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Between the Hammer and Anvil [part two]: Accursed Choices
Posted By: Turpertrator<pneumatika@netzero.net>
Date: 10 August 2006, 6:27 pm
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Between the Hammer and Anvil
Part Two: Accursed Choices
"The UNSC is like a pack of hungry wolves, always demanding more from each planet or region it dominates. Each colony must produce what it is told to make or the people are separated from their families and locked in prison where they must work even harder or die. All movies and newscasts available in UNSC dominated places are watched carefully to keep everyone in the dark about the goodness of family and following good leaders, but bad news and ugly sins of people with no values are always shown. It is forbidden to share good stories about people that say the evil policies of the UNSC are wrong. Even worse than this, girls and boys are taken from their homes and families to be made soldiers who kill anyone who says the UNSC is wrong."
- United Asian textbook for children, translated from Unified Chinese[/indent]
"Is it not amazing how the people of the United Nations remain so optimistic even when they are doomed to failure? They have failed to suppress the united peoples of Asia - we are forever free of their shackles. They continue to fail in the war against the alien Covenant. Yet they are all the time telling lies to soothe their fears. Their dreams are full of unrealistic hopes, as if they are tethered to the sky.
"But I would rather stay on ground that is solid. Come with me to a place of security through vigilance. For you will determine your destiny through discipline, not your dreams. Only you can control your fate. I will teach you how to master it. Under my loving lashes you will learn what is best and what will make you strong, what will give you a lasting legacy of good deeds."
- Emperor Viktor Turpolev, monthly AsiaNet "VisionCast" April 2539
It hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. Captain Vladimir Ganor could not believe his eyes. What must have been two "dumb" rockets had come from nowhere and knocked two of his Pelicans out of the air. It seemed impossible to him that anyone could have calculated the trajectory of their flight path and predicted where they would be with such accuracy and from such distance.
Immediately he gave orders for the surviving five craft to break formation and approach the target area with great caution. The Captain began to call his Lieutenant, only to realize that his fellow officer was part of a fireball plummeting to the cold earth. In one moment he had lost more men under his command than during his entire commission. His astonishment hardened into resolve: these terrorists must be destroyed.
Kilometers away, Simjanes confirmed the kills on his field command display. He was counting on this "impossible" strike to delay the arrival of the incoming birds. We are going to teach you who you are dealing with. I own this mountain.
Taking up his sniper rifle again, he found ready targets. A squad of soldiers was approaching on foot from the base below to where their sergeant had seen rocket contrails.
Crouched and ready, Turpertrator began his escape. He had carried one of the broken doors with him from the command center and was now at the corner of the exit called "Gamma" on his tactical map. Inwardly he chaffed at the knowledge that bullet-riddled bodies of children lay at his feet. He could not understand why the soldiers that were now waiting for him had killed these children. How can the "good Emperor" murder his own people?
With all of his superhuman strength, he swung the door like a huge discus and threw it from around the corner at the chaingun turret. With no target and no time to respond, the gunner hit the trigger as the door struck. The momentum of the heavy door burst the cannon and passed through the gunner, the jagged edge mauling him like a giant buzz saw.
The dark-armored soldier rushed out, only pausing long enough to kill the surviving gun crew. One of the child-killing crewmen had fallen to the ground as the door passed over him. Eyes wide with terror, he frantically clawed at his side for his pistol, but could not find the holster release. An angry Reaper had come for his soul, wielding a standard-issue combat knife. The eyes of the enlisted soldier went blank in the shadow of death that was enveloping him. A thrust of an armored hand, and the soul was severed from the body.
"Gruesome is good," Turpertrator remembered the intel wonk telling them during the pre-mission brief. "Dismember the dead whenever possible to humiliate this Rebellion." Turpertrator was certain that desk commander had never seen gruesome. He had never smelled the burning flesh of enemies or left behind dead friends you could not even bury.
The soldier in MJOLNIR armor had to do it quickly, but something would be obvious soon. Turpertrator hated child killers.
Simjanes had been watching the bloody spectacle. "Is anyone even going to be able to read your 'message' after that C12 goes off?"
As if a fire drill was underway, dozens of civilian technicians were assembling outside the row of buildings that took up the north half of the compound. Most were covering their ears, vainly trying to block out the shrill noise blasting through every sound device in the complex. No one told them they were under attack.
Nearby, but out of their view, soldiers from the east barracks were clutching at the children assigned to their unit, literally trying to use them as human shields. Even Simjanes noted the injustice of the soldier's cowardice. He was taking rare pleasure in making headshots on those that thought themselves safe from his vengeance.
Delayed, cautioned by their losses, but still blazing towards base Butugychag, the remaining Pelicans under Ganor's command now came in view in the southwestern sky. Even though they were hugging the mountainous contours of the land, they still had sufficient vantage to easily see the contrails belonging to the sniper in the hills. One of the troop carriers broke off to seek this quarry. Simjanes saw their approach and was well aware his position was exposed. He was losing himself in the trees even as he brought out his field command display. As he passed out of their range, he changed the sensitivity of the defenses ringing his former perch in the rocks.
Stealth had prevented Turpertrator from infiltrating the base with a Jackhammer on his back. Now he had little need for stealth - and it was looking like he was going to have to blast his way past the unexpected welcome party. Conveniently, a heavy weapons squad carrying three of the rocket launchers was now hunting for him back inside the command center.
The rebellion soldiers were working their way down a hallway through which the Spartan had passed earlier. Man for man, they were not as well trained or experienced as most UNSC troops. However, even an ODST would think twice before facing a heavy weapons squad by themselves. Yet, if the six-man team knew their doom was to face a Spartan in his wrath, they would have fled. But no one in the Bishkek Rebellion knew that such enemies had been unleashed upon them, and no one would have told this squad of men anyway.
Turpertrator ran back through the command room, his footfalls pounding past the carnage and the lingering heaviness of death, past the bomb that was silently counting down to its apocalypse. He emerged at a full sprint through the hole that had been a door minutes earlier. Directly in front of the Spartan was an open stairwell. Ten meters to his right the rocket squad was firing on him. As he ran towards the stairwell, he turned and let fly a grenade from each of his hands. Rockets screamed down the corridor at him.
With the power only a Spartan in a MJOLNIR suit could muster, Turpertrator jumped 6 meters up into the stairwell and grasped the railing of the second floor. Rockets detonated below him, even as the railing broke under the weight of the armored giant.
The grenades fragmented, killing three of the soldiers and wounding all but one. Through the smoke and explosions, the survivors were unsure if they still had a target. The untouched rebel soldier carried a flamethrower, and he ran forward confident he could torch anything still moving.
Behind him, one of the rocket carriers slumped against the wall in agony, a chunk of metal burning deeply into his thigh. He turned to see the flame carrier take a single slug in his head and be thrown back and onto the floor violently. In throbbing deafness, he watched the flame gun careen and fall, canisters clattering on the hard floor and its pilot flame extinguishing itself with a whoosh. It was the last thing he ever saw.
Five days earlier, Captain Ganor had been called for by Marshal Hasegawa. After enduring hours of security checks and blindfolded travel in the modern catacombs under the metropolis of southern Korea, the Captain was admitted to a room.
Ganor now understood why he had never seen an updated picture of this infamous hero of the United Asia empire. The man's right arm was armored metal, entirely robotic. His long white hair was swept back into a pony tail, accenting the artificial lower jaw - a dull black collection of metal and ceramics that looked more like a bulldozer scoop than a medical replacement.
Ganor also noticed the officer was huge - probably over two meters tall if standing. His crisp black uniform was decorated with medals, but had only a single sleeve to cover the human arm. Flanking him on either side were numerous shelves and pedestals displaying more holo-trophies than the Captain had ever seen. He remembered it was said that the Marshal had seen more combat than any other two men alive; most of it on far-off worlds of the stellar frontier. Even at the beginning of the Uprising, the aged soldier had personally led the attack to push the UNSC from eastern Asia.
The Marshal began the interview with a furrowed brow. "Why did you command your unit to free-fire on the demonstrators in Empire Square, Johor?" Ganor was mildly surprised that the voice had no hint of being synthesized, even though the Marshal's "mouth" barely opened.
Without hesitation the Captain responded, "As I made clear in my report, the anarchists were in violation of the curfew and were desecrating the statue of Emperor Turpolev. Polkovnik Jinnah had ordered me to break up the demonstration, to use deadly force if necessary."
The Marshal's brow no longer feigned anger, but Ganor had no idea if the metal mouth was smiling. "No, I gave that order." The Marshal paused long enough for Ganor to guess where this interview was headed.
The Marshal continued, "What action did you take when some of your men refused to fire on un-armed civilians?"
Ganor returned the hard gaze. "I executed them personally. Insubordination of orders is punishable by death, and I will not wait for some military court to decide what needs to be done then."
Apparently satisfied, the cyborg commander visibly relaxed the tension. "That is why you have been called, Captain," he said in what passed for a pleasant tone. "I now know that your dossier does not tell me lies like some have tried to tell me to my face."
The senior officer activated a map display that lit up the surface of his empty desk. The satellite imagery was old, because the UNSC had destroyed every satellite the empire controlled or tried to put up. The original image had since been modified to show improvements and new buildings - but Ganor knew he was looking at Magadan Air Base.
"Two nights ago enemies attacked this Air Base. Every Pelican, anti-air artillery, and flight-capable vehicle was destroyed or rendered useless. Over 300 men were killed, but only 5 wounded have survived. Today, our media organs will release the story that it was a UNSC orbital bombardment. Many of our people will shake their fists at the unionists, as well they should. But, the corrupters will deny it, and this time they will be correct: it was no bombardment from orbit."
The Marshal leveled his gaze at the Captain. "This was the work of what could be no more than a company of commandos. They are obviously well-trained: so far my inspection team has found no trace by which these enemies could be identified. I doubt they will. Fourteen hours before this attack, a convoy transporting uncrewed armor was destroyed 30 kilometers from the base. No one survived the attack and all of the machinery was burning before a security detail arrived."
The Marshal's voice became harsh, "I want these attacks stopped and the perpetrators made a spectacle of. The terrorists that conscripts call 'the clowns' have been allowed to survive for too long. But they are still in Turkistan . . . let others deal with them. But not here in the East, not while I am in command of the greatest army ever known . . ." The Marshal paused, as if to regain control of his anger. "Our father, Emperor Turpolev himself gave me the directive to find someone who can destroy this . . . this insect prick and expose the UNSC plot."
Ganor was to assemble a company of his own commandos and be prepared to respond rapidly to any suspected sabotage or armed attack in northeast Asia. No risk was too great, no cost was too high. Eliminating the saboteurs was all that mattered. The Marshal gave him all of the equipment he asked for, even the eight Pelicans he wanted.
"What are my orders regarding civilians?" Ganor had already learned of the recent assignment of civilians to all regular military units and installations.
The Marshal's eyes were cold. "I am the voice of the Empire. Turpolev speaks through my mouth. You will consider civilians expendable if they further your objectives. When you encounter the terror cell, you are to eliminate any assigned civilians as 'martyrs' of our cause. I will simply declare that it was the UNSC that has murdered them . . . for why would we harm our own people?"
Turpertrator emerged from the command center building with rockets ready. He expected that he would have to fight for his life before he could hope to escape. He did not know that he would be fighting for others.
One of the troop carriers had swooped down to allow its contingent of two squads to disembark. Only three of the soldiers had jumped from the hovering craft before a rocket streamed in and struck the lip of the open bay. In one flash of fire and pain, all fourteen of the commandos were consumed. Only the terrified pilots remained alive - who were desperately scanning for the attacker or any sign of life from their warrior detail. As the smoking Pelican lurched up and clawed for altitude, several lifeless soldiers tumbled to the battlefield upon which they had never fought.
The pilots could have taken more time - their attacker had already moved on. As it was, Turpertrator wished he could see something other than what greeted him as he turned the corner on the eastern parade ground.
Ganor had chosen his men well for the demonic task they were now executing. Both squads of commandos from another Pelican were systematically murdering the children that the base's guards had been using as shields. With soulless eyes, they were holding down the confused, screaming children and shooting them at point-blank range. Their uniforms were already stained with innocent blood.
Anger rose in the Spartan. He could think of nothing he had ever seen more evil or unjust. Yet, he could not interdict these commandos and over 40 soldiers in the open field without a probable chance of his own death, let alone identification. But even if he could, somehow saving the children, his bomb would be killing them within moments as surely as these commandos' bullets were now. Detonation was as inevitable as gravity: not even Turpertrator could stop the bomb in time now.
The decision pained him, but it was made with no further hesitation. Turning south to make his final dash, Turpertrator questioned Simjanes. "Why didn't you tell me about the other children, Nate?" The anger surged in him enough to evoke the first name no one else alive remembered.
Simjanes had just reached his second station among the trees. "I knew it would have distracted you," he said coldly. Although his field of vision was much reduced, he could again see the area around the eastern barracks through his scope. "Do they think UN media sats can't see this? Why are they killing their own civies?"
Again in control of this thoughts, Turpertrator responded with his own cynicism. "Maybe they only care what their own people are told to believe about us 'terrorists.' I think AsiaNet just painted us as baby killers." Shoulda seen the way those kids looked at me - so much hate.
The last leg of Turpertrator's journey was going to be the most dangerous. He had to keep moving - but he had to stay under cover to avoid detection. Simjanes had already cleared all regular sentries from the planned route to the south, but three armed Pelicans hovered over the base like keen-eyed hawks watching for a hint of movement. For the moment, the sniper set down his rifle and took up his command display. He had only one idea left how to distract the birds from finding Turpertrator.
With arcane timing, a burst transmission arrived from their ONI handler. Their mission had just been changed.
[ . . . to be continued]
__________
Turpertrator is the author of "Between the Hammer and Anvil."
Visit the archives of the Grand Rapids Frag Pile http://bungie.net/fanclub/grfp/GroupHome.aspx for more exploits and articles by founders Lexicus, Chuckles, Hogg, Turpertrator, and others.
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