city!"
They ran across the servants quarters, that happened to be entirely empty, something which proved amply that this whole thing had been a trap. Doors were smashed down as Dominion literally ran through them, leaving little more than wooden tatters slowly swinging on the bent iron hinges. Fortunately they did not encounter any boobytraps, that would have stopped the great escape rather abruptly.
Behind them they could hear the wild cries of the Commies, as they tried to catch up with the retreating Pendletons; Private Cooper pulled the splint from a couple of grenades and threw them behind him, just to discourage them a little. Seconds later they heard twin explosions, and a couple of loud screams followed by guttural curses in Russian.
The second servants exit lead out into a large courtyard behind the palace, where the Mage Hunters had managed to evacuate Dost Khans family when the palace first fell. The windows leading out to the courtyard were boarded up, not a good sign, but in the pale moonlight the courtyard looked deserted. They ran past giant marble flower pots holding exotic flowers, most of them wilted, wide benches, and a disabled fountain filled with stagnant smelly water.
Behind them a few shots rang out, some of the cobblestones chipped or cracked as they were struck, and richochets k-pinked off both the buildings, and the huge stone pots. The Mage Hunters ran forward, zig-zagging across the courtyard, while moving from pot to pot, and bench to bench.
Dominion had a terrible feeling that something was wrong, in the distance he could hear the rumbling of vehicles, and there was motion on the rooftops as well. That said there was no point in running back inside, they'd merely be pinned down and slowly worn down, no it was either rushing forward with a chance of success or staying with a guarantee of failure.
That was when about a dozen spotlights were turned on at once, bathing the courtyard in light, and sending the Mage Hunters and Dominion scurrying for cover behind the enormous marble pots. As if to complete the transformation from empty courtyard to deadly trap a huge spout of water rose from the fountain, and then six more spouts rose from the sides, tingling clear water bubbling forth, and then slowly starting to spill over the side of the fountain; first the rotting greenish sludge, and then brownish dirty water spread slowly across the cobblestones.
Seconds later a group of large eightwheeled APCs, ugly and boxlike with small turrets on top, rolled up in front of the courtyard, blocking the only escape route. Behind the vehicles small groups of Commie soldiers could be seen, taking cover behind the armoured bulk of the APCs, and clutching their rifles tightly. Worse yet along the roof tops small groups of Commie troopers were lining up, aiming long barreled rifles down at the Mage Hunters.
Instead of opening fire though a small stocky fellow with a peaked cap, with a menacing black brim, got up in the rear and began to yell at them through a megaphone "SURRENDER NOW AND..."
They never found out what he was going to say next, since his head exploded when Private Cooper shot him. That was when everyone opened fire at once, the entire Soviet battleline, and the roof tops, seemed to be covered in a single sheet of fire! The large stone flower pots were struck so heavily that a cloud of white stone dust rose up from them, and a rain of shattered cobblestones, spent richochets, and tiny rock fragments fell upon the courtyard.
Somehow, by a miracle, and a bit of luck, the Mage Hunters had found cover, hugging the wall tightly, crouching behind a giant flower pot, or else hiding behind Dominion who was getting quite dented from the massive amount of shot.
"Why did you do that?" Dominion asked, sounding almost reproachful, even though he had to amp up the loudspeakers to be heard over the din.
"BLOODY AWFUL CONVERSATIONALIST HE WAS!" Pvt Cooper yelled back.
"NOW!" Sgt Smith yelled, and they all popped up, backs to the wall they began to shoot at the snipers on the opposite site, rapid three-round bursts fired so fast that it sounded almost like they were using full auto. The Commies returned fire, but they were being slaughtered, gutshots, head shots, and even being shot in the arms was enough to knock'em out of the fight; meanwhile their friends directly above the Mage Hunters could do nothing, since they would have had to bend over the edge of the roof and aim a heavy rifle straight down. A couple of them tried, a couple of them died, and fell right down with a resounding thud, bouncing slightly from the shock of the impact.
"WE CAN'T STAY!" Dominion told them, then casually he fired his heavy weapon at the wall right behind him. Even before the dust settled, even before they knew what was really there, even before they regained their hearing, the Mage Hunters ran right towards that very spot diving straight through the three by three foot hole that had been made.
On the other side there was a moment of brief respide as they looked around the dark and narrow corridor they found themselves in. Then all of a sudden there was another low thunder, and dozens, scores, then hundreds of tiny dots of lights appeared in the wall; bulletholes ranging in size from a penny to that of a fist, and with those holes came a rain of rubble and dust. The logical thing was of course to run away from the line of APCs, back to the palace, and set up a defensive position there.
That, of course, was why they ran directly towards the APCs, ducking low, though Banks and Jones were already bleading from some grazing hits. The rain of bullets was moving down the hallway, moving away from them, a clear sign that the Commies also figured they'd be running in that direction.
When they reached the end of the hallway, and also the end of that wing of the building, they could see the line of vehicles and men through the boarded up windows. Dominion looked at them, "Ready?" he asked.
"Yes..."
"GO!"
The boarded up windows exploded outwards as Dominion entered assault mode, now it didn't even think about stealth, or even mobility, it leapt forward towards the flanks of the APCs! It shot the first one through the side, then, without hesitating or waiting to see the effect, it leapt upwards and laded on the roof of the lead APC, and leapt again firing downwards at the APCs! None of their heavy weapons had the slightest chance of hitting him, even though two of the APCs began to turn their turrets, and a couple of tanks could be seen nearby, none of them could elevate their turrets high enough to strike such a small and mobile target.
Worse yet for the infantry on the ground, after first being stunned by the wall exploding and an unexpected flank attack, they now found themselves facing not only a demonic armour leaping above them, but also four Mage Hunters charging them with guns blazing!
For a moment, the Commie soldiers went down from the Pendleton fire, and as the APCs exploded in black smoke and twisted metal sides, with the very occasional crewman managing to flee before a second flash of fire wrecked his vehicle. For that moment the Pendletons might almost think that they could win, that they would overpower the Communists and get away.
That's when another tank flanked by two APCs appeared, with a group of Commie soldiers running along them, bright red enamel stars reflected the light of the fires... for a moment the soldiers watched the scene with slackjawed horror, then as one they roared "URREEEEEE!" and charged, guns blazing. Just as the Pendles noticed this new threat one of the tanks fired its gun.
Banks and Cooper were a little too close together, even experienced soldiers sometimes make mistakes, this was their last... the high explosive shell struck two feet away. They never felt what hit them, Sgt Smith felt something though, a light drizzle, and when he turned around he saw a smear of red on the ground.
"Damnation!" then he felt a tap on his leg, and it seemed to grow weak somehow, looking down he saw a piece of metal, not very large, sticking out, and a small trickle of blood running down his leg. This is the end pal... he knew full well there was no getting out now.
At that very moment Patterson contacted Dominion once more, << How goes it on your side Dominion? >>
Analysing the carnage with his electronic sensors Dominion replied, << Very fucking bad, Patterson. We're getting screwed. Everyone's been hit at least once, Banks and Cooper are dead, and Smith doesn't look to be in much better shape. He's gotten his leg smashed by a frag. I'm working in assault mode, but it's not working all that well. >>
At that very moment there was another thunk, Jones' helmet showed a nasty hole, and squirts of blood and brains gushed out as he dropped down onto the floor.
<< Shit! Jones is hit! I repeat, Jones is hit! He's dead. We're taking fire from what looks like a few hundred infantry, plus some LAVs. They just keep fucking coming. >>
One of the light tanks drew nearer, aiming its barrel at Dominion, but a single round struck the barrel, twisting it slightly, and making electric sparks rise from the electrionics.
<< Target is mission killed. Round right through the railgun barrel. Won't be firing for a while more. >>
At that very moment another light tank appeared, rolling over a score dead bodies, and pushing a burnt out APC out of the way.
<< Another one? What the fuck is happening here? Don't they ever run out of warm bodies or vehicles? >>
Some of the Commie soldiers were getting closer, Smith was blazing away at them, leaning against one of the burned out APCs, he felt the blazing heat against his back but he was past caring. He was bleeding from his guts as well as from his leg, but he kept shooting, and somehow no one managed to land a fatal shot at him.
These particular Commies were different though, they seemed to shrug off the bullets, and moved with a speed that was truly inhuman. One of them went for Dominion, the other for Sgt Smith. From two feet away Sgt Smith fired three round right at the attackers head, the bullets bounced off, but one of them cut through flesh to reveal metal beneath.
A metal man...
It smiled at Sgt Smith "Got you you mother fucker!" Then it struck him, the Sergeant smashed against the APC side, he let out a short scream, and then only blood came out of his mouth.
There was a lot of gunfire and fighting then, Dominion went down fighting, but in the blaze of fire and explosive shells even that advanced combat suit could not resist the sheer weight of men and metal. Then there was silence, a silence only slowly broken by the moans of the wounded.
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Operation Golden Serpent - Chapter IX
Konduz, Azhistan
Feburary 13, 1006
0930 Military time
The man in the decrepit room watched and waited for his demise.
He had heard footsteps, incredibly faint but numerous, the signs of what was to be his end.
A cigarette between his lips, he smiled. There was no warmth, or hope, or anything one would expect in that expression. There was only malice, and grim resolve. Patterson knew he wasn't going to be getting out of here alive. "They found us."
"Pity, really, I was enjoying being a petty thief instead of an assassin. Can't resolve anything specific, but they're pretty numerous. And these aren't going to be guys with cheap assault rifles and ten minutes of training. These guys are probably good at what they do."
"In any case, any options? The window?"
"Definitely scanned. They probably have snipers on the rooftops already. Our chances of sneaking out right now are dismal."
"And going through them probably won't work. This isn't very good."
"Well, let's make it a good show, anyways. They came this far, they need some scars and a couple of good stories to tell to their kids, years hence."
"Do they really? I'm considering blowing my own brains out right now."
"That's really... not a good idea. I thought you were supposed to thrive on hopeless situations."
"Well, yes, but the only thing I can see working right now is denying them their prize. They probably want me relatively intact, or they'd have leveled the place already. For what, I don't know yet."
"In any case, that's probably good. For now. Now move. Getting louder, and I can see them moving towards the door."
Patterson let the cheap cigarette fall from his lips, the armor closing around him once more. One final time. One last battle. He saw the soldiers fall into position around the door, and the point man kicked it in. Time seemed to slow down as the lead soldier evaporated from a pair of micromines detonating. Patterson raised his rifle and snapped off a shot against another one. The man fell, wounded or dead. But the soldiers were trained, and angry red tracers started slashing towards him, rounds punching into armor. A multitude of indicator lights showing stressed areas blinked angrily in his vision. He stepped backwards as he fired, as rounds punched into and around him, tearing through wood like swiss cheese.
But through all the chaos, there was an element of detachment to it. Nearing death, he viewed it through the clarity of one who knew he was condemned from the start.
His rifle seemed to slowly float in one man's direction. His trigger finger squeezed tightly on its own volition. Beam fire danced across armor, flaying through it and seeking flesh. The munition launcher filled the air with a haze of razor metal and smoke. Yellow indicator lights in his HUD blinked red, and Patterson disregarded them still. And still, step by step. Giving ground, moving closer to the window. "Can't take much more of this!" Dominion screamed.
"We have you cornered. Surrender and you will be allowed to live." One of the soldiers said. He wasn't wearing heavy armor-he didn't need it. The flesh around his face and left arm had been flayed away, revealing metal dyed crimson with artificial blood. Even as he said it, the construct redoubled his fire.
"How about thanks for the offer, but no." Patterson snarled, as he dove out of the window. Dominion was right. They had snipers, with antimateriel rifles. Surprise at that tactic ensured many missed, but not all of them.
A HV railgun round punched through his right shoulder, shattering bone, spraying blood across his armor and the street. The few bystanders there panicked from the blood and the sudden appearance of a black-armored man leaping from a building. Their panic was short-lived for the most part, though, as stray rounds and shrapnel tore anyone unarmored to shreds. Two followed and hit their mark almost immediately after, severing it at the shoulder. Patterson held the MICW one-handed, landing in a crouch. Blood dripped slowly from the wound for a moment before internal damage managment systems stopped its bleeding. Alarms screamed in his ears and alerts danced across his vision. The damage was too much to fully compensate for.
The black limb thudded to the ground almost immediately after.
"You won't escape. Surrender now." The same machine said. "We've blocked the area off."
"Well then, that just means I don't have any reason to not fight as hard as I can, doesn't it?" Patterson gasped out.
He raised the rifle, one-handed. Set it on single shot in mid-motion. The single precise blast removed the machine's head from its shoulders cleanly. His rifle swung, fast enough that Patterson almost thought that his older enhancements, the modifications that he had removed, were back online. But if they were, he wouldn't have been overwhelmed so easily. <<Just like old times, huh?>> Patterson sent to his armor. He punctuated it with another shot. Another soldier went down, clutching at the cauterized hole in his chest.
<<If you mean nearly dead, in an impossible situation, and about to get royally fucked, yeah, but the rest of the Principalities won't be showing up here.>> Dominion replied. Patterson noticed the soldiers retarget, knew he was almost out of time.
<<We were lucky. All the Principalities were. But in this case, I think our luck ran out. Happens to everyone eventually in our business. And the only thing you can do is die with honor, strike fear into the other side.>>
<<Normally I'd call you an idiot. But in this case I heartily agree. We die here, in this place. And we make them sorry for it.>> Fountains of dirt geysered up as the Communist forces started firing.
The curtain of fire came down on him again. One final act to perform before death takes me. This is the end, hold nothing back. Patterson thought. His rifle snapped up again, and one more man was consigned to death. He ran, his vision covered with red critical alerts, his lifetime no longer measured in years but in minutes. His rifle read empty, and he discarded it.
He drew a pistol and leapt out of cover firing, taking yet another infantryman down. A sniper round hit before Patterson could get back into cover, ripping through the helmet and cutting open one of his eyes. More blood stained the ground crimson. It didn't matter to Patterson, though. He could still shoot. He retreated into another building, seeing it slowly disintegrate as gauss rifle fire poured into it, punching holes through rickety wooden walls and sending splinters ricocheting into his open wounds. He ignored the pain. It wouldn't last for much longer anyways. Nothing he had currently would. Not his endurance, not his armor, not his ammunition supply. Incendiary grenades were tossed in, trying to flush him out. It wouldn't work.
The building collapsed on him, the two-story wooden structure weakened fatally by gauss weapons and flame. Patterson stepped out of the wreckage calmly, ominously. He ignored the pain from the cauterized stump where his arm had been and the wreckage of his eye. His pistol whipped towards a soldier's head, as he looked in surprise. The man's head exploded into a shower of blood and gore. He fired until the magazine was empty, then dropped the weapon and drew his other pistol, firing again. The soldiers had started to return fire.
Armor integrity failed. He didn't care. Sensor feeds went offline, the armor automatically undeploying the helmet to let him see. The Soviets saw his expression. It wasn't fear, nor deterimation at this point. It was pure homicidal rage, the desire to slaughter, to sate his appetite for bloodshed. Gone was rationality or tactical planning. There was only the need to kill.
An insane snarl left Patterson's lips as he emptied the second pistol, and his combat knife leapt into his hand humming, demanding blood. He charged the lines, ignoring the dozens of rounds tearing into flesh and subdermal armor, ignoring the dead weight of his now inert armor. His knife stabbed out once, driven by the bezerker strength of an insane man, cutting through armor and flesh effortlessly. It stabbed out again and again, and every time it did so another man died in agony.
But soon the squad was dead and their lives, which had shielded him from their comrades, were no longer preventing the snipers from firing.
Precise shots shattered enhanced bone and tore enhanced muscle into shreds. Patterson fell, fading out of consciousness. When he came to, there were soldiers surrounding him, all of them looking very unhappy and pointing various weapons at him.
He only vaguely remembered what had happened after the building collapse. He realized that almost all of his indicators were blinking red and that the cautions log had expanded to the size of a large novel.
"I'll kill you for what you did to my friend Grigori!" one of them snarled. "I hope you suffer greatly for what you've done."
"No chance to kill me." Patterson rasped. The other soldiers were silent, but never did they give any warning. "Because that implies you can live long enough to pull a trigger. Which you won't."
"Wha-"
Patterson's remaining arm flashed out as Patterson ignored the integrity warnings. He was effectively destroying the skeletal joint, but it didn't matter. It was a last act of spite anyways. The blade slashed the soldier open through the body armor he wore, from groin to sternum.
More blood bathed the ground. He felt it splash over his face, tasted its copper. Then a shotgun boomed at near point-blank and he was no longer feeling much of anything.
THE END
Feburary 13, 1006
0930 Military time
The man in the decrepit room watched and waited for his demise.
He had heard footsteps, incredibly faint but numerous, the signs of what was to be his end.
A cigarette between his lips, he smiled. There was no warmth, or hope, or anything one would expect in that expression. There was only malice, and grim resolve. Patterson knew he wasn't going to be getting out of here alive. "They found us."
"Pity, really, I was enjoying being a petty thief instead of an assassin. Can't resolve anything specific, but they're pretty numerous. And these aren't going to be guys with cheap assault rifles and ten minutes of training. These guys are probably good at what they do."
"In any case, any options? The window?"
"Definitely scanned. They probably have snipers on the rooftops already. Our chances of sneaking out right now are dismal."
"And going through them probably won't work. This isn't very good."
"Well, let's make it a good show, anyways. They came this far, they need some scars and a couple of good stories to tell to their kids, years hence."
"Do they really? I'm considering blowing my own brains out right now."
"That's really... not a good idea. I thought you were supposed to thrive on hopeless situations."
"Well, yes, but the only thing I can see working right now is denying them their prize. They probably want me relatively intact, or they'd have leveled the place already. For what, I don't know yet."
"In any case, that's probably good. For now. Now move. Getting louder, and I can see them moving towards the door."
Patterson let the cheap cigarette fall from his lips, the armor closing around him once more. One final time. One last battle. He saw the soldiers fall into position around the door, and the point man kicked it in. Time seemed to slow down as the lead soldier evaporated from a pair of micromines detonating. Patterson raised his rifle and snapped off a shot against another one. The man fell, wounded or dead. But the soldiers were trained, and angry red tracers started slashing towards him, rounds punching into armor. A multitude of indicator lights showing stressed areas blinked angrily in his vision. He stepped backwards as he fired, as rounds punched into and around him, tearing through wood like swiss cheese.
But through all the chaos, there was an element of detachment to it. Nearing death, he viewed it through the clarity of one who knew he was condemned from the start.
His rifle seemed to slowly float in one man's direction. His trigger finger squeezed tightly on its own volition. Beam fire danced across armor, flaying through it and seeking flesh. The munition launcher filled the air with a haze of razor metal and smoke. Yellow indicator lights in his HUD blinked red, and Patterson disregarded them still. And still, step by step. Giving ground, moving closer to the window. "Can't take much more of this!" Dominion screamed.
"We have you cornered. Surrender and you will be allowed to live." One of the soldiers said. He wasn't wearing heavy armor-he didn't need it. The flesh around his face and left arm had been flayed away, revealing metal dyed crimson with artificial blood. Even as he said it, the construct redoubled his fire.
"How about thanks for the offer, but no." Patterson snarled, as he dove out of the window. Dominion was right. They had snipers, with antimateriel rifles. Surprise at that tactic ensured many missed, but not all of them.
A HV railgun round punched through his right shoulder, shattering bone, spraying blood across his armor and the street. The few bystanders there panicked from the blood and the sudden appearance of a black-armored man leaping from a building. Their panic was short-lived for the most part, though, as stray rounds and shrapnel tore anyone unarmored to shreds. Two followed and hit their mark almost immediately after, severing it at the shoulder. Patterson held the MICW one-handed, landing in a crouch. Blood dripped slowly from the wound for a moment before internal damage managment systems stopped its bleeding. Alarms screamed in his ears and alerts danced across his vision. The damage was too much to fully compensate for.
The black limb thudded to the ground almost immediately after.
"You won't escape. Surrender now." The same machine said. "We've blocked the area off."
"Well then, that just means I don't have any reason to not fight as hard as I can, doesn't it?" Patterson gasped out.
He raised the rifle, one-handed. Set it on single shot in mid-motion. The single precise blast removed the machine's head from its shoulders cleanly. His rifle swung, fast enough that Patterson almost thought that his older enhancements, the modifications that he had removed, were back online. But if they were, he wouldn't have been overwhelmed so easily. <<Just like old times, huh?>> Patterson sent to his armor. He punctuated it with another shot. Another soldier went down, clutching at the cauterized hole in his chest.
<<If you mean nearly dead, in an impossible situation, and about to get royally fucked, yeah, but the rest of the Principalities won't be showing up here.>> Dominion replied. Patterson noticed the soldiers retarget, knew he was almost out of time.
<<We were lucky. All the Principalities were. But in this case, I think our luck ran out. Happens to everyone eventually in our business. And the only thing you can do is die with honor, strike fear into the other side.>>
<<Normally I'd call you an idiot. But in this case I heartily agree. We die here, in this place. And we make them sorry for it.>> Fountains of dirt geysered up as the Communist forces started firing.
The curtain of fire came down on him again. One final act to perform before death takes me. This is the end, hold nothing back. Patterson thought. His rifle snapped up again, and one more man was consigned to death. He ran, his vision covered with red critical alerts, his lifetime no longer measured in years but in minutes. His rifle read empty, and he discarded it.
He drew a pistol and leapt out of cover firing, taking yet another infantryman down. A sniper round hit before Patterson could get back into cover, ripping through the helmet and cutting open one of his eyes. More blood stained the ground crimson. It didn't matter to Patterson, though. He could still shoot. He retreated into another building, seeing it slowly disintegrate as gauss rifle fire poured into it, punching holes through rickety wooden walls and sending splinters ricocheting into his open wounds. He ignored the pain. It wouldn't last for much longer anyways. Nothing he had currently would. Not his endurance, not his armor, not his ammunition supply. Incendiary grenades were tossed in, trying to flush him out. It wouldn't work.
The building collapsed on him, the two-story wooden structure weakened fatally by gauss weapons and flame. Patterson stepped out of the wreckage calmly, ominously. He ignored the pain from the cauterized stump where his arm had been and the wreckage of his eye. His pistol whipped towards a soldier's head, as he looked in surprise. The man's head exploded into a shower of blood and gore. He fired until the magazine was empty, then dropped the weapon and drew his other pistol, firing again. The soldiers had started to return fire.
Armor integrity failed. He didn't care. Sensor feeds went offline, the armor automatically undeploying the helmet to let him see. The Soviets saw his expression. It wasn't fear, nor deterimation at this point. It was pure homicidal rage, the desire to slaughter, to sate his appetite for bloodshed. Gone was rationality or tactical planning. There was only the need to kill.
An insane snarl left Patterson's lips as he emptied the second pistol, and his combat knife leapt into his hand humming, demanding blood. He charged the lines, ignoring the dozens of rounds tearing into flesh and subdermal armor, ignoring the dead weight of his now inert armor. His knife stabbed out once, driven by the bezerker strength of an insane man, cutting through armor and flesh effortlessly. It stabbed out again and again, and every time it did so another man died in agony.
But soon the squad was dead and their lives, which had shielded him from their comrades, were no longer preventing the snipers from firing.
Precise shots shattered enhanced bone and tore enhanced muscle into shreds. Patterson fell, fading out of consciousness. When he came to, there were soldiers surrounding him, all of them looking very unhappy and pointing various weapons at him.
He only vaguely remembered what had happened after the building collapse. He realized that almost all of his indicators were blinking red and that the cautions log had expanded to the size of a large novel.
"I'll kill you for what you did to my friend Grigori!" one of them snarled. "I hope you suffer greatly for what you've done."
"No chance to kill me." Patterson rasped. The other soldiers were silent, but never did they give any warning. "Because that implies you can live long enough to pull a trigger. Which you won't."
"Wha-"
Patterson's remaining arm flashed out as Patterson ignored the integrity warnings. He was effectively destroying the skeletal joint, but it didn't matter. It was a last act of spite anyways. The blade slashed the soldier open through the body armor he wore, from groin to sternum.
More blood bathed the ground. He felt it splash over his face, tasted its copper. Then a shotgun boomed at near point-blank and he was no longer feeling much of anything.
THE END
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.