The Air Guard


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((I’ve neglected this thread for FAR too long…))

---West Libertalia---

The work from the unit cartographers wasn’t necessarily exceptional, but they’d discovered what looked to be the pattern of the bandits. The various paths were determined to not originate from the same den Sergeant Johnston’s men had wiped out, but from the rural regions of East Libertalia.

They couldn’t wage a strike against the other nation to see if they could find the source of the attacks. Carter was already drawing up a plan in the back of his head to figure out how to circumvent that problem. However, to deal with the immediate threat, he determined that a few hard strikes made against the bandits as they made their way to their target would probably go a long way to making the hooligans think twice about further assaults.

The forces, mostly comprised of Red Sands “Hunters,” were encamped along the north flank of both the “Blue” and “Green” marked paths. The captain instructed one of the Skiff pilots to do flyovers of the region and make sure the bandits were on the way. After four days, when he reported that two convoys of military cargo trucks were en route, Carter sent radio messages to the teams to be ready for a firefight.

The more northern “Blue” trail had a blockade set up with derelict cars and trucks. The convoy, however, was fronted by what looked to be an armored plow truck that just started smashing through the twisted metal. This seemed a viable plan until the vehicles exploded with claymore mines and what little combustible fluids were left inside the machines ignited, scattering ball bearings and jagged fragments tearing into the machines.

The Hunters then opened fire, shredding the trucks and decimating the raiders inside them. A few survived and were rounded up. Sergeant Phillips, who was leading the “Blue” trail Hunters, called back to Captain Carter and informed him of the success. However, there was a caveat. The prisoners were still defiant and confident. Phillips had dealt with missions like this before, when he’d served with the British SAS, and most bandits were dejected or crestfallen when beaten so soundly.

Carter knew what it meant. They thought they had something up their sleeves. The Hunters on the “Green” trail found out what it was.

The trucks arrived, but there was no blockade. Instead, a few tankbuster landmines had been deployed. It irked Carter to have to utilize weapons outlawed by the Geneva Convention, but he was hoping that the limited tactical use, plus the fact that the explosive payload had been reduced, would be found feasible. There was also the fact that he was leaving much of the tactical planning to the Hunters and they were using their own resources, some of which was weaponry recovered from abandoned bandit camps.

The first vehicle was another blockade buster like the one from the “Blue” trail. The landmines tore the engine out and reduced the reinforced plow to slag, but the passengers were left unharmed. The other vehicles stopped behind it and the Hunters opened fire in an attempt to repeat the rapid victory their fellows to the north had accomplished.

When they finished firing into the canvas-covered cargo trucks, there was silence. The vehicles had been shut down and there were no signs of life.

As the Hunters were trying to decide whether or not to investigate, however, the canvas moorings exploded and the cloths fluttered away as some unknown thrust pushed them off the trucks. There was a whirring sound that was followed shortly by a number of metallic scrapings and the rush of rockets. Shortly thereafter, the Hunter encampment was bombarded and smashed.

The Hunters and Guardsmen were tossed into the trenches and foxholes they’d dug over the days they’d been waiting. The crest of the hill would shield them for a moment, but Sergeant Johnston, who had led the attack on the den not even a week earlier, knew they couldn’t hide forever.

Pushing himself up first, then dragging his fellow Guardsmen to their feet, he rushed to pull the Hunters back up. He had his radio man call to the northern encampment to send reinforcements. They were fighting something completely unexpected and much more difficult than anticipated.

When he looked over the hill, he beheld a massive robot. It was bipedal, with rounded armor plating, a twin pair of large-bore cannons for arms and a twin set of missile pods mounted on its back. Johnston had seen many like it in his time as a Sky Raider, it was an “Assault Bot,” that was popular among the “Mastermind” rogues who liked to utilize the affordable and deadly machines in their small armies. This one was bigger, though.

The sergeant let out an expletive before the next volley, this time of lasers, collided with the side of the hill. Dirt scattered over him and his soldiers and he told them what they were facing. It wasn’t just the Assault Bot, it was a whole compliment of the machines, from the little Battle Drone types to the Protector Bots. They were setting up their position as they assaulted the encampment.

Not willing to stand for that, the Red Sands Hunters demanded he tell them what to do. He offered that they utilize the RPG launchers and try to stall the machines long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

No sooner had they made the plan than they were in action. Some of the Hunters took the opposite flank the RPG crew was taking so as to distract the machines with assault rifles. As they were getting shot at, the launchers were set up and fired, destroying one of the Battle Drones.

However, the other robots weren’t hindered. They returned fire, killing some Hunters while the RPG crew attempted to dive back into the relative safety of the camp. The Assault Bot fired three volleys of dual cannon blasts, tearing holes out of the hill’s crest. Another volley of rockets took another great chunk out of the hill and Sergeant Johnston started revising his strategy.

Seeing the dead body of one of the Hunters caused him to think back to what he would have done in the old days. He looked to one of his Guardsmen and the young man’s pained expression changed to shock as he saw the scowl his commanding non-commissioned officer had.

Before the Guardsman could dissuade the Sergeant, Johnston had pressed a button on his wristguard and was teleported. He appeared behind the robots and leveled his assault rifle at a Protector’s head. When it turned to face him, he unloaded, spraying bullets straight into its ocular sensor array and causing the machine to stagger. As it recovered, he hit the button again and was teleported back to the encampment.

The robots, however, attempted to fire on him. Their lasers scorched the already leaking gas tank and caused the truck to explode, destroying the robots, save one Protector Bot and the Assault Bot in one fell swoop.

As the big machine attempted to right itself, the man commanding the machines stepped out from the back of the rear truck. This was just what he was hoping he wouldn’t run into. It was bad enough when his enemies had delusions of grandeur, but when they proved to be tenacious enough to destroy his robots, machines he’d spent hours meticulously fine-tuning, it really ticked him off.

He wasn’t much to look at, as far as Johnston could tell. He was a masked man with a wide-brimmed hat, a pair of goggles with green lenses over his eyes and a big dark trench coat; he rested his rather simple-looking pulse rifle on his shoulder. It was pretty much par villain attire. It was also the first time Sergeant Johnston had ever realistically figured he could beat one.

The man directed his surviving robots to take the hill. Firing as they went, he unleashed a batch of nanotech repair bots into the Protector and started firing as well. A small shield drone floated from the back of the truck he’d emerged from and moved to hover close to its master.

Johnston was about to order that the group attack with everything they had when a familiar sound greeted their ears. Looking to the sky, he saw the Skiff hurtling toward the battle.

Lieutenant Franklin launched the missile first. It hurtled through the air and collided with the Assault Bot, causing it to stagger briefly. He then started unleashing his chainguns, firing at the man controlling the machines first. The shield was potent, but it wasn’t enough to hold back that volley. Plumes of sand and dirt plumed into the air wherever the bullets hit the ground as the Skiff drew closer. When the bullets started hitting the shield, their paths became more erratic. One stray round struck the mastermind in the shin and he staggered to the ground. He knew it was the end, but his Protector Bot dove in the way at the last second, causing it to get shot to pieces as its last act of existence.

Enraged, the mastermind ordered the Assault Bot to shoot down the Skiff. Lieutenant Franklin felt a heavy impact in his starboard aft thruster and the machine pitched forward. Losing control, he gripped the eject cord and yanked hard. The canopy burst off and he was thrown against it, flipping at the last moment to land the chair against the tough glass and roll enough to land on the sand like a sled.

The Skiff, however, crashed just behind the Assault Bot. Through the smoke from the fire, it never saw the Hunters and Sergeant Johnston arming another batch of RPGs and firing them. The machine made a sad query before the rockets smashed into it, detonating it and the reloaded rockets in its shoulder pods. The mastermind was tossed backwards, his shield drone crashing and sputtering lifelessly next to him.

As the ringing in his ears faded away, he looked up at the men approaching him. Sergeant Johnston smiled down at him, revealing large white teeth that caused even his subordinates to wince a little. The villain said nothing and started reaching for his pulse rifle.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the sergeant explained, “We’ve had enough trouble on account of you, and I wouldn’t hesitate to put rounds in your chest.”

He chuckled a little as the mastermind started trying to flick the beacon that should have sent him to either the Rogue Isles or his personal base.

“It’s either broke, or it don’t work this far from home. Sorry, buddy. Verizon can’t hear you now.”

The villain chuckled and flicked his wrists. A pair of discs was deposited into his hands and, after deploying the sensor tines with a press of a button on the top of each one, he hurled them at the sergeant. Johnston rolled back and barely avoided getting hit in the face with a pair of Seeker Drone bombs.

The machines weren’t done, though, as they started whirring angrily and came back to finish the job. Johnston fired, destroying one, but the explosion was so bright that everything else went dark. Hearing the other get too near, he rolled away and the other explosion sent him flying, then tumbling, down the hill toward the stopped convoy.

The villain grabbed his pulse rifle then and started blasting away at the approaching Hunters. He was no slouch with his weapon, and expertly felled three men before a bullet tore into his shoulder. Crying out in pain, he fled, but forgot how much pain his shin was in. He tumbled down the hill after Sergeant Johnston, landing hard just a few yards from the dark man.

Johnston could hear the shouting of his friends and allies. He’d heard the villain land next to him, but didn’t know where he was exactly. He aimed his assault rifle in the vain hope that he would get it right and the nefarious mercenary would surrender, but there was no such luck.

Then he heard the sound of the pulse rifle charging up and he fired in the direction of it. There was an explosion and the villain shouted angrily. A bullet had torn open a capacitor and the weapon vented energy through the hole, burning it out in an instant. It also created a bright explosion that threw the roboticist to the ground and incapacitated him long enough for the Hunters to detain him.

“Well done, Sergeant,” Lieutenant Franklin said as he approached the man, “How often does anybody in our line of work get to say they beat a full-fledged Villain one-on-one?”

“I had a lot of luck,” the sergeant replied to a spot just to the right of the pilot, “And it wasn’t one-on-one, I had help…”

With the convoys disabled and their resources reacquired, Carter took stock of the situation. It seemed that whomever was employing the bandits and supplying them with weaponry had intended for this villain, a roboticist named Gregory Crier, to supply the siege bandits (that had taken the longer route earlier for whatever reason) with more guns, ammunition, and lend fire support to batter the defenses.

“With more support, and just a few less mistakes, he could have smashed the defenses of Red Sands,” the Air Guard intelligence officer explained to the recovering Sergeant Johnston, “You realize you almost got yourself killed doing that? What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I was sick of hiding behind a dirt mound while people I helped train got slaughtered by a monstrosity they were never meant to have to deal with, sir,” was the proud reply, “And I’d do it again tomorrow, if I find myself in the field…”

“Well, you won’t. West Libertalia’s sending a unit to garrison this village and we’ve been ordered to return to base. Congratulations, Sergeant. You lived to see home again… Well… Once your eyes get better. Doctors say it should only be another day or so.”

“Aye, sir,” the sergeant replied, grinning broadly with triumph.


My Stories

Look at that. A full-grown woman pulling off pigtails. Her crazy is off the charts.