Screaming Gunmetal

(In the same world as 'Caedca's Last Mission' [Edge of Forever]. The second main protagonist.)

Nitrus ejected the empty magazine cartridge. Before it even slid fully out, the teen was trying to ram the next one in. Gunfire and crumbling walls drowned his hearing, even through his helmet, and the charged voices of his comrades struggled over the static. He took a breath, lurched from behind the pillar and fired at the enemy Marks, before diving down next to a comrade in a makeshift dugout of smashed tile and foundation stone.

His battalion had been instructed to secure the right wing of the blown-out corporate building, while the hackers destroying the IREH controlling-strand did their business in the central basements. Nitrus didn’t know much about them, but knew that they were vulnerable while they worked.

Another captain’s voice crackled in his ear. “Left-wing battalion retreating to central structure – heavy Mark fire.”

“Hurry up A-3 – hacker and central battalion taking a beating!”

“On our way.”

Nitrus adjusted his earpiece again, hoping it would somehow elicit his own captain’s advice. He turned to one side to look at her. Next to him, she arched her back and twisted, firing long into the smoky dark. Then she hit Nitrus’s arm, motioning for advancement. The pair surged to their feet, firing between another pair ahead of them as they dodged left. At fourteen, Nitrus was scared despite his extensive training, and despite the shoddy aim of the Marks. The true difficulty was the sheer number of Marks, and the danger when you got too close and then unpleasantly acquainted with the stun needles.

They came to a wall shattered in half, and ducked a little for its cover. The gunfire had come to a momentary standstill as the Resistance’s troops moved. Nitrus’s partner ahead of him fired over the wall anyway at an enemy head in the dirty dawn light creeping through the broken roof. They rounded the wall, and Nitrus skitted to one side as an arm reached up for him. His comrade bashed the Mark’s skull with her gun butt, then shot it in the neck a few times to destroy the controlling chip.

Nitrus trusted her, Fern, with his life. She had brought him up, practically, though she was not even double his age, when he’d been brought back to the compound. She’d even been granted a special request to pair up with him in his first full-intensity mission, and here they were, fighting side-by-side. When he was scared, Nitrus felt exhilarated and proud.

They could see in front of them how the remaining members of their squad had moved ahead, as ordered, before their captain could catch up. They had entered a somewhat narrow hall between the blocks of the building’s right wing, and Fern and Nitrus followed at a trot.

The room behind them and part of the corridor grumbled, then half-exploded, half-collapsed. The impact missed the pair, but toppled them mid-step into the walls. Nitrus’s head snapped around, and he saw they were cut off. There was more gunfire ahead, and a yell of pain piercing through his helmet.

“Ambush! Central squads not holding! Hackers taken!” came the static in Nitrus’s ear. “All units to initial break-in point!”

That was back at the building’s main entrance; they’d have to find another way there, Nitrus realised. Which meant getting through the enemy forces ahead, if they even could.

“A-4, do you copy?”

“Affirmative,” responded Fern. “We’re cut off. Will have to get outside the building by ourselves and rendezvous by the techships,” she said quickly.

“Copy that.”

Fern switched over to the unique channel between her and Nitrus. “Keep together, kit. Let’s see if we can find anyone else – but do NOT put yourself at unnecessary risk. Clear?” This was her protocol talking, and barely sounded like her, but he assented.

She moved them forward. The doorway ahead had partially collapsed, and a leg stuck out from under the rubble.

“You check it, I’ll cover in front,” Fern ordered. She reached the pile of rubble and sighted into the room, firing almost immediately and cursing. “Stay here!” She moved beyond the rubble, and before Nitrus bent down he saw that Fern was firing at a group of Marks aiming to chip one of their squad.

The building shook again, more of it clattering to the tile. Nitrus dug around in the rubble quickly but carefully, trying to find a chest. He found it, and pushed his fingers between helmet and shoulderpad to feel for a pulse.

“Alive, Captain!” he said into their channel.

“Get them out!”

Nitrus dug. He glanced every so often as Fern picked off the stray Marks and then went to their comrade. He hoped it wasn’t too late for them. Eventually he managed to uncover his buried comrade, who began to move testily. Judging by the movement, ribs and possibly a hip were broken and they were likely concussed, but they were otherwise in good condition. The stripes on their armoured glove-cuffs indicated they were possibly a rookie, like Nitrus himself. He put in a call for a medic, but realised its likely futility. He and they stuck to the edge of the room.

Fern took off her helmet, knelt on one knee in front of her comrade and said something sincere that Nitrus couldn’t hear. The man swallowed, making blood splash out of a hole in his neck. She stood, he looked away. She delivered a point-blank shot to the head. Nitrus jumped slightly – so it had been too late, then.

“Take the left corridor –” Fern yelled.

They felt the ground rumble, starting from that direction, but it was a noticeably different movement than that of a damaged building. A sound akin to short-circuiting machinery could just about be heard through Nitrus’s helmet.

“No, the right! Go, kit!”

Nitrus obeyed, and began the painful shuffle fifteen yards to the right with his charge. He kept looking back, and saw Fern reload and swing her rifle up, firing as a crowd of Mark shadows in the left corridor swarmed and materialised into bodies running out of the gloom.

“Fern –” Nitrus whipped off his own helmet so it wouldn’t obscure his voice. “Fern! Come on!”

They’d practically surrounded her, and were trying to grab her. Nitrus tried to fire one-armed but it only worked semi-successfully. He did the next best thing and uncocked his second-to-last grenade, throwing it over her head into the corridor. The explosion decimated enemy bodies, and the rest and Fern were hurled back towards Nitrus. Smoke and dust obscured his vision.

When it cleared he practically dropped his comrade and scrambled over the rubble towards Fern, who was on her hands and knees. Five Marks were standing around her, and one had its fingers in her neck.

“No!” Nitrus screamed.

He let his rifle fall and took out the more accurate pistol strapped to his thigh. As the pale enemy faces turned in his direction, he fired a bullet at each throat. He was already one of the most accurate gunmen in the compound; only one took an extra shot. The bodies jerked backward, toppling into each other to share blood.

In the next instant Nitrus was on his knees on a body in front of Fern, in panic touching the gauge where a chip was burrowing. Blood spat from the hole into her fair hair, and her eyes struggled not to roll back into her head from the pain. Both fighters shook.

“Kill me,” she begged raggedly. Her gloved fingers latched onto the edge of his breastplate. “Kill me, Asgard!”

For a moment Nitrus’s mind wandered at the use of his real name. “No Fern! We can get you to the team and –”

She spasmed, her neck jerking. Nitrus glanced up and saw more shadows approaching in the left hallway.

“No time,” Fern said. “Don’t let me die a slave!” she begged again. “Kill me!” she screamed with a broken voice and gunmetal eyes. Nitrus frantically stood in his anguish and fear, holding the pistol up. Fern turned her head to spare him the sight of her face as he cocked it again. Nitrus closed his eyes nonetheless.

A point-blank shot to the head.

Nitrus couldn’t breathe until he heard her body drop on top of the others. He opened his eyes and let out a small wail, accidentally triggering another bullet into the far wall. He shook more; felt weak in the knees. What had he done? Some of her blood dripped from his gauntlet to his boot and dropped rifle. He stood staring at her and what he had done to her, unblinking.

More Marks began to appear in the hall. Nitrus put the pistol away and grabbed the rifle, releasing a stripe of bullets into the first few enemies. The impacts jolted them back into the others, and in the delay Nitrus bolted over the rubble, hauled up his comrade and dragged them as fast as he could down the hallway. His comrade had his helmet, with a static-riddled commanding voice gently exploding out of it like a cloud of spores every so often in their wake.