Recorded for the District 3 Archives, 6 years Post-Rebellion
Interviewee; Former Peacekeeper Corporal Lance Gunns
My total combat time during the Rebellion was 15 minutes. Short as that sounds, its actually a record for first-encounter situations during the fight for 3. Not that you'll be able to correlate with any 'Keeper on that…dead men tell no tales, right?
I was part of the 103rd District 2 Combat Battalion, Fifth Squad. We were a fresh unit; 18 rookie Peacekeepers who'd barely gotten off the Line and hadn't been given assignments. We all figured we'd get some nice, easy job, guarding the Capitol or one of the higher Districts. 1 maybe; that was a dream position. No real trouble, and all the good food and fine drink you could get, not to mention they know how to clean a uniform the RIGHT way.
We…didn't get that. Instead, we got the Rebellion, and when District 3 started acting up, we got sent there.
We figured it would be an easy enough situation; 3 wasn't known for their brawn. We'd waltz in, smash a few rebellious citizens, make some arrests, and everything would go back to normal.
I realized just how wrong that idea was the moment our transport SUV took a hit and flipped over.
I don't know what hit us; it wasn't a rocket, there wasn't an explosion. One second we were driving; the next, we were upside down, the inside of the cab was painted with blood, and Corporal Fawn was missing everything from her calf's up.
Once our heads stopped ringing, Sarge started barking at us to "get the hell out, get moving!", so we did. Private Poles kicked the back of the cab open and we all piled out. The moment Poles hit the deck, we came under fire. Poor bastard didn't even get a chance to react. Caught some big, meaty-sounding round straight in the chest and went flying off the road into the side of a store. Left his boots behind; he'd forgotten to zip them up.
The rest of us took cover, and just in time; whatever had flipped us opened up again and our transport was GONE. Think it hit the fuel tank; it went up like a torch and took Privates Clay and Fills with it. Lit them both up like candles. Their armor just…woomph. Whatever the Capitol made our skins out of, it burned like pure alcohol. Our corpsman, Pack, tried to help Clay, and he just…vanished. Disintegrated. Poof. Ash, nothing else.
The whole time this happened, Sarge is screaming into his helmet for intel, support, ANYTHING. Nothing came back but static, and this automated recording of that stupid propo that District 13 made out of 8; the one with Everdeen saying "if we burn, you burn with us". But they'd looped it so it just repeated "burn, burn, burn" at the end…
And that's when I think we all realized just how much trouble we were in.
Sarge shouted for us to move again and we so did. We'd been driving down one of the side streets, trying to link up with the rest of the Battalion and the remains of the 100th, which we'd been sent to reinforce. They'd reported that the resistance was disorganized; we were kitted out to fight lightly-armed, untrained citizen infantry.
Turns out the 100th had been wrong. District 3 wasn't fielding infantry units…they were sending out mechanised troops.
And I don't mean mechanised as in how the Capitol saw it. I mean REALLY mechanised. Not a single soldier on foot. Closest they had to that was an exoskeleton-clad soldier, and even THEY were heavily armored.
And those were the minority. You ever see "The March of the Machines?" No? Right…limited release. It was a CGI movie District 1 put out about this army of robots assaulting the last bastion of human resistance…well, we were the humans in this one.
The moment we turned the corner, we ran into a Mantis; medium-sized combat mech. 18 feet tall, 8 tons, two armorment-laden side arms attached to a boxy command pod on top of two spindly legs.
Looks a lot less threatening than it actually is. I don't think Private Helms realized that…he started laughing.
Still was when the Mantis driver overloaded his hydralucs system and smashed the walker's foot down in front of Helms's face. I heard his bones liquefy from where I was.
Sarge shouted a retreat and we pulled back, firing. The Mantis just stood there and took it; our rounds pinged off it like flies.
Our path lead us through two buildings and over a bridge. The water under it was blood red; the floating white forms meant that color was probably accurate.
The moment we cleared the bridge, there was a beep, and then a huge fireball; I heard Private Marks scream and then fall silent, followed by a long line of splashes. The bastards had rigged the bridge. why it hadn't blown up when the rest of us crossed I don't' know, but I guess someone was looking after me.
Unfortunatly that was where my luck ran out.
We rounded the next corner, which lead to Quantum Square, where the 100th Battalion was supposed to be.
They were there…but…they wouldn't be backing them up any time soon.
On our end of the Square lay more bodies than I've ever seen; the street was literally red, and Sarge actually slipped and fell into a pool.
At the other end…was a wall of steel.
I've never seen so many machines in one place. Two more Mantis, a motley mix of exoskeleton-suited soldiers, what looked like a commandeered and spraypainted multiple launch rocket truck, a modified cargo lifter with a gatling gun on its shoulder…
And behind them all, towering above, a Titan-class combat mech. ATLAS modification, shoulders blistering with flechette launchers.
Sarge shouted something; I don't know what. I didn't think, I just acted. I leaped for cover, rifle gone, helmet gone, and covered my head.
The air litterally shook with the sound of gunfire; I could feel my organs trembling, and the shaking got so bad I actually pissed myself. It covered all sound; my breathing, my heart pounding, the screams as my squad was shredded. And then it was silent.
It was so quiet all of a sudden it hurt. I couldn't breath, couldn't move…I just lay there, dumb and paralyzed, eyes locked open.
Footsteps echoed above me, and someone stuck the toe of their boot under my chest, rolling me over.
I'll never forget the sight that greeted me; my own face, pale and bloodless, staring back from the curved, silver visor of a jet-black helmet. Above the visor, someone had spraypainted "Wonderkid"
(Recorder note; "Wonderkid" was the callsign utilized by Cpl. Deejay Condut, 74th Special Infantry Company. His origins in District 3 lend heavy credit to him being present there during the fighting)
The soldier with the armor looked at me, drew his pistol, then lowered it.
"He's cooked. We're done here."
He turned and left, holstering his pistol. One of the exosuit wearing soldiers picked me up and carried me to a temporary prisoner camp, to join about a dozen or so survivors of the attack, where I stayed till the end of the war. The number of us there didn't get all that much bigger.
Techincally, I was the last survivor of the 103rd. Honestly though, I'm pretty sure a good part of me died on the field that day. I started hating the Capitol. I hated President Snow. I didn't hang my head in shame like some of the other soldiers did when we heard he was dead.
You don't walk away from something like that unchanged. I'm no exception.
If we burn, you burn with us. That's what Everdeen said.
Yeah. That sounds about right.