"Well...
damn."
---------------------------------------
< < Crap. Crap on a
stick, > > Duo’s voice came over the radio. < < I
think we’re going to have to change plans again, Two... > >
“I
noticed,” Christy snarled, glaring at one of her screens. The thick haze of
jamming broadcasts that blanketed virtually any battlefield had faltered for a
moment, giving Hades’s scanners a brief glimpse of what the Theodorians were
really doing behind their pretended panic... and it wasn’t
good.
Actually, she had to admit it was good. By
Theodorian standards it was bloody wonderful, in fact, but that didn’t mean she
had to like it.
“That nothos(1) has got a brain, whoever he is,” she
muttered under her breath, punching commands into a keyboard and watching as her
computers ran a projection. “’He’ meaning ‘person of unknown but still possibly
female gender’, of course... We’re going to have to retreat. If we wait for the
Serpent suits to get here, the damn Theos’ll have us surrounded.”
<
< Hold on now, little missy, > > Henderson protested. < < We’ve
only got to hold out another eight minutes or so! > >
< < No,
she’s right, > > Duo said, cutting in before Christy could snap back. <
< We’re already flanked. We’ll be surrounded in less than two minutes, we’ll
spend six minutes being pounded from all sides, and Two and I might be okay but
you lot will be right in the shit. Plus we’ll be cut off from
our reinforcements when they do get here. >
>
“Less talk, more run,” Christy advised. “All Cobra personnel, I want
a controlled retreat to the west. Watch your flanks; Deathscythe and Hades will
cover your rear.”
----------
Lieutenant Grozny gritted his teeth
as the corpsman bandaging his burns jostled him, sending a stab of pain through
the drugs that were just starting to take effect. He didn’t take his eyes off
his tactical display, though, frowning as the little red dots began to back out
of the curve his blue dots were forming.
“Damn... they worked it out,” he
muttered, squinting at the small screen. It wasn’t as clear as the large display
in Otrepiev’s command track had been, but this vehicle had the huge advantage
that it wasn’t nearly as identifiable.
I’ll take survivability over
convenience any day, he thought, smiling grimly. And I’m sorry the others
didn’t make it out, but damn I’m glad that idiot Otrepiev went
up in the fireball!
“Pass the word,” he ordered. “Drop the panicked
act and press the attack. The flanking elements are going to have to move
further west before they swing in to cut them off, but I don’t want them
overextending themselves –- they are not to get beyond support
range of the main force, emphasise that.
“Everyone who can range on their
rear elements is to concentrate fire on the Gundams,” he went on, eyes narrowing
as he watched the two larger red dots slowly begin to follow the others. “Let’s
see if we can bag ourselves a big one.”
----------
< < Guess
they noticed we aren’t buying it any more, > > Christy said
philosophically, sending another volley of rockets at a squad of Theodorian
suits that were getting a bit close. < < They’ve stopped acting like fake
chickens. > >
< < Good thing most Theos are
real chickens, > > somebody snorted, and there was a
general rumble of agreement.
“I think the new guy in charge is somewhere
over on the left,” Duo told her, laying down covering fire with half his
attention while hammering one-handedly on a keyboard. “See this?” He replayed a
short video clip from his onboard recorders, transmitting it to
Hades.
< < What am I supposed to be looking at, Mort? >
>
“Watch,” he said, restarting the clip and freeze-framing it after
barely a second. “The change in tactics from panicked chickens to efficient
regrouping sort of... ripples out from a point. See?” He restarted the
recording, advancing it frame by frame while sketching rough circles on the
screen. “It makes sense if the new commander--"
< < --isn't in a
command track, and is having to have his orders relayed from squad to squad
instead of broadcast to everyone at once, > > Christy finished. < <
I think we blew all the command tracks up, anyway. Gotcha. We might be able to
use that. > >
“Means we can’t pick him out, though,” Duo shrugged.
“Unless you want to concentrate fire on that area and hope someone gets
lucky?”
< < Nah. Too chancy, and-- > >
“Hold on,
they’re up to something new aga-- WHOAH!”
A new ‘ripple’ moved through
the Theodorian forces as they finished regrouping, dropping into new positions
and opening fire, actually aiming this time instead of
mimicking panicked random shots. And as far as Duo could tell, every single
mortar, rocket, beam and bullet in the immediate vicinity was coming straight
for Hades and Deathscythe.
----------
“Chyort!”
Christy had
just extended Hades’s rocket pods for a shot at yet another
group of over-bold enemy suits-- Damn Theos actually seem to be developing
guts, amazingly enough! --when she found herself having to retract the pods,
dive-roll sideways, and spin Hades’s scythe to an angle that wouldn’t get it
torn out of the Gundam’s hands when it hit the ground, all at the same time.
This took considerably more than one hand to accomplish, and when the dust
cleared after the several thumping impacts she hadn’t been able to dodge, there
was a twinge in her half-healed arm that she had an uncomfortable feeling Dot
was going to want to... talk... to her about.
“Unless I
don’t tell her,” she muttered, then reflexively ducked in her seat as another
wave of rockets zoomed in to pound at her. “Blyad! Give a girl a break, you
sukiny dety! And damn I know I’m rattled when I can only swear
like Gredenko does...”
Her eyes narrowed coldly as she rolled Hades to
its feet, braced to dodge in whatever direction turned out to be necessary,
ready to deal out death and destruction--
Half the lights on one section
of her control panel flashed red and amber.
*squeak* *pop* *crackle*
*TWANG!* *PSSSSssssssssshhhhh...*
“Ooooooh... shit.”
With majestic
slowness, Hades gracefully tilted over to one side, paused, and then fell over
backwards.
< < Chr-- Two? > > Duo called anxiously. < <
What happened? Are you okay? > >
“Um. Well...” Christy surveyed her
readouts, now feeling no inclination whatsoever to go Persephone.
<
< What?! > >
“I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,” she informed him
solemnly.
Duo started to giggle, firing almost at random into the
advancing Theodorian forces. The collapse of one of the Gundams facing them
seemed to have given them new enthusiasm, but his two-rifle assault and a
panicked supporting volley from Cobra 6’s personnel backed them off for a
moment. < < Well... shit! > > he yelled, still snickering. < <
Suit down! Mechanic! Oh, the humanity! Get a mechevac chopper over here! >
>
“Duo... we don’t have mechevac choppers,” she
pointed out calmly, eyeing the damage. The armour protecting Hades’s right knee
was ripped and twisted into an interesting abstract sculpture, the hydraulics
underneath it had taken a direct hit, and there was no way in hell that leg was
going to support the suit.
< < Well, I’m going to be talking to Pet
about that, > > Duo huffed, jogging Deathscythe over to
her. < < Here-- you shoot, I’ll drag, > > he said, dropping his beam
rifles onto her chest and locking his Gundam’s hands under Hades’s
armpits.
< < Y’need a hand there, little missy? > >
Henderson’s voice broke in anxiously as Deathscythe lifted and started to walk
backwards, leaving two furrows as Hades’s feet dragged in the sand. < < We
c’n come back and pick you up-- the Sentry suits c’n help-- >
>
“Noooo, I think we’ve got it under control,” Christy said in a
bemused voice, watching the scenery go by at a respectable speed. Duo actually
seemed to be matching the pace of the retreating Cobra personnel without too
much trouble, so she figured she might as well stop worrying about him and do
her part. “At least this is slightly more dignified than a fireman’s carry,” she
muttered, rescuing the rifles before they slid out of reach. Hades’s right arm
was still under waldo control, so that wasn’t a problem, and a little
experimentation proved that she could hook the left arm’s controls into the
targeting computer, punching in commands with the fingertips of her left hand
and leaving it up to the automatic systems to aim and fire.
< <
Would you rather I was carrying you in approved ‘damsel in distress’ style? >
> Duo asked, voice still amused despite the rocket barrage landing all around
them. < < Because I think that would be just a leetle bit
more than my ‘Scythe can manage. At least without waldo control of his arms.
Which I would like, by the way. > >
“Is that supposed to be a
hint?”
< < I think hints are generally more subtle, but yeah. Oh,
and Henderson? Cobra personnel in general? While I don’t want anyone to think
I’m not deeply appreciative of the supporting fire that’s doing
such a lovely job of putting the Theos off their aim, > >
Duo went on sincerely, < < I would also like to point out that maybe some
of you should still be keeping an eye out for those flanking attacks we were
expecting? > >
< < Boy, > > Henderson said slowly as
some of the other APCs swivelled their turrets almost sheepishly back to cover
the column’s sides, < < I think you’re gonna fit right in with the little
missy and her friends. > >
----------
Grozny’s fists
clenched as one of the Gundams went down, but he relaxed and hissed out a
disappointed breath as the other Gundam scooped its companion up and continued
on almost without missing a beat. The volume and accuracy of the fire still
coming from the downed suit indicated that it couldn’t be too badly damaged,
either.
“I wonder if they’ve practiced that manoeuvre?” he said quietly,
bracing himself as the main gunner fired and the recoil shook his ‘command’
track. “It would make sense; they don’t have that many Gundams even with the new
five they’ve come up with, they can’t just abandon one like a crippled sentry
suit... well, we’ve stung them at least. Kovac! I want everyone to link up in
groups of three or four squads and coordinate their fire. Without a command
radio link I can’t manage a coordinated volley from the whole force, but the
troops should be able to do it on a small scale. That’ll give the OZies
something else to worry about.”
----------
< < Okay, now--
ow! --now this is getting ridiculous, > > Christy said in a disgusted
voice as the third massed rocket volley crashed down around them, knocking the
two Gundams sideways and forcing Duo to drop Hades.
“Well, excuse me for
not having superglued you to my hands,” Duo replied mock-sarcastically,
resetting Deathscythe’s grip and starting to haul again.
< < No,
no, not you, > > Christy explained crossly, starting to
fire again. Duo didn’t think it was a coincidence that most of her next shots
were aimed at the squads that had just fired at them. < < I mean the
Theos. > >
“They don’t seem to be doing too badly to me,” he said
dubiously.
< < Exactly! That’s what’s ridiculous! > > she
exclaimed. < < Theos do not grow spines! They do not think on their feet!
They do not improvise! They have a defined command structure, and if you pop the
commander, the rest of them fall apart! They do not, ever, show
initiative! Especially not enough initiative to recover from disaster, devise a
new plan, fake panic, and multitask! He’s
gotta be female! > >
“...Excuse me?!”
< < Whoever’s
taken over command over there has to be female, > > she insisted. <
< Not only can she multitask, she can get an entire pack of bloody Theos to
multitask. Not to mention-- > >
“I can multitask,”
Duo protested.
< < Yes, dear, but you’re gay, > > she said
without hesitation. < < Not to mention the fact that Theos in general
can’t manage a proper massed volley even if you wire all their weapons to the
same trigger, and these ones are not only managing massed volleys without a
command radio link, their aim is getting better! > > she
snarled as the next volley came in.
“I’m not sure I agree with your
logic,” Duo muttered, “but-- OW! --you're right about their aim. I still say he
doesn’t have to be a girl, though!”
< < Wanna bet? > >
Christy enquired politely, dropping the bent remains of one of the beam rifles
and reaching for another as Henderson’s APC made a U-turn and accelerated back
to deliver it. < < ‘Cause I’ve got fifty credits that says the commander
over there has no Y chromosome. > >
“You’re on.”
< <
Right! > >
Duo glanced down at his cockpit speakers for a moment,
one eyebrow rising. Christy had sounded way too enthusiastic there, and now he
could hear quiet beeps and clicks as she punched buttons on one of her control
panels...
----------
“That APC is carrying spare weapons for the
Gundams,” Grozny snapped, highlighting it on his display. “I want it designated
as a primary target, and--"
About to transmit the lieutenant’s orders to
the nearest squad leaders, the track commander yelped and grabbed at his
headphones, then scrabbled at his board to turn the volume down. Grozny’s
borrowed headset was set lower, but he still stiffened as a crackle of static
announced that a nearby transmitter was putting out enough energy to swamp the
channel, blotting out the squad chatter he’d been hearing. Jamming? he
wondered, reaching over to flick through several other channels and finding the
same crackle on all of them. The short-range inter-squad radio is supposed to
be jamming-proof, damn it!
< < I hate to interrupt this
delightful battle, but my partner and I have a bet on, > > a voice echoed
in his earphones. It was slightly distorted and electronically processed, enough
to make it unrecognisable, but not enough to disguise the fact that it was
probably female... and far too cheerful. < < It’s pretty obvious that you
lot have a new commander, since we shot the last one, and it’s also obvious that
whoever has taken over is much better than the idiot you were
originally stuck with, but that’s where we stop agreeing. My partner says your
new commander has balls. I say that your new commander has
metaphorical balls, but doesn’t have ‘em physically. In other
words, I say he’s a she, because anybody with that much organisational skill has
got to be at least a woman and probably a mother. Would any of you care to
settle the question? > >
There was a brief lull in the shooting.
Grozny wasn’t surprised.
“Ah... are you going to reply, sir?”
“Am
I-- of course not!” Grozny almost sputtered, staring incredulously at the track
commander. “I have no reason to give them any information at all, no matter how
inconsequential! Besides,” he added, rather spoiling the effect, “non-command
tracks only have short-range transmitters, remember? I couldn’t contact them
from here even if I wanted to.”
“You could have your reply relayed...”
The track commander risked a grin.
“Don’t tempt me. I could always make
you hand-deliver a letter.”
“I have a white shirt in my ditty bag, sir, I
could use that and one of the spare antennae from the repair kit to make a white
flag!”
“Why are we even discussing this?!”
----------
“Two
darling,” Duo asked politely, “is Four a transmitter as well as a
receiver?”
< < Not that I know of, > > came the mildly
puzzled reply. < < If she was, we’d be using her differently. Why? >
>
“Because that was a very Four way of putting that. I think she’s
rubbing off on you.”
< < Ew! Oh, dear Anubis, please, no! >
>
< < I’ve met Four, > > Henderson’s voice rumbled over
the link. < < Boy’s right. > >
< < Henderson, when we
get back to base, you are SO toast. > >
< < You’ll have to
catch me first, missy, and I hear you’re a tad slowed down right now. >
>
< < Ohhhh no, Oh-two’s the one who’s got a bum leg, not me,
and I can get you just fine with only one arm... > >
Duo snickered.
“A little more attention on our jobs, maybe, people?”
< < Ha! I
thought you said you could multitask? > >
< < She’s got you
there, boy. > >
“Whose side are you on, Henderson?!”
<
< I have to be on her side. She’s scarier than you are. > >
<
< Oh, now he admits it. > >
“I beg your
pardon!” Duo’s eyes flicked to an alert box popping up on one of his screens,
and he tapped a key to send the alert to Christy, banter running on autopilot
now. “You just don’t know me as well as you know her. Believe me, I’m way scary.
I’d tell you who you could ask for testimonials, but they’re all
dead.”
< < See now, that’s why Two’s scarier than you. She leaves
some of her enemies just wishing she’d killed them... >
>
----------
< < Pffft. That means she’s leaving enemies
alive. Sloppy, > > the young male voice retorted.
Grozny stared
incredulously at the readings on the communications board that showed how much
interference the inter-squad radios were fighting. The levels were hovering over
eighty percent, and it wasn’t even a purpose-designed interference wave; it was
that one damn Gundam, retransmitting its pilot’s private conversation and
blanketing all the Theodorian channels!
< < But they’re way too
scared to ever come after me again, and they tell other people
how über I am and scare them off too. Two birds with one stone, I win in the
scary stakes. > >
< < Since when did this become a
competition? And you’re still sounding like Four. > >
< < Am
not! > >
< < Are too! > >
< < Am not am
not am not! > >
“...These are the terrible Gundam pilots that have
been holding us back for years?!”
----------
Text messages were
flashing back and forth between the two Gundams.
[Do you think this inane
babble has distracted them enough? Can I STOP now?!]
[A bit longer. Their
north flanking group has started to shift out of formation. The longer we keep
their main force from noticing, the better.]
[Argh.]
[Besides,
it’s blocking their communications.]
[So would playing music. I know you
have disks. Hell, I have disks!]
[Then it’d be obvious that we’re trying
to jam them. Random kiddy squabbling keeps them
listening.]
[ARGH.]
[Just put your mouth on autopilot. It’s easy!
I do it all the time.]
[We’ve noticed.]
[Oi!]
[My verbal
autopilot sounds totally different.]
[*grin* So do it anyway. It should
be interesting.]
----------
Grozny had been watching the track
commander try to filter out the Gundam’s transmission, ignoring the taunting
voices as much as he could, but the change in one voice dragged his attention
back.
< < You do too sound like Four. Want to call up the others
and ask their opinion? > >
< < I don’t think that will be
necessary. > >
“...Brrr!” one of the crewmen said in a hushed
voice. “Now that is scary!”
Secretly, the lieutenant had
to agree. The female voice had suddenly shifted tone, from childish to... ‘stone
cold killer’ was the only description he could think of.
< < Ooh,
you’re right. You don’t sound like Four any more, > > the male voice
continued undaunted. < < Now you sound like Three! > >
<
< And you sound like One. > >
< < No way! Number one, I
don’t have his accent. Number two, I’m not the one who’s trying to have a
relationship with a psychotic paranoid killer! > >
< < Oh?
> > The female voice managed to seem amused without warming at all. <
< I thought you were already sleeping with a psychotic paranoid killer? >
>
< < Hey! He’s only slightly paranoid now. He’s mellowed!
Regular sex will do that, you know, maybe you ought to try it. >
>
< < Are you volunteering? > >
< < Nuh-uh, I
don’t swing that way. You’d probably eat me alive anyway. How about your
stalker? He seems determined and faithful enough. ...To tell you the truth, I
don’t know why he hasn’t given up and run away long ago. > >
<
< Because he’s a stalker. They don’t admit defeat. Besides, he’s never seen
me fight. > >
< < Yeah, I suppose that would explain it...
> >
Shifting patterns of red and blue on the tactical display
caught Grozny’s eye, and he turned to look at them, half his attention still on
the radio.
< < ...lack of information rather than lack of
intelligence, you don’t have to worry about your children’s IQ being... >
>
“Hold on,” Grozny muttered, eyes narrowing. “The north flanking
force is out of position. What’s going on?”
“Eh?” The track commander
shifted to peer over the lieutenant’s shoulder, frowning. “Hm. There isn’t
anything in the terrain to explain it, is there?” He jabbed at a couple of
buttons, changing the display. “No, that’s not it...”
“They aren’t just
slowing down,” Grozny snapped. “Now they’re starting to fall back. Something’s
wrong! --Give me that!” Swivelling his seat to reach the communications board,
he batted the commander’s hands away from the controls and started flicking
through channels, listening intently for other voices behind the Gundam’s
transmission.
< < ...talking about sex means you... >
>
*click*
< < ...more like One. > >
<
< I... > >
*click*
< < ...more delicately. >
>
< < Like hell you... > >
*click*
< <
...You’re jussszzzzOZ reinzzzsssd as him. > >
“This channel!”
Grozny exclaimed. “Try to clear this channel!”
Crouching over the board
next to him, the track commander started delicately shifting controls, straining
to hear the faint Theodorian-accented voices behind static and
banter.
< < ...am not! I’zzzsssrpent ssszz more refined and
delicssssbout sevvvaan him. More conssssszzre than we csssther’s feelings. >
>
< < You mean zzzsssall backkkssszz more subtle about ssssdamn
jammmmmzzznn the knife? > >
< < *sniff* I call that cruel,
Two. Cruzzzsssswarn the main forrrzzzzss uncalled for! > >
<
< I call it honest. > >
< < There’s a diffffssssvve to
retrearrrzzzssnn honesty and bluntness, you know. > >
The
commander’s fingers twitched a dial around one more millimetre, and suddenly a
voice burst through clearly, repeating the same words over and over in a dogged
determination to be heard.
< < --reinforcements! OZ reinforcements!
Serpent suits! Initial count about seventy! Serpent suits! Initial count-- >
>
The track shook as its main gun fired again, and Grozny bit back a
curse as the transmission dissolved into static. “Cease fire! Hold position!” he
yelled, managing not to say anything more harsh as he watched the commander
trying to get the transmission back.
< < --n’t hold! Fall back!
Fall back! Warn the main force! We have to retreat! OZ reinforcements! OZ-- >
>
“That’s clear enough,” he said grimly, pushing himself up out of his
chair with a grunt of effort. “Serpent suits are bigger and better than any of
ours. After the damage we took when the Gundams first showed up, seventy of them
should be able to roll us up like a rug if we don’t consolidate and retreat
now.”
“If we use this channel--” the commander started,
then swore as he lost the repeating transmission again. He worked at the dials a
moment longer, then slapped the panel in disgust. “The Gundam must have shifted
frequencies slightly, they’re blocking that channel properly now.”
“And
if we wait until you find another clear band, it’ll be too late.” Grozny nodded
decisively, yanking open a red-banded storage compartment and grabbing for its
contents, ignoring the blood beginning to seep through the bandages on his
shoulder. “Open the main hatch. Driver!” he went on, opening an ammunition case
and slotting the first bulky shell into the wide-muzzled gun he was holding. “As
soon as I fire the third shell, get us moving. I don’t care where, so long as
it’s got some sort of cover and we get there fast, dodging all the way. I’m
about to make us the biggest target on this field.”
“Got you, sir,” the
driver called back, eyeing the emergency flare gun dubiously. Turning back to
his controls, he muttered to the gunner, “D’you think everyone’ll remember the
signals?”
“Enough of them will,” the gunner assured him.
“You
sure? Hell, I sure don’t remember them! Nobody ever expects to
have to use that damn thing, so you learn them for your final exams and then you
forget them!”
“Yeah,” the gunner grinned blackly, “and we’ve lost how
many men in the last year under that idiot Otrepiev?”
“Too many. What’s
that got to do with anything?!”
“We’ve been getting all our replacements
straight out of training camp. They haven’t had time to forget
the damn emergency signals.”
----------
Grozny’s mouth quirked
into a bitter smile as he settled himself on the ladder to the main hatch, head
and shoulders poking out. The gunner was right, though he’d probably be
horrified if he realised the lieutenant had overheard him.
Damned if I
thought I’d ever be grateful for Otrepiev’s bungling, he thought, settling
the next two shells carefully on the track’s armour and raising the flare gun to
his unburned shoulder. And I’m not grateful, not really. It’s just that the
number of grass-green recruits we’ve got -- replacements for men Otrepiev got
killed -- means that I might actually be able to get the rest
of these men out of here alive.
He pulled the trigger and grunted in
pain as the recoil kicked him back against the hatch coaming, jolting his burns.
Setting his teeth, he reached for the next shell, reloaded, and fired again.
Reloaded, and fired, and almost fell down the hatch as the driver took him at
his word and took off in a mad, twisting race towards a small
ridge.
Behind him, the last shell flared into life, drifting down slowly
after the first two, sending a message he prayed would be understood.
Red
flare. ‘Break contact with enemy immediately.’
Blue flare.
‘Retreat.’
White flare, shifting slowly to a rich golden yellow. ‘Move
north-east.’
-----------------------
End of Warped
Mirrors
Chapter 20
-----------------------
[1] nothos:
bastard (Greek/Theran)
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