Flames roared out of the shattered hull of a ChinKor MBT. The smell of bar-be-que filled the air, and Hotston hated the way his body responded. He hadn’t eaten for hours. Saliva flooded his mouth, and his stomach rumbled.
At least the screams have stopped, he thought. They would haunt him for the rest of his life. One of the crew had managed to get halfway through her hatch before the flames had overcome her. Now, she was half-in, half-out the tank. Flesh, blacked beyond all recognition, hung like parchment where it had burned off. Her teeth were bared in a grimace.
'Stay still.' Hotston placed his weight on Windsor's leg as he pulled the jagged piece of metal from her leg. Ignoring her scream, he slapped a dressing onto the torn flesh. Her suit pumped her full of morphine and combat stims, killing the pain whilst making sure there was no chance of her drifting off to sleep. 'Next time I tell you you're too close, listen eh?'
Windsor had been injured when detonating a demolitions pack she had placed into the tank's tracks. Setting it off too early, she had been caught in the blast.
'Sorry Hotty, still, got my first Tank Kill badge, and this is my tenth wound badge! Means I get more Body Points, and I’m harder to pin.' She clapped her hands, happier than anyone else he had seen be wounded. He’d have thought being wounded would make a person even more cautious, not less. But then, the simulation had once been a game, and they were never known to follow logic if it got in the way of player experience.
And the fuckers were too lazy to change much of the system, he thought. Just hope I never get this buff.
'Sometimes, you can be very strange indeed Winnie. Good to go?'
When she gave him a woozy thumbs up, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, grunting with the effort. As quietly as they could, they stole away into the darkness, leaving the shattered remains of the tank behind. The rest of his people trailed behind, spread out to counter the effects of any ambush. He didn't think twice about calling them his people now, not after all they’d gone through over the past couple of hours, and the thought of having to turn them over to a prejudiced prick like Patterson made his blood boil.
Fuck that, I'm going to put in for Officer Cadet School and rub that bastard's face in the knowledge that I outrank him every chance I get.
Ahead was the evacuation point. Ahead was their chance at escape. Lights lit up the sky in the direction of the EP. Their comms channel lit up as they finally got into comms range. It was full of chatter, pilots yelling at each other until they cut off. Then Clark’s voice came over it.
‘All 49ers, LZ is too hot. Head to the alternative EP. Repeat, head to the alternative EP.’
‘I don’t think we’re going to be getting out from that EP,’ sighed Windsor.
‘Fuck,’ said Hotston.
*
‘New marker, EP has switched,’ Hotston commed over the platoon channel. It was probably unnecessary as they’d all no doubt heard what he had, but he knew his voice would drag those of his platoon whose attention had wandered back into a sharper focus. They were all tired. Forced marches on a good day were hard. Following on from hours of stress and battle, with a distinct lack of food and water, and a forced march turned into absolute hell. ‘Rest here, five minutes. 30% security.’
30% security meant that one in three of his people would be on guard whilst the others rested. Those that were unable to rest now, would rest at the next stop.
Ignoring the groans of relief, Hotston pulled up his tacmap. The alternative EP was roughly 18 kilometres from their current position. The average person walked at 5 kilometres per hour. In combat suits, they were able to nearly double that, quadruple that if they ran. On a good day. Which this day most certainly wasn’t. Now, they were reduced to snail’s pace. Not only were they having to move carefully because of the threat of enemy forces, but they were also having to carry - literally in some cases - their wounded.
‘We need vehicles,’ commed Watson on a peer-to-peer channel. We’re not going to be able to make the EP in time if we don’t get vehicles.’
‘Come over to me, let’s discuss this,’ he said.
He watched as she made her way past the other members of the platoon. He’d had her acting as tail end Charlie, watching their backs, and making sure that they didn’t lose anyone. She’d done a good job.
‘So, what you thinking?’ he asked, using his real voice and not a comms channel.
‘We need to find some vehicles and use them to get to the landing zone. According to the tacmap, this road here,’ she threw her tacmap onto his visor and highlighted the route she was talking about, ‘is a main supply route, an MSR. And this, is a vehicle depot. Most of them are in for repairs but we should be able to find enough for our platoon to use.’
He reverse pinched the map, zooming in so that he could see the depot. As the crow flew it was just over one kilometre from them. Aside from a couple of checkpoints, and a barracks for the mechanics, it didn’t look as though it was that heavily guarded.
‘Okay, gather the squad leaders. We’re going to get us some wheels.’
*
‘First squad in position,’ Watson commed. He’d given her the task of fire support. They had a mortar with 10 rounds, and a couple of heavy pulsers. They even had a heavy machine gun which threw heavy solid slugs. He was leading second squad, with third being led by a Corporal called Vida. Hotston was still surprised at how readily the members of the scratch platoon had accepted his leadership.
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‘Second and third, move out,’ he ordered, pushing himself up into a low crouch. They were approaching the vehicle depot from the rear. Security was heaviest at the front so Hotston and Watson had worked on plan which should allow them to get into the base and identify the most suitable vehicles. Vida’s squad was tasked with security, whilst Hotston’s people would find the vehicles.
Once they had identified suitable vehicles, they would set about setting demolitions charges on other vehicles further away and use those as a distraction to hopefully allow them to get out of the depot whilst the guards were distracted.
Hopefully, he thought as he placed his back against the rear wall of the depot. It was HESCO, a near-instant fortification system which consisted of wire cages the height of a human filled with rocks and earth. Cheap, effective, and easy to erect.
Cupping his hands, he grunted as the first member of his squad planted their foot into his hands. As they pushed, he lifted, and their second foot dug into his combat suit. In a second they were at the top, cutting away the razor wire. A quick pause, and then they were over.
‘Quickly now,’ ordered Hotston, and the rest of the squad moved forward to be boosted up and over.
‘Your turn,’ Windsor said as she reached him.
He didn’t argue, knowing that there wasn’t a chance he could lift her. As she was still carrying the heavy pulse gun, he’d had her acting as local cover.
‘Ready or …’ he didn’t have a chance to finish, whatever he’d about to say lost as she heaved him completely over the wall. Fortunately for the other members of the squad none of them were beneath the wall as he sailed over and dropped the two metres face first into the ground. ‘Jesus fucking Christ!’
He writhed on the ground for a bit as he tried to get his breath back.
‘Sorry, you’re lighter than I thought,’ Windsor said as she dropped down next to him. He actually felt her land.
‘Squad three,’ he managed to gasp. ‘You’re up.’
He accepted Windsor’s helping hand, feeling like a child as she lifted him to his feet with no effort.
As soon as the first member of squad three landed, he gave the command for his to move out.
*
‘Boss, this one looks good,’ commed one of his people, Hill. He only knew her name because it was on her HUD. She not only came from a different platoon than him, but also a different company. Still, she seemed competent. And she’d picked an armoured 8-wheeler. It had a low profile, wedge nosed, and was called a ZBL-40 according to his HUD.
She opened the rear doors, ‘Roomy, it’ll take 15. Plus the crew.’
‘That’s 18, we’ve got 23, so all we need to do is find an LAV and we’re good to go,’ Hotston said, looking around to see if he could spot a light armoured vehicle. ‘Got one, I’ll check it out. You see whether you can get this one running. Don’t start it though. Full systems check.’
‘Roger dodger,’ Hill said, sketching a salute.
‘Winnie, on me,’ he said as he moved along the rows of vehicles to the one he had spotted. It was a Dongfeng EQ3040, a four-wheeled lightly armoured vehicle based on the old Humvee. Its back was open, with two rows of seats. More than enough space for their needs.
‘Even I can fit in that,’ Winnie said. Hotston was glad his back was to her as he winced. He hadn’t even considered the Gorilla’s extra mass. A lot of vehicles were designed to carry both normal, and enhanced troops, but he’d given no thought to Winnie’s size when choosing the vehicles.
‘Know much about vehicles?’ he said, keen to change the subject even if she didn’t know just how bad he felt.
‘I did a term of vehicle maintenance at whilst at school. I know the basics.’
‘That’s more than I know. Give it a look over. Watson, how’s it looking?’
‘Boring. The guards are guarding, no mobile patrols, and the mechanics are safely tucked up in bed in the barracks. Easy kills.’
She left that hanging, not quite a question. Wiping out a platoon of mechanics would hamper the efforts of the ChinKor forces in getting their vehicles back on the road. And it would also cost them command points to replace them. But the idea of killing people in their sleep, even if they weren’t 49ers like himself, stuck in his craw.
‘Let’s shelve that for now, but get the mortars sighted in so that when things kick off and they react, you can persuade them otherwise,’ he said. It was a fine line, but he felt that if they were at least awake and trying to stop him and his people from carrying out their mission, then they were fair game.
‘Confirmed. Sighted. I’ve also tasked one of the heavy pulsers. You know, we could probably take out the whole guard complement from here as well?’
He hadn’t realised that. He knew the position they were in overlooked the base nicely, but not that it allowed them complete dominance.
That’s twice you’ve fucked up on the basics, he chastised himself. Can’t be doing that now you’re a leader.
‘Ping me your sight picture,’ he ordered.
In under a second, he could see what she could see. It was slightly disorientating, so he blink-clicked his mini-tacmap closed. True to her word, she could see all of the guards. There were two booths. One controlled incoming traffic, the other controlled outgoing. Each was manned by four ChinKor troopers, meaning that roughly a full squad was on guard duty at all times.
Just inside the base, past the booths, was a small barracks. She flicked onto IR and he could see the still forms of at least another squad.
‘You reckon they have one squad on, one squad off. Rotate them both out every few days?’ he asked her.
‘It’s the way I’d do it. Not like they’re frontline troops either. I reckon we could kill everyone in the booths in under five seconds. Kill everyone within ten.’
He was impressed at how calm she was. She might as well have been commenting on the weather for all the emotion she put into her voice.
‘Okay. Vida,’ he called the commander of third squad. ‘We’ve got the vehicles. Set your charges and get over to Hill’s position.’
He might have been jumping the gun somewhat, but neither Hill nor Winnie had said that the vehicles wouldn’t work for them.
‘Roger that,’ Vida replied. ‘Setting charges now, RV at the vehicle in 3 mikes.’
*
It took slightly more than three minutes. And Hotston sweated for each second as he sat in the passenger seat of the LAV. The plan was to detonate the charges, start the vehicles and make their way to the checkpoint whilst Watson and her team did their thing. If there was any resistance left by the time they reached the checkpoints, the platoon would dismount and engage. Both vehicles were down to less than 50% BP, and he didn’t want to risk a ChinKor trooper getting off a lucky rocket that killed everyone.
‘We’re all in,’ Hill confirmed.
Hotston looked back at Winnie who had mounted her heavy pulse gun on the roll bar of the passenger compartment.
‘You good to go?’ he asked her, getting a large grin and thumbs up in return.
‘Vida, blow it.’
No sooner had he said the man’s name, than there was a ripple of explosions. Pulses and tracers streaked down from Watson’s position, and there was a series of secondary explosions as the mortar team engaged the mechanics’ barracks. He didn’t know whether that was because they didn’t want to miss out on the fight, or because the mechanics were responding, but nor was he going to ask. He didn’t need the burden.
‘Go!’