Chapter 38: The Ugly Word

Charlie Company trudged up Mt. Hollow for the umpteenth time. Dozer could have figured out how many times he had made the same trip, but he much preferred not to know. He preferred each trip got mashed together in his memory, to compile them all into a single experience under the label of “Bullshit That Needs to Get Done.” The pollution from Cocoon City hung thick in the humidity. The single overcast cloud made the morning more like twilight. At least they went up the mountain before it pissed down on them.

A few of the drones from the level 2 corpsmen hovered over the caravan. Coldcase got his after the last combat exercise. It cut through the sky above him, near the front of the line. Errorist marched behind Dozer, head down. He had a ways to go before getting the next level. Every time the drones got close, he eyed them and sighed.

Acid—the recruit formerly known as Filipek—slogged up the mountain a few recruits ahead. Dozer surmised he didn’t like the name much. Whether the DI meant the nickname to refer to the psychedelics Filipek got nabbed for or to the acid in the recycler, he didn’t say. Either way, Filipek made a snarl when the DI gave it to him, but he didn’t dare say anything more to embarrass himself during the debriefing.

Dozer got Model’s attention with a tap to his shoulder. He pointed his chin at Acid. Model nodded in response. They quickened their pace, passed the fireteam in front of them, and squeezed in behind Acid.

“Hey.” Dozer stepped up on the grass-covered side of the trail. “You find a fireteam yet?”

“Me?” Acid jerked his head up and wrenched himself from his train of thought. “Nope. It looks like I’m going into the next exercise all on my lonesome.”

The weather above made the entire scene gloomy, but Acid looked like he had a personal cloud over him.

Model ambled behind the two and made a triangular social space. “We had the idea you should stick with us the next time we go into the mountain.”

“But won’t—” The sole of Acid’s boot caught a rock. He stumbled. “But won’t your team leader have something to say about that?”

“We reckon he won’t like it much,” the corners of Dozer’s mouth turned upwards, “but he doesn’t get to dictate where you go.”

“You’ll go in first,” Model said just loud enough for Acid to hear. “Wait around the entrance until we come through and tag along.”

“Could do.” Acid leaned in. “I don’t suppose you guys need a corpsman?” He pulled his lips into a forced smile that ended up more like a grimace.

“Thanks,” Dozer hung his head a bit, “but we already got one.”

A crunch of gravel and dirt came from right behind Dozer. He turned to find Errorist following a step behind. How much he had caught, Dozer didn’t know. Buttstroke marched a full fireteam behind, far out of earshot, while he stared off into the tree line and pretended not to care.

“What do you think?” Dozer left the question open to find out if Errorist overheard or not.

Errorist looked Dozer in the eye. “We take care of our own, right? And Acid is one of our own.”

Dozer glanced at Buttstroke and back to Errorist. “Yeah?” He raised his eyebrows to let Errorist know the question carried weight.

“More than,” Errorist slid his eyes in Buttstroke’s direction, “some.”

Errorist lifted his chin. A warmth rose to Dozer's cheeks. Errorist had joined their little cadre.

Model shuffled to Acid’s other side. “We wanted to ask you about the Control Unit.”

“What about it?” Acid shrugged to appear casual, but the color drained from his face.

“What does it look like?”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Half humanoid,” phlegm gurgled Acid’s words, “half serpentine.” He cleared his throat. “A bot from the waist up on top of a snake’s tail.”

The sound of metal against metal came from Dozer’s memory, from the first time he got paralyzed that first mission. It didn’t sound like the other bots. Maybe a metallic snake would make a sound like that.

“What happened?” Errorist cocked his head toward Acid.

“We…” Acid scratched his eyebrow and gazed up the mountain. “We felt the pressure, so we started off looking only to get a pass. But,” he swallowed, “we caught—or thought we caught—the Control Unit passing through the central room in the open. Jackpot, right? It had four bots for an escort, so the plan was to take them out, and go hand-to-hand with the Control Unit.”

“Why hand-to-hand?” Dozer asked.

Acid pointed above him. “It had the red skull beside its name. A level 5.”

Dozer subtracted three from five. Gun damage got halved every level the shooter was below the target. A level 2—like Buttstroke—would have their gun damage reduced to 12% while anyone lower would see that dreaded red skull. Any shots from the zeros would have resulted in a big fat nothing.

“We thought we got lucky,” Acid threw up his hands, “but Pithites aren’t stupid. The Control Unit put itself out there as bait. The other bot fireteam hidden in the trees took two of us out. Liu got three of them before he got zapped. I passed because I was the last one in. No other reason. Those things have machine cunning. Don’t underestimate them.”

The memory of the loss of control of Dozer’s body rushed up. “We learned that lesson.”

“And thanks for looking out for me.” That smile/grimace reappeared on Acid’s face. “I would very much like to survive all this.” He extended his hand.

“No worries.” Dozer returned the grin and shook his hand. “It’s the least we can do.”

Dozer glanced at his teammates and gestured up the mountain. Model and Errorist got the message to speed up, so they all said their quick goodbyes and left Acid behind. The fireteam ahead broke out of their mindless push up the mountain to notice the trio while they passed.

Dozer moved back into the line. “So…?”

Errorist pulled up beside him. “We should help the guy out.”

“Not about that.” Dozer checked over his shoulder to make sure Buttstroke hadn’t crept up on them.

“You mean,” Model took the place behind, “we somehow convince Butt to go after the Control Unit and then…” He let the sentence hang.

“And then,” Errorist’s lips twisted, “we frag him.”

Dozer looked off to the cyclopean grey wall that divided the mountain. “‘Frag’ is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as letting the Pithites fulfill their purpose in life.”

Errorist nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Dozer furrowed his brow. He hadn’t expected Errorist to jump on board with no pushback. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Errorist’s voice shuddered. “He stepped over those zeros like they were…” His lips moved, but nothing came out.

“Nothing.”

Errorist sunk his neck down between his shoulders and shuddered. “Made me sick to my stomach.”

Dozer straightened his spine and curled one corner of his lips on the side Buttstroke couldn’t see. “Good man.”

Dozer had considered the possibility he’d have to browbeat Errorist into submission. Instead, Errorist hopped onboard. He now had his own reasons to squirm out from under Buttstroke’s thumb. Things looked up.

A thick droplet thumped against Dozer’s sleeve. It left a wet spot on the fabric. Dozer glowered upward to the overcast cloud.

A drone hovered above them. For how long, Dozer had no idea. It took off toward the front of the line to its owner, whoever that might be.

All at once, a barrage of raindrops pulverized the leaves and ground. A collective groan broke out from the recruits. All progress ceased while they slipped their packs off to get their ponchos out.

Fuck me. Did that drone overhear us?

***

Rain poured down the entire hike up Mt. Hollow. Dozer slogged back to camp, soaked up to his crotch in mud with the nagging suspicion he got caught. The torrent continued through the night, and into the next day, so the recruits gathered in the gym for hand-to-hand training.

Buttstroke seemed to focus on the horizon, in his own little world, with his back tense and hands curled into fists. Dozer signaled to Model and Errorist with a glance toward Coldcase. They responded with an almost imperceptible nod.

Coldcase chatted with the rest of his fireteam. His silent drone floated over his shoulder.

“Hey,” Dozer said to Coldcase from behind.

Brigham, Dragstrip, and Pasty all perked up and said “hi” back. Even if Coldcase overheard Dozer’s plan, from the friendly looks on their faces, it looked like he didn’t pass the info onto them.

“What’s up?” Coldcase spoke over his shoulder. His eyes lacked the warmth of his teammates.

“Can we talk?”

Coldcase cocked his head. “Sure.”

They broke away from Coldcase’s fireteam and the rest of Charlie company. The drone followed behind like a loyal dog. Dozer waited until they had privacy before he spoke. The quiet pair attracted the attention of a few other recruits. Model and Errorist watched out of the corners of their eyes.

Once Dozer got out of earshot, he stopped. “Got a question.”

“What, man?” Coldcase gazed past Dozer’s shoulder.

“Does that thing pick up audio?” Dozer pointed to the drone.

“Sure does.”

Dozer sucked air through his teeth. “Did it happen to overhear anything on the march yesterday?”

“If I happened to overhear about some fragging,” Coldcase looked Dozer in the eye, “it wouldn’t be my place to say.”

An acidic cold splashed Dozer’s bowels. He shuddered.

He knows.

Dozer leaned in. “There’s no need for that to get out.”

“It won’t. Not from me. But take some advice for once.” Coldcase tapped a fist off of Dozer’s chest. “Don’t do this. You’re going to get someone hurt, and it won’t be the person you think.”