ROAAAR
The beast yelled as its heavy armor finally gave way to the constant, concentrated barrage of the MGs, as the creator called them.
"Good work team; I'll give the go-ahead for the heavy infantry to clean up stragglers; we don't need to waste anymore high-caliber rounds on weak and tired beasts," our captain said as he grabbed his radio and told the infantry captain of another company that we'd finished.
"Hey, B4-637!" I look to my side and see another one of my fellow soldiers. A Windrunner, apparently. "You wanna grab a drink tonight? B4-85 was promoted to captain, apparently."
"I'll catch up later; I need to do a quick maintenance check on the heavy MG; I've got to see if nothing turned to slag, you know?" I say as I tap the side of the operator compartment.
"Ah, I'll see you there then," he said before heading off to the pub. Why they drink despite the fact that the enemy could strike at any given moment boggles the mind.
"Drunkards," I say before doing a quick once-over of the control panel. The thermostat says heat levels are at a minimum, and the aim-assist systems are working just fine. A quick nod, and I get out of the compartment and check the rest of the machine.
I run my hand against the length of a barrel, quietly admiring its beauty. I checked the leverage system at the bottom along with the turn mechanism and found that it's in tip-top shape.
With my hands by my sides, I can appreciate the piece of art more. The MG had a round dome at its back and two barrels at its front. Two men, my pit crew, remove two large, identical barrels from the machine. These barrels are the ammo compartments and are to be attached at the base of the barrels. They can be replaced easily with a push of a button right behind the engine compartment.
I take a look at my pit crew and see that they are talking about something. I wish I could join in on them, but I feel a little embarrassed. I'm pretty sure we don't really need to get to know each other, right?
I sighed and waved goodbye to my crew, who in turn waved right back. Sigh, it seems that B4-324 is the only person I have a sort of friendship with.
I head towards the barracks, almost bumping into someone along the way. I really should have paid attention. I arrive and see that I am the only one inside the barracks. Which also means I'm on clean-up duty.
Where are the officers? Aren't they supposed to be managing us? Well, if they are, they're doing a bad job at it. I grabbed a broom and dustpan and began sweeping. The beast had attacked quite early, around 3 a.m., I think.
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Although the army already wakes up quite early, we were still caught off guard. I remember seeing some of the firecrackers panic as they passed the 50-meter mark. My crew had to rush the system checks today, but we were able to manage.
From that point on, it was a whole day of constant barrages. We had used a dozen pairs of ammo barrels for my heavy MG, and although it was quite bad, apparently the 3rd battalion had it worse. 50 or so acid spitters were there and had melted two MGs. It's a good thing the heavy MG was safe, or it would have been a disaster. Apparently, some firecrackers got their first taste of melee combat. We lost six soldiers because of that; there were just that many.
I shake my head before I notice crumpled-up parchment under the bed of one of the other soldiers. Slightly curious, I pick it up and read its contents. And I was quite surprised. This parchment was supposed to be a story.
When the creator made the library, lots of people flocked to be the first through the doors, and in the week that it had been erected, many had collectively agreed the fiction section was the best section.
Before the waves got this big, I used to go visit after the training exercises and mandatory inspections. Last time I visited, I saw that the creator had organized a competition of sorts. Apparently, one could submit a book they had made themselves to hopefully win. The winner was judged by the number of reviews one's book can get in a month, but there was a deadline for one to submit their book. They have to submit a book within 6 months if they want to participate. Failure to meet this deadline would mean you could not join the competition.
It had intrigued me, to be honest, but I relented and decided not to join. I'm already quite busy; I don't need to waste some of my precious free time to write a subpar book. But the person who wrote this paper has some talent.
Too bad they probably won't be able to submit their book, seeing as how things are currently. But I wish them luck.
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"B4-637, I need to talk to you." I look to my side and see a short-looking woman staring at me with hate in her eyes; it only served to make them look cuter.
"What do you need?" I ask. I'm currently eating my breakfast, and we don't have much time left before the training exercises start.
"Just follow me," she said as she grabbed my hand and proceeded to lead me somewhere. For her short stature, she's surprisingly strong—very strong.
"Hey guys, look," someone said beside me. "Looks like 637 got himself a date."
Excuse me? I look to my side and see a group of soldiers covering their giggling mouths with their hands while whispering with one another.
"Ignore those children. This is important," she said as she hurried her steps.
"But I haven't finished my breakfast yet." I was cut short when her hand holding mine suddenly got hotter.
"I'm not asking" made me shut up.
We quickly leave the mess hall, and I get dragged towards an empty corridor. She throws me against a wall as she leans on the one adjacent to it with her arms crossed. Still kind of cute, though.
"I want you to forget everything you saw," she said sternly as her body quaked a little.
"What do you mean?" I asked, confused by the entire conversation.
"THE PAPER, I WANT YOU TO FORGET THAT!" she yells before quickly shutting her mouth with both her hands. She looks around and lets out a sigh. "I want you to forget everything you read that night."
"What paper?" I pause as realization hits me. "You wrote that paper. Why do you want me to forget it?" I ask again. I'm not sure why she wants me to forget the story she wrote.
"It's..." she said as she cast her gaze downward. "embarrassing."
Huh? I don't understand; why is she embarrassed? From what I've read, it was good. I don't get this girl.
"Uh, OK," I say, unsure of my own answer.
"You promise?" she asks seriously while looking directly into my eye.
"Yeah, I guess..." I said. Quite a bad response, I know.
"Promise me..." she says as her facial expressions get fiercer, although there is an underlying cuteness to them.
"Jeez, OK, I promise," I say as I put my hands up front just in case. "I'll forget about it."
"Good. I'll see you around 637," she says as she turns to leave.
"Wait, what's your name?" I say right before she turns the corner.
She responded with a raised middle finger. Woah, OK, bitch. Fucking firecrackers, man. You're lucky; you look cute. I looked at a clock that was hanging on the wall and felt my heart drop.
"Shit!" I yell before making a mad dash towards the mess hall. I had 5 minutes left of breakfast. And the drill sergeants, although they have been in the army for as long as everyone else, are quite serious about their job and can give you some really, REALLY harsh punishments for not finishing your food.