You may also enjoy reading R-Unit, a story at The House of Chaos set in the same universe as this one.
"YAAHHHHHHHH! Die you freakin bastards! Come get some of Melinda's lovin!"
Unit R-650 glanced over at his companion as they raced across the battleground, and was almost glad his personality implant hadn't been made more gregarious. This strange sergeant he had found, brash and arrogant, was good on the battlefield but way too annoying for his taste. This one had even named his gun, had Melinda painted down its side. Made him wonder (not for long usually) what he had been like before his resurrection. Dwelling on it never gained him much, wondering if he had been a criminal sentenced to death, or if he had simply died. Sergeant Olig thought his family wouldn't allow him to be resurrected if he passed on, but if there was enough to salvage he wouldn't leave the service for a while longer. Not with as brutal and hard fought this war was turning out to be.
"Hey! R2-D2! over this way!
"Why the hell does he keep calling me that?!" raced through R-650's mind as he scrambled across the terrain, following his companion over the broken landscape.
"I am receiving the rendezvous coordinates now Sergeant" R kept racing with Olig, firing his NT (Nebo-Taalkin, a huge Terran conglomerate) Plasmamax assault cannon. It reached out with slugs of depleted urainium, wrapped in a case of superheated plasma. When those burning slugs reached their target they vaporized instantly, ripping open body armor and cremating flesh.
"I am right with you old buddy old pal!" Olig mowed down several creatures coming out of another crater.
Blood flowed freely, from broken and burned limbs, but not those of a human, at least not this time. Kook'tuttla was the closest any earthen tongue could come to their name, and they had been discovered some six years ago as they were pillaging another of Humanity's allies. Initial attempts at diplomacy ended with sixty-five thousand dead, and the surface of several worlds uninhabitable. Man had found a species as proficient at war as himself, albeit not quite as advanced. Of course what they lacked in technology they made up for in sheer numbers, as their breeding cycle had been found quite high. Six to ten brood in one standard terran year with maturation at five terran years meant they could replenish the troops quite rapidly. One of the driving factors behind the cloning and resurection programs in Human controlled space.
R had met some of the enhanced clones, picked even more up off the battlefield. They seemed to do better when they were recycled through the resurection program. Maybe they should just kill the clones, and then put them through the program. Clones were more annoying that Sargent Olig, at least every one R had met. Damnable things had a superiority complex, like being born in a tube was a badge of honor.
"How much further 650? I'm starting to run low on ammo here!" More of the Kook'tuttla began to pour out of each nook and cranny, screaming in their high pitched war cry.
"I'm requesting fire support, we still have 500 meters to go"
"Tell em ASAP, or we'll have to resurect you a second time"
A small craft appeared over the horizon, hugging the ridge line running parallel to them, and began releasing larger versions of the plasmamax slugs. Three minutes later, only two stood amidst the destruction.
"A boy and his cybernetic zombie, huh?" Olig grinned at his battle mate, elated to still be alive.
"I find your humor to be lacking Sgt. Olig, in fact I think I'll request to be transferred to a clone unit when we get back to HQ." He focused on the small transport as it began its decent, and then noticed movement on the ridgeline.
"Olig! Get down!" He raced forward, slamming into the dazed sargent and knocking him into another blast crater. At the same time a small missle raced off the ridge line, turning the transport into a superheated ball of gas and molten metal.
"So much for your transfer R.........."
"Do not give up hope yet, Sgt. Olig. I am receiving another mil spec transmission from over that ridgeline....attempting to contact the unit....."
"Tell em' to get there hairy asses over here! I don't wanna be some decoration in one of these whacked out pigs' house!"
"Do not worry about that Sgt., I believe they would consider you a runt and therefore unsuitable for use as a war trophy."
"When we get back I think I'll have the boys at programming look at you. Obviously you have damaged something internal." Olig searched the ridge line for more movement, his agitation at being stranded all too apparent.
" I have reached the unit, it is a Valkrie fighter/bomber and it has room for us......unfortunately there are 6 enemy fighters on its tail......she requests fire support."
"Okay, get ready to lay down some fire right after she passes, maybe we can catch a few in the flyover."
"Unit R-650 to incoming Valkrie, we are prepared give what support we can. We have no surface to air missile capability, only two P-max assault cannons."
Captain Melanie "Dirty Dog" Vance cursed under her breath at the news from the cyber-zombie. Two plasma cannons weren't going to be much help in this fire fight.
"Acknowledged R-unit, do what you can and I'll attempt to circle around on them. If I am unable to pick you up I will let HQ know of your plight."
Olig had repaired his transmitter in time to receive the last message from the fighter, and just about laughed when he heard the last part.
"If you are unable to pick us up Valkrie, you may as well drop a bomb on us. There won't be time in the retreat for another attempt to rescue 2 stranded grunts. Just tell em that Sergeant Olig and his pet zombie will hold off the enemy while the rest of the battalion effects their escape from this miserable mudball."
R looked at Olig, shook his head and waited for the fighter to pass over. Internal sensors began tracking the enemy fighters and 2.3 milliseconds after the Valkrie passed, R began to fire into the sky. Olig, his own helmet mounted sensors pumping information to him, began firing wildly along with his partner. No fighter escaped the hail of slugs which were thrown in their path, tearing off huge chunks of armor. For two with prior battle damage, it spelled instant destruction as they crumbled into hundreds of flaming pieces. This rain of death caught another craft in its grip, shattering the cockpit and shredding the pilot.
"Wahooooo! There ya go fly girl! Did that help any?" Olig began laughing and jumping around crazily. Until the debris from three wrecked aerospace fighters began dropping down on them.
"Are you kidding Sergeant? They were already at a disadvantage, you just made it worse for them!" Personally, she couldn't believe they had taken down three of them. Now she owed them a rescue big time, and the Dirty Dog wasn't one to leave a debt unpaid. A sharp six-gee turn brought the Valkrie around, swooping behind another of her pursuers as its twin 35 mm PPCs' opened up, slicing through durasteel and plastiform bulkheads. Fire engulfed the fourth craft as it fell to its fate on the cruel surface below.
Olig watched the dog fight, tense with anticipation, as R-650 simply observed with the conflict with the same uninterested look he always wore. Olig had noticed that look no matter what circumstance they had found themselves in over the last two weeks. Course, he hadn't worked with one of these "R" units before either. Still gave him the willies sometimes, but that was probably due to the cheesy B holo movies he took in when still a kid. "Revenge of the undead brain eaters" parts 1-5 didn't exactly paint a favorable picture of the resurrected.
--MHal9000
Captain Vance's craft sped over the landscape and turned south toward the Nauran Volcano with the last two fighters still on her tail. Hoping the Kook'tuttla were reckless enough to follow, she plunged through the immense ash cloud always billowing from the fiery mountain. As expected, she lost all visibility and her sensors went dead until she emerged twelve kilometers away on the far side. Looking back to see if she had lost the other craft, she saw only lightning flashes within the black clowd. They might not have crashed, but she may have bought enough time to pick up her comrades.
A minute later, the Valkrie touched down next to R-650 and the Sergeant. "Get in now! They'll be here any second!"
--Argus Skyhawk
650 and Olig leaped into the still skidding Valkyrie, and were promptly slammed into the rear bulkhead as Vance punched the engines into full roaring life. They leaped off the burned ravaged ground with a vengeance, even as the two enemy fighters closed back in on them. Missiles and cannon rounds screamed around them, the Valkyries' reactive cannons lashing out at any incoming threat.
"Buckle in!!" roared Vance, " We're gonna get into some dirty maneuvering!"
True to her word, another 6-gee turn happened seconds later, catching 650 without his harness. Not that he hadn't been quick enough, his time had been taken up helping Sgt. Olig into his own rigging. Cybernetically enhanced systems throughout his body were strained as he dug into the seat, clinging for life. His existence wouldn't be terminated by something as trivial as an unbuckled seat belt.
"What a ride!" screamed Olig, oblivious to 650's plight. In all reality he was scared out of his wits, but didn't want to show it. For all his life, William Olig had masked over personal fears and uncertainties with a loud boisterous bravado. Seeing how flying ranked high up on the top ten fears list, he was bound to be plenty loud and opinionated about the whole adventure.
Vance, for what it was worth wasn't really thinking anything, instead she was simply relying on pure instinct. She drove the craft low, hugging the terrain and scaring the tar out of several squads of Kook'lutka soldiers who had been eating in a small draw. They jumped to their feet, smeared with field rations, and began cursing at the Human ship. One second later they heard the ripping sound of auto cannons behind them. They never got fully turned around to see the fire from their own craft tear through the encampment. Blood mixed with rations, and silence stood tribute to the last of the craft that went hurtling over the former camp.
"R-unit! Can you link up to the rear gunnery station? The AI is having problems compensating for my acrobatics, and it can't effectively run the reactive guns back there!"
"I will link up to the guns Captain, it will provide me some needed respite from your attempst to rescue us." R reached up to a small console just above him, and a small cable connection snaked its way from his forearm. It linked his processor to the ships, and he took control of the reactive cannons that were firing wildly without doing much damage. In 3 seconds, R had the wayward systems back in damage mode, and began to hammer at the two pursuing craft.
Within moments, large chunks of fuselage began to peel off one of the attacking ships and it soon evolved into a fiery smear across the sky. Then Vance noticed movement at her one o'clock that was hugging a small ridge line. Three more interceptors arose from their terrain hugging flight, to meet the lone escaping craft head on.
"Damn! Get ready back there boys! I've got three more bogies coming at us head on!"
The grin that had been plastered upon Oligs' face melted into a grim mask. He looked at R, wanting to say something, but for once couldn't think of anything. That's when all hell began to break loose.
Vance shot the fighter/bomber low as she dared, clipping the tops off of trees in an attempt to evade the newest group of fighters. The vector they were moving at her from allowed them to counteract the maneuver without much problem. It also gave them a very clear firing solution, which they took advantage of. Auto cannon rounds sliced through the air, impacting the Valkrie hundreds of times, peeling back armor plate and shredding internal electronic systems. Dirty Dog could feel the sluggishness begin to creep into the controls, and she could also feel the same sluggishness creeping into her. She could hear her enviro-suit trying to patch up the hole that had been ripped into her side, but judging from the blood she could see, the suit was fighting a losing battle.
"R-unit! Disengage yourself from the reactive cannons and prepare to evacuate the ship! There is one parachute in the forward compartment, get yourself and the sergeant outta here!"
"Acknowledged Captain, what about yourself? Shall we set rendezvous coordinates on the ground?"
"Negative, I won't be able to eject. Too much damage to the ship and .......myself" The last part came out between clenched teeth, as the pain began to filter its way through the drug cocktail the suit was pumping into her.
"Besides, I'm not gonna let any of these miserable worms claim to have shot me down!" She swore to herself, focusing in on the last few tactical displays that were working in the ship.
R disengaged himself, and released the constraints he had finally gotten on. He looked at Olig, to prompt him to do the same, and saw he had knocked unconscious. A quick check showed for a pulse showed that to be the case. There wasn't time to check for more severe injuries, so he strapped on the parachute and reached for Oligs unconscious body.
Vance had managed to get the craft turned around in short order, hopefully without smearing the two in back. Thankfully all of the forward weapon systems still worked, and she locked onto the lead fighter as it made its way back toward her. Both began to open fire, filling the sky between them with death.
Violent tremors began to rock the Valkrie, and R reached out quickly to grasp Olig by the front of his harness, when............(a small boy crying.......his name is nathaniel.....both arms shot into the air......hands grasping, wanting, needing.......daddy?.........reaching out to take hold of the boy by the front of his bib overalls........he likes that?.................big grins.....laughter......................
then darkness.) R shook his head and found Olig in his right hand, being held up by the front of his harness. Not having time to waste on self-diagnostics, he strapped Olig to himself and leapt out of the doomed craft. He looked back in free fall to see Vance take out two of the enemy fighters with gunfire, before she pulled the ship into an impossible bank, impacting with the third. In the distance, he saw the one last enemy fighter limping away through the haze of what had been their rescuer.
--MHal9000
Olig hung limp at the end of his tether, definitely out for the count. R began to scan the horizon for the possible return of that last enemy fighter his NT, slung securely over his shoulder, was locked and loaded. However, it appeared that the Kook'tuttla pilot had had enough for one day. R shifted his view to the rapidly approaching ground, what a desolate waste to drop in on. In the few moments of idleness, R's mind returned to the face of the boy, Nathaniel, the face is so clear, so bright, so familiar. His boy? R units have no past, no future only the present and their programming. The personality implant is just that- only an implant, right? R's data banks would neither confirm nor deny.
R's Reprieve was quickly shattered as white hot tracers began to arch up from
the surface towards them.
--Jason Newgard
R locked onto the source of the tracer rounds and let lose with his NT.
"HA! tracer fire works booth ways! You cretins" The last few precious
rounds struck home in the bodies of the Kook'tuttla. Suddenly the gun gave
off a buzz. He pulled the trigger again, it buzzed again.
"DAMN! Out of ammo." R cursed. Suddenly several rounds of white hot flak
tore holes in the parachute and exploded over head. He began to fall
faster. "I'm all out of clips and falling into a frigen AAA site" R
looked down to the unconscious Olig below him, his NT riffle hanging from
its strap. Another volley of flak exploded around him. A few shards of
white hot metal lodged into his robotic body. The damage began to mount.
--Realm Scribe Shadren
He pulled Olig up into his arms and released himself from the chute. They still had over 30 meters to fall, and R attempted to brace for the impact. Several of his leg actuators burned out on impact, but he managed to roll with the impact, cradling the unconscious sergeant to his chest. Pain raced through his legs and back, searing him with white hot lances everytime they rolled over the terrain. Mercifully, a large patch of scrub vegetation stopped them 20 meters from the impact site, but R didn't have time to rest. He could hear several enemy troops rushing toward their location.
"Uhhhh." Olig began to come around, placing his hand to his now bruising head.
" Did you get the number of the nuke that hit me?" He began to look around, slowly beginning to realize that something was really amiss.
"Several enemy fighters are what hit us. Capt. Vance is dead, I have taken severe damage and there is an unknown number of enemy troops advancing on our present position"
"Well, don't spare me the bad news R, I'm a big boy."
R just about laughed at Olig, incredulous at the man's utter flippancy in the face of death. He steeled himself to stand, and found that his internal repair system had at least given him limited mobility back.
"Oh yes, the bad news. We are out of ammo. Fortunately, I do have this."
R pulled out the most massive Bowie knife Olig had ever seen. About 16 inches long, obviously one of the combat models, with a dull black finish.
"Where in the hell did you get that? Definitely not standard issue there R, not that I mind you understand"
"My former unit gave it to me as a gift of sorts, perhaps I'll tell you about it if we survive into the next hour"
"Don't worry about that part R2-D2, if there is one thing I am really good at, it's saving my ass and right now, you're part of my ass, so don't think I'll desert you."
"I wasn't really worried about you deserting me, but now I am worried about this ass thing now..."
"Ha! Don't worry 650, you're not my type! Sides, I think I'd really like to get together with those guys!" Olig motioned his head down the hill, and 650 turned his head to look. Several Kook'lutta were trudging up the hill, obviously looking for them.
"Doesn't look like they've spotted us yet. I've still got some ammo but if we light em' up, that'll just bring the whole freakin army down on us. What do you suggest for a plan of attack?"
"I think you should hide in the cave Sgt. I will lie in wait here, letting the point get by me. If they do not spot us, perhaps we can just start moving away. I will not be able to kill all of them before they could fire or send a warning. Stealth and avoidance are what we should practice at this time."
"Ummm, yeah....that's just what I was gonna suggest before you cut me off 650. That'll work just fine!"
Before 650 could give his usual sarcastic reply, Olig had started crawling towards the little cave above them. "Good luck Sgt., I think we shall need it."
650 watched the enemy soldiers move slowly up the hill, speaking to each other in the odd collaboration of clicks, grunts and squeals that made up their language. They weren't moving quickly, nor did they seem to be very thorough in their search. With any luck, they would escape detection, but how many times would this scenario be played out before they found friendly territory? If they found it at all? Word was Jericho 2 had been declared infested, that meant evacuation and orbital bombardment to eradicate the Kook'lutta. Unfortunately, this also meant rendering the surface uninhabitable until it could be terraformed. Five worlds had been declared infested over the course of this war, and each had been burned down to the bedrock. No, they had a definite time line, and it was winding down quickly. At 650's best estimate, they had less than 5 days to reach one of the designated lift off points. After that, maybe another day before the fleet surrounded the planet and began to hammer away with plasma cannons and pseudo-nukes. That part only took a few hours, even if the meager Kook'lutta fleet tried to intervene. Last time they did that, most of their fleet was lost, and their homeworld fell to another orbital bombardment. That part didn't even faze them, nor did the other four worlds. They had footholds on so many planets, and even more firmly in their grasp, that losing a few didn't matter. Not even the birthplace of their species. They could simply win this war by outlasting man's capacity for destruction, if there was such a hallmark.
650 broke himself out of the retrospective when the troops were almost upon them. An oddly pungent odor wafted across his nose, heralding the arrival of the enemy. One stopped several feet above his hiding spot, and began to relieve himself. The acrid stream found it's way down into the small depression where 650 laid, soaking his BDU's. "If you were the only one out here......" 650 thought, and gripped the handle of the massive Bowie tightly. Another started walking up toward the small cave where Olig had hidden. 650 had wanted to reassign the one who had pissed on him to target number one, but knew that would be a tactical mistake. He tensed up, ready to spring on the Kook'lutta nearest him. He figured he could kill the first and be almost on top of target two before they could recognize the threat and react to it. After that, who could say? Olig would probably open fire when he heard the action outside, which would bring more. The possibilities were endless, and not optimistic about their survival. Just a few feet further, and 650 would have to act. The one nearest the cave stopped, and turned back to his compatriots. 650 sorely wished he had the ability to comprehend what the aliens were saying. He couldn't tell for sure, but he swore the lead one had told a dirty joke of some sort. After they stopped what passed for laughing, the group moved on, ignoring the cave entirely. 650 waited for about fifteen minutes before getting up and hustling over to the cave.
"Sgt. Olig! They've left, lets get out of here!" No answer.... "Sgt. Olig!" 650 hissed through clenched teeth. "We need to get moving before they come back!"
"Don't get your processor in an uproar! I'm just......whew! What in the hell happened to you?! You smell like..."
"Don't even say it Sgt.........."
Olig stifled a laugh, and garnered a truly evil look from 650 for his
trouble.
--MHal9000
Holding his nose Olig slid away from 650; "So, you smelly bastard, where the hell are we any way?"
"My GPS got banged up while I was saving your ass, but, I estimate we overshot our LZ by about 10 K."
"That's a lot of ground pounding and I don't think we have the time for it. What were you doing looking at my ass anyway?"
"Don't start that again," 650 began to reach for his knife.
"Ok!" "Ok!," Olig was grinning wildly, his hands raised in mock defense "what else have you got stashed on you?"
"Well seeing as I was conscious when we bailed out of the Valkrie I was able to grab my pack. I've got some nasty tasting rations, a couple of hand grenades, and a transmitter. Unfortunately, it's got a big hole through it, but, I think I can-"
Olig quickly put his hand up - "Shut up!"
"What?!"
"Shut up- do you hear what's coming?"
R turned his head slightly as he homed into the distinctive sound of an approaching Kook'tuttla vehicle.
Olig's smile grew bigger as he slapped R on the back. "Hey R2, that's our ticket out of here."
"Oh really? And how do you propose we capture an armored Kook'tuttla scout."
"We're not, we're going to surrender."
"What! Did that fall damage what little common sense you had left?" R couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.
"Listen, we'll stop the scout and surrender and then we'll have those poor bastards right where we want them. There can't be more than three of four of 'em. They don't have a chance." Olig got up and charged out of the cave before R could get a good grip on him.
"Shit!" R hurried out after the Sargent, knife in hand. That stupid SOB is
going to get us both killed yet.
--Jason
