Chapter 44: Betrayed By One's Own

Dozer and Acid picked themselves up and jogged into the next room, three rooms away from the central hallway. The bots had added another layer of defense. Model—closest to the doorway—Buttstroke, and Errorist already lined up against the wall.

Buttstroke waved them in and pushed Errorist back to make space. “Get in behind me,” he said out loud.

Dozer stepped into the space. Acid moved in behind Errorist.

“We’re going to breach in order,” said Buttstroke. “After my grenade goes off,” he pointed at Dozer, “you will put one down with Headshot. I’ll reset it. Then you’ll down another with Headshot again and go to the back of the line. Got it?”

Dozer nodded. “Got it.”

“Next, the corpsmen will take out whatever they can and go to the back. Got it?”

They barked out an affirmative.

“Last, Mod will storm in. I’ll provide cover.”

Model took his place at the back, and the rest slid toward the door. Dozer closed an eye and selected Headshot from his abilities.

Almost forgot my try.

He went through the carousel of abilities and selected Riposte Fire as well. The next bot that took a shot at Dozer would get a surprise blast from his pistol.

“Your Headshot ready?” Buttstroke cast the message over the team comm.

Dozer nodded.

Buttstroke checked the readiness of his team. He pulled the pin out of his grenade, cooked it for a second, and tossed it into the room. Like before, the bots let out a burst of metallic chirps. The recruits covered their ears as best they could, and the explosion rocked the floor and walls. A Pithite’s decapitated head bounced off the wall and rolled to Dozer’s feet.

Dozer stepped in. Two Pithites dragged themselves up from the ground, their arms around their heads. The third one popped out from behind the cover of the doorway. Out of pure reflex, Dozer took aim at the one framed in the doorway. Its head exploded. A pair of mangled legs lay on the ground, covered in scorch marks. One of them must have dived on the grenade. With a quick sidestep, Dozer went back into cover.

“Headshot ready!” Buttstroke called out from the far end of the line.

Dozer already had his next target in mind, the closest bot. He selected Headshot and stepped out again. His target matched up with one in his head. Its brainpan lifted off and thudded off the skull of the bot behind it.

“One still standing inside the room.” Dozer sped to the back of the line.

Errorist leveled his rifle through the doorway and fired. “Got the third one.”

Acid took aim. His face dropped. He must have had nothing to shoot at before he took his place at the end of the line.

Model rushed in. “Clear,” he said out loud.

Buttstroke stepped into the room and kept his minigun, barrels rotating, on the doorway closest to the central hallway. “We’re good. Move on in.”

They had one more room to go. The team trod through the Pithite corpses and body parts. With the two doorways lined up, the roughhead had direct line of sight into the blinding light of the central hallway. A silhouetted bot stepped into the rectangular illumination. Buttstroke fired, and its darkened limbs flailed. It fell to the floor with a thunk.

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Dozer slipped in behind Buttstroke and took his place against the wall. The pair of corpsmen followed. Model and Buttstroke took their places at the front.

Model checked the doorway, fired his shotgun, and pulled back. A snap of a bot’s grenade went off on the other side of the wall. He smirked and spoke over the team comm. “Bot planned that boom for us.”

“Outstanding work.” Buttstroke tightened his grip on his minigun. “Any left?”

Model checked and pulled back. “Next room’s clear, but we got bots in the central hall waiting for us.”

“Wait for my signal.” Buttstroke stepped around Model—into the light—and let off a burst through the doorway. “Go!”

The rest of the team hunched down under Buttstroke’s minigun and streamed into the room next to the central hall. Dozer squinted his eyes in the right-angled monolith of light. The bots had made themselves scarce, but they must have hidden just outside of sight. He sunk back into the dark, swept a detached robotic arm away from the wall with his foot, and took his place.

Buttstroke pushed in behind Model. “At the central hall,” he cast over the team leader channel. “We got...”

Model poked his head out and back. A sine wave came from the central hall, a missed shot. He held up two fingers.

“...two bots behind the blast doors. Start your hack.”

Coldcase’s voice came over the comm. “Sending the drone up now.”

“Dozer, watch our six,” Buttstroke said out loud. He rotated the barrels of his minigun. “The rest of you know the drill. Mod, go!”

Model rushed in and fired. The bot he hit thudded against the floor. Buttstroke swept in but didn’t fire. By the time Dozer made it through, the only bot he could see lay on the floor in pieces. The other had already retreated into the far room.

The blast doors opened. Brigham hurried in and took point on the far wall. Snowden and his fireteam fell behind him.

“Got at least one in that room.” Model pointed his shotgun at the ceiling. The tension in his muscles drained out of him. “Could’ve fucked off.”

Coldcase and his drone came in behind. “I think we got this. If you clear the bots out from behind those last blast doors, we can put a bow on this exercise.”

Buttstroke rested his minigun on his hip. “On it.”

Dozer checked the mission requirements. It read 12/6. “Holy shit. We got double the kills needed for a Pass B.”

Errorist perked up. “That’s good, right?”

Acid widened his eyes, and those cords in his neck stuck out a bit more. He needed one more kill to get Level 2. No way he could get that single one if Buttstroke hoovered them all up.

“Real good.” Buttstroke strode toward the dark doorway and shoulder checked Acid just enough to put the guy off balance. “Get a move on.”

***

The fireteam took the third doorway. As expected, the route ended in another locked door. Errorist plugged the black box into the panel. The emergency lights came on before the hum from inside the box ended with a clunk.

Errorist unplugged the box out and shook it. “I think our battery died,” he said out loud.

“Then get this door open, ASAP.” Buttstroke bounced on his heels, ready to go. “Same placement as the last door.”

Errorist tapped away at his tablet. Everyone took their place.

Buttstroke set his ear on the door. He put a finger to his lips. “Control unit,” he said, hushed. “It’s here.”

Dozer glanced at Model, raised his eyebrows. He nodded, the pre-planned signal to start their little insurrection.

Model’s lips twitched into a smirk. “You know,” he said to Buttstroke, “with you at Level 2, we could take that thing out. You concentrate on the Control Unit. We take out its escort.”

Errorist diverted his eyes from the screen for a moment. He played his part in the plan—to let it happen. Acid cocked his head and watched, smart enough not to say anything.

Buttstroke focused his headlamp on Dozer’s eyes. “What do you think?”

The light blotted out Buttstroke’s face. Whether he bought the idea, Dozer couldn’t tell. “We should do it.”

“Alright.” Buttstroke took the light off Dozer. “Let’s all take that thing out.”

“Power almost gone. Opening.” Errorist tapped his tablet one last time.

The door slid open with a hiss. If the room held any bots, they stood out of line of sight. The Control Unit must have retreated closer to the central hall. A doorway led off to the right, like the other two before. The fireteam froze. Seconds passed. Dozer swallowed.

No bots popped out. Nothing inside the room moved.

Model poked his head in. “Clear.”

“Tally ho, motherfuckers!” Buttstroke rushed in before Model even had a chance.

All too easy.

Buttstroke would get trapped on the other side of that door and, at the very least, he’d understand he needed to latch onto some other fireteam to survive boot camp. Or maybe they’d get lucky, and the bots would rip the isolated roughhead apart.

“Close the door.” Dozer whispered, loud enough for Errorist to hear.

Errorist’s hand trembled.

Model matched Dozer’s volume. “Close the fucking door,” he said through clenched teeth.

Acid darted his eyes from one face to the next.

“Oh, whatever are you doing?” Sarcasm dripped off Buttstroke’s words.

“I…” Errorist turned the tablet’s screen off, “…can’t.” He kept his gaze on the floor.

A weight pulled on Dozer’s guts, and his limbs went weak.

Oh shit.