Nova Wars

The whole side of the building exploded inward as the rifle fired grenade sailed over Tawtchee's head, missing by bare inches, then whipped across the rest of the street to explode against the ferrocrete. Flickering holosigns exploded in sparks, macroplas windows shattered inward, and a ball of fire belched out of the abandoned diner a split second after the wall caved in.

Tawtchee dove behind the wreckage of a car, almost lost his rifle, but held onto the front handgrip as his macroplas elbow and knee pads were scored deeply. His head was ringing and he was pretty sure that he was probably bleeding from the ears. He reached up, slapped his helmet twice, then shook his head. He was panting behind his breathing mask as he tried to pull more oxy into his blood but he could tell by the bitter taste his tank was almost dry.

Looking behind him he spotted Sergeant Hypee and the rest of 3rd squad. Hypee's face was dirty, dust matted to the fur, but at least Hypee still had his breathing mask.

At Sergeant Hypee's motion, Tawtchee pulled his breathing mask off his chest and took a couple of deep breaths.

Hypervelocity rounds thunked through the vehicle in a loud clattering burst, like the breaking of a hailstorm on a tin roof. Tawtchee flinched, cringing slightly, expecting one of more h-vee rounds to punch through his body.

Feeling no pain he slapped himself, then looked at Sergeant Hypee and give him the thumbs up, grinning behind his breathing mask.

Sergeant Hypee glared at him and motioned for Tawtchee to keep moving.

Shaking his head, he got up and scrabbled to the end of the wrecked vehicle, dragging his rifle by the forward handgrip.

The street was smokey and airborne debris made the sunlight sparkle as it streamed through the dusty air. Up ahead there was a burning hoverbus that had given up on the first part of its name. The shop on the other side, an upscale clothing boutique, was burning merrily, the dozens of floors above it spewing smoke from the shattered windows.

He glanced back and saw Sergeant Hypee motion at him again.

Tawtchee closed his eyes, hitched two deep breaths, then broke out from behind the vehicle, sprinting for the hoverbus. Behind him, Wartker popped up and hosed a long burst from his light machinegun into the burnt out buildings across the street, the rapidfire bolts a bright blue in the dusty light. Some helpful disphit, Tawtchee wasn't sure, tossed one of the few 30mm grenades the squad had left into a building, sending chunks of automatronic mannequin into the street.

Hvee rounds screamed above Tawtchee's head and he heard someone yell in the guttural and brutal language of the Grenklakail right before another rocket propelled grenade whipped by behind him, vanishing into the burning store and detonating inside.

Then he was diving to the ground and crawling along the length of the hoverbus as hvee rounds punched through the body and into the store, only inches above his head.

The light machinegun roared again and the firing slowed, then stopped.

Tawtchee just laid on the ground, breathing heavy. He brought his rifle up, put the end of the sling that was attached to the end of the forward receiver in one hand, between his thumb and forefinger, then repeated it with the other hand and the end of the sling attached to the end of the weapon's butt stock. He crawled rapidly, not quite on his hands and knees, just his body off the ground, levered up by his knees and elbows, hands holding his weapon just off the ground, toes being used to push him forward.

He looked back in time to see the rest of the squad sprint all the way from where they had taken cover to the hoverbus.

Sergeant Hypee slammed down next to him, his helmet sliding forward to hit the end of the Dra.Falten NCO's nose.

"Dammit," Sergeant Hypee swore, snapping his head back in a jerky motion to get his helmet to rock back into place. He looked around. "See any of them?"

"No, but I heard one yelling," Tawtchee said.

The Sergeant looked at everyone. "Anyone got commo?"

Everyone shook their heads. Rifleman Second Class Dreebawn frowned. "How are they jamming quark commo?"

"Who fucking cares. They're doing it," Sergeant Hypee said. "Anyone's positioning system working?"

"Nope" was the general consensus.

Sergeant Hypee pulled out a folded map, slapped it down and looked at it. "OK, we're here. We have to get here to link up with the rest of battalion," he said, tracing a line.

Six blocks.

"Grenky forces are over here," the Sergeant said, tapping five blocks over. "They're patrolling, same as us, looking for our patrols same as we're looking for theirs."

"Yeah, no shit," Heavy Gunner Fourth Class Nymtroot said, chewing stimgum and spraying lube into the feed of the light energy machinegun he was carrying.

"OK, we cut around that corner, head for the alley, then we just step stair down to battalion," Sergeant Hypee said.

Everyone nodded.

"Don't stop to keep contact with the enemy. We're closer to their lines than we are to ours. I don't want to get pinned down why they bring in a striker or an armored vehicle," Hypee stated. He looked at Tawtchee. "You're on point, Rifleman."

"Yeah, of course," Tawtchee grunted. He crawled forward and looked around the corner of the bus.

Nobody shot at him or blew his face off, so he looked around. He could spot the alley. There was a dead warmek, probably in the 145 ton range, face down in the street.

He pulled back.

"OK, we run across the street, there's a warmek we can use for cover," Tawtchee said.

"Their or ours?" someone asked.

"Who fucking cares? It's face down," Tawtchee snarled. "From there we can make it to the alley."

Everyone nodded.

"Well? Get it done," the Sergeant said.

Tawtchee got up and pulled his weapon sling over his head, letting the weapon slap against his back.

He took off sprinting across the street, high stepping the whole way. He jumped over two decaying bodies, skirted a burnt out one wheel lawsec bike, then grabbed the end of the mech's finger to swing around the dead behemoth.

He kept running, reaching the mouth of the alley and just depending on speed and surprise as he ran in and dove behind a dumpster. A glance showed him that his rifle still wasn't getting any feed from the energy clip. He slapped the bottom twice but the icon still blinked amber with a red lightning bolt through it diagonally.

The rest of the squad caught up to him before he could catch his breath.

"My tank's almost out," Tawtchee said.

"Necklelk, give Tawt your tank," Hypee said.

Necklelk grumbled, but handed it to the Sergeant, who swapped it for Tawtchee's air tank. Tawtchee took a few deep breaths, nodded, and headed down the alley.

They only got shot at a few times. A couple of mortar rounds, low-ex, hit one street at they ran by.

Then they damn near got killed by the twitchy motherfuckers on the gate when they came out of the smoke and dust.

Tawtchee looked at the makeshift 'firebase' which had originally only been intended as a launching point deeper into the Strevik'al city and was now serving its third month as a forward operating base.

He got some food, even though he wasn't hungry, because he didn't want Tight Ass Hypee to get on his case about not eating.

It was noodle and meat surprise.

The surprise was it tasted like shit.

Tawtchee dumped his empty plate into the garbage can and shuffled over to the metal box that made up where half of fifth platoon was bunked down 'temporarily' for the last three months and collapsed face first on the bad.

At one point the chemical alarms started wailing.

Tawtchee managed to get his mask on before he was even awake, then went back to sleep. If it was skin and fur permeable he was fucking dead anyway. He'd lost his chemical suit when he'd dropped his ruck after some asshole had dumped two incendiary rounds into it like a month and a half ago, and nobody in supply had issued any more out.

Tawtchee just kept sleeping, his gas mask on his face.

He woke up to his bunk being kicked.

"Fuck off," he grunted.

"Get up, trooper," the voice was higher pitched.

Tawtchee felt sleep sweep away as he jumped up, his rifle sling wrapped around his forearm so he dragged it up with him.

A large Dra.Falten female, one of the Means of the Way military forces officer, stood at the end of his bed and looked him up and down.

"Chemical all clear sounded two hours ago, trooper," the officer said.

"Oh," Tawtchee said. He pulled the mask off, reached down, grabbed the carrier he had been using as a pillow, and shoved the mask into the carrier. He straightened up and faced the big female, buckling the waist strap for the mask around his waist.

"Base Sergeant Hypee said you were Rifleman Second Class Tawtchee-9912743," the big female said.

"Who wants to know?" Tawtchee asked. Sure, he might get in trouble for being mouthy to one of the big female Means of the War officers, but unless she was going to shoot him, what was she going to do, bend his ID tags and send him to the warzone?

"Field Captain Strechen," the officer said, reaching up and tapping her nameplate. Tawtchee noticed her uniform was unfrayed, clean, without any stains.

She wasn't even carrying her sidearm and her thick belt was unadorned by anything, the black leather still highly polished.

Fuck, a REMF, he thought.

Tawtchee sat down.

"On your feet," the Captain ordered.

Tawtchee got back up.

"Your orders came in," the Captain said. "You're leaving."

"What?" Tawtchee said.

Then his inner enlistedman took over his mouth.

"Oh, no, not leaving this bullshit ass fuck fuck circus," Tawtchee faux-moaned. "What will I ever do?"

The officer shoved a fast-plas sheet at Tawtchee. "Get your gear. Vehicle leaves in two hours. You aren't on it, you'll be facing..."

"Summary execution," Tawtchee said at the same time as the officer.

She just sneered, turned on one heel, and stalked out.

"Dick," Tawtchee said, sitting down. He looked at the orders. "Now what?"

-----

From behind his breathing mask Tawtchee stared at the vehicle. A standard light hover transport. Two front seats, two bench seats on either side of the rear bed, light vehicle armor, six hover pads. Its paint was unmarred, unchipped, just the jet-black of the Means of the Way forces. There was a lieutenant base grade in the driver's seat, Captain Whats-Her-Fuck in the passenger seat.

Tawtchee threw his two ditty bags into the back and climbed in after throwing his rifle into the back. He kept one hand on his helmet so it didn't fall off, then sprawled in the back.

He could see one set of four flexiplas bags said FC STRECHEN and the other set of five said BLG PREENIX, all in block letters done with a black marking stick. He could see a few ammo boxes full of energy clips and a light energy machinegun under several of the bags. There were two boxes of crappy bagged meals, one reading "for Means of the End Troopers Only" on it.

He knew that meant it was the shitty food.

His own bag just said "TAWTCHEE-2743" on them with "FIREBASE HARGALLA" underneath two black bars that were underneath his name.

Tawtchee made a mental note to either erase that or just mark it out like he had his last two duty postings.

He picked up his rifle as the hoverpods crackled and lifted the vehicle up into the air.

Tawtchee didn't ask where they were going, just laid in the luggage, staring up at the sky, and smoking a filterless smokestick from the paper wrapped tube of them he'd grabbed from the bootleg BobCo pogey forge that the skeezy dude from motorpool had hidden for those in the know.

He dozed lightly, rifle across his body, clonking against his hardplate chest piece, warm in the sun and still tired from the last three months. Once in a while he patted his mask carrier, reached down and pressed the stud on his tank to give himself a shot of good atmo into his face mask, or tapped his boot against the light machinegun.

He kept drifting in and out of dreams where he was riding in the back of a hovercar, sunbathing.

He suddenly bolted upright, his 'combat antenna' going off, grabbing his weapon and hitting the power stud. His rifle gave a high pitched whine as the energy clip charged the high density capacitors. He looked around, noting that both officers were chatting about some shit, probably dumbass officer crap, and batting their whiskers like they were going dating.

There was woods on one side, a large berm where the earth mover that had made the road had pushed the dirt, with woods beyond it.

He could see orange glow stripes appearing in the woods.

"DOMMY AMBUSH!" he yelled, lifting up his weapon.

"Sit down," the Captain said.

"Shut up," the other officer said.

He raked a burst into the woods right as the enemy in the woods opened fire. His rounds, variable frequency laser packets, cracked into trees, bushes, and hit something good that exploded in red rags and pink mist.

The return shots hit the vehicle, the lasers blowing fist sized holes out of the armor.

And blowing the lieutenant's head off.

Tawtchee jumped up, into her lap, ignoring the fact that she was busy pissing herself and getting his ass wet. He grabbed the yoke, back pedaled the right hand pedals and hit the power to the left hand pedals.

The Captain screeched as the hovercar flipped up on its side as the pods dug into the loose dirt at the side of the road and the left pods went to max power. It hit the berm, throwing Tawtchee out and onto the other side of the berm.

The Captain was screeching as more lasers smashed into the bottom of the vehicle.

The LMG fell next to Tawtchee and he grabbed it, crawling away from the hovercar, which was drawing all the fire. The Captain was trying to get her harness undone as Tawtchee popped up, got a look, then popped back down and crawled another ten meters on his hands and knees, the LMG balanced across his forearms and his rifle dragging in the dirt. He deployed the bipod, hit the power studs, and watched the six energy clips jammed into the side ports light up.

The Captain got loose, fell onto the dirt, and looked around as Tawtchee popped back up, dropping the LMG bipod on the dirt and holding down the trigger. The Captain looked around confused as Tawtchee hosed the entire treeline for a five second burst. Trees exploded, bushes caught on fire, there was another 'whoomp' of pink mist and red scraps. He gave the treeline another burst and let off the trigger.

There was silence.

"ASSHOLES!" Tawtchee yelled across the road.

"Hey, you triggered our ambush, dick!" someone yelled in bad Dra.Falten standard.

"Fuck you, buddy! You're gonna pull this shit when I'm short?" Tawtchee hollered.

There was silence a second.

"How short?" someone yelled. "Double digit?"

"On my way to the starport!" Tawtchee yelled back.

The Captain crawled up. "Shoot them, fool," she said.

Tawtchee put his hand on the back of her head and shoved her face into the dirt.

"Seriously? Oh, shit, sorry, buddy," someone yelled.

"Hey, can I fucking go?" Tawtchee asked after a second.

There was silence for a second.

"Sure. Leave the vehicle so we can claim the kill," someone yelled back.

The Captain looked up, gasping, clumped dirt on her face.

"I've got a live officer. I'm taking her with," he said. He paused. "Unless you want her as a prisoner?"

"Fuck that. You keep her. She might think she's in charge or some shit," another voice yelled.

"What about your officer?" Tawtchee asked.

"You wasted him," someone said.

"You're welcome!" Tawtchee shouted.

"All right, you two can go," Another voice said. "The officer leaves her boots."

"I will not," the Captain started to protest.

"I can shoot you in the face or they can or you can leave your boots," Tawtchee said.

She grumbled and started to undo her boots.

"I'm gonna grab my shit, all right?" Tawtchee yelled out.

"Sure, sure," one said.

Tawtchee grabbed his ditty, slinging it over one shoulder. He dropped the LMG and stomped on the housing cover twice. He grabbed the dead lieutenant's atmo tank and clipped it to his equipment belt, then dug out two meals from the officer rats box. He opened the LMG and dug his knife in the parts.

Something broke and the magic smoke leaked out.

"That'll work."

"Hey, you done dicking around?" someone yelled.

"Yeah, I'm leaving!" Tawtchee called out.

He started walking away.

"Wait," the Captain called out, hustling to catch up.

"Good luck! Don't get shot in the dick!" someone yelled.

"You too!" Tawtchee answered.

"You're supposed to kill the enemy, trooper," the Captain said.

"Shut up. We got a long walk," Tawtchee said.