Chapter 33: Tiny Vampires

The fireteam waited in front of the blast doors to the third level. All the zeros had gone in first. Coldcase’s team entered after them. Dozer gave Coldcase a “good luck” but only got a silent nod back before the doors closed behind him. The guy had kept his distance from Dozer and the rest of his team since the hospital. He had his own fireteam now.

The DI looked at his watch and hit the open button. “In.”

Thick, humid air, permeated with soil and rotting plant matter, escaped. The fireteam turned on the lights attached to their helmets and rifles, and the beams broke through the dark inside. Bugs charged the lights. Model entered on point, followed by Buttstroke and his hefty minigun, its ammunition feed chute suspended from his backpack, Errorist next, and Dozer, his sniper rifle in hand. The doors closed behind them. Dozer stepped from the metal floor into a chunky layer of mud.

The hallway straight ahead continued as far as Dozer could make out with his light. Whatever light the floor the DI said to have, Dozer didn’t see it. The door to the left led to a room, and the hallway to the right ended in a closed door.

Dozer thought about what he wanted to say. “Where do we go?” The WarFace transcribed it into audio with both the intended rising intonation at the end and lack of emotion. He didn’t need the WarFace to betray his intentions to betray his team leader. The audio played inside his own ears—his auditory perception in truth—while it casted to the rest of his team.

His lips didn’t move, yet his fireteam heard him. They had trained to use the communicators earlier in the week. Speech without sound weirded Dozer out. It didn’t matter though. If WarFace communicators helped them move without detection, Dozer would use it.

Buttstroke froze. He turned his head and illuminated the three routes with the beam. With one eye closed, he checked out the map in the WarFace.

“Ah…” The sound came out of Buttstroke’s mouth.

“Use the comm.” Model casted, lips still, and tapped the side of his head. His eyes squinted. The WarFace picked up the scorn his face transmitted. “Tell us where to go, oh glorious leader.”

“Um…,” Buttstroke casted the sound this time. “Okay. We’ll go into the hall to the right and into the maze. We should be alright if we keep corner discipline.”

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Model took the lead. His class ability muted his footsteps, but Buttstroke made enough noise for the both of them. He shuffled and dragged his feet over the uneven dirt. Errorist stuck close to the roughhead, ready to blast anything that moved and patch up the team when the bots blasted back.

Dozer tried to cover anywhere that the rest of the team didn’t. The sniper rifle was almost useless in the tight spaces of the hallways, even more so in rooms. He shouldered the rifle and took out his semi-automatic pistol out of its holster. The long length of the barrel made it feel like a pistol only a sniper would have. It had heft to it, and Dozer could see himself ending a Pithite’s time on Existence Station with a blast from its barrel.

One of Dozer’s Level 2 tries, Riposte Fire, needed the pistol. It allowed the Bowman to take an automatic shot with it at anyone who took a shot at him. Dozer didn’t understand how that would work. Would his arm move on its own? He didn’t like that idea much, but it might be more useful than the other try, Teamsight. That one let the Bowman take a shot at any target in their teammate’s field of view as long as the Bowman had line of sight. Dozer couldn’t decide which one he would choose when he upped a level.

Model raised his hand to press the open button.

“Hold on.” Buttstroke rushed up behind. “Wait until we’re all here.”

Both Errorist and Dozer picked up the pace. Model’s hand curled into a fist, and the muscles in his jaw flexed under his skin.

Buttstroke checked if the rest of the team had caught up. “Okay. Hit it.”

Model slammed the button harder than he needed. A few bugs emerged from the dark and charged the light beams. One buzzed Dozer’s ear, and he swatted it away. He learned about these things in biology class. The ancients called them mosquitos, and they drank blood. If he guessed right, only the recruits had blood to drink in here. They would become dinner for the tiny vampires.

A light trail of mud dotted the floor. Someone had tracked the dirt in from the entrance. Dozer crushed the clumps under his boot. Model slid up to the closed door with Buttstroke and Errorist behind. Dozer took cover behind the doorway the others had just gone through.

When everyone got into position, Model hit the door button. They rushed through. Dozer closed the door behind them. If anyone or anything followed, the sound might give them some warning. They moved through three rooms along with the ever-diminishing footprints, before they found one with an extra door. The faded trail went left, further toward the center. Buttstroke signaled with his index and middle fingers to go right.

The sound of muffled gunfire pushed its way through the walls to the left. It stopped as fast as it started.

“We’re, ah...,” the voice over the WarFace comm paused before another gunshot reached their ears, “under fire in the central room. Total charlie foxtrot. Can someone help us out?”

Dozer checked his WarFace. Filipek’s portrait sat in the top left corner beside the flatlined visualization of his audio feed. It had the team leader label in its upper-left-hand corner.

Buttstroke’s portrait swooped in underneath Filipek’s. The visualization shuddered with his message. “We’re en route.”

A twinge of pain sprung up on Dozer’s cheek. He swatted it and brought his hand into the light of his headlamp. A smear of blood and tangled insect legs had appeared on his palm.

More shots popped off. Buttstroke gestured to take the left door instead. The fireteam lumbered out of the room.