Asteroid Blues

NEWS REPORT ON THE INCIDENT: https://youtu.be/O3lWeImChr0
My opponent awesome comic book report! https://asteroidblues.warconsole.com/battles/lowell-bullock-vs-julian-1568946659?fbclid=IwAR1nyqkhMKX_Kx3aYBumBxOWoXzEqReceRrcmolk5YerLsCAcBhsE0ejjtA#report

I dismissed the personal message and continued to scan the net. A firefight had broken out at the defense battery again, insurgents no doubt. The net was full of yelling and whimpering, overly technical acronyms and radio squelches. The new security rotation was being broken in harder than usual. I leaned back against the vending machine and sighed. Month four here on Novy Bangkok and the contract wasn’t getting any better. The first 2 weeks had been a thrill, two massacres that would have made Calley proud and a triple bombing across the main strip. But once the “localized enforcement groups” had begun their patrols everything had settled in.

The patrol continued. We still had 12 more blocks to cover in this sector and only 4 more cigarettes among us. The Africans had taken point their hounds constantly pulling at the leash spooking the locals. It amused them to no end and their net chatter was full of laughing and short bursts of Arabic that sounded like slushy machine gunfire. This annoyed our advisor, an American, more than anything else they did. He could take the occasional food stall turned over or a quick kick. But for some reason the dogs set him off, must be an Ariadnan thing.

A man at the end of the street was acting weird, I could tell from a distance he was trying to get our attention. Shouting in some bastardized Chinese hybrid he started approaching at speed. Weapons went live and a target net was created just for him. No reason to get sloppy.
He continued approaching despite the 6 red dots flashing him from groin to forehead and stopped about 2 meters away from the lead African. He continued to babble and point, curving his arm sideways to insinuate the upcoming corner at the end of the block. I noticed a movement to my left, the American was getting antsy again. He does this weird weight shift thing on his heels causing his kevlar to rustle on his groin plate. Whish, whish, whish

BOOM!

My gut turned into a late Saturday night as a shockwave hit the street, my vision going sideways. Scraps of burning paper and noodles were flying through the air as the comms net lit up with shouting. I found myself next to a toy stall, a neon sign hanging by a thread above and the contents of the stall covered in what was previously the owner. Mansur the larger African was next to me his targeting computer and its mechanized arm whirred as it flashed an LLDR across the area. He grunted into the network and turned towards me slapping the side of his yellow helmet, the hyena pelt around his shoulders shifting as he signaled. I fumbled my fingers across the side of my own finally finding the headsets power switch. Off, silence in the street except for the whimpering civilians and someone crying in the distance. I switched to FLIR to see through the smoke and saw several Blufor signatures flashing hand signals, 4 fingers up, 1 finger down. Someone was missing. An engine kicked off in the distance, small, 2 strokes, a strong whine to it. Mansur shifted his weight and took off at a low crouch across the street as I followed. A nearby figure emerged behind us as we took cover behind an overturned civ vehicle. Fatima produced a handful of micro-drones and threw them into the smoke. Immediately my HUD became updated and a localized GPS net was established showing our positions as multiple points approached us.

We had over 12 signatures approaching at high ready by the speed of their walk. I felt a slap on the side of my helmet as Fatima pointed towards the other side of the street, the smoke was clearing and a small staircase lead into a nearby apartment. We took off at speed.
Thunk, my boot hit the bottom of the metal stairs.
Ping, strange
Crack crack crack.
Fuck!
I ducked into the opposite side of the stairs shielding myself from the street as Fatima pushed past me. Rounds slamming home across the concrete exterior as gunfire exploded across the street. Mostly lighter caliber rifles and an occasional shotgun blast. We continued to the roof as what could only be Mansurs heavy machine gun joined the feast CHUGCHUGCHUG the near 50. Rounds were spewing into the street. I hit the dirt just below the lip of the roof of the building and rolled onto my back, Fatima was in a crouching run slowly rising above the lip to snap a few shots off. She joined me on the ground with a crunch rolling onto her back as well. She fumbled with her webbing and produced a small pistol, aimed it into the sky and fired. The flare went high then exploded into several more smaller GPS locators.
“What’s with the fuckin comms man?”
“They have inside.”
Her broken English always sounded like a snake to me, but that’s what I get paid for.
I rolled over onto my stomach and wormed backwords. The firefight below was getting heavier by the second. I rose into a crouch bringing my rifle to a ready and disengaging the safety. The butt slammed into my shoulder as I approached the wall. The smoke was cleared and I saw the enormous crater the explosion had made. Streaking the nearby walls black with pitted shrapnel holes. Six or so figures were crouched in the corner the man had been pointing at. They were wearing heavy green plates and had cheapish rifles. Funded militia? Rebels with gear? One of them looked up.
Shit, didn’t matter now.
My rifle kicked sending a burst downrange, one round went low and the frag computer detonated early spraying the stall with shrapnel. The man began reeling from a hundred metal shards across his face as the other round caught him in the gut plate exploding and shredding his flank. As he began to fall down screaming I quickly moved my rifle to the other but was too slow. Papers seemed to just fly into the air like doves as the stall itself shook and moved. A loud cracking noise filled the air as Mansurs heavy machine gun lobbed hyper dense rounds at the group. My targets leg separated as I squeezed the trigger throwing my burst wide. The second and third rounds caught him mid-torso turning him into a rapidly expanding grapefruit. I ducked as rounds spanked and sparked around my position.

A whine filled the air as the motorbike from earlier came into play somewhere from our rear. An even louder whine overpowered it as a craft came in low overhead. An older mil grade dropship with the large Water Buffalo logo of the Druze emblazoned across the side. I couldn’t help but smile as the turbines shifted slowing its descent. Two forward-facing guns spewing lead into the street. More shouting, more gunfire, more noise.

The craft began to settle in on our roof, the front hatch opening revealing a dark interior lit only by a red emergency light. Three huge figures pounded forward as a half dozen attack hounds sprinted out, their leashes dragging behind them barking and yipping for blood. The figures emerged into the light stepping out of the ship, the ship physically rocked as their power armored boots landed with a thud. The lead figure threw two fingers towards the stairs and nodded at us as he began a casual walk. His enormous machine gun rocking in servo-assisted arms. His walk became a low crouch as he approached the low wall waving the drop ship away. It’s engines whined as it raised vertically before shooting off.
“Your advisor is currently in unison with the men below”
The suit translation system mixed with its speakers made the man sound like a very formal mechanical demon. Fatima began cursing in Arabic, that snake voice hissing out every letter, or vowel whatever they use. I knew the American had been acting weird as shit.
The other power armored units were now stomping down the steps, the barking of their dogs had joined the chaos below.
We all rose to a low crouch against the wall as the street began to clear out, Fatima had reactivated her comm unit and was speaking, her voice now muffled in her helmet.
I heard the whine of the drop ship approaching again and looked towards it.
There was no drop ship, it was the motorbike I had heard from earlier speeding down the street where we had come from. Accompanying it were several figures who began to fire at us from a distance. Their rounds landing anywhere but close to us we hugged the wall and began firing back. A figure appeared nearby and began sprinting towards the bike. An African was in his way and began shouting, the man fired a quick burst knocking the African down. He made it about 10 meters before another African appeared in front of him, kicking his legs out from under him.

The bike was closer now, as were the bullets. I fired a burst at the closest figure and he ducked back. A man closer to him turned into spaghetti from the Power armored units machine gun.
I looked back at the figure on the street and saw him wrestling with one of the Africans, both weapons were kicked away. The American regained his stance and began fumbling for a sidearm, the African still on the ground. A shadow darted out from the alley nearby, another African. I looked to my side at Fatima but she wasn’t there, I looked back. The advisor screamed as the second African buried a machete into his shoulder between the armor plates. A round landed right in front of me, I flinched from the concrete spraying into my face and began to fire back but they were retreating. The motorbike sounding farther and farther away. I looked back at the street but only saw the flash of boots and shouting.

The power armored unit next to me leaned back on his haunches and let out a short mechanical laugh in his own tongue.