NaNoWriMo 2017: Hellstar-3

EXT. CH-6-FAC-3 - NIGHT

The weather is rainy, nasty, just a little too much wind to even consider going out in it at all. The industrial block is just a formless outline against the rain-pouring sky.

A sleek, black ship, unmarked, crawls through the winds and the rain. Rather than bounce away, the sheets seek to cling to it, enveloping it, obscuring it. The blunt prow pokes through every once in a while as it slithers forward.

Black helmet and black face-mask obscure the pilot's eyes, but she gestures to and with the ship and it slips behind a group of buildings and drops out of line of sight without a murmur over the coursing of the rain.

EXT.CH-6-RES-2 LANDING ZONE - CONTINUOUS

The ship drifts over the edge of a large, square arco-building with a hollow center nearly filled by a courtyard, playground equipment tucked to the side and clearly not used for a long time. The swings shudder more than they're blown, the ship the size of two city busses side by side finally coming visible.

Curvy at the front, squarish at the hips. Four stubby wings with two stacked turbines on each. Short, thick landing legs unfolding as the beast settles on in the courtyard with a muted groaning of metal and crackling of concrete. No markings save a few lights now coming on.

PILOT

(OS, filtered)

AIV on deck. All troops in the bay, ready for release. EM cloak dropping slowly.

The way the wind and rain seem drawn to the craft fades, rain falling in lines as you'd expect once more. Now subtle markings are visible on the skin, "Hu-INF-AIV-1/2".

PILOT

(OS, filtered)

All clear. Go get 'em, boys.

The back of the craft splits open from the top, then drops with startling speed without clanging to the concrete beneath, revealing a dark corridor within.

Then come the soldiers. Black and green mottled light plates over a black body-suit, chunky helmets that cover the whole face on their heads. Each after the first who has a clean, boxy SMG carries a heavy slug-throwing rifle of sensible design.

Two jump clear of the drop ramp to either side, sticking close to the side of the ship, scanning forward and out.

Then comes a man carrying a gun nearly as big as he is, festooned with additional magazines hanging on his combat webbing. If anyone could be said to be casual, he is.

He takes up a commanding position a few feet in front of the ramp, planting himself in an easy stance.

Last comes a smaller soldier, carrying an AR. Careful looking shows the outline of a few pieces of equipment the others don't have and the thin trace of an antenna arcing in a bow over one shoulder.

She snaps her face-plate up for a moment and it's a woman, but that's all we can tell. Hard eyes. Angry eyes. Shoulder-plate reads "FOUNDER".

FOUNDER

One-two-one, all one-two. LZ looks clear. By the book like we practiced, over to the bloc.

She snaps her plate down, hiding her face again, and begins to follow the other soldiers already in motion, across the courtyard and into the bottom floor of the building via very kinetic means, not even stopping to try a door but crashing right through it, one after another.

On her HUD, each of her troops is outlined in green and a secondary color describing their team, and tagged with names and ranks: PVT ANCIL carrying the SAW, PVT ALLEN with an assault rifle, and herself when she briefly looks down, bright green silhouettes filled with yellow cores. Glancing at the others forming up in the room, there is PVT LARDER, PVT HOLMEN, and COL VOLE, carrying the SMG. Each of the latter glows red inside.

Vole is last through the door and remains looking back out at the lander.

VOLE

All clear, Sergeant. Looks like a good drop. AR team accounted for.

FOUNDER

SAW team is good, too.

(filtered)

AIV, you're cleared to withdraw. Take the package to Point Micron.

PILOT

(OS, filtered)

Acknowledged. Good hunting, sergeant.

INT.CH-6-RES-2 LOBBY - CONTINUOUS

The room is picked out by the false-lighting of POV HUDs most of the time, highlighting walls and marking corners, counting ammo, displaying the health of teammates. When someone speaks, the HUD puts up a helpful image of their faces within the helmets.

The troops shuffle around as the AIV turns up the turbines and whines its way back into the sky, drawing the rain and mist back around itself as it goes. Founder and Vole watch it go from either side of the door.

FOUNDER

Time to make the doughnuts.

VOLE

Leave me a hole; you know I love 'em.

They turn in sync and Vole raises a fist. There's a palpable stiffening in the room.

VOLE

You know the drill. AR team is probing first until we get to the other side of this abandoned bloc. We have the advantage of not packing a gun that will blow the back door off.

Soft chuckles directed at Ancil, who grins.

VOLE

SAW team'll follow along in bounds. When we get clear, it'll be see-saw and cover all the way, quiet as we can. If we can't be quiet, we can be very, very loud.

More gung-ho laughter from the mercenaries.

VOLE

Sergeant? Anything to add?

Founder steps closer to the middle of the room.

FOUNDER

We have no idea what we're dealing with in a real sense. We know there's an AI, but riding what we don't know. We know there's a number of uplifted, hardwired apes that were supposedly bound for mining colonies. We don't know their status. We know they're all here.

Intel is -- spotty. So same shit, different day as far as that goes.

We're here to do recon. But you know, and I know, that we have recon boys who do recon, and what we have is Private Ancil scratching his balls with an autocannon over there. By that I think we can assume that Higher wants someone else's balls scratched, but hard, if it drops in the pot.

She grins humorlessly, meeting every soldier's eyes individually.

FOUNDER

Try not to let it drop in the pot. Hold fire when you can. Shout out about it if you can't. Check in on rotation when out of arm's reach.

And thank God we're not in 2/3!

TOGETHER

(ritually)

Thank God we're not in 2/3!

Founder nods at Vole.

FOUNDER

I think they're ready. Let's get cookin'.

Vole grins, raises a fist, then gestures with a wave toward the door deeper into the arcology. Larder and Holmen go from casual to professional in a snap, clear the door by rote, then move through rifles ready.

Vole moves through like liquid smoke in his team's wake, They proceed down the hall at a brisk walk.

Founder looks around at the two soldiers still with her.

FOUNDER

Ten seconds.

They all nod.

They wait.

Guns raise.

FOUNDER

Go.

Like the AR team, they clear the door and slide down the hall together, shadows with guns and knives and Hell knows what else.

FOUNDER

(softly)

Somebody is getting fucked tonight.