Chapter 43: A Bit of Help

A cacophony of gunfire—rifles, shotguns, and a minigun—came from the central hallway. Acid perked up at the din.

The black box almost hummed in his hands. Dozer let it dangle, careful so its wire didn’t come out of the panel. “Let’s get back.”

Acid agreed. The gunfire continued with every step toward the central hallway. Dozer stepped into the room with his fireteam, and Buttstroke let out a burst toward the blast doors. The corpses of three bots and the leavings of their mechanical innards littered the ground. On the far side of the hallway, another fireteam of recruits slipped into the room on the opposite side.

“What happened?” Dozer asked out loud.

Once the last of the new fireteam took cover, Buttstroke stepped back inside. “They’ve got control of the blast doors. When they open it up, we trade potshots.”

The drone floated out overhead.

Model stood beside the door, monitoring his line of sight out. “When they rushed us, Cold saved this dumbass.” He pointed to Buttstroke with his chin. “Bot had him clocked, and dumbass just stood there. And the drone came out and whacked its gun. Damnedest thing I ever saw.”

Coldcase wrapped dressing over Brigham’s simulated injury. “Good thing I had an eye on things.”

Buttstroke winced. “Anyway, we’re at a stalemate.”

“Maybe not.” Dozer grinned. “You should come see this.”

“You put that bot in the ground?”

Dozer shot Acid a look. You want to take credit?

Acid shrugged.

“Acid did, yeah.” Dozer pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.

Buttstroke pulled himself off the wall. “He did?” The muscles in his jaw tightened.

“That thing had me dead to rights.” Dozer tapped Acid’s shoulder. “I’m still standing because of him.” It was close to the truth.

Acid said nothing, careful not to piss Buttstroke off.

“Whatever.” Buttstroke waved in another fireteam and covered them with a burst from his minigun. Recruits had pooled behind the minimal cover near the entrance to the central hallway. He stepped back in and spoke to Snowden, their team leader. “You can hold this position?”

“Oh, we’ll hold it,” said Snowden. “You bet your britches.” The guy liked the sound of his own voice.

Buttstroke pointed at Errorist, still squatted beside Brigham. “Get up. We’re out of here.”

***

“It’s a battery?” Buttstroke held the black box in his hands. Its dull finish swallowed the light from his helmet.

“Maybe.” Acid’s eyes wandered upward. “I mean, these lights weren’t on before, right?”

Buttstroke waved Errorist over. “Get your tablet ready,” he said over the comm. “Plug it in when I say.”

Errorist extended the wire from his tablet.

Buttstroke unplugged the black box from the panel. The lights stayed on. “Now.”

Errorist slipped his tablet into the outlet. He tapped the screen. “We got power.”

“We think we got a way through the side doors.” Buttstroke broadcasted over the team leader channel.

Coldcase responded. “Okay. Let us know if it works.” The game must have promoted him to team leader since Pasty got taken out.

“There’s a countdown here.” Errorist kept his eyes on the screen.

Model peeked at the tablet. “Time or power?”

“Seconds left, I think. Over thirty. Plenty.”

Another barrage of gunfire came from the central hall. Everyone went still while they waited. In that small space between the five soldiers, they heard only the taps of Errorist’s finger on the screen.

“Got it.” Errorist peered up at his teammates’ faces above. “Should I open it?”

Buttstroke put his ear to the door. “They’re here. Get ready.”

Behind Buttstroke, Dozer got on one knee and aimed at the door. Acid, excluded from the team comm, read the situation and did the same behind him. Model took point on the other side.

“Not you,” Buttstroke said out loud. He focused his helmet light on Acid.

Acid checked Dozer’s face. Dozer nodded to the room behind them. After a second, Acid’s shoulders slumped. He stood and left. Acid turned the corner and stayed close if he stuck to the plan.

Buttstroke turned his helmet light on Errorist. “Hit it.”

Errorist opened the door. The next room had nothing inside but a doorway to the right. Dozer took in a breath to speak.

Two Pithites, one high and one low, leaned through the doorway in a coordinated move. Dozer planted a round in the bottom one’s eye. It crumpled. The bot up top pointed its weapon at Buttstroke’s chest and fired. Model sent its face into the back of its head with a crack from his shotgun.

Buttstroke still stood, but he hadn’t fired a shot.

Errorist glanced at Buttstroke’s chest. “You alright?”

Buttstroke closed an eye to check his WarFace. “Guess my armor took the hit.”

“Lucky.” Model gave Dozer a quick look.

If Buttstroke got himself fragged, it would’ve robbed them of the chance to frag him themselves. Dozer let the faintest hint of a grin curl his lips. Buttstroke unplugged the black box from the panel and handed it to Errorist.

Dozer took the chance to check the mission requirements: Enemy Killed 2/6. “Two for us.”

Model slid along the wall to the doorway. “Four more for a Pass B.”

“It’ll be a Pass nothing if we don’t get a move on.” Buttstroke took his place beside him. “Eyes on the prize.”

Sine waves met with more gunfire sounded from the central hall.

Coldcase’s voice came over the team leader channel. “Butt, you guys on the other side of that door yet?”

“Yep.”

“Take those fuckheads out behind the blast doors. They got us pinned down.”

Model slipped into the next room and halted. “We got a third doorway here.”

Buttstroke and Errorist came in behind him. “Doz, keep an eye out. We can’t establish a perimeter.”

Dozer checked over his shoulder. Acid emerged from hiding.

“Bots might come up behind,” said Dozer, quiet so Buttstroke couldn’t hear. Acid nodded.

With quick sidesteps, Dozer passed by the darkened hallway. His light beams glided over the walls and nothing else. He caught up with his fireteam pressed up against the wall. More sine waves and Pithite chirps came from the doorway to the central hall.

Model checked through the doorway and pulled back. “Five bots. None looking this way.”

“Toss a grenade.” Buttstroke tightened his grip on his minigun.

Model pulled the pin and let the grenade cook for a second. He rolled it into the room with an underhand pitch and took cover. A burst of excited chirps sounded out before the blast of concussed air shot through the doorway. Buttstroke and Model stepped in and fired.

Acid poked his head out. The corpsman didn’t get taken out, a good sign the bots didn’t follow them.

Dozer checked the mission requirements. It still said 2/6. “Didn’t put any down?”

Model eyed the bots through the doorway. “Bots are fast as fuck.”

Buttstroke laid down covering fire. “Got them on the run. Start your hack now,” he sent out over the team leader comm. “You guys cover our six,” Buttstroke said out loud.

Both Dozer and Errorist took their places beside the rear doorway. Since Buttstroke vocalized the command, he must have meant Acid to hear, an implicit consent. Dozer waved Acid into the room, gave him the plum spot by the doorway across from Errorist, and got on one knee behind him.

Buttstroke stood in the doorway and rotated the barrels of his minigun. He let off a few rounds every few seconds. The DI had trained all the recruits on suppression tactics, but the roughheads specialized in keeping the enemy in their place.

The room behind remained empty. Maybe they had taken the bot’s only key.

The blast doors opened with a rumble. Boots clomped through the opening.

“We’re through!” Coldcase sent out over the team leader channel. “Butt, can you guys—fuck!”

A snap of a bot’s grenade echoed through the rooms.

“They alright?” Errorist said the words out loud.

Model snickered. “Cold kicked their grenade back at them.”

Coldcase’s voice came over the comm. “We got this. Butt, you guy do the same to the bots behind the next blast doors.”

“Will do,” Buttstroke sent back, “and you guys keep an eye out for any bots with black boxes. It’s how we powered up the door.”

***

The fireteam made their way back to the room with the third doorway. Sure enough, a door cut off their progress in the next room. Darkness filled this room as well.

Errorist slipped the wire from the black box into the panel. The emergency lights came on after a few seconds. He replaced the black box with his tablet. “The countdown is a lot shorter, but it’s all good. I know what to do.”

Buttstroke put his ear to the door. “They’re getting smart, not making any noise. Gotta be there, though,” he said out loud. “Acid, get behind Mod. He goes high. You low. Dozer, behind me.”

Acid fell in behind Model. Maybe that close call during the last breach made Buttstroke reconsider the usefulness of another rifle.

“Power almost dead. Opening now.” Errorist tapped the screen.

The door opened. It held nothing but a doorway to the right, a repeat of the same setup. The emergency lights dimmed and died.

They switched on their lights. Model poked his head in. A sine wave sounded. He pulled back into cover. Like before, two bots leaned through the doorway, the same practiced maneuver. Both Dozer and Buttstroke expected the ambush. Dozer put a round through the lower one’s cheek. The top one spasmed with every lead dose of Buttstroke’s minigun. The bottom one—still alive—leveled its weapon at Dozer while Buttstroke pushed his minigun downward. Bullets shredded the rest of its skull.

Model stuck his shotgun inside the room and pointed it upward. He pulled the trigger. The bot crashed to the floor, and Model ended its thrashing with another blast of buckshot.

Buttstroke closed one eye. “Five for us. One more and that Pass B is ours. Move out.”

Buttstroke, Model, and Errorist streamed through the doorway. Dozer moved to stand but felt a hand on his shoulder, Acid’s hand.

Dozer looked him in the eye. “What?”

“It’s just...,” Acid sent out a shuddered breath, “if I get a Pass B today, I’ll be Level 2.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“I,” Acid’s mouth hung open as if he searched for his words. The cords in his neck strained. “I didn’t want to get anybody else recycled.”

Buttstroke’s voice came over the team’s comm. “How many?”

“A shit ton,” Model replied. “They’re using the third doorway as more cover.”

“Dozer,” said Buttstroke, “get the fuck over here.”

“We gotta catch up,” said Dozer out loud.