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Renegade: Chapter 1: Part 5Before you read this partition of Renegade, I would just like to acknowledge everyone at Infoceptor who has helped me with the stitching together of this book. In no particular order, I would like to thank Mr. Nameless, Depth Charge, Amun-Ra, Raynor10000, Deathwing, TroubleZ (where’d you go, man??), The Dark One, Shadow_Wolf, Nynevae, and everyone else who has emailed me or posted about my story. This is Infoceptor’s story; your story, not mine. I’m doing this for you all.
I only think it is fair, considering how much you have given to me.
***
“WHERE IS THE AIR SUPPORT?!?!” Ramirez screamed into the thick night air, over the loud chattering of rifle fire.
“30 SECONDS OUT, SI-” the private’s voice was punctuated by dense bone spines piercing his plastoid armor, shredding his flesh. Ramirez gasped, and spun around, continuing to fire his Impaler at the unseen attackers. All around, marines were falling, one by one, their death rattles compounding the already lamenting sky.
He spun, emptying the last of his clip. Gun beeping for a new one, Ramirez reached under his shoulder armor and groped around, finding only two. He pulled them out, and slapped one in, rejoining the fray. He stood, shooting to give cover fire to the last marine retreating up the hill.
And then it came.
Ramirez felt the sharp pain rip into his back and side. He stumbled, falling, his free hand clutching his armor, his gun firing wildly before falling to the ground. Ramirez hit the ground like a dead weight, slowly rolling onto his back, staring into the starry night. Everything slowed, the loud rapid gunfire fading into the background din, as his eyes slowly closed …
“NOOOOO!!” Lozupone screamed, running up to her CO’s bloody body, lying on the ground. Her Rippers spouted flame and metal tongues, driving searing pain into the aliens around his body. Seemingly on cue, the last FAV exploded, flames dancing across the crackling hull, cooking off ammunition, as the driver screaming and yelling has he jumped out, ablaze.
All of a sudden, down at the base of the hill, from where the Zerg were coming, fiery explosions lit up the night. Two blurred shapes streaked by, engines howling, as the Wraiths peppered the enemy with Gemini missiles and laser fire. The HAPC came up behind the marines, its 30 mm turret pounding rounds down the hill, into the Zerg. Its tailgate dropped down, and three marines ran out, lending their support to the firefight.
And still the Zerg came.
***
“Shit ma’am, LET’S GO!” shouted the co-pilot when the mayday first came over the Dropship’s radio.
He buckled his belt as the Dropship dove, nose down and corkscrewing to the surface, where small tufts of yellow light could be seen, framed by large explosions that seemed almost surreal from above.
“Get on the horn and scramble home,” Hawkers said flatly, concentrating on flying.
The co-pilot sounding the general mayday, Hawkers flew the ship down, through the atmosphere, the fighting getting closer and closer. Landing struts clanked as they extended, the engines burning strongly through the dark.
***
The two Dropships appeared overhead, their bright spotlights illuminating the grotesque horrors attacking the marines. They swung around, and touched down behind the hill, engines never pausing, awaiting their human cargo, to rescue them to safety.
“GO GO GO!” shouted Lozupone, panting, as she threw down her guns near the HAPC and grabbed Ramirez’ limp form, dragging him up the ramp into Dropship Osprey 1. Other marines piled on behind her, most hauling the battered forms of their friends, bleeding and screaming. Outside, the last marines piled aboard Osprey 1, and the ship lifted off even before the ramp had closed up.
Lozupone and her unit crowded to the portholes along the side of the hold, just in time to see Osprey 2 explode in a brilliant flash, the weld seams blossoming up and out like an orange flower. Five marines who where thrown clear by the blast ran for the HAPC, two falling before they all clambered aboard, only to have the HAPC fall to the ground, dragging itself as the turbines gave out. It crashed down, grinding to a halt in the sandy soil, the turret firing wildly to fend off the attackers.
After what seemed like forever, the turbines restarted, lifting the battered craft back into the air. It flew off, the Wraiths covering best they could and cleaning out the Zerg.
Lozupone leaned back against the cold, clammy wall of the cargo hold, resting her eyes. Slowly, the cries for medics or aid came to a stop, and silence overtook the 238th. They sat, mourning their fallen leader, their fallen comrades, their fallen friends. The only sound to be heard was the reconciling of the four engines.
A medic approached Ramirez’ form on the ground, and bent down, inserting a few diodes into a port on his armor. A soft flatline beeping came from his arm monitor, and he stood, closing the cracked visor over his pained, stretched face, and drew a charcoal gray blanket up and over his body.
Lozupone glanced down at her best friend, and cried.
Around her, what semblance of a unit that remained sighed, staring at the only casualty aboard Osprey 1. A few others cried, but most just gazed with a glassy look over their eyes. Then, a private in the corner stood, and quietly saluted his CO. One by one, everyone who could stood up, turning to face their fallen commander, and gave his body a sharp salute. They waited, looking haggard and tattered, but stood out of dignity for their dead leader. They paused until Lozupone finally rose, and presented her salute, her hand clinking softly against her raised visor. She waited a moment, lowered her hand, and dropped down onto her seat. Slowly, the rest of the Jack Knifes did the same.
Everyone remained silent. Eight minutes later, Osprey 1 touched down at Fort Jacobs. It had felt like an eternity.
Lozupone trudged out of the cargo hold, stripping off her helmet for fresh air, as she headed for the MagRail train back to the Barracks. It was a quick ride, with the remains of the 238th, in complete silence. She arrived, and sullenly bathed, taking care to set the CMC together on arming pegs, checking for damage or scars. She changed, donning her BDUs, her mourning now being replaced by determination to help out best she could. She pulled up the tactical frequency on her radio, to listen in as the reinforcements touched down where she and the 238th had come under assault.
“…oger that, sir. Touching down …now. UP AND AT’EM BOYS! EAT THIS ZERG-ASS!”
Footsteps were heard clanging down the offramps of the Dropships, and warcries were yelled into the night. Lozupone heard feet on sand, and then:
“Shit sir, where the fuck they’d go? No fuckin’ Zerg anywhere! No bodies, NO NOTHIN! This better not be another training sim …”
“Dunno private …keep looking …the attack was real, we know that much …spread out … Sam, take two platoons and check the west side …”
“…oger that.”
“OH SHIT WAIT SIR! LOOKEE HERE!”
Lozupone’s face had crept within inches from the speaker, and now excitement ran through her eyes, adrenaline in her veins. Maybe if they found something, or a Zerg presence of some kind …
“It’s a marine! He’s been all torn up too … wait! HOLY SHIT! We got a bleeder! Look! The burst pattern … It’s clustered like a Gauss Rifle! In the back, too! This dude was murdered!”
Lozupone’s excitement gave way to fear, as she pushed herself even nearer to the speaker, which was spitting static from the wall of her quarters. The signal was lost, due to the receiver’s limited range and ability, but after a few tense moments of gravelly static, it cleared again.
A confident, smug voice came on over the comm., which Lozupone thought was probably the Commanding Officer of whatever units were checking it out.
“…ort Jacobs, we have fou … hat appears to be the remains of the 238th. Several mari …odies are lying, … ead, apparently from C-16d Ripper fire. This was an insi … ob, sir.
“Wait, sir! I just received a shard of metal, and from our technician’s estimate, it seemed to have been a fuel line cover from a lift turbine on a T-9A HAPC hover transport …It looks like it was ripped off. There were also small peppering bits of plasteel, suggesting the panel was shot off … or blown off with a pyrotechnic device.”
A shuffling could be heard in the background, and the CO pushed away the mike, talking with someone off to the side. A few seconds later, the voice came back again, this time, with disgust and contempt.
“Sir, did you say that the 238th’s CO was killed during this ‘exercise’ tonight? And what was the name of their XO again?”
“Over, Fort Jacobs. We did not rece …” The voice faded out again.
“…upone, was her name? Sir, we just found a chunk of armor from a CMC …It bears ID number 28554-763, and the name “Lozupone” before the plasteel comes to an end. Could you run that number, sir? The plate was found alone, apparently, it had been removed prior to the exercise. Looked like it was cut away or something …I think you have a suspect, sir.”
Lozupone’s fear congealed, rearing its ugly head as an icy ball in her stomach. She stood from her chair by the wall, ignoring the rest of the transmission, and tersely walked to her CMC lying on its hanger. It was about to be shipped back to the armory for repair, and was hanging on its peg along the rotary conveyor.
She looked at the breastplate. On the left breast, next to a spare grenade, was a plate, tattooed with white block letters:
28554-763
Lozupone
She gasped, backing away. She was being set up.
As if to intensify the horror further, a yellow klaxon lit up on the ceiling, revolving at a rapid pace. The conveyor began to hum, and the jolted forward.
“NOO!” Lozupone jumped, latching onto the breastplate, trying to tear it off the peg, but no avail. The locking clamps had already come down, firmly holding it in place. The whole contraption accelerated towards the gaping hole in the wall, and with a scream, Lozupone let go, falling to the floor, as her only chance of redemption flew into the darkness, back to the armory. The klaxon and the conveyor came to a stop again, and all was silent
The speaker on the wall blared to life again, throwing its lies into the room, filling the quiet with harsh words.
“Sir, I definitely feel that we are dealing with a AWOL marine. I recommend immediate arrest and detainment. My technicians just linked this Lozupone character’s firing code with a pair of Rippers found near where the HAPC plating was. The signature of those rifles and a test-burst pattern match those found in two marines, as well as hull fragments from the downed Dropship.
“This is one sick marine, sir. Again, I recommend immediate arrest, for prosecution on the charges if insubordination and mutiny.”
The transmission faded out, and drifted into static again. Lozupone bolted upright, sweat pouring down her face. The MPs would arrive any moment, and she would be taken to the brig, or worse, beaten and raped, and then thrown in jail.
She ran about in her room, from one wall or corner to another, like a caged animal. Lozupone was scared – she knew what was coming. Back to the jail cells again, this time, possibly for good. She had to get out.
Lozupone ran into her bedroom, and grabbed a rucksack. She stuffed what items she could into it – several clips for her sidearm, a few electronic lock-picking/code-slicing kits, and the remains of a SpecOps setup. She changed fatigues again, the olive drab and brown replaced with dark navy blue and dark green, to blend in with the surrounding environ of the base.
Lozupone stood, ready to go. She strode to the door, hit the keypad to open it, and slinked into the sparsely lit hallway in the barracks.
She had to get away from Fort Jacobs; she had to get off Danthor IX.
She had to find out who had set her up.
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