Re: [GZG] Fiction -

_______________________________________________
Gzg-l mailing list
Gzg-l@mail.csua.berkeley.edu
http://mail.csua.berkeley.edu:8080/mailman/listinfo/gzg-lNice it would
be nice if we could get some of this GZG-verse fiction up on
lulu!

On Thu, Jan 28, 2010 at 9:33 PM, <Beth.Fulton@csiro.au> wrote:

> G'day,
>
> Latest story from Jock. Its a wee bit of a filler before we get back
into
> the campaign proper.
>
> Cheers
>
> Beth
>
> >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>
>
> In Memoriam
>
> After the recent attack in Marin most of the 2/34 had been pulled back
to
> San Juan and from there evacuated to Henna Dimashq, a large Martian
city to
> the north of Coprates Chasma. Like many Martian settlements it is
built in
> a
> crater, with the original settlement right in the centre and
agricultural
> land in a ring around that. This city had become a hub for local
commerce
> however and there were extra urban districts in large notches in the
crater
> wall both east and west. A smaller area in the southwestern rim had
become
> a
> fairly well established military base. It wasn¹t the wholesale
requisition
> that had effectively occurred in Nirgal, but it was still an extensive
> presence.
>
> Here many of the worst of the wounds could be patched up and everyone
could
> get some R&R. Some of the most critically wounded would never be
returning
> to combat, though the Seige of Sol meant they wouldn¹t be shipping
straight
> home either. They could help out in a desk position or try and find
some
> other job. Young Gary Lewis was talking about becoming a VR pilot now
some
> of the booster stations along the new Margaritifer Line were up and
running
> again. I didn¹t think he¹d live let alone be thinking of still
fighting the
> Kra¹Vak, but the fight in these kids is amazing.
>
> As for me I¹ve chosen to return too. I was given the option of
calling it
> quits after I took the slug to my throat. It went in just under my
chin and
> came back out through my cheek. Busted my jaw up. It still aches a
bit, but
> all is ok now. They even grew me some new teeth. So I¹ll be going
back in
> with the 2/34 when they return to the Tokalau Isthmus.
>
> Today however, we have a more solemn purpose. We¹re here to remember
the
> fallen.
>
> We¹re sitting at the top of the parade ground in Camp Henna. I can
see
> crowds of civilians snaking back down the crater wall to the big
cathedral
> down in the old quarter. Martians have such a different take on
things. At
> home there would be black and flowers and tears. Not so here. Well not
> completely. There will be tears, but the place is a riot of colour.
These
> people come from families used to battling the elements, scraping a
living.
> They celebrate life no matter how short or how it ended.
>
> ³Jock.² Iron George nods, as he pulls up a chair by me. He plants
his feet,
> legs spread akimbo, his walking stick balancing across his knees.
>
> ³Guday shir.² I slur, the mobility of my healing jaw still hindered
by the
> braces clamped around it to hold it in place as it knits.
>
> Turning to look at him I can see that Baxter¹s face is ashen, his
eyes
> sharp
> edged and glittery, his jaw is rolling.
>
> ³Shir?²
>
> ³Shit start to the day.² He says quietly, eyes locked on to the far
> distance. ³Lost Higgs and Al this morning.²
>
> ³But I shought Al wash doing well² I protested incredulously.
>
> ³Yeah I know. Why the fuck is it always ones with kids?² he asked,
raw
> grief
> evident in his quiet tone.
>
> I didn¹t know what else to say, so we lapsed into silence, there
starring
> off into the distance, consumed by our individual thoughts.
>
>			 * * *
>
> I first met Sergeant James Wilson Higgs VC in the sandbagged ops room
in
> the
> compound at Marin. He had this way of leaning up against the back wall
> keeping a quiet but vigilant eye on everything. He also seemed to have
this
> sixth-sense of when something was about to go wrong. He could read the
real
> time 3D projections of the battlefield better than anyone else I knew.
Iron
> George included.
>
> Some of the feed for the projections came from unmanned drones that
roamed
> overhead, others from sensors on high altitude balloons. For the very
fine
> scale detail needed in close combat specialist handlers on site
released
> nanite OEmotes¹. When I asked him how he knew he asked if I played
music,
> when I said no, he asked if I water rafted. Again no. He asked if
there was
> anything that I did that was especially my thing. Football is my
thing.
>
> ³How long¹ve you been playing?²
>
> ³Nearly twenty years.²
>
> ³Any good?²
>
> ³Kinda. Not that skilled.²
>
> ³But can you read the play? Know that the opposition is going in that
hole
> or that your winger will be by the far post?²
>
> ³Yeah, I can do that ok.²
>
> ³Same thing. You can just read what¹s going to happen, it flows past
and
> you
> just feel it. Nothing conscious necessarily, you just know.²
>
> Zen battle fighting. ³Very Jedi.²
>
> ³Can tell you¹re a lit major mate. I had to watch those things in
high
> school. Remastered but they never really got it, no holo depth at all.
Not
> a
> patch on Khorramshahr Campaign series. Now that was story telling!²
Despite
> his disparaging words, turns out Sergeant Higgs was an avid vid buff
and we
> spent many hours breaking the boredom of deployment discussing vids or
> exploring the contents of each other¹s OEcasters.
>
> The laid back persona, soft drawl and easy smile hid a fairly serious
> combatant. A significant asset in the ops room he was also a very
> professional soldier in the field. I remember one action in the core
> industrial district to the north of the compound. We would have walked
> straight into a major ambush if Higgs hadn¹t figured it out and sent
us
> roofward instead. He got us set up in amongst some energy vanes and
put the
> snipers from recon platoon up on some water towers. Then by
jury-rigging a
> field server he slaved the spec feed and coordinated fire down along
about
> 1500m of the Kra¹Vak¹s planned kill zone. Starting with coordinated
> launches
> of grenades and IAVRs to flush them out of their forward positions and
then
> using SAWs and machine-guns to OEwalk¹ the Kra²Vak back away from
our
> position. When one of the gunners went down he took over that position
and
> still didn¹t miss a beat in his directions. I have this beautiful
still of
> him, feet braced against the building edge, intent expression,
mid-command,
> eyes alive, arms tight as he wrestled the MG, casings collecting in a
small
> mountain around him.
>
> That was an intense firefight. The Kra¹Vak came back in full force,
> followed
> close on their heels by the telltale early signs of a major dust
storm. We
> needed to extricate ourselves quickly. Amidst the clouds of dust and
enemy
> fire Higgs called in for an evac by VTOL. It felt like an age later,
but
> was
> really only minutes when a gunship took up position above us, sitting
up
> high trying to keep the way clear for a troop-carrying variant of the
> Mantis
> to come in and get us. The Mantis couldn¹t land on the roof - the
clear
> space between the clutter of towers and vanes was too small for its
bulkier
> body. So it came in low and the able bodied had to leap onto a cargo
net
> they¹d rolled out the loading ramp and then clamber up. If that
wasn¹t hard
> enough with the enemy still firing on our position, it was jinking
> to-and-fro to make it hard for any rocket toting Kra¹Vak. Even the
few guys
> who were hit but still ambulatory went up that way. When it go to the
two
> seriously wounded though Higgs waved away the cargo net and pointed
away
> back toward the compound. For a heart stopping second I thought he was
> telling them to leave him and the seriously wounded behind, but then
he
> must
> have been in direct link with the pilot because the VTOL slid over to
the
> camp-wise roof edge and hovered landing ramp down, backed into the
> building.
> Higgs shouldered the wounded gunner first and then sprinted full pelt
at
> the
> VTOL, slugs flying around his high profile, and as he reached the roof
edge
> he kept right on coming, leaping into the VTOL with his final strides.
> After
> laying the man on his shoulders in the back of the VTOL, Higgs turned
round
> and went back for the other man. Sprinting back out of the VTOL, back
> across
> the roof (bent double but still an attractive target), bloody body
onto his
> shoulders and then back again for that final leap onto the VTOL. Just
as
> his
> boots hit the ramp we were rocked by some kind of hit and the VTOL
whanged
> into the building hard. I thought we were going down and that the
Sergeant
> would topple out. Instead Higgs hurled himself forward into the body
of the
> transport. He and the man he¹d been carrying ended in a bloody mess
by the
> rear seating, but he¹d saved them from a fall to their deaths. He was
> quickly on his feet though as it was clear something was badly wrong
with
> the VTOL, which was shuddering and grating against the building. Higgs
slid
> his way back to the loading ramp where the loadmaster was perched on
the
> edge of the ramp, hanging one armed from straps above his head and
pointing
> down off the ramp to the wall. He was obviously yelling, but with the
wall
> of noise that filled the VTOL I couldn¹t make out what he was saying.
>
> To my utter disbelief, Higgs grabbed the MG, slung his feet through
the
> cargo net and then his upper body and the gun disappeared over the
edge of
> the ramp. I could see his body judder, so I guessed he was firing.
Five
> short bursts from what I could tell. The VTOL shot forward, nearly
sending
> Higgs and the net careening out over the ramp, but we were free. The
> loadmaster and Pancho pulled Higgs back in as we rose and then
zigzagged
> our
> way between buildings back to the compound. Just watching that my
heart was
> racing so hard I never thought it¹d settle again.
>
> When we were back in the relative safety of the camp and the noise was
> confined to the usual raucous discussions and the background thud of
> explosions and mortar fire I sought out the loadmaster and asked what
Higgs
> had done. Turns out the VTOL had been snagged on a fire escape so
Higgs had
> used the MG to shear the balustrade clean off. I asked Higgs about it
later
> too, he shrugged it off and simply said. ³You just get in and get
shit
> done.²
>
> Losing Higgs meant that 2/34 was bereft of perhaps its finest soldier.
To
> my
> mind at least they were all astounding, but Higgs was exceptional.
This war
> was marked by any number of souls willing to put life on hold to rid
us of
> the Kra¹Vak, this saw a level of dedication and on-going morale that
made
> them the embodiment of professional soldiers.
>
>			 * * *
>
> ³Looks like we¹re on lad.² Baxter¹s words pulled me back from my
thoughts.
> The Lt Col had risen to his feet and was watching his troops form up
to
> lead
> the parade of mourners down to the memorial service in the cathedral.
I
> rose
> and turned to make my way over to where the civilian marchers were
> gathering.
>
> ³No son. Come and with us², I looked at Baxter quizzically. ³You
earned
> your
> place.² I was humbled and honoured to the point my throat constricted
and I
> couldn¹t say a word.
>
> Following Baxter I moved over to the 2/34. He broke off to take up his
> position at the front, whereas I hung back intending to hide away
amongst
> the rear ranks. I noticed a clutch of colt-limbed troops, laughing and
> wrestling over some hidden prize and darted over for a quick look.
There
> was
> Turps, in a hover chair. He¹d been hit during the attack and had lost
both
> his legs to a direct strike from a rocket while he¹d been manning the
heavy
> MG in a sanger on the roof of the compound. He¹d been little more
than a
> rag-doll torso when he¹d been airlifted out with almost no chance of
> survival. While he was still a little pale he seemed a long way from
the
> maimed corpse-like body I had seen carried aboard the airship only a
few
> weeks before. The friends he hadn¹t seen since were coming up,
clapping him
> on the shoulder or tousling his hair. As ever he was talking fast to
all
> around him, joking, showing off his new implants and graft points.
>
> ³They reckon it¹ll be about another seven weeks before the grafts
are fully
> prepped and then snap they just click in my new legs² he said,
cavalierly
> clicking his fingers with a big grin. ³They reckon I could even do
the
> carta
> course for the forward combat artillery corp, get some mecha-link
points.²
> His excitement was palpable. Instead of death or becoming a crippled
shell
> he was actually turning his misfortune into an opportunity. OEGetting
> grafted¹ may be accepted part of some cultures now, but it¹s still
> typically
> not a life style choice too many in the main stream opt to follow. For
one,
> it is typically prohibitively expensive, unless you do it for a job or
> you¹re willing to run the risk of lower grade goods. However, the war
had
> created a demand for OEenhanced¹ bodies on the front line, in some of
the
> most extreme environments. Consequently if you were willing, and
deemed
> suitable, the options before you ran from the full spectrum from
OEminimal
> enhancement¹ to OEcomplete conversion¹.
>
> ³And see this?² Turps said leaning forward and showing off a scar
running
> up
> the back of his shaved head and in behind his ear. ³Neural graft and
rear
> attachment for my new eye. How¹s this for freaky?² he glared almost
> imperceptibly and his pupil dilated and took on the hint of a dull
almost
> black-red glow. CEV. Cybernetically enhanced vision. It seems he
wasn¹t
> missing a trick. ³Oh nice frilly bra Cath² he said with a grin.
>
> ³I¹ll still knock your block off Turps, if you don¹t behave
yourself!² That
> brought hearty laughs all round. This is perhaps one of the moments
that
> exemplify this current war with the Kra¹Vak for me. It has been a
long hard
> war. Its not just a conflict on some far off world between mercenaries
and
> career professional soldiers, all boxed up and nice. It is dirty,
> frightening, horrific and universal. Yet it appears that our will is
> universal too. Despite all that they have experienced they can still
laugh,
> feel the exhilaration of survival. Yes they are mightily aggrieved
over the
> mates lost or injured, but they get on more determined than ever. They
say
> their own kind of goodbyes, tell the odd joke, clean their weapons and
get
> ready to go out and kill some more of those xenobastards.
>
> With a whistle from the CSM, all grew quiet and solemn and lined up
ready
> to
> move out. The parade moved slowly down the ribbon of onlookers, who
clapped
> and cheered, augmenting the beat of the military band. Then one of
those
> odd
> Martian song-chants began - the words indistinguishable, but beginning
low
> and maudlin, but slowly growing to fill you with a thrumming buzz of
> excitement.
>
> Once down in the Cathedral a familiar mix of funeral rituals were
played
> out
> in honour of the latest group of fallen, to provide safe passage for
their
> spirits and solace to the living. For some there were songs, others
dances
> or symbolic rites, for many there were eulogies. Some sorrowful, some
> darkly
> humourous, most delivered by steel-eyed, rigid-jawed friends who
chokingly
> tripped over feelings that went unspoken in life. People who had been
> inseparably tight knit, eating, sleeping, drinking, laughing together
now
> dealing with being the remaining individual. Many hinted at grief to
come
> when the fighting was all done.
>
> By the end of the service there was a strange mix of celebration and
hard
> knots around your heart. I had been crying and looking to my left I
saw
> that
> even Baxter had let a single tear run down his lined face. Looking
right I
> spotted the CSM as he rose to speak, but his eyes were dry and his
face was
> set in a mask of anger. He walked stiffly to the front, back ramrod
> straight. Turning sharply he gripped the podium straight armed, white
> knuckled, looking fixedly at his page before raising his head and
> explaining
> how this was the ³campaign of their lives², that he was ³immensely
fuckin¹
> proud of the courage they¹d all shown², that ³each death is a hole
in our
> hearts that would never heal² and finally that ³they have not left
us, they
> will be with us on each patrol and will stand behind us a silent
source of
> inspiration as we keep fighting the Krek scum². Until then I¹d
forgotten
> that Private Mitchell Clarke, killed by a Kra¹Vak slug to the throat,
had
> been the already much decorated teenage son of the CSM. The lanky,
blonde
> maned and always smiling kid had been so different to the bull-necked,
> tattooed and severe CSM, but he was a son who wouldn¹t be going home;
a son
> who would be mourned deeply.
>
> The last to speak was Iron George, his deep gravely voice forcefully
> filling
> the cathedral. "They died as soldiers choose to die. Boots on, guns
hot,
> shoulder-to-shoulder with their mates, defending our homes from an
enemy
> that would consume us and end us once and for all. In the years to
come, in
> the quiet moments of the day we will remember them. We will mourn them
> properly. For now though we have to continue the fight. We must
continue to
> walk out and fight so that those who died did not die in vain. Our
mission
> to clear the Kra¹Vak paitya from under every rock on Tokalau and from
there
> the solar system and form there the Outworlds. The fallen we honour
today
> would not have wanted it any other way. "
>
> I stayed in the background the rest of the day, watching, listening to
the
> men and women, young and old, share their stories, share their grief.
What
> I
> heard confirmed something I had long suspected. I had heard tales from
my
> own father, who¹d served on Bradley in 2179, and I was on Kayleigh as
a
> young TSNN correspondent in 2181 when Vortsheimer was over run by the
LLAR
> mercenaries. Neither was a patch on this fight. This was a new kind of
war.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
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