Author's Note:
Sorry, but there's not much combat in this particular chapter. I just wanted to build up the cliffhanger in the last chapter, introduce a new character, and develop them both while simultaneously bringing in newer minor characters and expanding the plot slightly too. Minor spoiler here, but there's no Zoid combat in this chapter. Enjoy, and please, for the love of all that is good, please review!
ZAC 2042, March 24th
D-Day D+6, 1246 hours
Bareshia Bay, Zenebas Territory of the Central Continent
Helic Base Camp G4
T/3 Matthias Perry's eyes sprung open as a sudden and panging blow struck his temples. He groaned in pain as his rising spine lurched back and his head hit back onto the pillow. The convulsing images around him slowly came into place, the transient outlines of vague human figures and objects around him slowly coming into place. What first appeared to be pillars became doctors and nurses dressed in white slowly pacing around and giving doses of medication while things that appeared to be tables quickly shifted into their right places in Matt's mind and were actually beds in which the other patients just like him, lay in. Matt rubbed his pulsing forehead as the vivid objects became solid objects….Just like that day Felt woke m-….Felt!
With that single name his mind snapped back into complete focus and he pushed his body up to find a monitor patch strapped onto his arm and connected by a cable to a metallic box next to his bed that showed his vital life signs. His body felt awkward, as though it wasn't his and every muscle ached and yet it seemed as though his nerves were not fully connected. The room began to swing again as he reached for his temples only to find a bandage there, apparently stained with blood and partial bit of his bangs shaved off. There were bruises and stitches all over his body while his other arm lay in a cast with an electronic monitor built into it to monitor the situation of his wrist. As he frantically turned his head around the massed chaos of patients and staff that was the medical ward, he attempted to look for Felt.
Just at that moment, a man in a white coat, obviously a doctor walked up to him, taking each step slowly and cautiously towards Matt, who wasn't even aware of his existence up to the point that he introduced himself and said, "Hello there."
Matt's frantic eyes quickly turned to the direction of the sound. "Um. Oh, hello there. Excuse me, have you by any chance seen a technician by the name of Treus, Felt? Please, I need-"
The doctor smiled kindly, "Is he the technician officer who was with you?" His face turned into an expression of heartfelt worry, "He's a little banged up, we had to send him quickly to the ICU in G1."
"G1?" Matt asked as the panging in his head turning worse all of a sudden, "Where am I?"
"G4, you were from G2 am I correct?" the doctor asked patiently, "I'm sorry I need to ask you so many questions when you should be resting but its important that I need to know what happened."
"Yes, yes…." Matt said, rubbing his head with both hands, "My friend, will he be alright?"
"We're not sure about that here, no news from G1 as of now." The doctor replied, "I'm sorry, but if you don't mind me asking, what happened? I'm Doctor Tuplis, by the way."
"T-Tuplis…" Matt stuttered as he forced himself to think back, "Uh…we were part of a squad sent to disable an EMP….then we were ambushed and me and Felt were running away from Zoids….we fell into the canal…that's all I can recall."
"Ah yes, so that's how we found you washed up." Dr. Tuplis said, "One of our recon teams found you guys washed up next to the canal's end. Apparently the Zenebas' have unsealed the Le Braquette locks to flood the ground at our section and demobilize our ground forces. How that will help them, I have no clue."
Matt changed the subject and asked, "How am I? Will I be alright?"
"Well, you needed a plasma transfusion, and were rather delusional when we found you," Dr. Tuplis said patiently, "You're pretty banged up and that wrist is sprained, but it'll be healing soon. Your head on the other hand, must have whacked the canal when you fell into it…we had to shave off some of your hair to seal off the wound. Your hair is rather thick, dare I say."
"So what happens to me now?"
"Well, you're labeled as a patient until you've recovered enough that we can transport you to G2 where you'll want to meet up with your respective unit…the er…." The doctor stopped to check the pad he was holding, "The 24th Engineering Division. For now just rest and relax. I'll get one of our staff to get you some food, you must be famished."
The doctor patted him on the shoulder lightly and told him to lie back on his pillow before walking away to get him something to eat. Matt lay back on his bed and stared at the foul, green ceiling, watching the hanging lamps sway as the voices and steps of the men and women around him ringed in his aching head. Felt's probably alright…that guy's 'un-killable' for all I know…I just hope he didn't crack his skull or something. But me, well at least I get some rest….I should use the best of this 'break' I guess…it feels nice, actually. Just lying here…doing nothing. He turned over and nestled his warm head a little into the pillow. Yeah, it feels nice.
ZAC 2042, March 24th
D-Day D+6, 1415 hours
Bareshia Bay, Zenebas Territory of the Central Continent
Somewhere close to the Dummach canal
Sergeant Alan Graf had only been promoted to the rank of sergeant less than two days ago before being placed in charge of the 2nd Squad of the 517th PIR (Paratrooper Infantry Regiment). His CO, Lieutenant Robert En-Cole had promoted him from his 3rd Squad to be the sergeant for 2nd after it's original sarge, Sergeant Binkis Prekley had been killed by a Helic assault during a recon outpost. There was a superstition in the 517th that the 2nd Squad's sergeant somehow always got killed. They had already received four sergeant prior to Prekley, making Alan the fifth Sergeant of the bunch. Quite ironically, Alan was currently with the rest of 2nd Squad on a recon mission too, patrolling the area around the Dummach canal as part of a daily patrol activity organized by the head of their base, Demon's Foot, which was around twenty-three meters from their current location and was a Zenebas outpost located at the foot of the now-burnt 'Round's Mountain.'
Alan, though knowing he was in-charge, felt an odd twinge of fear of his men as he took the point and led them through the marshy country. Even though he was a sergeant, he was a human, unlike the rest of his six men who were all pure-bred Zoidians. Humans were not accepted as widely in the Empire as they were in the Republic with most Zoidians considering them as 'weak.' Zoidian-humans were referred to as 'contaminated' and their human blood a 'disability.' Alan sighed as he adjusted his brown/green camouflage helmet and unbuckled the straps. Heading this squad with barely any experience under the rank of corporal before was not the way he wanted to start off. Why had Lt. En-Cole chose him anyways?
They passed by a miniature glen, made out of a rushing stream and mounds of dirt. Alan's boots stepped over branches with a snap as his Asp-21 submachine-gun dangled and swayed noisily as its strap hung from his neck. The water was running ankle-deep in this particular location but was not as deep as it was further north. Zenebas forces had opened the Le Braquette locks to slow down the enemy. His men followed closely behind, and Alan felt a little tense, knowing their razor-sharp eyes were boring into his back. He opened the clasp of the paracompass he was holding and determined up to which point he and his men were supposed to go to. Turning back towards his men briefly, he informed them, "We've only got about a few meters more to go, come on."
Walking further through the woods, they came across some debris, mainly old chevron-shaped pieces of architecture that must have been tossed from someone further up in their aerial bombing campaign five days prior. Perhaps there's something further up there.
"Make sure you don't get lost," Alan warned them as they trailed around the many trees blocking their way in the winding woods, "I don't want anybody being reported as MIA today."
As they walked further up north, nearly reaching their destination, Alan's ears picked up the sound of men talking and immediately hissed softly, "Down!" His men all responded like trained dogs, trained killers and immediately dropped to a prone stance, carefully sliding the safety catches off their weapons as their special camo uniforms blended in with the autumn leaves on the earth. Alan took a kneeling stance too and gripped the Asp-21 in his hand before twisting the safety catch to F for fire on his gun. Immediately and reflexively he yanked the binoculars that was placed in his pouch and placed them to his eyes. Further up in the distance he could make out the enormous shape of what appeared to be a building.
"What is it?" one of the soldiers asked.
'That's what is it, sir, to you, soldier. Now shut up." Alan responded quietly yet harshly. He felt a little bad after voicing it like this but he knew he needed to show the grit that a human had, "There's a big building. Looks like a chateau."
"A cha-what?" Another soldier asked, albeit more quietly.
Alan sighed, "It's what you guys call 'endangment' in Ancient Zoidian."
"You could have just called it mansion." The soldier responded sulkily.
"I could have." Alan shot back as he spun the magnification wheel, "There are a few 'Lics there…setting up some kind of anti-personnel cannon. They've also got a small Zoid next to them, 'bout ten feet tall and looks like a freaking ostrich-dinosaur."
"What color is it?" yet another of his men asked.
Alan rolled his eyes. Were all Zoidians this inquisitive? "Grey, with translucent purple."
"It's a Battlerover then." The man confirmed as the other soldiers nodded in silent agreement.
"How do you know that?" Alan asked, appearing partially interested though completely not at all as he checked the three other tommy-gun style drums for his submachine-gun in his satchel and the remaining ammunition for his sidearm.
"We captured a few of them from a Helic outpost the day Bikinis died." The soldier explained with a sneer. The rest of his men broke into muffled laughter. Alan rolled his eyes for a second time. At least their not racist against names. English insults for Zoidian-based names. These people are incredible.
"Ok, that was pretty funny but now will you guys please shut up!" Alan whispered, his voice sounding quite strained. His men immediately silenced themselves, or rather attempted to silence themselves as chuckles of laughter still went on, though far more hushed. "They're in front of the chateau's wall; we shouldn't flank 'em…I'd rather call in for support first at least."
Instantly he heard one of the Helic soldiers say, "Hey, Jones can you load a shell in? I wanna see if this baby can blow." Alan's face turned pale white. They were right in front of the f*****' cannon! He turned to his men swiftly as he heard 'Jones' slip a shell into the field gun's chamber and the other Helic's hand grip the handle. "Scatter!"
With no sense or time to turn around, all of his men, including Alan himself charged forward through the wood and into the open sight of the enemy, scattering into left and right directions just as the shell flew from the cannon and exploded right where they were moments before. There was a brief moment of hesitation from the Helic soldiers but that was all the Zenebas men needed as they hit the dirt and let out steady streams of fire. Alan's elbows hit the tar road as he placed the submachine-gun's iron sights to his eye level and squeezed the trigger, sending out several rounds from his tommy barrel, which rattled at the bullets leaving its chamber. His men did the same, and soon all of the Helic men, which constituted of about four soldiers, were dead excluding two who had taken cover behind the artillery cannon's shield.
Alan ordered his men with his hands to keep their guns on the cannon but not fire. Speaking with a loud and clear cadence, he said to the Helic soldiers, "We've got seven guns trained on your balls right now so you better tell me how many f***-damn Helics are in that chateau right now!"
"Cha-what?" one of the Helic soldiers asked tremblingly.
"He means mansion!" one of his own men piped in helpfully as Alan placed a hand on his forehead and sighed. Turning back to his own soldiers, he signaled his squad to cautiously fall out and advance on the cannon's position before calling out to the soldiers, "Get in front of the cannon, now! And don't try nothing' funny!"
The Helic soldiers did not budge and Alan let out a few careful rounds to ping on the shield before they finally reluctantly agreed and dropped their rifles before placing their hands in the air and shouting, "We surrender!" Alan looked down at the dead bodies he and his men just killed and then turned his attention back to them.
"How many?" he asked again, menacingly.
"Just us!" one of the Helic soldiers cried, his voice reaching a panicking crescendo, "We were sent here to secure the area!"
"Where's your HQ?" Alan asked again, this time pushing it a bit further.
"W-We…we can't tell you…" the other one stuttered.
"Then we'll have to kill one of you, now tell me!" Alan shouted.
"N-No, we'd rather die than-"
"Fine, I'll make you f****** POWs and then you'd rather die. I'm telling you, we Imperial people aren't so nice the way we treat our little prizes. You either tell us, we let you bury your mates and kill you or we drop you off at our little POW camp and you can be f*****' eunuchs for all the men in charge there care for."
The faces of the Helic soldiers immediately turned deadly pale before the second one finally yelled, "OK, OK! It's two-hundred meters north-east from here, south of the Ruädich canal!" The first one, seemingly outrageously furious by the display of betrayal began to wrestle with his friend as they elbowed one another.
"Hey, cut that s*** out!" Alan roared and they immediately snapped back to attention.
"Listen here, and get down on your feet." He turned back to his men, who were still keeping their rifles trained on the Helic soldiers, "I want Barthol and Darms to check them for any secret weapons they might have before setting them to mortician duty. McVay, I want you to salvage their stuff for any supplies. Alycon and Hailay I want you two to head into the chateau and announce if the area is clear. Be careful. And you, what's your name again?" he asked as he pointed to the youngest soldier of the bunch, lugging a field radio.
"Besseus, sir. Private Yutmich Besseus, sir." The soldier said, his piercing blue eyes burning with anger as the field radio's straps made creases in his uniform.
"Right, Bess, get that field radio cranking and call Devil's that we've got their location, POWs, and a new outpost."
"How the hell am I gonna do that?!!" Bess roared in insubordination, "I'm a soldier, not a f*****' radio-man!"
Alan placed a hand over the soldier's head and patted him affectionately saying, "You're a smart kid, you'll figure it out soon enough."
"I'm not a f****** kid."
"And you're not a f****** radio-man either, I heard." Alan retorted with a smile as he walked over and began to hum to no one in particular.
ZAC 2042, March 26th
D-Day D+8, 1015 hours
Bareshia Bay, Zenebas Territory of the Central Continent
Helic Base Camp G4
Life was good for Matt for several hours. Or rather only one day. It had only been two days that he had been in the medical ward and apparently the wound on his head was healing quite nicely, the 'material medication' they had given to him had completely fixed back his wrist, and he was eating a warm breakfast of eggs and bread brought to his bed. He flexed his wrist, feeling the sensation that sent a sense of security to him as he grabbed a fork and dug into the scrambled eggs, feeling the warm and succulent goodness of chicks-not-developed on his wet tongue. As he was enjoying his breakfast, Doctor Tuplis, who had been taking care of him these few days walked up to him, his face ashen.
"Hey there, Matt, I got some good news, and some bad news." The doctor said hurriedly.
Matt spread some butter on his toast before asking, "What's the good news?"
"The good news is that we don't have to stitch your head up." The doctor said with a faked smile.
"And the bad news?"
"You're being deported back to G2 and assigned to a new squad."
Matt choked on his buttered toast as he was swallowing it. Doctor Tuplis waited, a little embarrassed and obviously distressed as Matt coughed and made strange throaty noises before managing to croak, "I think I'm having a seizure."
"Calm down, Matt, it's no big deal," Dr. Tuplis reassured, "It's something that was going to happen anyway. You'll be picked up with a few others to head towards G2 by supply truck today afternoon." In the idiosyncratic way he always did, he flipped a few pages on his clipboard before saying, "Your new squadron is part of the 187th Tank Battalion."
"What the hell is a tank?!" Matt asked, suddenly having lost his appetite.
"You know, one of those things humans made…the hundred wheels thingy that walks on threads and has a built-in gun…" Dr. Tuplis said absent-mindedly, "I'll get one of the nurses to head over with your clothes and stuff, your dog tags, oh, and apparently you're supposed to be issued with a rifle."
"A rifle?" Matt nearly shrieked, "I'm a f****** technician, not a soldier! And what, they want me now to drive a damn hundred-wheel thingy?!!"
"Matt, please, keep your voice down!" Tuplis scolded as a couple hundred heads turned towards him.
"I'll keep my f****** voice down when you tell me why they want me as a tank driver!" Matt shouted.
"I never said driver, Matt," Dr. Tuplis said, his voice reaching a few notches lower, "You're supposed to be the radio-man of a tank. And apparently the commander of the tank too. You're a T/3, third-grade technician right? That means you're technically under the rank of staff sergeant, giving you rights to lead a squad."
Before Matt could let out an outburst, Tuplis patted Matt lightly on the shoulder and said, "I'll call you when the truck's here," before walking off at a stumbling pace as Matt quietly stared down at the plate of eggs and bread. He grabbed the fork with his right hand and stabbed it into the mush of yellow eggs.
***
It would be several hours later, past noon that a nurse walked up to him and informed him that the supply truck had arrived. Handing him his recently ironed uniform, his dog tags, and a rifle, she led him towards the changing room, something he reluctantly did. When he exited the changing room, dressed in full combat attire and service cap, Matt found the nurse waiting for him and she led him weaving through the medical ward to its exit, where other patients were being led to supply truck parked there. Wordlessly he followed her as she led him to the back of the truck where a couple of other soldiers and technicians were already waiting. He boarded the truck, said thanks to the nurse and took a seat next to one soldier.
A tank battalion? I don't even have any s***** experience with armored units! Matt thought furiously in his head as he cradled the rifle in his hand. And now they want me to command a tank?! How many people are there in a tank, anyways….and what about Felt? What's going to happen to him?
His thoughts were instantly broken by the soldier sitting next to him who said, "Hey, you might want to turn the safety catch."
Matt turned to him in surprise, "The safety catch?"
"On your rifle, that little black knob there," the soldier patiently explained, "A safety's used to make sure you don't accidentally discharge your weapon."
Matt felt rather flushed as he quickly clicked the safety back on as the soldier introduced himself while other men poured in, "Hey, I'm Sergeant Hanks Allen." He said as he offered his hand.
Matt took it and replied, "Tech. Officer Matt Perry." He made an awkward pause before asking, "Um….no offence, but are you human? It's just that your name sounded like one."
Hanks laughed softly, "None taken. Yes, I am of course. A second-generation human I am, born and bred on Zi. Now if you don't mind me asking, why are you holding a rifle if you're a techie, or at least dressed like one?"
"I've been re-assigned," Matt replied with a moan, "To a tank battalion. A tank battalion of all things! Do you know what a tank is? I have to be the commander!"
"A tank?" Hanks asked, "Sure, my parents taught me about them caterpillar-type things. They're like mini-Molgas with fancy cannons."
"Exactly, and me, a technician with no actual combat experience, has to take charge of a tank when I should be recovering in the medical ward!" Matt exclaimed, enjoying the sensation of venting his spleen to someone.
"You too?" Hanks asked, a little surprised himself, "I'm thrown back into combat duty myself too! Apparently they've got a shortage of manpower so anybody who's available is assigned to combat. The Zenebas bombing campaign is reaching its peak now, and over nine divisions have lost more than half their men."
Matt took off his cap and ran his hand through his hair, "S***, really? How the hell do you even 'command' a tank?"
"F*** if I know," Hanks responded as he sat back on his seat and the truck suddenly began moving. Its wheels sent debris and smoke up from the gravel and the exhaust belched out black miasma into the air as the truck began to move forward and around the buzzing activity of G4.
"You're stationed in G2, too?" Hanks asked as the truck drove around the armory department.
"Yeah, you?" Matt replied.
"Same here. I've been re-assigned to a new squad, I'm going to be the NCO, apparently." Hanks replied with a weary groan, "Were you there during the Zenebas' first wave?"
"I was in Dallas the day it happened, our division pulled back past Round's so we were never there during the bombing," Matt explained, "What the hell was it anyways?"
"It's some kind of energy-absorbing bomb. The explosion was so titanic that there was seismic activity for three days at least," Hanks responded, "The mountain's still there, though it's now a burning mountain. I was pulling back from Round's Mountain around the time they began ascending it, trying to find a way in."
"We're probably going to lose this war at this rate, who knew the Zenebas forces would return?"
"We knew they would eventually," Hanks answered, "We just weren't that prepared that they would attack Bareshia Bay of all places, our stronghold, and have new Zoids too."
"Apparently they're of Guylos design." Matt murmured.
"What, Guylos? Like the emperor who attacked in the 1900s?" Hanks questioned, clearly surprised.
"It's the same man, that's what intelligence believes," Matt said, "They were recorded as having come from the Dark Continent when they attacked Delpoli in the 1900s and that's where the Empire fled to in ZAC 2039."
"Hmm…" Hanks droned, clearly still pondering over this revelation.
Matt leaned forward to watch the view from the open back of the supply truck. They were driving away, slowly now from the front gates of G4 where gendarmeries were stationed and towards the woodlands, where they'd arrive to G2 soon enough.
And I'll be re-assigned as a tank commander, Matt added in his mind bitterly.
ZAC 2042, March 26th
D-Day D+8, 1410 hours
Bareshia Bay, Zenebas Territory of the Central Continent
Chateau Cheryl
Even in the afternoons when the sun was up, the weather around Delpoli was generally cool, a vibe Sergeant Alan Graf reviled in as he walked around the newly-named 'Chateau Cheryl' and studied the place. The chateau (he insisted on it being called and named that) was now being re-furbished as an outpost by the 165th and 168th EDs and members of infantry divisions were being transported to the chateau as well. It was actually not a particularly old building, perhaps over ten years old, but had fallen into ruin and from the its pickled remains, Alan could still tell that it was of human design and architecture. Perhaps humankind will imprint their legacy on this world.
Alan was a first-generation human, meaning that he was born and bred to a certain age on Earth before he boarded the Global 3 ship at the age of thirteen and the subsequent crash of the ship on Zi on ZAC 2029. There had been a massive 'world civil war' that had occurred back on Earth and people had to be evacuated from the dying planet on seventeen 'Global' starships that jumped through light years to discover new and available planets to inhabit in. The Global 3 had an engine failure and crashed onto Zi, with all first-generation humans having been passengers on that particular starship.
A rather old lady, dressed in complete military attire with a combat shotgun slung around her shoulder walked up towards Alan with a stride of a complete sense of control and authority. Alan turned to her as she approached him and said with a crisp voice, "You must be Staff Sergeant Graf, of the 517th PIR, am I correct?"
Alan nodded, "Yes I am, ma'am." He responded carefully as he spotted the rank of a Major affixed on the lady's uniform, "And you are?"
"Major Patricia Talbot of the 520th PIR," she declared and Alan smiled in astonishment, "Is that a human name?"
"Why of course it is," Major Talbot responded as she strode around, "You are a human too, naturally. I can tell from your name, it's of a German descent."
"Yes it is, ma'am," Alan agreed.
"Good job on securing this for an outpost anyways," Major Talbot declared, "It's a good, steady distance from Devil's Foot and we'll need it for Backlash."
"Backlash? What does that mean, ma'am?" Alan asked, slightly perplexed.
"Your CO never told you?" The major asked, a little surprised herself, "Operation: Backlash?"
"No, ma'am," Alan confirmed, "I have not had any word from my CO."
"Well in that case let me enlighten you," the major said, "Backlash is the follow-up operation to our D-Day assault. As you know, we've unlocked the Le Braquette locks to flood the area, effectively halting or at least slowing down the mobility of the Helic units to advance into our area."
Alan nodded and then asked, "Yes, but how will that help us? Won't that affect our ground troops, too?"
"Who said anything about the ground?" Major Talbot asked with a smile, "You're a paratrooper, are you not? A fallschirmjäger, right? As you should know, the destruction of the Round's Mountain base substantially crippled their once stronger air superiority. Now, we have the upper hand in the air and that's when PIR's like yours come into Backlash."
"I get that the plan is for the air force to slice up the 'Lic infantry from the air but where do we come in, ma'am?"
"Ah…" the major replied with a smirk, one that a Mrs. Know-it-all tended to wear, "Even if we de-mobilize them, they might still be able to call for back-up from their closest outpost, located near a town named 'Aarhem.' The only links via land to Aarhem is by two bridges. No canals ever lead there and the infantry have to build Bailey bridges just to get across some of the regions. It'll be your paratroopers' job to secure the bridges."
'Making it a flank of some sort," Alan concluded.
"Hence the name 'backlash,'" Major Talbot added, "Though I would have found 'backstab' more convincing."
"Hmm," Alan agreed and nodded his head once more before asking, "So when will Backlash occur? Should I inform my men prior to it, ma'am?"
"Tomorrow is the expected d-day, though your unit might not be participating as your CO did not inform you," Major Talbot mused, "But chances are that you might as well be assigned to it as the 518th and 520th PIRs might need some additional support, the distance between the bridges is a fair amount. There'll even be some sappers participating, I expect."
"Of the 8th Combat Engineering Division?" Alan inquired.
"Of course, they're the only sappers who have arrived on Delpoli. Well, more divisions are coming in few weeks time but we need to get the operation rolling right now, when the Helics are still too stunned and weak in manpower to deliver counter-fire."
"Flank 'em when you've suppressed them." Alan quoted.
"Flank 'em when you've suppressed them." Major Talbot agreed. She then grabbed the butt of her combat shotgun and began to walk off while saying, "Just in case though, sergeant, you might want to inform your men."
Alan saluted her as she departed and replied, "Yes, ma'am, I'll see to that."
Alan stood there for a brief moment as the major walked off to attend to other business before making his way around the chateau to find where his men were. In less than a minute he had located Barthol, McVay, and Alycon smoking outside the chateau and playing with a deck of cards. He then found Darms caught up in a brawl with a drunken soldier (having needed to pull him away) and Hailay setting up a field sink with the help of members of engineering divisions. Finally, as he told them the entire squad to wait for him outside in the chateau gardens, he paced off, intent on searching for Private Besseus, who had pervaded him as of now.
Eventually, he found the private sitting in a corner where wall moss was growing and with headphones on his head, was twisting the knobs on the field radio. Alan walked up to him with a rather pissed-off look and said, "What did I tell you, you figured how to use that thing soon enough."
"Shh!" the private replied, again showing his disrespect for authority, "I'm trying to pick up Helic local radio frequencies."
The staff sergeant's face when from mildly irritated to slightly furious as he stood with his arms folded, tapping his boot impatiently while Bess continued to spin the knobs. Finally, he let go of the radio and pressed the headphones closer to his ear. His expression turned from excitement into a creased-up frown before taking the headphones off.
"What the hell is this s***?" Bess asked Alan, "Some kind of human music?"
Alan crouched down and grabbed the headphones before placing it to his ears. He paused for a moment as the thumping bass hit his ears and replied, "It's called rap music, dimwit."
"Music? How the hell is that music?" Bess roared, though he did seem a little confused, "its reciting poetry while music plays in the background, any f***** can do that."
"You have to go with the beat of the background music and your poetry has to rhyme well too, not just stupid one-syllable stuff but like, assonances and conso- kinda s*** and all that," Alan attempted to explain, feeling quite flustered before cutting in, "Look, I need you to follow me. We're having a squad meeting here."
Bess reluctantly got up and slung the field radio over his shoulder and then placed the headphones over his head, listening to the music. His face was annoyed for a while as they walked around the chateau's main block but soon he began to bob his head with the thumping bass, which was so loud that Alan could hear it, even when walking a meter away from him.
"Hmm…it's not that bad, I suppose," Bess said softly, "There is a form of catchiness to this kind of music."
"Better than Zoidian folk s***, eh?" Alan asked.
"That's not even music," Bess said with a sneer, "The guitars sound like cats being dragged on a motorway."
Alan laughed at the simile and so did Bess. "That's not that far away from the truth of a comparison," Alan commented as they closed in on the other five men who sat, cussing and grumbling to one another in silence. Bess took a seat next to Alycon as Alan took off his helmet and ran his hair through his thick, copper hair.
The helmet wasn't like a standard-issue paratrooper helmet. While it did have the added chinstrap, the helmet was not rounded and molded in black but was rather a modified model of the standard infantry helmet with camouflage placed on it. The helmet had once belonged to another soldier, Alan simply got it from the armory after losing his in a skirmish. On the left side of the helmet was the name 'Fluff' etched onto it. Perhaps this was the previous' owner's dog, Alan didn't know. On the right side he had painted a black parachute, symbolizing his place as a paratrooper.
Alan gripped the helmet tightly as he spoke, "Ok men, I hope you've had a good rest for now but there's something you should be informed about. Technically, we're not a part of it and our regiment's CO, Lt. En-Cole hasn't told me anything about it. I got it from another CO."
"So why are you telling us this?" Barthol asked.
"Just in case there's no time for a briefing. And I'll be damned if I'm taking chances."