There is a LOT of foul language in this chapter and some very un-politically correct terms. On the upside it was very fun to write.
Some Experience Necessary
1.10
Corporal Higgins couldn't believe his luck. He'd found the Zabrefang. The intel had been very, very specific on that – the Zabrefang was the only zoid they could pinpoint exactly to have left Orion base, the other four were either prototypes or non-Imperial zoids, and they'd lain in wait for absolutely ages for the bugger to appear. It wasn't quite what the young Republican soldier was hoping for when he'd joined the army, because he'd wanted a quick promotion rather than working his way up slowly – catching a couple of Imperial brats favoured by the emperor and find an organoid? Shit would be so cash.
Provided of course, they could pull it off. If not, General Kruger would probably have him publicly flogged because he was on Imperial soil without permission and in one of their training areas and he was AWOL from his unit. With a couple of mates. They'd drunk all the beer, so there was no evidence of unlawful drinking except for their breath, although the underwear in Mackey's cockpit did prove he'd been out a'whorin' when the informant gave them the info, provided they got rid of 'em and he was clean, it would be okay. They'd paid with cash after all. No paper trail.
Apparently some other Imperials had gotten excited about this as well, but it was just the one Fang and it had run into a claymore field that had been randomly put together. Higgins was a smart man, just using his smarts for the wrong thing – he'd equipped explosives along the routes he'd thought best. He'd had the man-power for it, so he'd picked the hardest accessible routes and the quietest – as a training area he thought it was pretty amazing. Maybe even a little envious of such a field, but it was for goddamn Imperials with all their Imperial gold, cheeky sods…!
The Fang flying up into the air and going over and over had been even more amazing. It had landed with a brilliant crunch – and the zoid was still functional although was now curled up and surrounded by Commandwolves and a Guysack – the pilot found unconscious and bloody from the landing. A heartbeat struggled beneath fingers, but he was too big to be a kid. The blood kind of obscured his face, coloured his hair a patchwork of grey and murky brown. Higgins had a thing about blood.
He used the snub-nosed muzzle of his gun to roll the man's face over, side to side, to try and get a clearer picture. The Imperial uniform was crumpled, a bit bloody, but it looked more official than the ones Higgins had come across in the past (and stolen the boots from, but hey if a guy was dead, he didn't need his boots, right?) but whatever. Facial markings looked kind of familiar, but nothing he could place in the haze of his hangover. He searched the man's pockets and found only a pen, two biscuits and an electronic pass card, useless out here but possibly important on the black market. His boots were too high for Higgins to utilise – they had a heel for some reason but then stretched out like this, the guy was almost a head shorter than Higgins so it made sense to bump himself up a little.
"This our boy, boss?" Lidl, sunburned and fat, had tied a hanky up and placed it over his shining head. Sweat left big marks on his uniform. "He don't look like a boy. Looks more like a fag."
"You're a fag." Higgins growled back. "Find me a towel, will you? He might be comin' around in a minute, and from the look of his jacket I'd say most of that's filled with muscle." A pause. 'You know what muscle is, don't you Lidl? It's what you have when you're not fat."
"Cock." Lidl replied, tiredly. He felt Higgins was nothing more than a starving dog begging for scraps at the table of the higher-ups, so rarely rose to any insults. Besides, the guy would probably get himself killed one of these days anyway. "Not much water left seein' as we didn't bother to stock up when we went over the border. This is a desert so, you know, we haven't got much to go 'round."
"Fuck ya mother." It was too hot to argue.
Lidl had to have the last word. "She'd eat you 'fore you made it to the door, boss. You'd be buried in her arse crack, you would, you're so thin."
The other two guys – actually, one of them was a girl – watched with interest. They were not part of the same unit as the arguing couple, but were happy enough to come along for the ride.
"You think he's got some kind of disease?" Mackey asked, peering close. He didn't bother to use his gun, his gloved hands moved over the man, pulling him this way and that, checking for gold fillings – his pliers were somewhere in his pack. "You don't normally see 'em so small and pale lookin'." A pause. "I'd fit his jacket. Do you think I'd fit his jacket?" Another pause, eyes shifty. "Can I have his jacket?"
"Yeah, sure." Higgins pulled himself up from his crouch, scanning the horizon. "We're missin' four zoids, I'd say this is one of our treasure hunters. From the look of 'im he's small fry. Not worth a turd."
Lidl shook his head. "Just 'cos he's small don't mean he's not important. All Imperials are short. He's just shorter than the rest."
Higgins couldn't believe his authority was being bucked for the second time that day. "How'd you know?"
"Dunno, boss." Lidl replied, meeting his gaze coolly. "Maybe 'cos I've seen combat with 'em? We gotta stop dickin' about and call Major Ford 'fore we go further. Mackey, he's got dog-tags, take a look will you?"
Mackey, in the motion of undoing buttons and stripping the body unnervingly fast gave his companion the thumbs up. The person beneath him groaned quietly, but not enough to worry those around him.
"We gotta find those kids. We're sitting ducks out here. We got five Commandwolves and your Guysack – it's not exactly an invasive force, but it will raise eyebrows." Lidl put his hands in his strained pockets, cocking his head to the side as his commanding officer strolled around their camp, ferret-eyes dancing across the lonely desert. "We got some poor sod mindin' his own business and Republican Claymores are all over the shop. Now our zoids can see 'em but at some point in time some poor little kid just out of wetting' their bed is gonna come a cropper on one and-"
He paused, just long enough for Mackey to make a quizzical sound. It was as if he were about to speak but instead there was a strange thumping noise. Lidl spun around to see Mackey stagger comically backwards, head to the sky as the Imperial soldier rolled back down, onto his front and onto his feet. Boot to the chin from lying down. Phoarr.
"Well that's just great." Lidl said quietly as Ida and Fleming – the other two members of their little shindig joined the fray. They were dispatched quickly – whoever this pale-haired Imperial was, he was bloody good, fag or no fag – with quick movements that executed the bare minimum of effort – signs, Lidl knew, of a trained, professional fighter. "We gonna do something, boss?"
There was no reply. The Corporal was running to his zoid.
Lidl continued to watch, not at all moved when Fleming was kicked aside – complete with grunted apology. She cursed and swore from the floor until Ida was thrown on top of her and Mackey moaned like a baby by the man's feet.
Bruised, black-eyed and bloodshot, the man glared at Lidl. "Well?"
"Sod ya, mate." Lidl replied, philosophically. "I pick m'fights. Not pickin' yours."
"…Right." The man made to go and grab his jacket, but Mackey whined like a dog and rolled onto it. He ducked under gravel a moment later when the man kicked into the dirt by his head. He then left them, running to his zoid which seemed quite happy to greet him.
The Guysack scittered up to where Lidl was standing, Higgins was red in the face. "WHERE'D HE GO, WHERE'D HE GO?"
The cloud of dust was all that was a left of the zoid and it's battered pilot. "I think he's pissed off into the wide blue yonder. Much like we should be doin', boss."
"Fuck that! Get in your zoids! Get that fucker, he's probably a patroller! We find those kids and that organoid and that bastard we make this work."
~ to be continued.
