Yasmine stood at the small table with arms folded across her breastplate and leant back a touch. This was her "I'm tired of this" look. She waited with Irish, Marnie and Shin in one of the storage bunkers hidden along C trench, an underground chamber constructed from repurposed concrete sewer pipes, supported by a pair of welded steel-reinforced buttresses. It reminded her of a ruined gothic church and the tomb she used to play in when she was little. A distant, almost forgotten memory suddenly catapulted to the front of her head. A tiny bit of nostalgia at the thought and then it was gone. Back to the bunker. She mentally categorised it as more of a cellar than anything else, especially smelling like dust and mildew. There was another blend of stenches, too. It was the oils, lubricants and greased metals belonging to the large-calibre cannons tucked away against the back of the space.
The Fort was built upon a raised area and the engineers had installed effective drainage systems from small trenches to a network of pipes that helped the water spill away from the dug-outs and bunkers and kept all the food, guns and - most importantly - ass wipe from getting too soggy to use. Recently, however, the constant heavy rains and shelling, combined with a lack of maintenance and one failed sump pump after another left them standing in an ankle deep slurry that sucked at your boots as you walked.
"This is some grade-A brahmin shit," Marnie muttered.
"Preach, sister," Irish chimed.
The woman was trying to keep herself level, but Yasmine could see she was upset. Her cheeks were swollen and her eyes looked glassy. She was beating herself up about her most recent fling dying off. And who could blame her? Like everything else at the fort, good looking, decent men were in short supply. Yasmine truly believed that she had met more well-mannered farm animals every time she had to talk to one of the men around here. The locals were either hicks or inbred rabble - and that was those who were still vaguely human. And many of these new young guys that joined the BOS were only capable of thinking with the wrong head. Worse were the roving groups of cannibals, slave traffickers or religious weirdos. The frontiers of the former states were not exactly a good example of man's better nature. In fact, the further they travelled from D.C, the more she figured they should just launch a few nukes again and start over. Shit, maybe that was the reason her forefathers had pushed the big button 200 years ago. A fresh beginning.
She put the thoughts of retribution and hellfire out of her mind, glancing around. There was a small field map on the table, pinned flat with an AER along one side and a combat knife and canteen can at the lower corners. The map showed Fort Keystone with a spread of topographic and terrain information, underlaid with grey outlines for trenches and other fighting positions. There was also the most recent intel on friendly and enemy points, denoted by red and blue pinpricks.
They had been over the plan, but she wanted to double check and Yasmine drew a line with a pencil, "so to summarise," she began, pointing to a zone of lines above the Fort, "we take some TNT and get down this network to the north. It was built by one of our engineering battalions last year and it's supposed to be in good condition, but strategically it's overshadowed by lowlands to the west and by us up at the Fort. So no one bothers to use it besides transit and scouting parties, us and them. We have a recon element somewhere here - so keep your eyes open and don't shoot any of our guys."
She checked the roster again, "there's two of them down there, a Knight William Harris and Scribe Lisa Yearling." Huh, Yearling was a name Yasmine was familiar with, she was sure there was a Senior Scribe Yearling back at the Citadel in D.C. One of the archivists, she remembered. They'd worked with each other for a while, trying to dig up old U.S Army engineering documents. Maybe this Lisa was a child or other relative.
"I know Harris," Shin said quietly. Just a statement and nothing more.
Irish raised an eyebrow, trying to prompt further explanation, but Shin didn't provide it. Yasmine continued, exchanging a short glance with him and motioned to the right of the river. A circle was drawn by a few house-shaped icons, "this is where Major Hakim and company A are pinned down," she traced a line to the thick band that split several clusters of house icons, "and trapped by the Monongahela River and what I believe is some kind of department or hardware store. They've got those blue-armoured mercs up their asses, so our job is to sneak past and knock out these gun positions," she drew three sharp ovals at the south bank of the Monongahela, "here, here and here."
She looked up from the map, Irish had his arms across his barrel chest, while one meaty hand played with his beard. Marnie's shoulders were set and arms braced across her opened MRE as she chewed soundlessly, like a mother caressing a child, head bowed as she absorbed the map. Shin was leant on one of the Buttresses, looking detached from everything. But Yasmine trusted she was more interested than she appeared.
"Who's on demo?" Irish asked, throwing a cautionary glance at Marnie.
It was a good question. Yasmine had selected the recently expired Paulson for his explosives training. They all had a crash course, but she wanted that peace of mind that came when you told a specialist to get on with something.
"Are you volunteering?" Marnie said, a bit of venom in her tone.
He held his hands up, placating, "I'm not trying to fill in someone else's boots, Marn, but we need to figure out who's doing what."
Yasmine pointed to a satchel of TNT bricks and fuses, "have you used any of this stuff in the field?"
Irish pursed his lips, "sure, one time I made latrines using a couple of bricks at the Arlington barracks," he almost smiled, "my old CO wasn't too thrilled about it. I hit a methane deposit, nearly detonated the battalion ammo dump. That explosion would have been visible from China and the whole place reeked like ass for days after." He grinned at that. Marnie didn't look any happier after hearing that.
There was a pause, "it's not rocket science," Yasmine said at last, taking a half-kilo brick and a fuse.
The tin looked like a square can of meat, it had an arming wire you unscrewed and replaced with a fuse. When the fuse was pulled it would give you about twenty seconds to get clear. They had a dozen bricks. She demonstrated the arming process, without inserting the fuse and disarmed the TNT by replacing the screw cap.
"Bingo," Irish said, "a little tip, some of those arming fuses are all corroded. Use your nail and scratch it off, or rub it over your blade. Last thing we need is to call the EOD."
"What EOD?" Marnie asked.
"Exactly."
"Gather weapons and ammo," Yasmine started. "Trade in your AERs, I want us running quiet if we have to engage anything." They stowed their rifles in the racks and picked out a weapon from the liberated Mercenary stocks. A Brotherhood technician would have already stripped, cleaned and re-lubed the ballistic weapons and added a few extra parts like spare optics, suppressors and flashlights.
They each had a modified R91 rifle chambered in 5.56mm with suppressors, taking magazines from one crate and spending several minutes thumbing the brass rounds into said magazines, before storing them in their vests. Although AER Laser Rifles and other energy weapons were standard issue, all brotherhood troops had been taught how to use older types of firearms such as these. Yasmine glanced over her R91. Iit was a steel weapon with a boxy thirty-round magazine and someone had replaced the wood furnishings with dark plastic or some kind of polymer to give it a stealthier and lighter build. The sight was a Wattz PVS-70 Monocular, which meant she could see in the dark. She activated the low-light mode and it was like someone had turned the sun on, she saw the room become flush with a grainy green as all the shadows were pushed back.
"And divide the TNT," Yasmine said, as she deactivated her PVS and stored the final filled magazine, "we aren't relying on one person for it, it'll let us be more flexible." She poked around the supply room, racks of clean AER Rifles lined the walls, with organised piles and crates of combat armour, webbing, fatigues and other types of clothing stored underneath. There was a crate with a yellow flash for explosives. Yasmine used her combat knife and gently opened it, there was a waxy, chemical smell that hit her and made her nose twitch.
"Jackpot," Marnie said from behind. In the crate were a mixed assortment of a dozen frag and plasma grenades. Several small anti-personnel mines were tucked in, looking like flat hockey pucks. Yasmine issued them out. Gifting the mines to Shin, frag grenades to Marnie and Irish while she plucked the plasma grenades.
Not long after and they were back in the trench and slogging along for the main gate. She checked her wristwatch, 0315. It would be light in four hours, she thought, better get on with it. The rain had eased up, as had the artillery exchange. The raiders and mercs knew where the Fort was, it wasn't like the Brotherhood could up-sticks and move it, but on the flipside the raiders used mobile guns and liked to shift around a lot. The BOS had a radar station a few klicks behind the line which gave them the ability to detect enemy rockets and artillery, plot the trajectory and allow them to return the favour. From the second the enemy fired, the BOS guns were delivering counter-battery fire within minutes.
The trench network spit them out in the main courtyard, one of the only remaining concrete and prefab zones leftover when the Fort had been built back in 2077 - just before the great war - as a National Guard supply depot. The gate guard was a tired young recruit, sitting in a one-storey metal tower, eyes hollow under his peak cap and blackened hands clutching his overcoat tightly.
"Who is it?" He asked.
"Paladin Oakly, I'm going outside the wire." He didn't say anything, he lifted his cap to scratch furiously at a retreating hairline and his brow creased.
"I ain't going out there," he said at last.
"I'm not asking you to. Just open the gate, would you?" She asked, trying to sound kind. She could go up there herself and smack him around the head, but the boy - and he was just that - a boy, looked shaken and shellshocked. She understood a gentler approach might help speed things along.
He stepped back from the window and there was an electronic beep, not long after the dim pulse of a fusion cell being activated came before the gate started to part. One side moved open and ground to a halt after perhaps a metre had yawned. There were small red lights inside the fort to navigate with, but outside there was nothing. No visual aides, no moon or starlight could pierce the cloudy veil overhead. In the distance she could see The Pitt, its streets and windows illuminated by fires and lamps. The fighting was still on-going, both in the space a few miles away near the buildings and the dark, unlit streak which was the river.
"Shin," Yasmine whispered, "take point."
Shin pulled out a red flashlight, holding it so only a sliver could pass between her fingers and jogged ahead, passing through the gap. Irish followed with Yasmine and Marnie hurrying to catch up. Yasmine paused every so often to check through her PVS sight, catching a glimpse of the ground. It was muddy and slippery, with the prewar roads and pavements having been smashed and cracked into chunks. They were moving across a wide road, following the old-world route towards the cityscape. It was pitch dark with a slight drizzle and occasional frigid wind carrying along the slopes to one side.
There were homes and smashed storefronts that had sunken and collapsed a long time ago, weeds and hardy roots swarmed and covered them, Yasmine only knew the homes had existed from the piles of strangled foliage that rose in more or less equal spacing. Before they left, they had automatically switched to a short-range team channel. Yasmine pulsed her comm twice and, knowing she likely had the attention of the others, held out her arm and signalled for a staggered-file formation several times. She was following Shin and thought she could see Irish leading Marnie about ten metres across the roadway, before she checked through her PVS to see for certain. The slope of the hill deepened and the occasional bump or hole became more and more of an issue, until she was leaping clean over two-metre gaps and tiptoeing across those with large enough chunks resting in the water-filled crevices. This continued on for thirty minutes at least and she remembered why the Fort was considered difficult to mount an attack on, manoeuvring up and down these hills was tiring enough without being shot at and the area around the fortifications - known pre-war as Pleasant Hills, was anything but. On the patrol board in the CP someone had written 'Unpleasant Hills' on this side of the base, and she could tell why. The homes lessened and eventually ended as the road rounded into a U-turn, she checked her PVS as they continued off of the road and down a grassy knoll, to join the main highway that crumbled along the edge of the urban zone, which more or less marked the last of the hillside. The causeway abruptly dropped away and morphed into a ridge line, the bank and mud flat that stretched away from them lasted about three hundred metres, before meeting a series of dark and lumpy shapes. She glanced through her PVS and could see vague dark slits in the land. That was the trench system.
Marnie was somewhere to Yasmine's left, difficult to see in the darkness. Irish had started creeping along the ridge, trying to find a suitable way down. Yasmine joined Shin and they placed a poncho over themselves to hide the lightsource. Yasmine had the map and they studied it.
"We're here," Shin whispered instantly, indicating a line with 885 scrawled on. That was the start of the old Pennsylvania Route 885 "The Boulevard of the Allies," but because of its lengthy name the locals simply called it "The Boulevard." It connected downtown Pittsburgh with Oakland - a small settlement within The Pitt, which was where many of the slavers kept their merchandise.
"Agreed," she hushed back, "all these deviations in the terrain ahead will be The Boulevard Trench Network."
This area had once been known as Landing Point Delta, a year ago at least and when the BOS had initially launched Op Cloudburst. Yasmine remembered hearing from an old friend who was here how bad the fighting had been, half their complement down, abandoned suits of Power Armour buried in mud and weather so awful you couldn't move. They'd built the trenches, dug in and thrown themselves at the city again and again almost to the last man. Command thought it too costly, so they moved HQ to the newly built Fort Keystone and evacuated the Boulevard, leaving only a small contingent of reconnaissance inside the maze. Much of the old equipment had been dragged away and recovered, but there was still the odd powered frame out there, jutting from the mud like some kind of sentinel. Eternally on stag.
The light clicked off and without another word, Yasmine and Shin exited the vague warmth of the poncho. The rain had picked up a little, although she was already pretty wet. Her body suit was keeping her dry and warm, minus her face and her nose which was about to freeze off.
Her earpiece crackled three times in quick succession and there was a couple of taps on something solid. If she squinted hard enough, Yasmine could just make out a shape descend down a break in the interstate edgeway to drop down onto the mudflat below. She glanced behind, catching a slight shape change as Marnie sneaked her way and together the three women edged over and down into the mud with Irish. As soon as Yasmine's boots hit the sludge, she slipped and fell unceremoniously. Shin yanked her up, displaying surprising strength for such a slight frame. Yasmine was covered in sticky, freezing mud and tried to shake it off as they moved forward. She was up to her ankles at a minimum, with random spots where your leg would sink to the knee.
They began moving directly for the mounds and jagged bits of wood and metal that were silhouetted by the dim motes of orange from The Pitt, keeping low and spread out. It was so dark out here and the mud absorbed what small amount of light there was from the city that it became impossible to tell where any of the shell craters or other hazards might be using the naked eye alone. Yasmine would pause to glance through her PVS and tread carefully. Despite being able to see with her night sight, she couldn't tell where the deeper patches of mud were and at one point her leg plunged down to the thigh. She winced as she dragged herself free and some unseen thing scraped her calf. What was it, a piece of armour, or a root, or could it be a body? Someone's skeletal hand grasping at her, their last contact with the living. Yasmine shuddered at the thought, freed herself at last and kept going, a growl of thunder made her throat tighten and she almost dove into one of the artillery craters. There was a flash of lightning which briefly illuminated the land and the network ahead, leaving her feeling highly exposed. She doubled her pace.
Soon enough they arrived at a head-high mound, a wall of earth and boards which spanned wide enough around either side that she couldn't discern where it ended. There was a small length of wood which tunnelled into an opening, big enough for a man to crawl through. Irish was there, R91 shoulders and peering through his PVS. He looked up at her and whispered, "might want to say something on the open channel."
"You read my mind," she hushed back, changing her comm channel to the right one and sending a quiet burst, "this is Paladin Oakley, BOS authentication 721-521 Alpha. We're in the trench, approaching from the south, any recon teams call in, over."
There was static and squealing from the background radiation, her earpiece crackled a few times as if someone was trying to answer her. Then a blindingly loud screech fed down the comm and Yasmine yanked her earpiece out, staring at it in confusion. The others had done the same.
"The fuck was that!" Irish said, louder than he meant to.
"Shhh," Shin said quietly, "eyes front!" She was laying prone on one of the boards, practically on top of the mud wall. Yasmine hadn't noticed her get there, sneaky thing, that Shin.
Yasmine replaced the now quiet earpiece and joined her. She was sighted up on something and she lay beside her, squinting through her PVS sight. Parts of the trench were tight and winding and other areas were raised and flat, almost level, and laden with sandbags and post markers. She guessed they were the old Vertibird landing zones. There was movement, however, a thing that ambled on all fours. There were a couple of them, meandering around idly - occasionally sniffing about the sandbags or moving into one of the trenches. A rolling bout of thunder made her shoulders tense and she waited for the flash. Several bursts of white from the atmospheric discharge showed her something she wished it hadn't.
She backed away from Shin and tugged down on her pants leg, indicating 'follow me.' They huddled with Irish and Marnie, "there's Trogs in the trench and that makes things complicated. We still need to locate the recon team to find the best way past the enemy and to figure out where those guns are. Keep your shit locked and loaded, shoot to kill - especially if it's not standing on two legs."
Shin dove through the chute-like hole much like an athletic high-diver, Irish squished himself down after her, then Marnie and Yasmine. She shouldered her rifle and turned around, evaluating the mud-slicked trench, which was narrow and claustrophobic. The wooden support beams had scars and chunks missing from the shelling and the pathways that wound and vanished were awash with mud, water and various prints.
Shin was crouched, examining the ground. She stood and looked back and then closed the distance and for a moment Yasmine thought she was going to kiss her. But instead hissed in her ear, "Trog tracks, many of them. But I have a lead on a boot tread also, U.S issue, same like us."
"Follow those prints," Yasmine said, craning her head down at the shorter woman and regarding her almond-shaped eyes. "Don't get too far, those Trog things are lethal."
The thunder and lighting flashes continued and were as ceaseless as the light trickle of rain. In the near distance the rattle, crack and boom from small-arms fire and explosions blended together into this gentle tapestry of sound. It was almost soothing in a strange way and she considered if she'd ever get used to the quiet of back home, if she ever made it back home. No, she was making it out of here, even if she needed to walk all the way back. This damn city won't beat me, she thought. The Trogs, Raiders or stray artillery wouldn't kill her, of that she was certain. Shin hit a curve in the trench and vanished for a moment, Yasmine was next, followed by Marnie and Irish. She didn't like not being able to see the scout and when she rounded the turn Shin was gone. Fuck, she'd only been out of sight for maybe twenty seconds. Where the hell is she?
This dug out was wider and had small semi-circle entrances down either side, the pitch black hovels inside probably the old barracks all the old hands complained about. Apparently rats as big as small dogs would get into your bunk with you, just as eager to stay warm as the men and women who had to live and fight in these appalling spaces. The smell of faeces and stagnant water was ever increasing and she could smell something else, too. A kind of sour or burned smell.
Marnie got to the bend, Yasmine glanced back and gestured for Irish to watch behind them. Something wasn't right and she looked at the mud and shredded planks of the floor for any indication of where the small woman had vanished. Marnie and she were shoulder-to-shoulder, both swivelling their heads like autonomous observers, watching and listening. There was a sound, a rattle and pitter-patter noise like a small child walking barefoot.
"Shin!" Marnie said quietly, "Shin, where are you?" There was no reply.
"Where the fuck did she go?" Yasmine hissed. She'd been right in front of her a minute ago.
The sound returned and something, a shape, edged out of the closest hovel to their left. It was a human-like thing, a decrepit and lean creature. Lightning flashed and they locked eyes. It was a Trog. A deeply unsettling looking abomination. Formerly human, irradiated and mutated by the harsh mix of pollutants and pre-war chemicals in the Colorado and Monongahela Rivers. This was a smaller one, a fledgeling. Yasmine remembered the reports and recognised it from a dead example the Scribes had brought back for study.
It was withered and coiled like a very old man with severe arthritis and bloated beer gut, and looked like all their skin and hair had fallen off to reveal pink and leathery flesh. Its vascular muscles bulged like bunches of steel wire, the gums had receded to reveal blunt monstrous teeth and its eyes were red like the devils. What caught her off guard was that it was obviously male, its engorged genitals dangled between its legs like an over-cooked saveloy. Yasmine had years of training and combat experience and while she probably had a lot of 'skills fade' as her old NCO had put it, she felt confident. But when she saw that thing and its dangling giblets, it threw her focus and she froze.
It howled like a banshee and rushed at her as if catapulted from the hole by explosives. Yasmines arms felt slack, but Marnie had her R91 up and fired several quiet shots, some of which caught it across the head. It dropped to the mud, skidded and balled up against Yasmine's boots, twitching and groaning. Fuck, fuck, fuck, her inner voice panicked and she pushed herself as far back as possible, trying to get away from it, sending her and Marnie into a pile. She felt embarrassed by her screw up and disgusted by the monster. How the hell was that thing ever a human being? She was sitting between Marnie's legs, like a child on their moms lap watching a sports event or something.
She patted Yasmine consolingly, "there, there, Yas," she said gently, "I'd run away too, if some guy with a roger like that threw himself at me."
She shook off the shivers and stood up quickly, "that shits fucking nasty, Marnie."
Marnie laughed quietly, grabbing Yasmine by the back of the belt to haul herself standing. Yasmine had to hold one of the supporting braces. There was a yelp sound and then wet galloping. Two more of the things, small like the first, came out of darkened holes and ran at the pair without due regard for themselves. The women squared and fired. Marnie was quite the marksman, scoring two shots through the lagging Trogs head in quick succession, while Yasmine fired a three-shot burst into the closest target. The monsters collapsed and writhed, bile and oily blood pooled against the waterlogged mud and planks.
Another two came out, and a third and a fourth. Neverending. Yasmine and Marnie continued to fire, dropping some as Irish yelled, "contact rear, contact rear!" The three of them releasing suppressed staccato shots that sent puffy echoes all around.
One of the things paused and dove into a hovel, there was a commotion happening inside and it was sent hurtling back, a chunk of its neck torn out. Yasmine and Marnie paused their fire, while Irish shouted again, "reloading!"
"Go!" Yasmine said, and Marnie pivoted to back up the man, firing and moving back down the other way.
There were two more Trogs, the first leapt out of the trench and the other barrelled over its staggering, breathless broodmate. Shin emerged, rifle slung over her back. She looked a little ragged, but still pressed forward with her knife. The Trog skidded and smacked a twisted, bulging claw at her. She ducked underneath, bringing her elbow across its head. It fell against the wall of the trench and she kicked it in the face, again and again, crunch, crunch, splat. Its deformed skull burst and sent a geyser of blood up the wall and splattered both of them. The first wounded Trog gargled and staggered at her weakly, she turned and delivered a side-kick which pushed the thing onto its back. She rushed over and stabbed and stabbed. The sickening grinding noise of knife on bone and squelch of tearing flesh was only drowned out by the wheezing gasps of the thing, as Shin practically dissected it.
The last one, which Yasmine was tracking, rounded back down into the trench between them. She didn't want to fire in case she hit Shin, so she jumped forward and kicked it hard in the chest as it rose to slash her face off. The Trog was sent reeling back and bounced off Shin as she turned, hands and armour slick and shiny with blood. The smaller woman spun it around, using its momentum against it and let it go - sending it pirouetting through one of the openings like a figure skater.
Shin unslung her R91 and Yasmine stood abreast of her, rifles trained on the opening to the hovel. There was a low growl in the darkness and then it rose out like a phantom. The image from its pale-pink sickly skin, demon-red eyes and yawning mouth of blunt teeth, seemed to freeze in her eyesight. Yasmine jerked the trigger, unleashing several suppressed shots, as did Shin. The bullets tore through the thing, causing it to jerk and thrash. Its chest ruptured and its head became pummelled into an unrecognisable mound of red meat, as it tipped back into the dark room in a steaming mist of split flesh and gunsmoke.
Yasmine reloaded, felt a presence and turned. A hand firmly pressed on her rifle and she caught herself peering into the dark eyes and pale face that could have belonged to a teenager if she didn't know the woman's actual age. It was Marnie, "All clear," she said quietly.
Irish was standing behind, beard covered in beaded droplets from the rain. Shin was looking over one of the Trogs, probing a bullet wound with her knife. Yasmine hurried over and as Shin stood, prodded her in the chest. "If you disappear like that again, Paladin Boram," she said sternly, but still at a whisper, "I'll stick my boot up your ass."
Shin blinked, but nodded, "I apologise for worrying you, Paladin Oakley. However, I must point out that had I alerted you to the Trogs, I may have put myself and by extension, all of us in grave danger."
Yasmine tried to control her breathing and swallowed thickly. Her heart was throbbing in her throat and she struggled not to gasp in the air. She jerked her head and they started moving again, keeping quiet and staying low. Shin was leading once more and Yasmine made sure this time to never let the woman leave her sight. Each hovel they passed was swept and peered into, they took turns covering one another, with the distant roll of thunder and occasional burst of gunfire keeping them acutely alert. They carefully probed down the trench, with Shin occasionally throwing up a hand to halt. Yasmine would crouch against the nearest wall and listen as hard as possible. Shin took her combat knife and prodded around a space, using her red flashlight to briefly pulse a darkened corner. The fires and smoke in the distance reflected ever so gently from the cloud cover overhead and gave them just enough light to see by, once their eyes had adjusted anyway.
It took Yasmine an embarrassingly long time to reach the conclusion that Shin was checking for any traps or tripwires the evacuating Brotherhood, or Mercenary scouts may have left. The passage branched ahead into a split, left or right. Shin paused, held up a brief flare of her fingers and made quick motions to check both directions. Yasmine didn't increase her pace, trying to stay quiet, but came to a stop beside the slight scout after a few beats.
Shin's almond eyes were dark and shadowed in the gloom, but she was facing Yasmine patiently, so she figured the woman was waiting for instruction. Yasmine checked both directions and pulled her map to squint over the sketches. There wasn't any clear indication of where to go, she only knew two of their scouts should have been here somewhere, but the network went on for a couple of miles. It looked like this fork split and diverted along two bands of trench, before meeting up again at another series in a bit of a maze.
Yasmine stowed her flashlight and map and turned to catch Marnie's eyes. The woman was facing ahead, rifle aimed above Yasines helmet. She scooted back and leaned up at her, lips brushing her face as she spoke as quietly as she could, "take Irish and go left, Shin and I'll go right. Whoever reaches the end first can help guide the others in and we'll meet up ahead."
Marnie nodded and tapped the wood with her knuckles to get Irish's attention, once she had caught it, they split as Yasmine had said. Shin went right after she extended a forefinger in that direction. It wasn't too long, moving slowly in silence and checking all around them that they had to turn again and drop down a few large stairs. The wider path they now followed was about four metres deep and four wide, with open-front areas filled with scattered lockers, piles of sodden material - clothes, used bandages, cigarette butts, food wrappers and discarded MRE packets. They dropped down and hugged the left side, passing underneath one of the dugouts. Her boots slipped over spent shell casings. There were signs from the continual excavations too, a variety of shovels, picks and other tools for maintaining the trench were lined along the edges or hung from hooks on the support beams.
There was a rasp sound and both women froze, Shin tip-toed to be stood against one of the pillars that extended in a wide arc underneath the edge of the cover. Yasmine copied her, going to the inside wall and crouching behind a diagnostic table. There was a dim thrum sound, like an old inverter being powered up and a little light bulb winked on with a slight buzz sound. It hung over a darkened entrance, which vanished down more stairs. There was a scampering sound, Yasmine checked the chamber of her R91 for brass and ensured the safety was off.
A Trog, a real brute of a thing and much larger than those they'd encountered before, came scampering from the lit entrance, leading four smaller fledgelings. Immediately they huffed in breaths, rasped small growls and little inhumane gurgling shouts, splitting up and galloping around into the open without a single millisecond of delay. Yasmine fired, catching the Brute with a dozen shots, they cut across its muscled and bloated abdomen and legs, which sent it careening out of sight behind one of the support pillars.
Shin peeked around and let loose several small snippets of quiet fire, the puffs from the can-shaped suppressor filled the air with wisps of acris smoke, a lingering trace of the chemical propellant used in the rounds. Two of the smaller Trogs were cut down, Yasmine heard scampering and pivoted. She clamped the trigger and felt the weapon kick her shoulder gently, two rounds hit the charging monster in the chest, it staggered and tripped, then her rifle clinked and seized. Shit.
"I'm fucking jammed!" She yelled, pulling the mag and fighting the charging lever. There was a spent brass case tipped backwards inside the magazine well and she probed a finger in to pluck it out but didn't have the dexterity, and the Trog she'd merely wounded was already on top of her. It vaulted the diagnostic bench and slammed into her like a linebacker.
Yasmine hit the muddy planks hard, breathless and her R91 tumbled below her grasp. The Trog weaved around, tripped and dove for her again. She rolled and managed to square herself and extend her arms as it crashed into her. She used her thumbs, digging one into an eye and the other pressed down on its throat. It was smaller than she was, about level with her abdomen she figured, but as strong as an ox and as pissed as a bull in a china shop. It slapped her across the shoulder hard, shrieked in a miserable, gut-wrenching way as her thumb became wedged in its eye socket and thrashed to shake her off. Yasmine backed off as its head flailed and her thumb cracked painfully, she shouted and clutched her ruined digit in a fist.
She'd been vaguely aware of Shin firing non-stop as these few moments of melee had been going on, trapped in this tiny example of time where her vision morphed into a dark tunnel as things slowed and every detail leapt out at her. The rage and pain on the Trogs face as it dumped both forelimbs down to catapult itself at her again, the rain that pattered the mud behind it where the extension of the overhead cover ended and the slight frame of Shin flooding around the support column like the grim reaper.
The woman was this dark, eerily calm figure, short and covert, and dressed in all black. Her face was shrewd and her eyes narrowed so much that Yasmine imagined they were closed and she was operating on some sort of hyper-aware sixth-sense. The woman paused, fired twice and the Trog collapsed dead as if the strings of a puppet had been cut. Bits of brain and skull fragments struck the wall and then all was silent, save for the dim hum of the lightbulb and the tinkle of sprinkling rain. The two women merely stared at one another and breathed heavily, Yasmines heart was beating in her ears and she had to hold her breath and try to get it to settle. In the distance the boom and whistle from artillery began its drumbeat and soon after the cloud cover sparkled with flashes of gold and tangerine.
"Thanks," Yasmine said finally, "I owe you one."
She retrieved her rifle from the mud and had a go at cleaning it up, wiping the mud away and removing the trapped brass from the action, when she realised her thumb wasn't cooperating. It felt both numb and painful as it swelled and pulsed in agony against the tight gloves she wore. Fuck, its either broken or dislocated.
Shin noticed she had paused to examine herself and stepped closer, checking around them, before taking Yasmine's hand in hers. She was gentle and quickly felt along her wrist and over her hand and fingers. Yasmine tried not to gasp at the bursts of pain that flared along her arm and seemed to pulse in her temples.
"Do not scream," Shin muttered quietly.
Before Yasmine could even form a thought, or ask what she meant, the small woman twisted her hands abruptly with a grunt and Yasmine felt her thumb slot into place like a disconnected puzzle piece. All the feeling returned and the blistering flare of pain nearly paralysed her. She clenched her jaw down so hard she heard her teeth creak.
"Fuuuuuuck," she managed to groan, hissing the curse between her teeth.
Yasmine flexed her fingers slowly, gripping her wrist and massaging with her other hand. There was swelling and pulses of shooting pain as she rotated the digit, but ultimately she had the use of her hand again, and the injury had potentially saved her neck which was a worthy trade off. Shin just stared at her unblinking.
"You know what? I take back what I said" she rasped. That really hurt.
Her comm pulsed, "Yas, we're engaged!" Marnie said. There was a hammering sound coming from her end, "We've found a way inside some kind of bunker, I think it leads between the two large trenches."
Yasmine's eyes focussed on the small lightbulb as it flickered, as if to say, this way.
"Got it, Marn. Stay put, we'll come to you." She ended the line.
Shin had moved away and stood under the light, eyes scanning inside the entrance, "we should hurry," she said, "more of them will be here soon to investigate."
Yasmine joined her and began stalking down the interior stairs, fancying leading this time, "come on, we don't have time to waste."