Charger Chronicles 2: Charger the Weapon, Page 3

  Leaving behind the ranks of Taskers, Elvin and Gerald set out from the great city to find and talk with the humans from Earth. They soon found a command base, for the humans were as numerous as the flowers surrounding the city. They approached within sight of a large command structure. It seemed wise to let the humans see they meant no harm, so they simply sat down and waited for someone to approach.

  Their mistake was in finding the base that Captain Buxton commanded. He was quickly informed of the aliens' approach to their encampment and, gathering up a platoon of troops, he marched out to meet them.

  Armored vehicles took up positions around the two aliens of New Eden and guns were drawn and pointed at these two, who waited patiently for someone to approach. After some time, Captain Buxton and an aide moved forward to greet them, as nervous, anxious soldiers looked on. When Captain Buxton and his aide were close enough, Gerald began speaking. "I am called Gerald; we welcome you to New Eden."

  "Holy crap, you speak English!" Buxton was alarmed. "How the hell did you learn our language?"

  "I was taught English just like you, in school, back on Earth," replied Gerald.

  "What the hell do you mean, back on Earth? Were you kidnapped and brought here by the aliens?"

  "No, no, it's nothing like that. If you wish, we will welcome you and your friends to join us in our city, where all can be explained," responded Gerald.

  "What the hell! That's not going to happen. You better start making sense right now, right here, or all hell is going to break loose on your ass!" snapped Buxton, shoving a finger in Gerald's face.

  Elvin had understood all that had been said but, as he tried to speak to the confusion, only clicks and sparks emanated from him.

  Alarmed at the sounds, Buxton jumped back and drew his weapon, pointing it in Elvin's face.

  "Wait, wait, you don't understand, let me explain," tried Gerald, reaching forward to block Captain Buxton's weapon.

  The aide perceived this as a hostile act and he too drew a weapon, pointing it at Gerald. Things were spiraling well out of control when the translator began sounding out what Elvin's clicks had meant. 'We were once as you were,' 'We too came from Earth,' 'We took this form to survive.'

  "What the hell was that?" demanded Buxton. "Did that damn thing just talk? Did it just say that it took you from Earth to survive? God damn it!"

  "Wait, if you would just let me explain," Gerald said, as he raised his communicator up to face Captain Buxton.

  This device was perceived as a weapon by the captain's agitated aide, who instantly pulled the trigger of his gun, firing off so many rounds of ammunition at the two Taskers that little was left of them when he stopped.

  A few of the rounds fired at Elvin ricocheted off the metal skin of his Tasker body and struck both Buxton and the aide, killing them as well.

  ***

  This was seen as an incitement to war, and the human engine of chaos began coming to life. Soldiers surged forward en masse as commands were radioed to all units to begin the attack. From the ensuing confusion, troops were formed into workable squads. One of these squads contained humans from the battleship California; the plumber brothers, Dave and Bill, along with Foster, Jimmy, and Sergeant York. Added to the squad were Charger, Mac, and Jill. This was the first ever composite group.

  Sergeant York began loading his command of thirty troops onto a huge troop carrier for the trip to the main city of the Taskers, some fifteen miles from the drop site.

  "Holy crap," Bill said, "we're going to need a trailer for that Charger guy. Did you see how big he is?"

  "That's enough nonsense from you," York snapped. "Be glad he's on our side."

  "True," Foster added, trying to sound cool.

  As the convoys of transports and tanks began rolling, Charger sat uncomfortably on two of the seats with one hand on the back of Mac's neck and one on Jill's.

  "Make good and sure you have a hold on them," Dave said to Charger, "I'd hate to have my gun go off in your girl dog's face."

  Jill slowly turned to face Dave square on and gracefully leaned forward, her lips curling back to reveal two rows of yellow sharp teeth.

  "Keep that up, and she might take your head off your shoulders," was all that Charger said.

  The carriers had been thundering through the dense vegetation for only a few minutes when a loud smashing could be heard from the hulls of the transports. The Taskers in the cities had received news of the demise of their leader, Elvin, and of Gerald, and were converging in huge numbers, bearing down hard from all sides on the humans as they tried to advance. Their metal bodies were trying to claw their way into the transports to get revenge on these invaders.

  As each transport reached its destination and the main doors swung open to release the troops, the soldiers were met by dozens of frenzied and clicking metal-shelled Taskers ripping and tearing at them. They had been clawing at the transports' metal surface almost the entire trip, and as the soldiers emerged firing their weapons in all directions, many were simply mobbed by the Taskers and torn to pieces.

  Charger was the last to board his transport and so the first to leave it as they arrived, only to be met by several Taskers slashing and hacking. He raised his two large swords high into the air and, with incredible strength, sliced the attacking Taskers in two and left them squirming and sparking on the ground at his feet. Mac and Jill tormented anything they could catch, like two tigers with a rabbit to share.

  "Come on, you goons, you want to let the freak vampire and his pets win this war for you?" demanded Sergeant York as he began firing a small hand-held Gatling gun.

  The Taskers moved like a horde of ants toward the desperate humans. Every transport that had a vampire and a Lycan on board held their ground. Those with only humans were quickly overrun and, within the first day of combat, over half the fighting force from Earth was eliminated. As light faded to dusk, the Taskers formed into opportunistic attack groups. Only soldiers who had not managed to dig in and find cover were being overrun. The sounds of screaming soldiers and gunfire rang far into the night.

  Foxholes were dug all around the transport York's squad had used. Specially designed shape charges exploded onto the ground, leaving a depression the troops could hide in. In one foxhole Bill patched up the scratches Dave had received, with Sergeant York looking out as guard. In another foxhole a few feet away, sat Foster and Jimmy pressed close to each other, unable to decide if the biggest threat was from outside the foxhole, or from inside it, where Mac and Jill groomed themselves like cats. Alone and only half-buried, Charger sat in his own foxhole, scraping bits of Tasker parts off his body armor plating. Their positions had been secured, but their communications had been knocked out, so they had no idea how the other soldiers were faring.

  In the morning, York decided it was necessary to find out the situation regarding the others in the command, as well as that of the Taskers. He moved from his foxhole over to Charger's and sat with his feet in the pit that housed the old vampire. "I need information and you'll have to get it. I want you to send one of your pets out to get it for me," he said to Charger. The old vampire heaved his chest for air, then a closed look came across his face. Moments later Jill arrived, belly close to the ground, as though she'd materialized from thin air. York jumped.

  She looked at Charger for a few seconds, then a look of fear swept across her delicate, almost human-like face. She looked down at the ground for a moment, until the mental conversation between the two was over. Jill turned and vanished into the dawn. "It's done," Charger said, then went back to repairing his armor and sharpening his swords.

  "Good, when can I expect a progress report from you?" asked York as he stood up again. When Charger remained silent, York found himself shifting his feet about like a kid in a school yard at recess. He added, "Okay then, I'll be just over here when you have something."

  Jill spent the morning moving undetected around the dead and dying, finding soldiers and vampires dug in all around the areas they had be
en delivered to. On occasion she would quietly appear next to the vampire in a squad and briefly talk with him about the squad's condition.

  It was true that she talked; she had once been human after all. But she was so quiet and shy as to seem almost childlike. Inside, she was still the young girl she had been before the trauma of that day of shooting, a day held hostage to Mac and his rampage. A day best forgotten, but it still haunted her mind for she was never away from Mac for any length of time. Like a puppet on a poison-drenched string, she lived her life excited only by the hunt and the kills in Mac's mind.

  She moved effortlessly through the ranks of Taskers, slipping like a shadow in and around the hordes, counting their numbers and assessing their strengths. When she was sure of all she surveyed, she would return to the few vampires and inform them of her finding, then move on. After a few hours she returned to Charger and relayed all she knew to his mind. Then the quiet, shy little girl moved stealthily over to Jimmy, who was sitting in the foxhole on guard. Pressing her body close to his, she seemed to relax for a moment, as if she felt safe. Jimmy was frozen with fear.

  Moments later Mac moved over to Jimmy and, pressing one hand on Jill's neck to hold her to the ground, he struck Jimmy in the chest hard enough to knock the air clean out of his lungs. A fight broke out between the two Lycans, which lasted only a few moments, as once again, Mac had Jill under his thumb.

  "Crazy bastards, fuckin' near killed me," Jimmy spat as he gasped for air.

  Sergeant York moved back to Charger's foxhole and after a brief conversation, barked an order to his troops. "Pack it up, apes, we move in five!"

  For the next five days, the squad, led by Sergeant York, moved all the survivors onto high ground. There they set up a command structure and, since few officers trained in tactics and warfare had survived, it fell to York to lead this army. Defendable perimeters were set in place and observation posts established. All the tanks and troop transports still working were placed throughout the base in defensive positions.

  The troops were continually and remorselessly pounded by advancing Tasker patrols. But after five days, they still had their foothold. Sergeant York knew that the Tasker army would have to change tactics or suffer defeat. Their tactics were a conundrum. Like an undisciplined mob on a rampage, they kept throwing themselves into a well-defended military wall. Surely, he thought, they must soon realize that they cannot hope to win if they don't change their method.

  After eleven days of relentless charges into the guns of his army, York began to realize that the Taskers didn't know how to change tactics. This was not an army, only a never-ending stream of martyrs. He had to find a way to end it or face running out of supplies.

  York wrote in his command log, "Day fifteen on this shit hole, and no end in sight. The enemy seems to be attacking in waves of similar numbers at similar times of the day. I have come to the conclusion that this planet has mobilized all their resources to produce troops to attack our forward positions on a certain time scale." Sipping from a cup of coffee at his small desk, Sergeant York tapped his pen on his bottom lip for a moment, then continued.

  "I have been in constant communication with the mother ships in orbit, and have tried continuous planetary bombardments of what we think are strategic positions, but with little or no effect. We are getting supply drops more frequently now and this reassures the troops of our survival. However, as Earth is a few years travel from here, our supplies are not without limits." He pushed aside a few papers to make more room to rest his arm.

  "Tomorrow we try a bold new tactic. After the initial attack is defeated, I will order a surge forward by the full camp. If all goes well, we should find ourselves at the gates to the main city complex by tomorrow evening." York put the pen down and stepped outside of the tent. It was time for the expected attack and, like clockwork, it began.

  ***

  The mob of alien Taskers hit the well-defended camp, and gunfire exploded from all angles, whipping the attackers from the field of combat with relative ease. As the last of the attackers fell, York gave the command to advance, and in one bold surge, the entire camp appeared to miraculously disassemble itself, and race forward. The main gates of the city were suddenly overrun by commandos and Hyborgs. Taskers of every design and color fled en masse from their homes near the gates and raced for the safety of the large temple complex at the center of the city.

  Command and control centers were rapidly set up by the humans, as Sergeant York made his way to the forward observation post to get a good look at the enemy territory. York was as bold as he was intelligent; he could always be found somewhere at the head of his army. Today found him peering through a set of binoculars at the main temple complex, his final objective in this war.

  Over the short period of his new command, York had become dependent on the older plumber brother, Dave, to act as an anchor in helping him stay grounded and focused. Dave seemed to have a knack for being the older brother type and was soon promoted to Sergeant York's right-hand man and confidante. The two of them stood in the tower, looking through their binoculars and discussing the next move.

  "Well, we got this far with a minimal effort," York said, as he tipped his helmet away to scratch the hair on the back of his neck. "I expect that from now on we can anticipate a never-ending stream of those bugs attacking us."

  "Yup, that tends to make good sense, so why the hell did we stop here? We have them on the ropes, we should just finish this before we really start losing personnel," Dave responded. Never one to respect rank, Dave always said what was on his mind.

  "There's just something about this fight that seems wrong," York said, replacing the helmet on his head and scratching his arms, then his belly. "Damn, for the last few days I've been itching like an old flea-bitten dog on some hillbilly's porch."

  "Well, I didn't want to say anything because for the last few days you've been occupied with this fight, but you probably could use a good shower," Dave said, with one of his rare smiles.

  Now scratching his legs, York said, "It's just not right. They don't fight like soldiers, or even like an angry mob. They fight more like drones, like zombies trying to stall us from moving. Shower, you say. I thought that smell was from you."

  "So what's next?" Dave asked. "Do we sit here and wait for the inevitable, or do we take the fight to that temple thing? And no, it's definitely you that stinks."

  Now the itching had migrated from York's legs to his lower back and eventually to his butt. He stopped for a moment. "First things first. You need a shower, something around here really smells. Think I'll grab a coffee and give this a bit more thought."

  The two men left the tower, York striding off to the mess tent for a coffee, and Dave making his way back to York's old squad, which Dave now commanded.

  "So what's the word, bro?" asked Bill. "Are we pressing on?"

  Dave sat on a small chunk of cut wood beside his troops as they huddled close around a small fire pit. "Not sure really. York is still puzzling this through."

  "Damn, old man," Foster said to Dave. "When was the last time you showered?"

  Dave stared blankly at Foster for a moment as Jill quietly appeared behind him and started sniffing. She made a soft cooing sound mixed with a faint purr as she ran her nose up and down Dave's back. Dave, suddenly aware of Jill behind him, jumped up and said to no one in particular, "Damn it, why the hell is she always sneaking up on me?"

  Charger stopped sharpening his blades long enough to look up and reply, "Your smell is like ambrosia to her, makes her horny."

  The group was silent just for a moment, then everybody exploded in laughter. Even Charger hissed a weird kind of laugh for a few seconds. The sound he made stopped the laughing and the group stared at him in shock. Then they started laughing again. "Think I'll go grab a quick shower," Dave said.

  Meanwhile, a corporal burst into the mess tent and rushed to Sergeant York, who was sitting at a table drinking his coffee and staring at a topographical map on his hand-he
ld computer. "Sir, you need to come see this," the corporal said as he fought to catch his breath.

  Moments later found York in the observation tower staring at the entrance to the temple. At the main doors stood a young man alone, dressed in white. A moment later, Dave, soaking wet and half-dressed, raced up to York.

  "There, you see, I told you something didn't feel right," York said as he pointed in the direction of the temple. "What the hell do you make of that?"

  "Looks like they have a laundry facility, and a damn good one too. That's a really white robe the guy's got on," replied Dave as he peered through the binoculars at the young man standing alone.

  "You take two of your best, and only two, and approach him with guns lowered. Find out what he wants. Get that?" York snapped. He finally felt like he was onto the answer he suspected might be out there. Dave jumped to attention.

  Why Dave chose Charger and Mac to accompany him was anyone's guess, but the squad he commanded did as they were told without hesitation. As the three of them moved past the forward defensive positions toward the young man in white still standing alone, all eyes were focused on the size differences in these three. Charger and Mac were heads taller than Dave. They ventured forward in an unthreatening, almost Sunday-stroll manner. Here and there, they caught glimpses of faces peering out at them from behind windows and corners, but nothing moved as they approached the young man.

  "Hey there, that's a mighty white robe you got on, damn near need sunglasses just to look at you," Dave said as he cautiously approached. "Bet it must be a bitch to find you in the winter, what with all the snow and shit." Dave never expected the young man to speak English, so he thought it made sense to try to talk in a casual manner. "How about those Red Sox, they've had a great year in baseball, you bet."