Quoted By:
Soldiers move like ants through the mire, shoulders hunched and boots sucking free of the mud with every step. A half-gutted APC serves as both a barricade and a checkpoint, its hull pocked with rust, hasty welds, and the scorch marks of laser fire. Children dart between tents with dirty toys, their laughter thin against the clatter of gunmetal and human persistence. Smoke drifts low from campfires, heavy with the stench ration bricks and diesel.
Everywhere you look, the camp is patched together – barely holding, but holding nonetheless.
The command tent only smells slightly better, a potent mix of wet canvas, stale coffee, and overworked bodies. A holotank serves as the central map desk, its edges frayed and worn, but still functional as orderlies swarm around it. A nearby table is cluttered with grease-pencil overlays, half-faded print-outs, and a battered radio set that hisses with background static.
Colonel Miguel Estevez stands before a display of the Hampton Roads, sleeves rolled high, forearms roped with sinew and ink smudges. He makes no effort to hide his cybernetic forearm, nor the cigarette that’s more likely than not against some regulation. His uniform is disheveled and he could use a better shave, but his posture is ramrod straight. He has the bearing of a man holding the line with nothing but discipline and willpower.
“2nd and 3rd Companies report an uptick of bandit aggression around Newport News,” an adjunct recites, reading off a datapad with grim resignation. “They’ve got police-grade weapons from a looted armory. Our men were shot at with armor-piercing rounds, heavy laser cannons and a sub-sonic weapon. Thirty-four casualties, eleven fatalities.”
Estevez exhales through his nose, pinching the bridge of it like he’s staving off a migraine. “God. What about power armor or tactical Striders?”
The adjunct hesitates. “No, but there’s been multiple sightings about a salvaged P.U.E.X.O. that Greaser managed to reactivate. Neither company could verify that information, even with braindance playback from refugees fleeing the area. Captains Nyugen and Ziller are requesting a saturated artillery bombardment to flush the bandits out.”
<span class="mu-i">PUEXO. Personal Underwater Exploration ExOsuit. The progenitor of all modern tactical ‘mechs, invented first for underwater exploration and exploitation by Ardan Ladera.</span>
“Denied….for now. We’ll take their request under advisory, but I’m not about to shell Newport News if it can’t be helped. There’s still people trapped there, and I’d rather not make ruins out of the closest salvage zone to us….anymore than they are, anyway.”
The flap stirs. Harper steps in with you in tow. The activity within the field HQ doesn’t stop, but more than one head turns to your direction.
(cont.)
