There was about an hour or two of a break after the first floor was cleared. Not enough time for a real funeral service, nor time to get a proper breather. Just enough to charge the suits, reload, and sit in a new secured line.
“Smith’s been transferred out. His body, I mean,” Singh sighed as she squatted next to Andrew. “Fuck, this is a mess. Gutierrez isn’t saying much, but I know he’s blaming himself for things that weren’t his fault.”
Andrew rested his back against the concrete wall. He didn’t know what to think. Part of him expected to see Smith tomorrow at the shop, maybe to find his bed ruined by Park in another elaborate prank. He’d probably say something both dark and funny, laugh along with the group, and then work on the suits.
That wasn’t going to happen.
“What happened?” Andrew asked.
Singh slipped some dip in her mouth and closed her eyes. It was too early in the morning for shit like this. “Gutierrez had tried giving first aid, but the suit’s systems failed to deploy. So trying to help at that point was like trying to heal a tin can from the outside. So while we kept attention at the front, he tried evacuating Smith out for some real help.”
“And then they didn’t let him through?”
Singh shook her head. “All fucked up, I said. Apparently, Guti’ got so mad he almost pulled his machine gun on them. If it were me, I would’ve zipped those blue motherfuckers into ribbons, but I don’t have the same restraint.” She spat some fluid out onto the dry concrete. “All fucked up, this is.”
As if spoken into existence, Gutierrez walked up with an exhausted face. There wasn’t a smile as he just sat down with the two of them. No words. No jokes. Just a tired man who was supposed to come back to his fat kid in the ‘States.
Andrew didn’t know what to say. It was rare to see the man look this level of beaten up. He had eyes that drooped down with bags, fingers that ran along tense brows, and hints of red all over his hands. Smith’s blood.
After half a minute of silence, Andrew could only ask, “You okay?” It felt like a stupid question—there was no way in hell Gutierrez was okay—but it was the only thing he could ask in such a moment.
Gutierrez gave a deep sigh. “Wanna know something crazy?” he asked. “Overcharged batteries don’t do that kind of shit. And something crazier? Even low-powered suits can automatically stop bleeding. Remember when the Sar’nt got her fuckin’ arm bitten off? Even her exhausted-ass suit could tourniquet that shit. But Smith’s suit? Nothing. Absolutely fuckin’ nothing.”
“Why not check the suit?” Singh asked. “Maybe you could see if some system fucked up.”
“They won’t let me,” Gutierrez snapped. “Those goddamn cops have taken the suit, along with his body. They said some bullshit about respecting the dead, but these fucking pendejos are shit at lying.”
Singh paused. Her lips stopped moving for a moment. “You’re right. Something’s up.”
“No, it’s way worse than something being up,” Gutierrez continued. “That was a well-executed ambush. They knew that if they tried using the railgun without the element of surprise, we’d have zipped them or blasted them with our own weapon. It was like they knew what was going to happen, and trained on that plan.”
In summary, Gutierrez labeled it to one thing. “We’re being fucked. And the piece-of-shit traitor hasn’t even given us the liberty of knowing their name or face.”
Andrew didn’t know what to think. He pressed his head into his hands and took deep breaths. Usually it was Smith who’d come up with something as dark as that; having it come from Gutierrez's mouth was just a reminder of what went wrong.
Finally, the Sergeant and Kang returned to the group. “Alright, everyone check on your APEs,” the Sergeant quickly ordered. “We have two more levels to go, and we expect a higher level of resistance. I don’t want another technical issue to fuck us over. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
Only Gutierrez had something to say. “Sar’nt, you know something’s not right about this–”
She shot him a sharp look, then looked to the side where the cops were patrolling. Obviously, she knew something was up—how couldn’t she—but it was stupid to try acting now. “We have a mission to tend to. Now check your suit battery and conditions. And Singh, I don’t want you doing any more dip on this.”
“But–”
“If you choke on your own spit, I’ll fucking kill you myself,” the Sergeant coldly stated. “Enjoy this one while you can, but then you’re done until after the raid. Is that understood?”
Singh stopped. Then took a deep breath. “Yes, Sergeant.” She tucked the tin into her pocket and spat her current pouch onto the ground. “Just gonna leave a gift for the pigs, if that’s cool with you.”
The Sergeant had no comment.
Everyone inspected their suits and found no issue with them. Other than needing some WD-40 here and there, Andrew found no issue with his own suit. After all, it still technically wasn’t his—he always felt like it belonged more to Wade than to anyone else.
And now, Andrew felt it also belonged to Smith.
“So what’s the plan this time?” Andrew quietly asked, making sure no cop could listen in. “We go in again without support and pray that things work out?”
Kang spoke for the Sergeant. “Yes, it appears as so. As of right now, the mission is delegated to higher authority, due to the gravity of the situation. That means that we aren’t directly following Lieutenant Bates, but to a higher rank.”
“A captain,” Andrew scoffed.
Kang didn’t need to spell out Jacobs at that moment. That name was already branded into Andrew’s head as the mastermind of all fuckups. “Whatever,” Andrew sighed. “So what’re we gonna do?”
“Our best,” the Sergeant replied instead. Using her APE, she picked up two large sheets of metal, each one about half-an-inch thick. “Guierrez and Kang, you two will hold these as shields while the rest go behind you. That way, we can all provide fire while having some mobility.”
“Mobility?” Gutierrez asked. “Each gun is heavy, even if we’re in the APE. If we one-hand it like Rambo, we’ll be as accurate as a grandpa with cataracts.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
The Sergeant paused. “Good thinking.” She then bent metal pieces to act as a makeshift grip, and a small divet as a makeshift platform. “Here. You can rest your gun here while you shoot. That’s basically the same as two-handing it.”
As strange as the high order to attack was, everyone found a little bit of comfort that the Sergeant was doing her best. Cliche, but for Andrew, she was like a light in the end of a dark tunnel that reeked of death. “Let’s kill some fucking cultists.”
***
Gunfire blasted from all around as soon as they stepped inside. Bullets bounced off the armor and the shields alike, as Gutierrez and Kang faced their respective directions. “¡Hijo de puta! These dumb fucks don’t have any quit!”
Moving quickly, Andrew moved with Gutierrez as they cleared through the area. It seemed that every bullet he fired was guaranteed to hit someone, since there were simply too many cultists jammed into this one chokepoint. “¡Mierda! Railgun at 1 o’clock!”
“I got it!”
Andrew fired a burst and watched the infrared figure drop to the ground. It was funny to see the blood squirt out warm, and then go cold. It made it seem less real. Made it more fun. “Sergeant! What’s the word on the other teams?”
She, Singh, and Kang were on the other side. While Singh acted as the direct support for Kang’s shield, the Sergeant was in the middle of flanking around the cultist barricade. From the sounds of bursting skulls, she was getting in real close. “CDR-3 reports a wounded casualty. Nothing too lethal, but a possible liability. Meanwhile, CDR-2 and CDR-1 don’t have anything… one second…”
The Sergeant mic was still hot as she could be heard smashing through a group of cultists. A burst from her gun presumably wiped a squad, while the sound of a skull bashed against a wall—it sounded like a grape being crushed—ended the whole fight. “Anyway, CDR-1 and 2 don’t have anything to report,” she barely panted.
Forming back together, Gutierrez and Kang formed their shields to the front as the rest stood behind them. They pushed the larger tunnel as one, despite the bullets flying in their direction. “Keep firing as we push forward,” the Sergeant calmly ordered. “Keep the communication up. It’s our teamwork that’ll keep us alive.”
For every foot they stepped, they received a dozen bullets in return. Most of them ricocheted off the shields, while a few of them were easily stopped by the APE suits. The suits were designed to absorb plenty of punishment. On a good charge, that is.
“Railgun at the 10,” Kang called.
Singh fired a burst. A body tumbled from a perched position. “He’s down.”
More bullets went around as they kept their advance. “Pendejos in that bunker.”
Andrew unholstered his railgun and aimed for the warm figures in his vision. “Got it.” One shot, a streaming round, and three cultist heads popped like cherries. The projectile had simply punched through the concrete like it was sandpaper.
“We’re getting a lot closer now,” the Sergeant said. “On my order, we’re gonna charge the position and clear them out. That should be all before we can call in the cops to move up the line. Understood?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Aye, Sar’nt.”
“Good to go.”
The Sergeant gave her count. “Three…” Andrew shot a machine gunner at their right. “Two…” Kang took on a dozen bullets with his shield. “One…”
A blasting of a railgun came from the rear. Andrew couldn’t see where the projectile went, but he saw Gutierrez go down. His mind froze as everything seemed to stop for that one second.
“Gutierrez!”
Singh quickly turned and fired her weapon without prejudice. She didn’t need to say a word as her APE mask stared at the squad of cultists that got ripped into swiss cheese. The railgunner was given a parting gift of a fist-sized bullet hole in his chest.
“Cheng! Check on Gutierrez!” the Sergeant ordered. “Everyone else! Clear the camp!”
Andrew was focused on Gutierrez as the rest of the team charged forward. Not far from the whizzing bullets, Andrew screamed, “Hey! Are you alright?”
After a second, Andrew stared at Gutierrez’s unmoving body. He couldn’t see an entry or an exit wound, but he knew that it was too–
“Ah! Puta madre! What the fuck happened?”
“What the hell?! You’re alive?!”
Gutierrez laughed like a madman as he rubbed against his APE helmet. “That fucking thing just barely grazed my head! Might tip that bastard, ‘cause he just gave me a free haircut!”
Before he knew it, Andrew was laughing too. Crying, but also laughing. He didn’t know tears could feel so happy and sad at the same time. “Goddamnit, I really thought I lost you there.”
“Aw, were you gonna miss me, chino?”
“Was just gonna miss the team dumbass,” Andrew chuckled.
But before they could keep the moment, they heard the sound of footsteps from behind. With the rest of the squad still clearing the fortifications, the two of them were virtually alone. “Hey, Cheng!” Gutierrez yelled as he picked up his weapon. “Let’s show these bastards what a papi and a chino can do!”
Andrew recocked his weapon. The smile on his face had more value than any New Chang’an businessman. “Fuck yeah.”
***
By the time the level was clear, the entire mounds of bodies were strewn about. It was almost surprising, since everyone’s impression of the Pentagramists was that they were a ragtag band of idiots who relied on demons. Yet here they were, not a demon in sight.
It was another break. Another hour before more action. CDR-4 finally reconvened and took their APEs off right away.
“Guti’!” Singh exclaimed. She rushed over and grabbed that man in the world’s tightest hug.
“Easy…” he wheezed. “Hut me long enough, and I’ll start smelling like you…”
“What? Like you don’t smell like beans and nachos?” she laughed.
The other two were equally elated, though they expressed it in their usual reserved way. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Kang said. “Even if the bullet hit you in the head, I’m not sure it would hurt you. After all, you’d need brains there in the first place.”
“Nice to see you too, Confucius.”
Charging their suits to the side, the team realized that there was only one more level to go. They kept the loss of Smith at the rear of their mind, at least while they knew the mission wasn’t yet complete. “Do you really think we’ll find a demon in there?” Andrew asked the Sergeant. “Or is the captain just trying to blow gas up our ass and make us into his own SWAT team?”
Sure that the nearest cop was a few dozen feet away, the Sergeant replied, “We can’t be too sure of anything. The Captain is part of our chain-of-command, despite having connections with the police force. Whatever happens is whatever happens. That’s all I know.”
Gutierrez sighed as he rested his exhausted head against the wall. God knows, he needed to rest it. “I said what I said,” he whispered. “We’re getting fucked right now. My guess is that they want to get rid of all of us, so the Captain can then say that we were a waste of time and resources. Then he’ll integrate the CDRs into the police force, and be the hero of the fucking story.”
Singh nodded as she finally slid some dip into her mouth. Andrew watched her hands shake as she held it. Exhausted and anxious, by his guess. “You’d think that years of demonfighting would teach some numbnuts some lessons, but they just keep trying to do what they did yesterday. Or the day before. Idiots, in either case.”
But Andrew didn’t think about politics. He was just glad he could see his team in one piece. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Idiots…”