Subject: Staff Sergeant Power

Species: Human

Description: Mammalian humanoid, no tail. 6'2" (1.87 m) avg height. 185 lbs (84 kg) avg weight. 170 year life expectancy.

Ship: N/A

Location: Sol

"How many?" I asked over the comms.

"There were twenty," Sergeant Hanson reported. "Two attempted to enter the building and were immediately engaged and destroyed. The other eighteen immediately began attacking and were also destroyed. We sustained one casualty, no fatalities."

"Probably scouts, then. Tell me about the casualty."

"Her name's Willow, and one of the bots hit her as it was going down. Fourth degree burn on her right shin. We're treating it as best as we can right now but all we've got is first aid."

"Omega's directing me through it," Johnson reported. "She's probably gonna be alright."

One stable casualty isn't bad for a rag-tag group fighting twenty literal war-machines. Scouts are trouble, though. Since they're robots, we have to assume they are able to communicate our position to other OU forces. We should expect reinforcements, but there was another matter that needed addressing first.

"Understood. Good work," I replied. "And sergeant, don't go native."

There was a moment of silence before Hanson's indicator lit up green. The indicators have a lot of different meanings depending on the context, and in this case I chose to think it meant that Hanson understood the order and would comply. The reason he didn't verbally acknowledge the order is likely so I wouldn't hear the shame in his voice from my chastisement. The first thing he had told me about the civilian casualty was her name, which betrayed how close he was becoming to her.

Every soldier that might have contact with civilians is taught to keep them at arms length. Winning hearts and minds is one thing, but civilians are only guests in the world of military life. Since they don't understand the intricacies of war, they can easily get in the way of accomplishing your objective. Or, they could be enemies in disguise.

In MARSOC, these teaching are practically beat into us. We're taught the insane brutality of guerilla warfare, and the takeaway from this training is that every civilian should be seen as a potential hostile regardless of their age, gender, or political orientation. You have to be prepared for them to try to kill you, or you're giving them the ability to succeed.

Our situation was even more precarious. These civilians were hostile just a short while ago. Some of them actually shot us, and we had killed some of them in return. The only reason we are on the same side now is because of a common enemy and Omega's promise. There's still a chance some of them will let emotion override their survival instinct and seek revenge for their fallen comrades. We have to be prepared to put them down at a moments notice.

"We did good work there, mate," Jacob said. "Gotta be a record. Fastest anybody's ever put those things down, yeah? Shame we don't have any coldies to celebrate."

"Not much to celebrate. Those were scouts," I told him. "The OU knows we're here and will be sending reinforcements."

"So what do we do? Run?"

"We're unlikely to find a more secure location, and we still haven't scouted the area. We might end up running directly into their reinforcements. No, we just need to prepare as best we can and hope that Smith and Simmons get some anti-armor."

"You really think they'll roll up with tanks?

"Yes."

Jason swore a bit and then ran off to get his people prepared for what's probably coming. I stood silently, going over the tactical situation in my head. It would be a lot easier with a tac-map, but we've gotta make due with what we have. As it stands, we have some computer equipment and the necessities.

A total of fifty-one civies plus my squad of five and the director. Fifty seven people against who knows how many Omni-Union Virtual Intelligence Platforms. The chokepoint of the bunker's hallway helps somewhat, but since we're all using ranged weaponry it won't be as effective as one would hope.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Plus, I don't know if the bunker will stay standing if they drop the building on us. It should, but there's always a chance that someone fucked up in its construction. The building itself is built to withstand a lot of damage, so they'd need to use demo charges to bring it down. To prevent that, we should hold the building and use the bunker as a last stand.

"Hanson, do you have eyes on Jason?" I asked over the comms.

"Yes, staffsarnt."

"Tell him we want to keep the building. Two people at each window, suited up if possible."

"Aye aye, staffsarnt."

I desperately wanted to take off my helmet and grab some air that didn't smell like my breath, but taking off your armor in a combat zone is dumb. There's also the matter of my itchy nose, but I'd long since mastered the discipline required to ignore it. Same with needing to sneeze.

The air filters of the suit make it to where you don't get allergens, but sometimes that doesn't matter. If you've already got something in your nose or you've got a cold, you'll still get the urge to sneeze. Sneezing will splatter the inside of your helmet with snot and spittle, and then the auto-cleaner will kick in. The smell of burnt saliva and mucus is a particular kind of hellish, and it will stay with you for hours. Just when you think you've gotten used to it, it'll assault your senses again.

"Staff sergeant, would it be possible to adjust the cameras at the front of the building to give me a view of the surrounding area?" Omega asked.

"I'll check," I replied.

I left the relative safety of the bunker and travelled the long hallway to the building proper. To the right of the hallway was the security checkpoint we had entered the building through, and the guard who had been at the desk avoided looking at me as I walked toward the front entrance. It was hard to tell if he was feeling guilty about selling us out, or if he was angry about our current situation.

Jason was gesturing at windows, presumably explaining to his people what needed to be done in regards to our defense. I pushed open the front door and stepped out of the building, then checked around. There were broken robots littering the steps and street, but nothing on the horizon. It would hopefully take a bit of time for the OU to form a response.

I looked up to where the cameras should be, and saw two of them. One was on the left of the building, about ten feet below the roof. The other was mirrored on the right of the building. A twenty foot climb or a ten foot descent. Going to be awkward to reach.

"You got eyes on?" I asked the AI.

"Yes. The mounts are adjustable, but reaching them may be difficult. A rope, perhaps?"

"We didn't bring rappelling gear."

"The undocs might have."

I sighed and stepped back into the building. Jason was still talking to his people, so I waited until he was done before I approached him. A hush fell over the room as the other undocs stopped talking to each other and instead focused their attention on Jason and I.

"G'day, staff. What brings you out of the bunker?" Jason asked when he noticed me.

"How are things?" I asked.

"Well, morale's pretty pumped up. After our first exchange of fire, everyone's stoked about the upcoming fight," he said, and then gestured to a nearby group. "There's some nervousness about the others, though. Had four take the APC to check on them."

"The others?"

"Yeah, the group with the ankle biters. We left 'em hiding in the basement of a nearby grocer's."

"I see. I hope they're okay," I said sincerely. "Do you have rappelling equipment?"

"Rappelling equipment?" he asked. "I don't think so, mate. Why?"

"Omega wants to reposition the cameras out front so it can get a better view of the surrounding area."

"Excuse me, sirs," someone asked. "I have some rope in my bag."

Jason and I turned to look at the young man jogging over to us. He was one of the unarmored undocs, his brown hair and green eyes on show for all to see. From his looks, he was barely older than the children that Jason had mentioned earlier. The group that he had left were looking everywhere except at us, as if embarrassed by his interruption.

"What kind?" Jason crossed his arms.

"About forty feet of prope rope, sir."

"Polypropylene rope?" I asked.

"Yessir," the young man answered.

"That won't hold us," I said to Jason. "It would be iffy even without our guardian suits."

"Christ alive, how much do you lot weigh?" he asked incredulously.

"All of my men are gen-alts. Bigger and thicker than normal humans."

Jason laughed, "You said it, mate. Not me."

I shook my head disapprovingly and noticed the young man gathering his nerve with a subtle gulp.

"I can do it, sirs."

Jason and I studied the young man intently. His expression was one I'd seen dozens of times. Someone who is in a situation that they can't control, wanting to be useful to take back some of that control. It was an expression that pains me to see on someone so damned young.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Noah, sir. Noah Bailey."

"Noah, you'll be havin' to do this outside, without armor," Jason explained in an uncharacteristically serious tone. "You understand what could happen, right?"

"I could get killed, sir."

"Not just killed. You saw what happened to Willow, didn't you? There's a chance that her leg's never gonna work right again. She might end up dealing with intense pain every day until she dies. The best thing that could happen to you is either nothing, or a minor injury. The second best thing is death. You get it?"

"I do."

"We could have someone else do it," I interrupted.

Noah looked like I kicked him, "With respect, sirs, it's my rope."

Jason sighed, "It's not like we can't take it from you, but who am I to stand in the way of a boy becoming a man. I'll get a few guys to go up top to guard you, mate."

Jason slapped the boy on the back and walked off. Noah looked at me expectingly, and I let out a silent sigh myself. Whatever is in charge of the universe loves spilling young blood, especially from those who are brave.

"I'll have one of mine accompany you to the roof. We're expecting more OU and we don't know when they'll be arriving. You need to work fast, every second you're out there is dangerous."

"Yes, sir," Noah said as he stiffened.

"Don't call me sir. I work for a living."