Gears of War: Seek the Light
Chapter 1
Outland
13 years after Emergence Day
Even with the heaters, the wind was cold enough to burn his face. He didn't like wearing the facemasks some of their guys wore. He thought those guys looked like bugs. The masks came in a standard COG pack, but a lot of men left them aboard their transports. Somewhere, Howe suspected, there was one big pile of unused masks. There would be another big pile for COG tags. They won't have ours though. There will be no extra teams, no air support, and no rescue team. Still…
He felt bad for some of the new platoons being formed. Criminals, old men, the physically unfit, children, people who couldn't pass the basic intelligence exam, and even a few of the mentally unfit who could be conditioned to fire a gun when they saw a locust. A lot of what was left of the professional soldiers was being kept safe in reserve for special operations and the last defense of Jacinto Plateau. It was not a good strategy to win, but Command had fewer and fewer options. After so many years of a war that could not end with a peace agreement, they were being ground down.
Howe tore a chunk off the fruit bar, and chewed slowly. They gave him gas. It was better than being on urban patrols though. Those guys had a lot less food, and had to worry about Stranded killing them for it. As a Second-Tier veteran, having served five years officially, and five then in the Youth Guard, Howe received a few choice opportunities. Despite the extreme nature of where they were going, he'd jumped at the chance. He'd been there for some of the larger operations, and didn't relish the opportunity of being relegated to a number on a map—just another Gear to die so Command could tell the people they were fully committed to defending the plateau. No one really mentioned the Stranded unless it was to shiver in revulsion or make joke. If you lived on the plateau you agreed with Command that the Stranded were in effect lost, because you didn't want to become one yourself.
There were plenty of rumors about the Stranded. Like how they were actually working with the Locusts. That one probably wasn't true. He'd seen enough of them slaughtered by Grubs and Kryll. Still, they were not to be trusted. Even if COG defeated the locusts tomorrow, they would begin fighting the Stranded the next day. That being said, there were others stories of COG citizens being taken in or captured by the Stranded. It was a particular fear of many women on the plateau. Even though, being a citizen of a population that was in decline meant that if a woman didn't have a husband and children, she could be assigned a breeding partner to help ensure the population. Ideally, they would've used En Vetro cylinders, but those required a lot of power and resources. To escape, or at least delay the inevitable, many women went into the COG military branch. His wife had done that. They hadn't been successful at having a child.
The three King Ravens burned sound through the sky. Their rotors had been hyper-cranked to give them better speed at the cost of sudden maneuverability. That could be fatal if there were Nemacysts around, so it was not a common feature on the choppers. However, Command believed that Seeders would have trouble digging in frozen ground. Howe was certain that they would find out.
He tried to appreciate the landscape, but it was most the same vast expanse of white snow and cold ground. There places where it looked like the ground had been molded by giant hands. Ribbed, rough ground would be in one area, a row of low hills, and even a mountain or two. The southern pole region of Sera hadn't been settled. People had chosen to fill up its more moderate climates. These same areas were the prime targets for the Locusts. But, people had come out this way. Wherever the imulsion was, people were bound to find it. Perhaps during the summer it wouldn't be so bad with the sun up twenty four hours a day. That would keep the Kryll away at least.
"Lieutenant?"
Howe turned to look at Sergeant Clevinger. "What is it?"
"How did they move their equipment out here? It couldn't have been all by helicopter."
"There was a train track down there somewhere." He pulled a Data-pad from a slot in his armor. Its digital display showed a satellite map of the area. There were two lines leading to the facility. One red and one blue. He pointed to the red line. "They brought most of the gear on the train, and sent the first imulsion shipments back on tanker cars." He pointed to the blue. "When the demand went up they installed the pipeline."
"Easy to follow back I suppose."
"Sure, as long as you don't freeze to death. Or the locusts don't get you."
Gear battle armor was rated to withstand many environment hazards as well as direct physical damage. However, it wasn't invulnerable. Command said that they calculated a 30 chance of Gear survival in a sub-arctic area. Once they secured the facility, their first priority would be to get the environmental controls back on. If everything was in order, the imulsion would power the facility, and they would have plenty of heat. Or so Command and Colonel Gaines assured him.
The Colonel was in the rear King Raven along with Dr. Mika and his technician team. There was also a few hundred pounds of gear that would supposedly be required to get the facility up again. It was foolish in a way. What was the point of trying to repair a facility for imulsion if the precious fluid had to cross a mass of land that left it vulnerable to Locust attack? A sick and freezing air that spoke of a waste of time and life hung in the air all about them, but Howe was willing to play along. He suspected there was something else going on. Gaines was a friend of Colonel Hoffman, who Howe knew mostly by reputation. Hoffmann had been advocating a direct attack against the Locusts' underground home for the past few years. Orbital beams and poison gas had only scorched the surface and killed minimal amounts of the enemy. Everyone could agree that Hoffman was right, but no one knew how they could achieve his objectives.
"We've got smoke in the distance," said one of the pilots.
"The facility?"
"Negative. Looks to be about four klicks out."
Gaines got on the Comm. "What do we have?"
"Smoke. But not from the facility. We should keep going, sir. We can fly by and assess the situation then."
"Negative, Howe. There's a hill just before the effected area. Use it as cover, and take Zulu team in on foot to investigate. Team Howard and my tech team will continue on to pumping station and secure it."
"Sir, the station could be crawling with Locusts."
"Yeah, so if you want to get any, then you better find out what that smoke is, and then make your way to rejoin us. Gaines out."
Clevinger shook his head. "That guy's gonna get his techies killed."
"Team Howard is solid. They'll hold out until we get there."
"I'm not sure I'm worried about them."
XXX
Team Zulu had been hand-picked by Howe. Clevinger had been with him for years. The two men had been part of now defunct teams that no longer existed. Survival was a great way to get to know each other. The other men: Bryce and Dillion had been part of the Youth Guard when Howe was there. When he came across them again, he couldn't help but feel the need to reconnect. With so many people dying it was common to find yourself trying to make friends with new people every few months. Howe figured it was easier if he just already knew them.
They ran, trying to stay low. No point in giving a Grub sniper the perfect headshot. They each wore a white ski mask for warmth. Their armor had also been primed to have whitish tint. That was special "aid" Command had authorized. As they rounded the side of the hill, Howe saw a snow bank growing off the side of it. He signaled the others, and they took cover behind it. Howe pointed to his eye, and nodded to Clevinger. The sergeant peeked over their cold, white hiding place with his Longshot. Two seconds later he took cover again.
"Looks like Stranded."
"How could they get out here?"
Clevinger made a face. "They've got some kind of vehicle. It looks like they got hit."
"Locusts."
"I don't know. I thought Command said Locusts wouldn't come out here. "
Howe scratched the two days growth of beard under his ski mask. "Command also said that burning our own cities would destroy the Locusts' ability to fight."
Clevinger nodded. "Now what?"
"I didn't bring anything to trade, did you?"
"No."
"Unless the Colonel would do it..."
"Doubt it."
"Let's say 'hello'. At least figure out what hit them. They are alive, right?"
"I think."
"I thought you said you could gauge any area with a quick look."
Clevinger smiled. Little bits of his moustache were peeking out of his white mask. "I'm still worried that one day a Boomer will be right there. "
"When that happens, you won't have time to regret it, so don't worry."
He really didn't like the idea, but if he could deal with these people without resorting to violence, then he would. Howe took off the white ski mask and hung it on the end of his Lancer's chainsaw-bayonet. He told the others to stay down until he initiated contact. When he stood, and walked around the low wall of snow, he saw what Clevinger was talking about, even though the glare due to his lack of snow-goggles was horrendous. These Stranded had taken what could've been an old APC and retrofitted it with all manner of random junk including what looked to be pieces of wood and barbwire. The smoke was coming from the back of it. Not a good sign, considering the vital components were in the lower rear of those vehicles.
He waved the rife with his make-shift flag over his head. "Stranded," he called, "Do not fire. I mean you no harm."
There was nothing at first. He could hear the fire burning, and the wind continuing to spread the smoke high. It would be visible for several kilometers. A beacon for anyone else foolish enough to be this far south. As some of the smoke moved away, he saw bodies. Several Grubs had been cut down by small arms fire, and a generous helping of bloody detritus meant that someone got lucky with a grenade. Good for them. Most of the COG leadership wrote the Stranded off as being nothing but a detriment to the war effort. But, Howe had been taught to judge people slowly. He'd seen Stranded do braver things than most Gears would do. They were often uneducated, crazy, and stunk something fierce, but he would never underestimate them.
"Stranded, I have medical supplies, and maybe some other goodies if you let me see you. Do not fire. I am not here to hurt you."
He knew that Clevinger was already scanning the area with the Longshot. If things got bad there would be a lot more blood. At least I tried.
"Keep your hands up, COG man!" A tall Stranded stepped out from behind the truck. He had an old Gnasher trained on Howe. "You said you got medical supplies?"
"Yeah, I got a kit. And I got more stuff than that. You got injured?"
The man's face was dark, but Howe couldn't tell if it was grime or the man's complexion. Part of the bridge of his nose was busted into his face, and it had healed that way. He could see that the texture of the skin was like that of an old suitcase that had seen too many kilometers and too much abuse. "Yeah, we got injured. Injured, dead, missing, freezing, starving, if you can think of it COG man, then I can tell you we got it."
"What are you guys doing out here? The south frontier isn't hospitable."
"And the rest of the world is?" The Gnasher was still raised.
He couldn't allow this to turn into an argument. Howe's thoughts drifted back to his early teaching at the East Barricade Academy. He knew the audience he was dealing with. He had to make the appropriate adjustments. "Look, what's your name? Mine's Howe. I was thinking that we could trade. Help for info."
The Stranded considered him for a moment. "How many other COG men you got behind that snow drift?"
"Three. And a King Raven down a ways." He regretted saying it immediately. His training to gain trust by offering help could perhaps get the better of him. Too late now.
"Tell 'em to come out." The Gnasher was lowered. "I can play nice too."
It was Howe's turn to consider the opposing man. "Come on out, guys."
The others slowly came to join then. Their guns were kept pointed down to go along with the show of peace. Tactically it was a stupid, because if the tall Stranded wanted to, he could've taken them all out with the Gnasher. But he didn't. Howe could only speculate what these people were about.
Once they were all there more Stranded came out of the truck. Three men, one woman, and now Howe could hear the groaning of the wounded. The others must've been covering their mouths. He'd seen similar things happen when Berserkers were set loose in an area. Frequently people suffocated their wounded friends out of fear, and ended up dying too when the Berserker heard their horrified reaction at what they'd done.
"How many?"
"Al," said the tall Stranded, "My name is Al, and we have seven people left alive. We began as fifteen."
"You had fifteen people in an APC?"
"In, on, hanging on. Whatever we could do."
Their clothes were in awful shape, but each wore several layers. That combined with huddling together could've kept them alive. He wondered if they'd fixed the heater in the APC too.
"Dillion, see to their wounded." The younger man went to do so. Howe offered his canteen to Al. He could see Clevinger's eyes wince out of the corner of his own eye. Clevinger was wary of anyone not in their team, even fellow Gears. Al accepted the water, and Howe asked what he wanted to know. "What happened?"
"What always happens: Locusts. We'd stopped to make sure our people were alright, eat some snow and stuff, and they hit us. Nothing more complicated than that."
"And you're out here because?"
"Why are you out here?"
"COG business. I asked you first."
"Stranded business."
Easy. "Fair enough. Let's…" The ground began to shake. "Shit." At least I solved the mystery of whether the Grubs can dig in the snow. "Get you're people back in the truck, Al, and send my man out here."
He began moving. Bryce and Clevinger maintained supporting wing points. Howe hoped that Clevinger would get the chance to use the Longshot.
"Eleven o'clock," yelled Clevinger.
Howe threw a frag, but it went too far. Damned glare. I'm gonna go snow blind. The first Grubs that erupted out of the emergence hole ducked from the remaining fragments, but were unharmed. Bryce ran to the truck for cover, firing as he went. Howe aided him as best he could with a full clip of bullets from his Lancer. He didn't notice that he'd forgotten to take his ski mask off the end of it, and little pieces of synthetic white fabric fluttered through the cold air as the bullets sent the Grubs scurrying for their own cover. Then he reloaded as fast as he could. Clevinger made it to the snowdrift and buried himself behind it. A moment later, a high caliber round tore the knee cap off a Grub that had been running toward Howe. Howe met the stumbling drone with his Lancer's saw chewing into the creature's collar bone. A wet crunch later, and the Grub was dead, though not cut in half.
The rest of Howe's ski mask and a torrent of blood covered his armor and parts of his face. However, Howe didn't let the dead Grub fall to the ground. He grabbed the body, and held it in front of him with one arm in a half-Nelson, while his other arm used the Grub's shoulder as a rest to fire his Lancer more accurately. The Grub's former comrades tore into his chest with shots from their Hammerburst rifles. Howe used the chance to mow them down.
Another crack from Clevinger's position dropped a leaping Grub. Howe heard Bryce chain sawing a Grub behind him. A loud blast near the truck brought Howe's gaze. A Locust's head and shoulders had been reduced to abused tidbits. Al had managed to snag one last Grub with his Gnasher. The man was getting better and better in Howe's opinion.
As it often did, the violence ended suddenly. Howe had first noted that when he saw combat on volunteer patrols during his stint in the Youth Guard. After his first taste of fighting, he'd been unable to sleep for two days. There was always the fear of more Locusts, more Locusts. As he got older it was all the more routine. The only thing that was different was who died.
Al came up and offered him a handful of snow to clean his face off. Howe took it gratefully, and did so.
"Not bad, Cog man, not bad at all. You might be useful."
"I was just thinking the same thing. Where the Hell is Dillion?"
"He's back at the truck. I told him to stay, and I came out to help."
"Dillion, come out here and give me a report."
A moment later the younger Gear emerged. Howe noticed two things. Dillion's arm-coverings had been taken off, and his arms were covered in blood.
"Did you lose a patient or something?"
"Unfortunately yes, but we gained another one."
"What?"
Al spoke: "I forgot to mention that one of our people was pregnant."
"Well," Howe said, "It's still early and we already have a Hell of a day going on."
Clevinger had come up to them, and he spoke: "The Colonel's going to love this."