Rover
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
Hans and his team left Pariser Platz three days after the councilor asked them to take on the new mission, having taken the time to rest and prepare. They were now standing on the second floor of an abandoned townhouse, some of their equipment laid out on a worn dresser missing its drawers. The morning breeze blew through the shattered windows, a ratty curtain gently blowing. Across the street was the Max-Planck-Institut fur Molekulare Genetik, its once bright white façade now a dingy brown. Part of the roof had collapsed at some point over the years, crushing half the top floor under its weight.
The councilor's promise of serious firepower had been genuine. Hans had accepted Walter's Gewehr 41(M) as a gift, now that Walter was hefting a Madsen LMG and five spare magazines, each topped up with 30 rounds of 8mm Mauser, the same round their rifles chambered. The G41(M) took the same chargers as Hans' K98, so after an hour of familiarization Hans felt comfortable with the new rifle. Hilda had kept her Erma SMG, though accepted some extra ammo and three grenades, in addition to sundry medical supplies like stimpaks, Med-X, bandages, and disinfectant.
The real prize, though, were the two Panzerfaust 60's, each sporting a 150mm warhead. Dahlem was home to the largest pack of Rovers in Berlin, so the rocket launchers, grenades, and machine gun would certainly tip the odds in their favor, so long as they actually made it into the Institute where the Rovers had a hard time maneuvering. If they were caught outside by even one, they were dead.
"Look at the size of that one. It's as tall as a man" Walter said, pointing out the window. Adjacent to the Genetics Institute was a wide yard, formerly green. Today the grass was long gone, replaced by muddy craters. There was a Rover wandering the yard, easily six feet tall. The team had passed a dead Rover on the way in; just a puppy, but as big as a full-grown German Shepherd before the war. The average Rover was between six and seven feet tall, and over 2,000 pounds of pure muscle. They were only moderately aggressive, but if one was on your trail there was no escape.
"I don't want to use the Panzerfausts unless we absolutely have to, so let's do our best to get inside before any of these things comes after us" Hans said, and the others nodded. Hilda picked up the Panzerfausts, their combination sight-safeties tied down with wire to prevent them from accidentally opening, and the three of them headed downstairs and out the front door of the house. The Rover in the field had its side to them, looking away at something. It was lazily patrolling the field, occasionally sniffing and digging at the ground. It wandered off towards some houses, concealed by decaying hedges, and vanished from sight.
"Go."
The thee of them quickly moved across the field towards a side door to the Institute, past a low-lying single-floor building on the edge of the property. The door, mercifully, was unlocked, and they scurried inside. They were in a narrow hallway, lined with some doors marked as bathrooms and closets, the hall leading to a larger one. The building still had some power, though many of the lights had been broken or burnt out, and most of the lighting was from the sunlight outside. There was glass and debris all over the floor, along with some skeletons.
"If we're not going to kill all the Rovers in Dahlem then what exactly are we here for?" Hilda asked.
"It's the safest building in the whole district. Rovers struggle in tight spaces, but those townhouses out there are so old that they could smash right through them. In here, we'll have a chance. We'll head up to one of the upper floors and spend some time killing every Rover we see, to thin the herd like councilor Edmund asked. It'll be easy" Hans said.
"Mmm, I'm sure" Walter said.
"Keep an eye on the doors, and check the rooms as we pass. Close the doors when possible, I don't want any surprises." They set off down the hall, glass crunching underfoot as they went. On the first floor most of the rooms they encountered were consulting offices, filing rooms, break rooms. Three-quarters down the hall, across from a series of notice boards still bearing papers and flyers ('Genetische Testen! The test you can't fail!'), was a staircase leading up.
As the team ascended the steps to the second floor they heard the rapid thumping of footsteps on the floor above, maybe three people, and suddenly gunfire. A lot of gunfire. The sound echoed harshly through the halls and stairwells of the building, the unmistakable staccato of assault rifles. After a few seconds it ended and the shooters ran off, and a few moments after that there was an explosion and more automatic fire, further away and more muffled.
"So much for no surprises" Hans said. Rovers, when hearing gunfire, responded in one of two ways: fight, or flight, depending on their distance and mood. That there were no Rovers scrambling at the sound was good, but people in the building was even worse. Rovers were predictable, humans aren't.
"Fucking Hell."
"Might as well take a look, right? Maybe they'll kill all the Rovers for us, like what happened at the museum. Wouldn't mind getting paid to just walk around again" Walter said. The second floor was pretty much in the same state as the first, except the rooms there were a little different. Examination rooms, labs, that sort of thing.
"Alright, let's just take it slow" Hans said, and they continued up the stairs to the third floor, sticking close to the wall as they went. Hans made sure the Gewehr's safety was off and crouched low as he reached the third floor landing, the acrid smell of sulfur and blood in the air. He peeked right, then left, and saw the Rover's body maybe twenty feet away, a massive pool of blood beneath it. There was no one else on the floor, or at least in the hallway, and he made his way over to the corpse.
"There's a problem" Hilda whispered, and Hans slowly looked over his shoulder, expecting to see a Rover down the hall. It was just the three of them, though, and he rested the stock of his rifle on the floor. He inspected the whole length of the hall, hazy from the gun smoke, and chewed his lip.
"There's no shell casings."
Hans took a look on the floor, relatively clear of glass or debris, and realized she was right. There wasn't a single case anywhere on the floor.
"Those guys must've fired over a hundred rounds in just five seconds between the lot of them and there's no fucking brass anywhere? How does that happen? They sure as shit didn't have time to sweep it all up. Maybe a bag, attached to their guns, to catch it all? But why bother, all that's in Dahlem is Rovers" Walter whispered.
"Maybe they have caseless guns. When I was in Stuttgart a few years ago a town guard showed me his rifle, claimed it fired caseless ammo. Said the guns were rare and the ammo rarer" Hans said. He stood and hefted his rifle. "There was that explosion afterward, though, let's see if we can find any evidence of that."
The three of them proceeded down the eastern side of the hallway, passing numerous labs and conference rooms along the way, long looted or destroyed, debris and trash scattered everywhere. Towards the end of the hall, near a blown out window offering a decent view of Dahlem and the rest of Berlin, were the remains of another Rover, eviscerated by shrapnel. Scorch marks lined the walls and a nearby doorframe was crumpled and warped. It hadn't been a large explosion, maybe a grenade. Walter took a look out the window and whistled.
"There must be six Rovers out there on the front lawn."
Hans joined him by the window and nodded. Outside the front of the Genetics Institute was a large, tree-lined lawn. Lush green grass and verdant trees, at least if your imagination was good enough. A pack of Rovers had assembled near the building, drawn by the commotion, and were just wandering around like normal dogs.
"Hilda, Panzerfaust" Hans said, and turned around. She nodded and pulled one of the guns out from her backpack and handed it to him. He undid the wire wrapped around the sight-safety, flipped it up, and put the launcher on his shoulder and looked through the close-range sight, trying to line it up with the center of the Rovers.
"No no no, not like that. Tuck it under your arm" Walter said, and Hans looked at him. "It's how you're supposed to use it. The front sight's on the warhead itself, so tuck it under your arm and line it up like that. And pick the second closest range, those rockets drop like rocks."
Hans did as told and tucked the gun under his shoulder, and Walter and Hilda ducked into a side room. Firing an RPG in close quarters was risky business, but the building was mostly structurally sound. At least, the hallway was. Hans waited until three of the Rovers passed close by each other before he fired.
*Wuu-BAM!*
He nearly fell over from the sudden thunder in his ears, the sound and blast slugging him square in the head. He dropped the smoking tube and it fell out the window, smashing through one of the awning's few remaining glass panes. The warhead landed in the midst of the Rovers and blew away three of them, mortally wounding a fourth.
Ears still ringing and his balance still off Hans staggered away from the window as Walter rushed into position. He flung open the Madsen's bipod and rested it on the window sill, the old singer barking in short, sharp bursts. He crouched next to Hilda and she looked him over, apparently satisfied with his condition. She slapped his shoulder and he nodded, and the two of them moved down the hall a short distance to keep watch.
Walter was through his second magazine when one of the doors down the hall was peeled open like a fruit and a Rover rammed through the open frame, warping and distorting it. It took one look at them, crouched low and growled, and charged straight at them, barking.
It was fast. Unnaturally fast, its long legs taking great strides as it barreled down the hall. Hans couldn't even hear the sound of their guns as they unloaded on it, the Rover pitching forward as the bullets struck its face and chest. It tumbled down the hall, smashing windows and crumpling walls as it went.
Another one emerged from the stairwell, having come down from the fourth floor. It leapt over the corpse of its sibling, brushed the wall hard enough to buckle it, and took off, its claws shredding the tile as it went. It always struck Hans how happy Rovers looked as they charged you down. None of that aggression that normal sized dogs displayed. The most a Rover would do before charging was growl and pin its ears back, but once it was on the move it bounded after its prey like it was chasing a frisbee, mouth open and tail up. It was surreal, unnerving. And even for all their size and power they yelped like puppies when they died.
The Gewehr flung its last empty across the hall just as the Rover's body collided with a doorframe, shattering it, and Hans reached into his pouches. One charger, five rounds. Two chargers, ten rounds, and the Gewehr was back in action. Hilda had just pulled out a grenade when another Rover appeared, this one a bit smaller than the others. It charged and Hilda tossed, and the Rover hit the grenade with its head. The grenade bounced off the wall and detonated behind the Rover, tearing up its backside. It thrashed on the floor, ripping open huge chunks of the wall and ceiling as it did so, whining like a newborn pup, and the two of them fired until it was dead.
Hans felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked, Walter standing next to him. "Two mags left, time to go!" he yelled, and Hans nodded. They took off in dead sprints down the hall, heading for the stairs. The ceiling collapsed ahead and a Rover fell through, already running. Walter crouched and opened fire as they reached the stairs down, and Hans only stopped when the hulk of another Rover rounded the corner, hardly able to move in the tight staircase.
"Upstairs, upstairs!" Hans shouted, and they took off again. The Rovers gave chase, clawing and pawing and pushing against the walls as the team went up and up. They hit the fourth floor, the entire west side of it caved in and smashed to Hell from the collapsed roof. The east side was mostly intact, save for the fresh hole in it. There was a fire escape at the end of the hall, and they quickly shimmied along what little remained of the floor to get to it. Hilda was last in line and had just made it when the first Rover reached the floor, pacing and rearing up, desperate to get to them. Hans reached for the door and the building began to shake, loose tiles and pieces of ceiling shaking and falling all around them.
"If it's not one thing it's another!" yelled Hilda. The shaking was worst by the hall's window, the wind outside whipping, and Hans put up his hand to protect his face from the debris. There was a horrible wrenching as the thunder rose, the window frame shaking itself apart, and then it suddenly eased up. The three of them watched as a twin-rotor helicopter pushed away from the building and roared off into the bright Berlin skies, a winged Iron Cross on its hull.
"What the f- Down, down now! Let's go!" Hans said, and kicked open the fire escape door. They thundered down the stairs, safe for now. They reached the first floor and Hans pushed the door, to no avail. He pushed again and again, and threw his shoulder against it, and it grinded open with a terrible squeal. He was about to ram it again when the Rover's paw latched onto the door and pulled, its claws leaving deep gouges in the steel. Its leering face appeared in the gap, globs of drool as big as a briefcase hitting the floor.
"Basement!" Walter yelled, and they went further down the fire escape and into the darkness below.
