"General, all squads are in position."
For the first time in a long week, Monroe smiled. "Good. We can proceed with the sweep then."
As far as plans went, the setup had gone smoothly, more or less. A couple of close encounters, but the few bots or zombies that saw the teams were dispatched quickly. No alarms raised. Perfect.
Still, all of this revolved around the unproven variable: These "Mr. Gutsys". They would be the ones attacking from the inside, ensuring that his men wouldn't have to face down hordes of zombies, or heavily armored robots.
Fancy space-aged weapons were great and all, but how would they perform against actual combatants? That was the million dollar question. Just in case, he had ordered the Captain to equip his men with double the ammunition, as well as armor piercing bullets.
Speaking of which…
"Mr. Gutsy, are your men ready?"
"AFFIRMATIVE! ALL LOYAL UNITS HAVE BEEN DEPLOYED FOR SURPRISE ATTACKS AGAINST COMMUNIST POSITIONS! Probability of Socialist victory? 0.0075%!"
Right… when they had the chance, he was getting to the bottom of this. While he was wary of the Reds himself, based on his early years in the Army, the level of jingoism that this alternate US had was fairly disturbing.
Trying hard so as to not show his true emotions, Monroe continued.
"Have your men changed their targeting parameters?"
"INDEED! HARDENED RED FORCES HAVE BEEN GIVEN PRIORITY FOR TERMINATION!"
Looking over the room, Monroe could see the numerous radio operators, all set to give valuable info to the squads. Even now, coordinates for enemy and allied positions were being conveyed. Flexible, yet controlled. All coordinated for one goal.
Whatever happened next, Monroe knew that the Rubicon was going to be crossed. No turning back from the new age that the US was about to enter into. The fall of the Soviets, the entry into Iraq? All paled in comparison to what was the most important discovery of the 21st century.
Breathing in deeply, Monroe let himself have this brief moment of peace, before turning to the Mr. Gutsy.
"You may proceed with the attack."
Sergeant Pam's radio activated.
"All forces are a go. Repeat! You are cleared for action!"
Almost immediately, the sounds of battle started. Gunfire echoed through the corridors, breaking the hums of the generators that had been ever so present.
"Move it! Move it!" Pam ordered his men forward. "We don't have much time!"
Pam's men stomped on the metal ground, stealth exchanged for speed. They had to move quick, lest the uglies and bots were given the time to hide or regroup. Starting with what appeared to be some intense fighting in one of the barracks.
From what he could hear, the mesh of screams and growls mixed in with the unfamiliar fwoosh of something being fired. One of them fancy lasers, most likely.
Pam nodded to Private Miller, who took the flashbang from his utility belt. With a slam on the control panel, the metal door opened, the primed flashbang thrown in subsequently.
The loud thud of the flashbang announced the presence of the soldiers, who flooded into the barracks.
Only to find that their job had already been done for them.
With a screech, the last zombie collapsed to the ground, a smoking green hole melted into its torso. Even with his gas mask on, the smell of burnt rotten flesh was noticeable, making Pam slightly gag.
All the while, the robot floated triumphantly over its defeated foe, the three optics narrowing in suspicion at the presence of the new figure.
"Scanning. ID confirmed." The robot spoke before shouting at full volume again.
"GREETINGS! MY DESIGNATION IS T-8092, MR. GUTSY! I AM PLEASED TO MEET LOYAL SOLDIERS OF THE UNITED STATES ONCE AGAIN!"
All the while, Pam could see that between the rusted barrack beds, more smoke emanated from the corpses it had made. Hell, if he was seeing it correctly, one limb was sprawled on one of the beds, torn directly off by laser fire.
Suddenly, the past memory of the robot spewing quotes straight out from his grandfather's mouth, wasn't so amusing now.
At least the brain in a jar hadn't demonstrated what it was capable of.
Gulping silently, Pam drove the fear down, reverting back to what his orders were. The rest of his men were counting on him to show no visible fear.
Activating comms, the sergeant ordered his troops.
"Miller, Smith? Make sure that those zombies are dead. Double tap them if necessary. Rest of you? With me."
As the gunshots rang out in the barracks, Pam approached the robot, trying to make himself as stoic as possible.
"Mr. Gusty, you're with us." Pam sternly ordered the robot. "You'll be at the front, dealing with enemy hostiles, while we support you from the back."
"AFFIRMATIVE! KILL THEM ALL AND LET GOD SORT EM' OUT!"
…
'It's official. Whoever made these bots were batshit crazy.'
With the gruesome task done, the Mr. Gutsy floated out of the charnel house, and moved through the hallway with a purpose, the squad following behind it.
With the sound of their boots, more enemies emerged. Trundling from behind a corner, one of those accursed brains in a jar pointed its appendages at the group.
"Terribly sorry, but I'm going to have to kill you!"
If he had blinked, Pam would have missed the red lasers hitting the chassis of the Mr. Gutsy, which put it in a frenzy.
"DO THAT AGAIN, AND I'LL PUT MY FOOT SO FAR UP YOUR ASS, YOU'LL COUGH UP BOOT POLISH!" The Gutsy shouted, before putting three shots into its former comrade.
The first shot melted the right track, tipping the brain on its side.
The second shot partially penetrated the chassis, allowing Pam to see some sparks from the circuitry.
The third shot did it in, the brain splattering the ground in a mess of fluids, glass, and brain matter. With it, the laser fire stopped.
Pam's men could only look warily at the bot.
Then, almost like a proud puppy, the Mr. Gutsy approached the Sergeant, its optics wide with excitement.
"ANOTHER VICTORY FOR UNCLE SAM!"
"Please remain cal-"
Before the stumpy two-legged robot could continue, multiple bullets smashed into the glass head, ripping apart the delicate electronics. A small death whine emitted, before the robot joined its brothers on the ground, lifeless and still.
"I think that's the last of them." Miller spoke, slapping a new mag into his M4.
"Don't say that just yet. These models seem to be built for numbers." Pam replied back, his rifle still pointed at the wrecks. "More of these fuckers than any of the others combined."
In the short time he was here, Pam had started to pick up on a few patterns that this alternate US liked to use.
For one, the turrets, machine gun or laser, tended to be tucked behind the corners of the hallways, allowing for ambushes on unsuspecting foes. An effective tactic, but one that could be easily adapted to.
Second, while the varieties of enemies ranged widely, from soccer-shaped floating bots, to the vaguely humanoid automatons they had just dispatched, all of them tended to use red lasers that appeared to not hit as hard as the Mr. Gutsy did.
"EXCELLENT WORK! THAT'S HOW WE DO THINGS IN THE US ARMY, HOORAH!"
"Certainly, Mr. Gusty. Now, move up! We got more commies to kill!" Pam said entertaining the notion that he truly believed the propaganda the floating tin can was spouting out. Leading to the third lesson:
The targeting programs for the bots seemed to prioritize the Mr. Gutsy, rather than the soldiers behind it, allowing for them to fire with impunity.
All of which culminated in battle damage on their figurative and literal shield. Dents in the metal chassis were visible, complemented by scorch marks as well. Harder for the RnD boys to study, but the General told them it was allowed. After all, fleshy humans were harder to repair.
As the Mr. Gutsy led the charge, spouting more jingoistic quotes, Private Martinez couldn't help but move up next to the Sergeant.
"Sir… should we really be encouraging the bot with that sort of language?" Martinez quietly asked, a wary look on his face. "I mean… what happens if it gets a look at something it finds communist? Rock and roll?
Equal rights? We could have a shitstorm on our hands."
"That's something the eggheads will have to deal with." Pam gruffly replied back, resuming the advance. "Right now, I'm just gla-"
The radio in Pam's helmet screeched to life.
"This is Panther Five Bravo! Heavy resistance in Sector 8! Are there any assets that can provide support?! Over!"
Pam mentally checked the unit's location, before responding.
"This is Echo Five Psi! Moving to your location! Out!"
With that, Sergeant Pam and his men quickened their pace, running towards Sector 8.
At first, there wasn't any indication of the troubles that were being reported. Then, a loud noise echoed through the hallways, sounding as though as if someone was ripping cloth.
'Oh crap.'
As Pam's stomach dropped, he was praying fruitlessly that what he was hearing wasn't the sound of a machine gun. One with a high rate of fire.
As they passed by the corpses of fallen foes, flesh and metal, Pam's hope became ever so slimmer, the sound of ripping cloth interrupted by the sound of an explosion. A sound that was uncomfortably close.
"Please tell me that wasn't what I just heard…"
"You weren't hearing things. We got a dumbfuck using explosives…"
Finally approaching Sector 8, the roar of combat became audible, the overzealous bot eager to do battle. Without hesitation, it turned the corner.
"THIS WILL BE A PERSONAL FAVOR T-"
The explosion that followed interrupted whatever the Gutsy was about to say. As well as its life. Scrap metal flew through the air, hitting the wall in front of it.
"Status report: yellow. Primary systems have sustained significant damage. Reinforcement recommended."
A figure turned the corner, and Pam quickly swore.
It was big. Bigger than anything else that they had encountered. Barely fitting in the hallway, it seemed to have troubles navigating. But where it lacked mobility, it made up for in armor. From this distance, the partially melted chestpiece didn't seem to be hampering its operation.
Particularly, the bright orange minigun that was whirring to life in its arm.
His eyes widening behind the gas mask, Pam bellowed out to his squad.
"Take cover!"
Without hesitation, the men scrambled to get into the side corridors. Three men were a tad too late.
The minigun roared to life, bullets planting themselves into the men.
"AHHHHHHH!" Private Miller screamed out on the floor, writhing in agony. Shamus was deadly silent.
'SHIT!'
"Smith, get a smoke down, now!" Pam ordered the private before activating comms. "This is Echo Five Psi! Multiple casualties in Sector 8! Is there any unit that can provide support?!"
"Echo Five Psi, this is Lima Five Gamma. We're near your location! Sit tight!"
As the smoke filled the hallways, Pam could hear the accursed bot speak.
"Alert: Enemy hostiles have deployed smoke. Suppression Fire Protocol engaged."
As the bullets continued to puncture the smoke screen, Pam used the opportunity to pull Miller to cover. With swift hands, he tore off Miller's kevlar vest, as well as removing his shirt. But as soon as he saw the wounds, he wished he hadn't.
Amidst the screams, Pam could see that the bullets had pierced the kevlar with ease, turning Miller's stomach into a mess of blood and shredded guts. Pam glanced to see McNeil lying against the wall, their medic putting a tourniquet around the bloody leg. No IFAK was going to be able to patch
this up.
"Hernandez! Morphine!"
As the Corporal administered the syrette to Miller, Pam resumed fire down range, already having switched to armor piercing bullets. Not like it would do anything, judging by the troubles the previous squad had.
If the screams were bad, the sobs were even worse. Miller, someone who was as cold as ice, was now crying out for someone,
anyone to help him. Pam shared the grim look on Hernandez's face. Without immediate treatment, all they were doing was delaying the inevitable.
It would have to take a God-given miracle for Miller to survive.
"Over there! I can see them!" A voice cried out from across the hallway, followed by an enraged voice.
"THEY DARE HARM A US SOLDIER?! WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE THE ANGER I FEEL RIGHT NOW!"
Pam looked up, relieved at the reinforcements that he requested. The Mr. Gutsy bellowed out messages of revenge, as it blindly shot through the smoke screen.
"Gretsky, good to see you."
"Could've been under better conditions, but shit…" Gretsky could only look at the mortally wounded Miller. "How bad?"
"Even with a doc, I don't know."
Gretsky stared at Miller for a moment, before a sigh emanated from his mask.
"God damnit… Moore, get over here!"
Pam recognized the small figure as Gretsky's field medic. What was different, was the giant syringe in his hands. A circular display was at the top, almost like a pressure gauge. It certainly wasn't anything from them, judging by the rust covering the syringe.
"Let's hope the tin can was right about this…" Moore muttered, before injecting the syringe into Miller's wounds. A pneumatic hiss could be heard, as the contents entered Miller's body.
For a moment, nothing happened.
And then, that miracle they needed happened in real time.
Pam could only look on in shock, as the guts seemed to grow back before their eyes. Second by second, Miller's wounds continued to grow smaller and smaller, until the bloody bullets clinked onto the ground, pushed out by the newly grown baby pink skin. The cries died out, as Miller slowly patted at his stomach with wonder.
…
"Thank fuck that tin can wasn't talking out of its ass." Moore said in relief, observing the used syringe with a new eye.
High on adrenaline, Pam couldn't help but feel a rollercoaster of emotions. The regret of losing a soldier was in stark contrast to the miracle he had just seen. As if to emphasize that disparity, the large bot's voice echoed out, distortions in its voice.
"Status report: red. Primary system failure immin-"
*BOOM*
If the explosion from before had been big, this one sent shockwaves through the hallways, staggering some of the men.
For a moment, there was silence.
And then… Pam's radio finally opened up. All to repeat a single message:
"To all squads… Floor Five has been cleared. I repeat… Floor Five has been cleared of all enemy hostiles!"
AN: Even with the help of the Gutsys as fire support and meat shields, it was inevitable that the US would suffer casualties. As it stands, these robots are some of the most dangerous you can ever face in the Wasteland, a skirmish being a suicidal action. Only thanks to the plasma weapons the Gutsys have, as well as the US army's organization, were they able to get through this with such low casualties.
Next chapter will be detailing the aftermath, as well as the implications of what Monroe sees in the computer terminals.
Song of the Day:
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQ_Lzh_S-2c
