The Long Patrol
Home was so far away. Tanner hadn't been back to the plateau in over a month. It was worse for some people. They had no homes at all. At least he had a home if the Locusts didn't kill him. He could get back to some sense of community. He didn't have a wife or even a regular girlfriend. Home was a small apartment he was allotted for his service to the COG. When it came to women there were other more virile and more genetically preferable males for them to match-up with available females. COG didn't like to admit it, and most people had no issues with it, but the government had to plan ahead. The Locust was proving to be unbeatable.
No speeches from the chairman or any of the other higher-ups were going to do anything. All they had were the Gears: the people who picked up weapons and died for people who were often ungrateful. While he was out on the patrols, Tanner gave up any notions of the Coalition of Ordered Governments. They didn't matter at that point. It was all about him, his fellow Gears, and the Locust.
It was about his guns, the bullets, and how they interacted with flesh. Greater philosophical concerns had no place. Never mind. Checkout. Go away.
The most cherished parts of life were when chocolate appeared in his ration pack. When there were no Nemacysts and air cover was assured. Simple things.
He could taste the dust in the air on the tip of his tongue. In the worst areas the ash and the dust were so thick that he had to blow a wad of it out of his nose every half hour. It smelled like smoke, paper, sometimes hair, and a level of dirt that spoke of greater times gone by.
Tanner checked his weapons. They occupied a large portion of his mind. When he went to sleep, when he relieved himself, and when he ate—he had to make sure the weapons were there. He was worthless without his weapons.
His current assignment drove that home more than anything. The area around him was the former suburb tract of the scorched city of Lutefisk, once a major seaport city of the Coalition. It was a husk now. Orbital beams and bombs had gutted it. Yet there was life of sorts. There were stores of refined imulsion for vehicles and a major weapons cache leftover from The Pendulum Wars. The city was too difficult to defend so they didn't. Supply runs were done fast and dirty by King Ravens. A few choppers had even been outfitted with bladders to carry imulsion. Lutefisk was one of the last reasons that Jacinto hadn't fallen yet. Tanner was part of a token force left to keep an eye on the area.
They stayed hidden for the most part, and then made a sweep every ten days to cleanse the area. That was when the choppers might come, but they sometimes didn't. Control didn't want the Locust to know precisely when it happened. The most important part was the Seeder patrol. Transmissions had to be clear and the Ravens needed to fly without fear of Nemacysts. Tanner was required to have a Hammer of Dawn at all times, which meant less room to carry other things, but that's how it was.
It was dubbed the "Long Patrol", not because of how far they ranged, though it was far, but because they were not the assault teams that simply made the Locust bleed for any ground they held near the plateau, and then returned home as heroes. They were left out like Stranded most of the time. Left to protect the people who burned through the sky in their steel coffins called Ravens. They only had each other.
Tanner hadn't seen another Gear since the day before. Even then the other man had spoken only in hand signals. Four more days until the next cleansing. Ten locusts seen. Four killed out of necessity. Evidence of two seeders and possibly one corpser. No wretches for the past week. That last part was suspicious. When the men in his outfit put down for rest they picked the tightest spots among the ruins. Places were grubs and larger locusts had trouble getting to, but the wretches were always a concern.
Tanner's favorite spot to sleep was a storage nook in the wall of an old warehouse. It was small, but he was able to use a steel plate to block it off from the inside. He slept against the plate, and nothing short of a berserker could get to him. But he hadn't been to that spot in days. He missed it now. He would use it just before the next cleansing.
The other gear also mentioned an air drop. Also unusual. Most of their supplies came from scrounging the abandoned city. Food and fresh water drops were made as the Ravens came and went. "Offerings for the rats" it was called.
Tanner was hungry, and his worrying nature made that airdrop the most important thing clinging to the thin skin of reality.
He spent that night in the closet of a half-collapsed house. Tanner longed for a hot cup of tea or soup. Something to give back a taste of being human. Somewhere there might've been a grub looking to do the same. He didn't like the idea that some people put forth: that of the Locust being a hive mind. If that were true, why would Kryll eat grubs as they moved to attack a Gear's position? Why would berserkers kill other locusts without any regard? That would be suicidal. Stupid.
His dreams were filled with wretches scratching at the walls. Digging through his little hiding place until they found him. Then their greedy little claws were digging into him. Trying to make their new home in his chest cavity. Their screams and groans shook him.
As he was waking, though his eyes wanted to stay closed, Tanner noticed to smell. It was a milkish smell. Like someone had vomited into a pot of milk, and then boiled it overnight. If trying to hold on to the last bit of rest weren't such a good thing, he would've been stifling his urge to vomit. But sleep was so good. So human.
Then he heard the growl of a lancer's bayonet. Tanner kicked the wall of the closest with both legs to push himself across the floor. He grabbed the locust's left ankle, and wrenched it from its placement on the floor. The grub fell. Tanner opened his eyes to see the chainsaw descending towards him. All that crossed his mind in the next moment was the smell of wood being sawed through. Then the screech as the blade stalled on a nail. Something awful like a donkey being pulled in half. Not as much crying though.
Tanner drew the snub pistol from his thigh holster, and brought it up firing. The locust tried to draw a gnasher from its back, but had trouble reaching it. Instead the creature kicked Tanner in the chest, driving the air from his lungs. His grip on the gun loosened, but Tanner persisted. His aim panned out, and bullets tore into the grub. A few seconds later it was over.
Despite his want to calm down, Tanner had a time limit. With so much noise the other grubs in the area would be there soon. No matter how many more he could kill, it wouldn't be enough. It could only cost him blood and treasure, and end in his own death.
He stripped the grub of what ammo he could carry and the gnasher. He would drop it in the next hiding hole, and move on to the supply drop and better ground.
That scream. It was something so feral, but with a hint of something metallic. A beast with ferocity of jungle times of old, yet, with its power, the ability to crush man's greatest achievements in stone and steel.
Tanner ran.
He dropped the gnasher he'd picked off the grub. A tragic loss, but there could be no risk. The sun was up with a clear sky. If he could get a call into Control, he could use the Hammer. But that was a big "could."
The wreck of Lutefisk surrounded him like a ferocious ash-covered gelatin that he couldn't get his feet out of. He was still on the borderline between the city proper and the beginning of the suburbs. There was no sign of the berserker, but as any Gear could attest to, the very idea that the beast was out there and nearby brought death right up to the forefront more than anything.
It was one of the ways why the Locust War was so much different from the Pendulum Wars. Dying in a fire fight with guns was brutal, but it was something that every soldier knew could happen. Hence, the basic fighting with the grubs was fairly similar and straightforward compared to the wars of the past. It was the monstrosities that the Horde employed that made the war truly nightmarish. Tanner had seen men weep and shoot themselves rather than face a berserker.
He thought he heard the stomp of a foot. A snort rooting around in the dirty air. Tanner didn't stop moving, but slowed to a careful and silent pace.
His fingers frantically fumbled across the buttons on the data pad in the armor slot at his waist.
"Hammer of Dawn is online," he heard in his comm.-piece.
They were paying attention to him. At least I have that. Now I just need a good position.
The scream again.
Tanner scanned the houses and storage buildings around him. These were once the homes of the voting middle class that used to give the COG all of its power. Their modest homes of three bedrooms with two car garages were the centerpiece of what COG vowed to protect. Now they were abandoned and glazed with ash. Some of that ash had probably once been the homeowners who were caught by the orbital beams as they cleansed the area of the locust invaders.
Tanner heard a crashing ripping through the homes. Fragments of wood and dust rose in a frenzied wave that began falling in his direction. A row of charred cars lined the street. He dove behind one of them. He knew the model. His grandma once had a car like it.
Not long after this, the wave of debris slowed its course after one final crash, and the berserker stood with all of her glory in front of the destroyed home. Tanner had never liked thinking about the berserkers as "she". This wasn't the female companionship he was looking for. He was fortunate to rarely encounter these monsters. Killing seeders was much more to his liking.
The berserker paced along the grayed corpse of a once green lawn. She was smelling. She was listening. Her grayish bog-colored gnarled musculature was a sight to behold. Only in legend had men attained such size and strength. Yet, this creature had no appreciation for its own mythological novelty.
Tanner aimed the Hammer of Dawn. Two direct blasts from the satellite would do it. The targeting laser activated, and he held it waiting for the fiery cry from heaven.
Then he heard it: "Hammer of Dawn is offline."
All he got then was the buzzer that signified failure of the satellite to come through. The warmth of confidence evaporated out of his lower back, and ran down his legs. He was truly on his own.
Tanner forgot that he was still holding the trigger. Choking of the buzzer. Denial of salvation.
The thick chin of the berserker turned towards it.
Well, hello, thought Tanner, how are you today? My day took a turn for the worse.
It charged.
Tanner dove off to the side as the berserker struck the car, and sent it spinning across the street where it collided with other ruined automobiles in a hideous steel-grinding ballet.
The metallic screech made Tanner shudder. He fired a few token shots with his snub pistol, but he knew that it meant nothing. A creature such as the berserker shrugged off normal bullets. He'd seen other Gears empty entire lancers on berserkers and get nowhere. He wasn't even using one of those.
It charged again, and Tanner dove. He rolled up into a run down the street. There was only so long he could hold out. The berserker had to reorient his position every time he moved. Its lack of eyesight was a weakness, but having to avoid its sense of smell and hearing was no small feat. He was already tired. The interrupted sleep hadn't done much to assuage the month of hardship. He was going to tire, and when he did, the berserker would tear him into so many pieces of jiggly abused flesh.
It roared. Tanner was certain a huge arm would tear off his head, but it didn't happen.
There was a brightness in the sky other than the sun. The ground shook, and Tanner could feel the release of heat. It was the Hammer of Dawn. Sharing its light with the berserker.
The locust was almost too bright to look at. It shook as more and more light poured into it from the top down. Its skin, which was so rough and impenetrable glowed a bright yellow orange as though it was being mated to the sun itself. Tanner could only watch in awe. It was his job to do such things, but it was still astounding to see. What made it more shocking was that it wasn't him that caused it, but someone else. He couldn't see this helpful person. Would they ever know how grateful he was?
The blast was cut off. After a moment, the glow began to leave the large locust. It staggered forward. Still determined, but definitively damaged. It leaned forward into another run. The blast came again, and struck the back of its legs. Blowing them off into a flurry of embers that were set a flutter into the wind. The beam moved to drench the fallen beast in its light—finishing the job.
A fresh smell of charred locust flesh filled the air. Not all that different from the normal smell in Lutefisk. There was something else though. Something new. As Tanner stood over the crumbling ashes of the berserker, he believed that he could smell the sea just past the city. The salty way of it and the promise of life that still existed there. His life would go on.