The gray suit with white pin-stripes dampened in the dusty hangar, while the strap holding a stubby black machine gun with a polished gleam pushed against the suit's jacket. Norima was damp. Dust laden hangar air oozed moisture that clung to skin. Too many people were stationed here. Several soldiers in stained riot gear slept in the kitchen. Metal cabinets flipped on their side served as makeshift barricades.
Behind them, the warm metal of automated machine gun barrels peaked from their stands bolted in the floor. Sandbags placed near the hatches served as ambush points and sections of hangar wall deemed thin enough to be breached were reinforced by an odd mixture of gravel bags, sand bags, tool chests, and furnishings. The folded flight superstructure of Clinker-21 hung from the center of the hangar just above the crew compartments.
Black dress shoes polished to a fine shine tapped against the dirty metal floor to produce a slight drum beat. Sweat dripped onto his shoulders as he clutched the strap holding the Clinker Special against his back.
Teeth clenched as he observed the soldiers in their worn gear, some without working firearms. They were dark under the eyes, expressionless, quiet. In the kitchen a pile of plastic wrap calorie bars and water bottles covered the counters. Every position had a box well stocked with ammunition. Every fighter had body armor and riot gear, all twenty-seven of them, except for Norima himself, as he only wore minimalistic protection under his suit. He masked an expression of determination as he left the captain's office to speak with his soldiers.
"They say that we've had the good life at their expense. Mr. Geralt, their glorious leader, has led them with all manner of false accusations against you. Yes, scar face himself! Do you think for one moment that they will show mercy? We have only two options and each and every one of you know what they are."
The hatches and the doors were under constant watch. There was grim silence, a hush. Norima looked ready to collapse as he shifted his shoes apart with a hushed squeak. Nobody looked at the pile of corpses reinforcing the sheet metal of the left wall. Compressed air hissed as the leftmost and rightmost entrances opened. The release hatch for Clinker-21 rose with clanking series of clicks and bangs. Norima's second in command, a red-haired, dark-skinned, woman bit her lower lip before looking into his eyes.
"Why are they opening?"
The clinker special at her side raised as a green painted ball thrown from the hall clanked against the metal floor. The mounted machine guns and auto cannons set to defend the hangar remained silent. Wall mounted chain guns remained in their housings.
"It's a flash bang!" she screamed.
A loud boom caused blood to leak from Norima's ear as he was blinded by the brilliant flash which burnt his retinas. His second in command fared better as she put her fingers to her ears and closed her eyes. A bullet slammed into her body armor as she pushed Norima to the floor. Gunfire echoed throughout the hangar. Sparks flew among the sensitive equipment and tool cases. Norima laid on his back and pulled his gun while firing it toward the doors. His own soldiers were caught in his fire, either getting knocked down from shots to their back plate armor or taking hits in the back of the neck and thighs as Norima kicked and sprayed bullets until the magazine was empty.
More flash bangs joined the chorus. Only several of the soldiers who had functional active hearing protection could fight effectively. Anyone else in the hangar was rendered deaf. The resistance fighters filtered through the narrow openings carefully as they sought cover to continue the firefight. The front of the hangar filled with blood and smoke as some of Norima's soldiers threw down their weapons and put their hands up until only Norima and his second were left, surrounded by gun barrels and without cover. They put their hands up. As the smoke cleared, the mess of bodily fluids and fresh corpses became visible.
Knuckles popped as squad leader Gonzales approached from the clearing smoke with blood and inky sweat running down the left side of his face. His bare fist slammed into the side of the minister of information's face with enough force to turn his body and knock him down.
"Alright, we're done here, get the prisoners to the brig, the wounded to infirmary, and the dead to the compost station," he barked before picking up a handheld radio, "Alright, your hangar is secured. Let's get this bird back in the air where it belongs. We got a siege to break."
He flexed his fingers as he glanced toward the prone stuffed suit sprawled over the dirty metal floor and smirked. While Norima and his second in command were bound up and taken out, Horst was escorted in. The loose gravel from ripped bags crunched against the floor as he walked to the console desk. Horst put his hand to his forehead as he shook his head. Someone had shot the equipment. It looked like mainly the outer casing was damaged. Fingers ran along the dents and holes with jagged metal.
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
"I told you to be careful about this!" Horst said, "We'll be lucky if the electronics still work."
Jack approached and took a set of screwdrivers off a bench nearby, "Let's get the panel off and check for damage. As long as the chip sets and boards are unharmed, we should be able to get it functioning. It's gonna be a long siege, we got plenty of time."
Horst took a screwdriver and removed the panel. Sweat formed on his skin and moistened his shirt as he worked in the putrid smelling heat. The odor of death floated around him. Some boards had been knocked out place and some wires severed.
"Good news, we can probably get it connected with a little elbow grease and basic spot welds for the wires."
Jack Gonzales nodded and then there was the slightest hiss of air from above and a whirring sound from the bolted machine gun on the floor. Without hesitating he grabbed a tool bench and flung it down with all his strength.
"Take cover!" he screamed.
Horst went to the floor and covered his head. He was just out of sight from the machine gun thanks to a pile of leaky gravel bags. Two rebels went down. Blood burst from their torsos as their lack of armor made them meaty target sacks. Someone pulled out an explosive grenade.
"No explosives, the welding stockpiles could take this whole place out! Wear it down and watch where you shoot," Gonzales commanded.
"What's going on? Did they re-enable them?" Horst yelled over the sound of gunfire, "Roll me a spot welder!"
One of the rebels reached for a shelf only to have a bullet almost take their finger off. The upright shelf sparked as the man fell back into cover behind an overturned metal shelf. If the turret spotted him, the thin sheet metal wouldn't block the fire. Someone dared to shoot at the rooftop machine only for it to swirl around and put a bullet through their head. They fell back as a fountain of blood arced from the front of their skull.
Gonzales' radio squelched, "Alert, every sector, automated defenses are hostile! We're taking unsustainable losses!"
-----
Lumps of tar pushed into shimmering inky coils that rose from the terrain below. The boiling asphalt produced illusory waves from the heat as the coils stretched upwards from many directions. One slammed into the curved aluminum wall of the lower base to form a new anchor. Metal chunks fell into the flat black plain below. The sound was heard and the shaking was felt from the top of Delant's high tower. There were more coils than he had ever seen, as he could count at least twenty from his skyscraper perch. They were meters thick as they grew rounded structures at their tips. They swayed like wrecking balls on sturdy chains.
Delant waited for his officer but nobody came. A bottle of wine with a cigarette, the vast inky expanse surrounding the base, and the sound of twirling windmills generating a buzz of power were the only company Delant could muster. A commander with a force of about two hundred security personnel claimed loyalty to him, yet Delant suspected they were negotiating behind his back and preparing to turn him over. He pressed a button on the outer wall and the protective case of a touch screen console with a keyboard opened.
After typing a few commands into the console, he picked up his phone and called Helen. But nobody answered. He tried Io, but nobody answered. He punched the screen in front of him before pulling his bloody knuckles back from the cracked glass. Then he twirled to hold the balcony railings and look down at the base far below with a twirling vision of falling.
"I'm not finished!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, "I'm not finished with you yet!"
He turned around to face the glass door of his office. Glass beaded and shattered over his pants as his boot bust through the expensive pane. Without bothering to open it, he walked through the jagged paneling. Pants tore and a jagged scratch opened along his left arm as he stomped to his desk and slammed his phone into the surface. He continued into a small control room with a wall console. A smooth black capsule sat in a narrow porcelain bowl with blue paisley patterns. He pinched the inky capsule and swallowed it dry. Then he furiously typed commands until a wall of text filled the screen.
-----
The indicators on the pressure monitors tilted far into red. Electric currents snapped above the equipment as steam hissed from the cooling pipes. A rusty wrench tightened a fresh bolt on the only quiet pipe.
"Okay, activate it," Lauren said.
She could hear the coolant bubbling through the pipe as it was put back into service. Job well done. Now it was time to deactivate the next worst one, rinse and repeat until they ran out replacements. Lauren was scooting under the bloated pipe when gunshots burst through the outer halls. She heard the beep of the automated machine gun turrets and scooted fully under the pipes with her wrench against her chest.
The two young women handing her materials were caught in the open and gunned down. The sound of auto-turret fire proceeded the bodies hitting the floor. Then it was quiet but for the swirling hum of the machine seeking its next target.
Blood pooled into Lauren's space to soak into the side of her uniform as she saw the wide-open eyes of the middle-aged women that had helped her with emergency repairs. The life was draining from cooling brown eyes even as she watched. Her fingers splashed in this life that congealed against her palm. In the distance, the sound of more gunfire echoed. Lauren slid the body over the blood with her wrench. Auto-turret fire made it writhe and twitch as soon as it moved. Unless she wanted to dance, it wasn't safe to come out from under the pipes.