Phalanx Seven: Expanded Arsenal
Summary: Iota Squad's day off.
Disclaimer: I don't own Gears Of War, and I don't have anything worth taking, so don't sue me! I own the Original Characters: Gordon, Mathew, Amanda, Noel, Irene, and Priscilla. Other than that, I'm just renting.
When Gordon awoke, it was alright light. He rubbed his eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the brightness. He awoke alone, the women had already left he barracks. Scenes like from a vague dream flashed across his mind: A kiss, a bar, Irene, and a song. He then remembered the previous night. He regretted informing Irene about his real age. Doubt washed over him. Then, he remembered that Irene was his friend; she wouldn't betray him. He slipped into his armor, and stepped outside, without carrying a weapon, save for his sword. He never went anywhere without it.
"So, you're finally awake," came a familiar voice. He looked to his right and saw Priscilla. She was holding a couple pieces of toast on a napkin. She handed then to him and said: "we're not really doing anything today. Just be back here at 1800 hours."
"Thanks for the food." he said. Gordon took a bite. The toast was typical of the fare in the army; bland, but filling. He was soon full, and found that Priscilla had already left.
He set about looking to keep himself busy. He was thinking about his last battle, in particular about how he had been so limited against the wretches. His revolver was powerful, although slow. He realized that for pitched engagements, he would need more firepower; something that could strike at range and guarantee a kill, not just incapacitate Gordon recalled hearing something about these things called '"Theron Guards" while he was with Delta. They used these weapons called "Torque Bows," that fired explosive arrows like sniper rifles. The arrows would stick into whatever they struck, and explode, killing, or at least maiming whatever they impacted.
"I should get myself one of those," muttered Gordon. He wondered if there was any place that command made the weapons available, or even if the ammunition would be distributed to gears. He contacted command. "Anya, this is Gordon."
"Hello, Gordon." said Anya. "You have the day off. What are you calling for?"
"I was wondering where I could get some weapons."
"What kind of weapons are you looking for?"
Gordon answered: "Something called a Torque Bow."
Anya said: "Let me check. I saw something about them somewhere. That place is closed. Aha, you get can a Torque Bow at Pomeroy Depot. All you need is to prove who you are and they'll let you have the weapon. Just one thing: we're short on arrows, so use blanks when not in combat."
"Thanks Anya," said Gordon. "You've just made my day." The boy deactivated his radio and began walking back into the city. He had to find Pomeroy Depot. That wouldn't be hard, since it was close to the hospital where that attack had been recently. After wandering about the city for about thirty minutes, he found his destination.
The depot itself was a warehouse type structure. This was where the weapons from Lamertza went after they were tested and packaged, until they were issued to soldiers. The reduction in the score of arms distribution due to the locust onslaught on emergence day made the system elegant and efficient. Gordon entered into the depot. Inside, it looked just like a warehouse, only it was stocked full of guns in enough numbers to make the defense of Lamertza seem pointless due to the massive stockpiles of weapons here. Gordon didn't see any Torque Bows, and he knew that he'd have to get any transactions cleared with a supply officer. He looked around for someone who looked like they were in charge. Gordon found him, in a kiosk by the loading dock.
"Show me some I.D. and tell me what you want." stated the man flatly. He was a stalwart paragon of order. This man obviously would need everything in order, and tolerate no funny business. Without argueing, Gordon took out his Steel Gear medal and responded.
"Lance Corporal Gordon Iago Kim, Iota Squad, sir. I request a Torque Bow with a full bevy of arrows." Gordon said this in a very matter of fact voice, hoping that this would help.
"We've only got a few of them, but I'll let you take one. The computer here says that your squad has special allowance to access arms. Otherwise, you'd need an invitation from Colonel Hoffman himself. Jim!" hollered the Petty Officer.
"Yes sir!" snapped Jim, who came running out from behind a row of captured hammerbusts.
"Get this man a Torque Bow, and thirty arrows on the double." ordered the Petty Officer.
"Yes sir."
Some minutes passed in awkward silence, and in a bid to pass the time, Gordon asked the Petty Officer: "Sir, may I know your name?"
"My name," said the man, "is Earl. I run this depot like clockwork. I make sure things get done on time and done right. Without me, you gears wouldn't last a day."
At that moment, Jim returned with the bow and a compliment of arrows.
"Thank you," said Gordon. Jim gave him a brief salute and went off again.
"Just one more thing," said Earl. "That Torque Bow of yours, the arrows are hard to come by, so go buy yourself some sport arrows from an archery shop if you want to practice. And get yourself a quiver. And, only use that bow of yours sparingly. It'll burn through your ammunition, no matter how much you got."
"Thanks," said Gordon, and he walked out carrying his bow an arrows, feeling pretty eager to get some blanks, a quiver, and some targets. He found them four blocks down in a sporting goods shop. He grabbed thirty aluminum arrows and a matching silver quiver. He then bought a block leather quiver for the live arrows so that he didn't accidentally use the wrong ones by mistake. He paid only one-hundred forty dollars for the whole set. That was much less than he thought that it would be worth. He walked back to base and went towards the firing range
Gordon examined his weapon as he went. The weapon seemed to incorporate just about every single technological advance made in weaponry. It was like the bastard child of just about every weapons ever made. It had a muzzle loading front like a musket, beams like a bow, blades like a sword, a trigger like a gun, tension cords like a mangonel, and a barrel like a crossbow. It was definitely a weird weapon, but if its combat effectiveness was just one tenth of its weirdness, it would be one hell of a locust widow maker.
Gordon reached the firing range and glanced at the clock. The display read 1540. He had apparently missed lunch and breakfast in his sleep. But, now, he could just learn the unique facets of his new weapon. He held the bow up to his shoulder like a rifle. It had a muzzle heavy balance, but was short and easy to maneuver. There was an interruption in the upper bow arm where his eyes were, so that he could aim easily. He set up a target downrange and inserted the first arrow.
He squeezed the trigger. A sound like cable tightening emanated from the weapon, then a mechanical huffing sound, like a steam engine with the throttle being opened gently began. Gordon saw that there was a light shining from the front of the weapon. That and the sounds would prevent it from being used as a sneak attack weapon, not that it would matter in a pitched battle. He released the trigger, and the weapon gave a kick. He fed a sport arrow into the muzzle and held down the trigger. The weapon whined and strained like earlier, its protests increasing the longer he held down the trigger, until suddenly, it gave a kick and the arrow was embedded six inches deep into the receiving block of ballistics gelatin. Not bad for an arrow intended for straw and paper targets. Perhaps even the "blanks" could be used in battle.
Gordon fitted another arrow into the weapon. He pulled this trigger. This time, instead of holding it down, he let it go after a second. The arrow came out, but only flew a brief distance before clattering to the ground. Apparently, this weapon required timing. After about three hours, he had achieved competence, and left the range. He went to the canteen. There, Gordon found a newspaper, a pinball machine, and Noel drinking a coffee. He grabbed a newspaper and began reading. The headlines read: "Operation Hollow Storm yields bittersweet results." According to the article, Illima City had been sunk the previous night during operation Hollow Storm, which began with the assault on Landown. Gordon smirked. He had expected there to be at least one reference to the actions of his squad, or at least to the corpser attack, but there were none. Delta Squad had been winning a lot of glory. Marcus himself alone had been credited with at least forty kills the previous night. Gordon flipped the page. The headline there read: "City Sinker Sunk!" The text revealed that the locust had been sinking cities with a giant worm. It had supposedly been aroused from its slumber by the lightmass bombing.
No blame was even alluded to be pointed at the COG. The COG censored the newspapers, and kept tight reins over the media. Even the internet was restricted. They weren't worried about minors watching porn like previous governments had been. They were more worried about revolutionary groups, particularly those which could indoctrinate the minds of their gears. The COG was a brutal government. Although its leader was called the chairman, he was more like a dictator. It was an iron fist in a silken glove. Gordon didn't like the COG tactics for silencing dissent, but it had to be done. In times where humanity wasn't fighting for its very survival as a species, disharmonious voices could be allowed, tolerated, and to some extent, even welcomed. Now, in such grim times, every bit counted. Either humanity worked together as a team, or they would all die as a team. Dissent couldn't be tolerated because it was much too dangerous. The human population was below one billion at the present moment. They couldn't afford to lose men through civil war and riots. Most women, unless infertile, or had born children already were being used to breed in the hopes of producing sons for the army. Most females that joined the COG were used as directrices, or as nurses.
Some ended up as prostitutes. This was a double boon for the COG, and it was even encouraged indirectly, for public condoning of prostitution would result in a real uprising. Prostitutes raised morale among gears, and kept off duty testosterone-filled gears occupied. That kept problems low, and if the woman got pregnant, the child would be another potential candidate for COG recruiters to snag later on. Prostitution was perfectly legal on Sera, although pimping was not.
Continuing his reading of the article, he saw a picture of the "riftworm." The thing was unbelievable in size. It was at least a few miles long, and several hundred feet high. The report indicated that the creature died due to blood loss some time the previous night. "Hey, Noel," he called. The silverette looked at him.
"What?" she inquired.
"Get a load of this." He said, tossing the newspaper, with the riftworm article on top at her. She caught it and began reading. Her eyes expanded with surprise and a bit of horror as she read about the massive bulk of the creature. Apparently, she was afraid of worms.
"I can't believe it," she said awestruck. "Something that big, living under us for all this time. I just don't get it. The COG, someone, should have found it. I don't know how something that huge could have been lurking under our feet."
"Really makes you wonder." added Gordon Cryptically.
"Wonder what, Gordon?" asked Noel.
"Nothing, sargess, I'm just rambling."
"Oh, then tell me this: you know how we went drinking last night?"
"Yeah."
"I had a little too much to drink, and things got a little hazy. I remember kissing some guy that looked kina like you, only he didn't wear armor, and wasn't armed. Was that you?"
"Yes," said Gordon as gently as possible. "You kissed me."
"Please forgive me," pleaded Noel. "I'm sorry."
"You were drunk, and as I believe: In vino veritas."
"In vino veritas?" asked the girl. She didn't know the language in which he spoke.
"In vino veritas means, in latin: I wine there is truth."
Noel blushed. "Please, forgive me. I shouldn't of done that. I had had too much to drink. I'll never do it again. I can't help but be fond of you, but I only thought that I liked you as a friend. It was the booze talking."
While Noel was stammering and begging for his mercy, Gordon was trying to get her to stop so that he could finish, but she nothing could stop her, not even a thousand brumaks. At last, she stopped her prostrations. "Noel," he said. "I forgive you. Just about everyone does something like that at least once in their life. I haven't, but then again, I have no interest in the club scene. I won't get you in trouble. You're a hell of a fine soldier, and a damn true friend. Although you gave me my first kiss quite unexpectedly, I appreciate your other virtues. The four of us, and everyone else in the COG and civilian populations is humans. None among us is perfect. Anyone who claims to be, is lying, or has a serious personality disorder."
"Thank you," heaved Noel. She rushed up to embrace Gordon, but held back. He didn't mind the friendly contact and gave her an amicable hug. An awkward silence ensued afterwards.
After several minutes of no one saying anything, Noel spoke up: "Was that truly your first kiss?"
"It was my first. I am not lying to you." stated Gordon. He was still mildly shocked that he had even survived his first sixteen years, let alone gotten his first kiss.
"It wasn't my place to take it." said the woman. "You should have been allowed to chose your first kiss. Although I sound mushier than I really mean, your first kiss, well, it's significant, you never forget it. I'm sorry that I took it from you."
"Noel," repeated Gordon. "For the last time, you don't have to apologize. The experience was unexpected and disturbing, although enjoyable. I don't have any regrets about it, although I kind of wish that you had asked me first. At least it was with someone I trust rather than a complete stranger."
"You don't mind, really?" wondered Noel.
Gordon decided that this back and forth was getting pointless, so he decided to end it by cutting her an ultimatum. He proposed: "Noel, how about this: We count that incident as not really happening; it's just an irrelevant technicality. It's like when the doctor sees you naked; it doesn't count that a doctor saw you naked. Then, I can count my next kiss as my first, and we can get over this."
Noel hesitated for a moment, and said: "Deal." They shook hands and nodded.
Looking at the clock, which now read: 1776, Gordon remembered that it would soon be supper time. "Just so you know, it's going to be time for dinner in about ten minutes."
"Thanks," came Noel's reply. Having said that, Gordon went for a walk outside. Gordon enjoyed the refreshing cool of the evening. The sensation of a nice wind going around his body helped make him feel any cleaner than any shower ever did. There was something primal and good about this. It was so natural, compared to the horrors that he routinely battled and confronted. For a brief instant, he wanted to run away and live on the wind's breath. But, he knew that moments such as these were but a moment's fantasy. Against the laws of physics and of man, he could not run away on the wind. It would remain in Gordon's imagination, like so many other forbidden things. He thought of his forbidden desires. He envisioned thighs, peace, protest, revolutions, and freedom. All the things which were denied to him, he imagined. He kept up this fantasy life of his. It gave him strength for the harrowing task of waging war against the locust. Even if he could never act out any of his fantasies, at least he could go to his thoughts to reflect and seek shelter from the cruelty of reality.
It wasn't the pain of emotion that he fled from, but the irrationality of the world he lived in. There was no logical coherence to the way things were being done. Command seemed to make stupid decisions, and on the battlefield, men died at random. Squad assignments seemed to be completely random. The only thing that seemed to constantly prove right was that things always got worse. He was jerked from his sweet melancholy by the bugle sounding for the final meal of the day. With a sigh masked by a groan, he got up.
Dinner that night was spaghetti and meatballs. The mess was just as deserted today as it was the previous day. For the first time since he had woken up, he saw Irene. She pleasantly greeted him. "Hello," she chirped. She was definitely one for tranquility after the hectic events of the previous day and the even stranger occurrences of the last night.
"Hi," said Gordon. "Enjoyed your day off?"
"A lot; I've been handing out with some friends. They're all dying to meet you guys." For the next five minutes, Irene summed up the last twelve hours of her life. She wasn't one for massive amounts of details, but she added more clarity when needed. "And that's how I enjoyed my day off," she concluded. "What have you been doing yourself?"
"Not too much," said Gordon with a devilish grin on his face, except getting aquainted with this." He pulled out his Torque Bow. This drew gasps and mixed reactions from around the table. Priscilla looked at it with a mixture of curiosity and loathing. Irene looked at it with a where-did-you-get-that-it's-so-fantastic-look. Thirdly, Noel looked a bit graver. She looked at it wondering if or if not it was permitted by the proper authority. Priscilla then describer her day as being extremely productive, and told them about the modification she had made to her lancer as well as the new accuracy boost it gave her. She also said that they would be going into a war game tomorrow against Mu Squad.
Then Noel described her day. She told her comrades about how she had taken enough time for a day of spa treatments and massages. She said that she had briefly chatted in the canteen with Gordon, but didn't cover the specifics. Then, dinner ended and they high tailed it back to their barracks. They did some more lighthearted chatting, with Gordon joining in some. He wasn't socially confident, especially when surrounded by beautiful women. It wasn't only a teenager thing, but also a male thing. Any male wearing only a cotton tee shirt and shorts would feel intimidated being surrounded by three highly attractive military women who were all only wearing light tee shirts and shorts, with the exception of Priscilla, who was wearing a nightie.
The lights out signal played and as was already traditional for Iota Squad, Sergeant Noel switched off the lights and slipped into bed. There was a round of good nights and a reminder that tomorrow would mean more training from Priscilla. Finally, they all fell silent and Gordon fell asleep, beginning to finally trust his companions.
Author's notes:
. At the end, I gave emphasis to the physical beauty of the women. I am not going to have an explicit scene in this story. Maybe a bit of accidental contact, or a big of feeling around in the later chapters, but nothing randy will happen.
. I decided to add the newspaper article to give perspective to the world. I will be writing some more action soon, so be ready for it.
. Don't bitch about me making this story overly sexual. Remember, I'm giving voice to the thoughts of a teenage boy here. I included the part about the thighs in his imagination as a tasteful way of adding more of an anthropomorphic image into my characters.
. I'm not hung up on the kiss between Gordon and Noel. I've wrapped that matter up for now.
. I'm also going to keep Gordon's age secret for now. I'm saving it's unveiling to the other two women of Iota Squad for a later chapter.
. I can't decided if I want carmine to live or die in this story. Tell me your opinion on the matter. I was thinking of possibly pairing him with Priscilla. That would be an interesting match.
. I don't have any pairing for Noel yet, but rest assured, by the epilogue story, she will be taken care of.
