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On A Red Horse: Chapter 2
Posted By: Diamond Dog<swordfist14@cox.net>
Date: 16 June 2003, 9:15 PM
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Kate Gant was one of the friends that had signed up with him for the Corps. He had known her since he was a little kid, and they had grown up together. She was a great friend, but a friend in the share-a-pizza-and-beer kinda way. Incredibly easy to talk to, she had an easy-going personality. Durant loved to hear the sound of her voice.
"Hey Kate," he said.
"How have you been doing, cowboy?" she asked, smiling.
"Not bad, not bad."
"You gonna take care of me in the field? I'm just a fragile little thing, you know."
Andrew grinned. When he showed up at Delta she was waiting for him with a big grin on her face. She had asked what took him so long. "The best you've ever had, I can deliver." Then he realized what he had said and turned red.
She laughed and looked him up and down. "I don't doubt it, Scarecrow."
The armory showed up and he let her go first. His eyes traveled down her figure before he could stop them. Dark flowing hair and light blue eyes. 5'10", with a curvy figure and slender legs, "Fox" was everything her call sign implied and more.
The armory bristled with weaponry. There was enough guns, ammo, and grenades to fuel a small army. Well that's what they were really, Red thought. A fifty man army. Everyone went through the room and into a locker, where they took off the jumpsuits they wore and put on their combat armor. The four females in the unit had their own little corner with a curtain around it, but they started undressing before they slid the curtain shut. Red whistled and several other guys followed suit.
In minutes they were fully prepped in their "ninja suits", as the combat armor they wore had come to be called, for a good reason, because they looked the part. Jet-black Kevlar-threaded fatigues covered up a new type of armor plating, a much thinner cousin of the Spartan armor. The armor was made of a strong multiplayer alloy that had been coated with refractive crystal to disperse energy.
Hooked belts and various pockets and slits in the fatigues allowed them to carry large numbers of magazines and grenades. Refractive black plastic helmets displayed their individual name and rank in small gray lettering. A small screen that swung in front of the left eye could display objectives and maps at the touch of the button, and also functioned as a mission-recorder. Throat mikes slid wire around their throats, which fed, into a small unit that clipped onto their left ear, allowing easy communication between soldiers.
Once done suiting up they swarmed the armory and harvested, leaving it almost bare. MK6 pistols, M-12 assault or "battle" rifles, M-60 machine guns, SAW-15 heavy guns, 8 gauge pump shotguns, Jackhammer rocket launchers, S3-AM sniper rifles, and Dober submachine guns were all there. Each soldier had different preferences, and gun manufacturers catered to them like sports companies did to star athletes.
Red himself selected two pistols, swapped the barrels for longer and more accurate versions, added silencers, and snapped a 3x scope on each. After he slid the MK6s into holsters at his belt, he took up an M-60, straightened out the chain and slid the ammo drums easily onto his back. A LAW, fiber-optic probe, and a pair of NVGs went on.
Red looked at the ammo barrels. There were several different types. Hollow-points, which exploded inside the target, armor piercing, and shredder, filled with shrapnel. He took AP and hollow-points. Then he stuffed his remaining pockets with a few frag grenades, two mini-grenades, a smoke canister, and two flashbangs. All in all it weighed about fifty pounds, but Red hardly felt the weight at all.
Alpha and Bravo loaded up with heavy guns, rocket launchers, and sniper rifles, because they would have a nice open space to let loose with. Charlie and Echo took knives, silenced pistols, and M-12s for the stealth work they'd be doing, and shotguns and a few heavy guns for when they were discovered.
Speck from Charlie and Eagle Eye from Echo took sniper rifles off the racks, stripped them down and reconfigured them to their liking, then shouldered them. Red passed Santa Cruz, who had selected his special Dober SMGs that he had spent hours customizing. With extended AP clips, and amped up delivery power, the two booming guns cleared a room quickly. He shook his head, laughing. Santa Cruz saw him and said "Nobody fucks with my Cruz Juniors, you know what I'm sayin?"
"Sure do."
"A brother these days gotsta protect hisself man," Cruz said, purposely switching to what he called ghettospeak.
The pilot of the Pelican known as War Eagle touched his headset, then turned to his copilot and gave a thumbs-up. His co-pilot began flipping switches and beginning the pre-flight checklist as he addressed the Bravo Team marines in back.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is Chip Kurth, your pilot speaking. Welcome to the 6:30 flight to Hand of Justice. As we prepare for liftoff make sure your tray tables are in their upright and locked position. Any carry on baggage you may have with you can be stored under the seat in front of you. In case of any plasma fire, simply pull the medkit from the pocket of the person next to you and apply it. Please treat yourself before your fellow passengers, because you are more important than they are. If we crash in a pool of the Covie blood my friend the 70mm chaingun will be spilling, your commanding officer can be used as a flotation device."
Laughter crackled in his headset and he heard someone shout, "Hey Chip, what's the in-flight movie gonna be?"
"I think you'll like it son, its called 'Crap That Rat Bastard Shot Me', followed by the award winning flick 'My Armor Is Chafing'".
More laughing echoed in his headset and Chip grinned. His co-pilot, Randy Genheart, smiled and shook his head. "Systems go," Genheart said.
"Hit it!" Kurth shouted. Music flared into the speakers of both Pelicans and the boarding craft. He turned and saw the other Pelican pilot grinning and slowly shaking his head.
All my friends know the Low Rider. The Low Rider is a little higher... the radio blared.
"This stuff is ancient, man!" Genheart complained.
"Hey old stuff is the best, didn't your momma ever teach you that?"
Bom bom bom bom bom bom bom! Bom bom bom bom bom...
"No, she didn't."
"Well, I'm surprised. I thought you were smart."
Kurth sealed the cargo hold. As the hangar doors groaned and slid apart, he worked the controls and the War Eagle lifted powerfully off the ground. He tossed Genheart a cigar.
"No, Chip."
Kurth stuck his in the corner of his mouth. He lit up.
"Chip, no. No!" Genheart fumbled with his seatbelt, but it refused to clasp.
He grinned and looked at Genheart.
"Don't do it, Chip."
"Do what?" He popped fuel into the engine, then tapped a button and high-octane fluid gushed into the fuel tank. The purr of the engines became a piercing roar.
"Don't do it! You said you wouldn't!"
He shifted gears and, holding down the brake, shifted into second. Then third.
"CHIP!"
"Let's kick the tires and light the fires, big daddy," he drawled.
"N-
"Hold tight people." He released the brake and slammed on the accelerator. The Pelican roared and screamed out of the hanger with tremendous force, pressing the pilots into their seats. Bravo, experienced with their pilot, clenched onto ceiling handholds as their feet lifted into the air. Chip laughed as Genheart, unbuckled, slid up his chair and onto the roof with a screech.
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