Darwin's Fist

Chapter 13

Darkness...darkness and cold. Whistling wind.
Like night-skiing at the Mountaneer's Meany Lodge to the east of Seattle, settled within the Cascade Mountains, Marasco thought as he fell towards earth.
It was a calming thought. Meany was a place of good memories, before and after his fabrication. Of wonderful snow and good friends, marches into the back country to hunt and gather, long nights around a warm fire, stories and tall tales and cuddling with Hester under a blanket in the quiet dorms.

Where he was right now couldn't be more different. No...his decent was more like the time he'd fallen into Lake Union out of his uncle's boat after one of Boeing's seaplanes had taxied too close and swamped them.

It was loud, it was disorienting, and bright lights flashed by his face.

Then one of them got too close and he could feel the heat from its passage, the cooking noise of the air around it.

AA fire! The Russians below must have a machine gun or two...incendiary ammo loaded obviously.

"Darwins, spread out! Ground fire inbound!"
He was banking even as he said this, tilting his armored form to the right to slide out of the way of the incoming tracers. The Mutalisk felt him shift and twisted its wings to follow, letting the soldier slip out of the line of fire. Most of First followed him...but someone didn't quite make it.
There was a scream of pain from a Mutalisk, and an armored form tumbled past his vision, arms flailing, bits of flesh and smoking armor plate tumbling down.
"Razack's hit!" That was Anderson.
Damn.
"Anderson, Johnson, make sure she lands safely and link back up with us! Everyone else, shift your trajectory!"
He moved to match his words, Muta's wings twisting and straightening again as it complied with his body motions, hot lead streaking the air just below him.
Three Darwins out of the main fight was going to be a pain, but it wasn't mission-breaking. They would still be a match for the Bolshivek maters below.
At least he hoped so. Who knew what they'd captured from the loyalist guards who'd held the base before.
More gunfire streaked from below and he adjusted again, zigging back and forth across the sky. Behind him he could hear the leathery rasping of multiple Muta's following his path, including, he noted, Shaw's, right behind him as always.
The ground rushed up, icy and uninviting looking. Permafrost...hard as concrete.
This was gonna be a bitch to stick...
Marasco spread his arms, the Mutalisk's wings extending further as well, bleeding off his speed to a manageable velocity, turning his fall into a horizontal glide that put him a few feet off the ground.
Get his boots up and...
Release.
Marasco smacked his chest, and the harness holding the Muta detached from his LiskSkin, setting the fab free. It rose with a shriek, wings flapping madly, instincts sending it in search of prey.
The ground rose to meet his boots and Marasco extended them to meet it. First contact hit like a kick from a walker, sending Marasco rolling forwards and over, tucked into a ball till all his momentum bled off.
Rising with the last of the speed from his fall, the Sergeant raised his Spiker, glancing around for any signs of the enemy.
This particular section of the airbase seemed empty. In the cold stillness, he could see just how little there was to the base. To his left, several frozen-over hangers sat against the horizon, backs ridged like the spine of a whale. Between them, half-buried fuel tanks and hydrogen containers (one exploded and blackened), and beyond that, the mighty, frozen monolith of the docking tower, ropes and wires hung heavy with accumulated ice and snow drifts. Painted along the side of the largest of the hangers was the name of an airship, half covered by ice. Empress something. The emblem next to it though...
That was the airbeast the Russians had sent to Siberia to pick up Tesla, wasn't it. Well damn, what did you know?
Almost nothing moved; the whole base seemed to have frozen solid. A random four-legged fab of some kind, probably a failed experiment or a random mutation, scampered across the open field, yelping loudly before vanishing into a hole in the snow.
Huh...
No one had been here for a long, long time it seemed. At least since that airship left.
So why had the Bolshiveks wanted it so badly?
Marasco rose...and was almost instantly cut down by a surge of gunfire from the roof of one of the hangers.
Ahhh...so there were actually enemy soldiers here! Good, a fight!
Steaming hot slugs blew chunks out of the rock-hard ground behind him, sliding towards the soldier. Marasco threw himself into a sprint (or as much as he could do of one in his armor), his boots tearing huge furrows out of the ground and shattering ice as he did. The tracers drew short then stopped, the gunner either out of ammo or re-aiming his weapon.
There was a thunderous "crack-boom" of shattering ice from the hanger the gunner was settled upon, and the mighty door began to grate open. Ice showered from its hinges, and within came the roar of some massive machine-
No. Worse, Marasco realized, as the gate rolled further open. Not a machine.
With another organ-rattling roar, a full-sized Russian fighting bear, big as a house and a hell of a lot meaner, erupted from the hanger, claws striking sparks from the ground as it surged into the open. Its back bore a standard harness, and astride it a full compliment of soldiers, armed with Mosin-Nagant rifles and a machine gun (the Russian licensed Maxim). Hanging from the sides of the bears compartment was a flag Marasco had never seen; a brilliant red field with...a hammer and sickle?
The animal seemed confused for a moment, sniffing...then picked up Marasco's scent and roared once more, surging into a full gallop.
Oh SPLICE.
"Darwin's, we've got a fighting bear! Watch your backs!"
The gunner spotted him a moment later, and he pulled the slide on the Maxim before unleashing a barrage in Marasco's direction. The riflemen joined in, guns banging off like muffled thunder.
CLART!
With a grunt, Marasco rolled, rising with his weapon at the ready, fist clenched.
The Spiker spat a rain of razor-sharp chitin towards the enemy, a badly aimed spray that still managed to strike a target or two, several shards embedding themselves into the bear's tough hide and making it roar once more. A single round punched through the furry hat worn by the man next to the gunner, and he pitched forwards out of the compartment, dead instantly.
The bear twisted its head around and snapped its mighty maw onto the body, swallowing the whole thing, clothing, spike and all, in a single movement.
The one bad thing about fighting bears...they were constantly ravenous. You were as liable to get eaten by them as you were killed by the enemy. As the Russians had no doubt found out with that little incident in Tunguska.
The bear, apparently still hungry despite consuming an entire soldier, turned its beady eyes onto Marasco, who realized he'd just emptied his magazine.
Right...
Feet pedaling backwards, Marasco frantically reloaded, shoving a fistful of chitin spikes wrapped in leather into the butt of his weapon, which gulped them down eagerly. Even before they were fully into the weapon he was firing again, sending a rain of shards against the bear's head. One found its eye and it roared in pain, shaking its great head and accelerating.
Marasco braced his feet, ready to assault it back...when a hail of spikes and a massive bone shard tore into the beastie's head and neck from the side, making it stumble, and finally fall as a second spike rammed its way through its dead eye into its relatively tiny brain.
The beast fell with a groan, throwing its riders. Rifles and a machine gun went flying, their users hurled like dolls from the beasts shoulders.
"Starting the fight without us, boss?"
That was Shaw, who walked into his field of vision a moment later, a massive Impailer (the LiskSkin-compatable version of a sniper rifle) slung over her shoulder. Those huge bone shards had been flung by her weapon.
"They started it." Marasco replied, reloading his Spiker once more. He was jittery, but it was fading slowly. As always, his men were there for him, whenever he needed them.
The rest of First Squad came to joined them, showing signs of previous combat. Shattered armor, slugs flattened against plates, scorch marks, tracks of blood.
"Where's Razack?"
"She's stuck in the roof of a barn or something." Shaw reported. "Alive and pissed as hell from the sounds of it. Got herself pinned to a beam. The other two'll pull her out sooner or later but its going to take some time."
"As long as she's alright it doesn't matter. Second Squad?"
"On their way down now. Hopefully we can find something for them to fight."
"I wouldn't be so sure...I think this might have been all these guys had in them."
He glanced at the sprawled forms of the fallen Russian soldiers, one who was rising slightly, reaching for a fallen revolver.
Private Price was faster; a quick "thud" of a Shard Cannon, and the man stopped moving, dozens of bone fragments embedded in his torso.
Well, that solved that.
"Guess THAT was it." Shaw noted, nodding to Price. "Good eyes, private."
Marasco glanced around, checking for any other hostiles in the area. Nothing moved other than the wind and the occasional scrap of cloth on the bear's corpse. The fab from before yipped across the ice until it fell with a yelp, a spike of bone pinning it to the ground.

Unnecessary, he supposed, but it wasn't really worth thinking about.

"First Squad, split by fireteams and sweep the whole base. Shaw, with me, we're going to signal down Second Squad."
The Darwin's jumped to eagerly, still running high on their adrenaline rush. They wanted more of a fight; they wanted a real solid brawl, something to get their muscles unkinked and some honor to their names.
Satisfied that the situation was well in hand, Marasco dug his boots into the permafrost and strode towards the landing tower. Shaw followed behind him, rifle cradled in her arm and breath billowing out into thick steam.
"This doesn't feel right." She muttered, echoing the thought Marasco himself had been having over and over since they'd landed. "These Bolshiveks are supposed to be serious trouble...you heard about that mutiny that got put down forcefully right?"
"Aye. And yet...all we have faced so far is a bunch of serfs with a bear...where's their fight? Surely there were more of them here to take the air base..."
"Unless there wasn't a force here to begin with. Look at this ice boss...its feet thick in some places. Not even the Russians are this incompetent. This place has been dead for a while. They probably just...walked in, claimed the place for themselves."
"I've been thinking the same thing. Maybe it doesn't mean anything."
"Or maybe we're dealing with some really serious clart thats yet to come up over our heads."
Hmm. He had the feeling it was the latter.
The two soldiers paused below the landing tower, pulling flares from their kits. Nothing fancy or Darwinist about these; just normal nautical flares, nice and visible from half-way across Puget Sound...or against the stark ice of Russia, from a good couple thousand meters.
Airship height for example, to a dropping unit of soldiers.

"On three."
Both raised their flare guns and fire at the same time. Twin red streaks soared upwards, lightning the dark sky with a brilliant red glow. Above them, Marasco could see the dark shapes of Second Squad descending, back lit against the glow of the moon cutting through the clouds.
"I'm not the only one who feels like this is a trap, right?" Apparently the worry hadn't left Shaw's mind completely. Nor, honestly, had it left Marasco's.
"No, you are not. So keep you eyes open and your ears sharp...I want to know the moment someone attempts to do something, even if its nothing dangerous to us."

"Sir."
Silence descended once more, as if ushered in by the cold and the snow that whipped itself across the ground. Second Squad approached quickly, growing from thumb-sized black specks to individual brown smears and then finally to identifiable soldiers. Harkness at the front, Sixx behind him, as always.
Marasco raised his hand, signaling them down. Harkness returned it and a moment later, Second Squad settling out around them, Muta's lifting off to search for anything worth picking at or feeding on.
"Sir." Harkness saluted, Spike Rifle against his chest. "News from the Dreadnought: she's loosing hydrium faster than the riggers can patch her up. They're commencing an emergency decent."

WONDERFUL.
"Tell them that the ground is clear. First will provide cover for you while you secure her ropes."
Nods all around. Second Squad was more than ready to handle a situation like that. Marasco motioned for Shaw and they set off, boots crushing ice as they went.
It was still too quite for the Sergeant's taste. Every part of him expected bullets to start flying once more, or for subterranean fabs to erupt from the ground and attack...or hell, even for a Clanker plane to come out of nowhere and strafe them.
Perhaps he was buying into the combat drive that his men were...he paused, stopping in his movements to clear his head.
"Sir?" Shaw stopped as well, curious, weapon held at the ready.
"Nothing, Corporal. Just thinking."
No response, but he could almost feel the frown she had on her face.
More silence. It irked him...but really, what else was there to do?
"So...how did you think we did?"
Marasco turned, glancing at Shaw as she spoke.
"With what?"
"The fight. You know...everything. This assault."
That was a good question honestly, Marasco noted to himself. How HAD they done?

It was a success, certainly. They had made it down with few casualties (Razack was still alive after all, just pinned) and they had swept all opposition from their path. They'd even killed a fighting bear while they were at it too!
And yet...
"We did well. But it could have been smoother. We shouldn't have lost Razack on the way down. When we get back aboard, we need to talk to the fabricators about those Muta's instincts."

Shaw simply nodded, but Marasco could tell there was more on her mind.

He turned and looked up, leaving her question unasked and unanswered. Above them, the great silvery shape of the Dreadnought approached

The landing went without incident; Marasco let himself operate on autopilot, motioning and ordering where needed, getting his team to the ground ropes and to secure the impact anchors the airship launched, massive metal clamps that sank deep into the premafrost and held her steady as they brought her down.

The damage to the exterior was far worse than Marasco had originally thought; like the scar upon Shaw's face, a great gash cut its way into the side of the Dreadnought. Bits of wire and fabricated covering hung ragged around the edges, riggers already setting about getting it secured with tarps and repair accelerant sprayers. But even with that he could see this was going to take some time...

Which meant the airship was grounded until they were completely done. And THAT meant that the Fist was stuck on the ground out here in the cold until they were ready.

Well...they'd wanted more combat practice hadn't they? Especially Second Squad. Aside from that mess in Columbia, way high in the skies over eastern Washington, they hadn't seen much combat.

And so the Sergeant settled himself into a patrol route, walking the line of the airship as it settled into the snow to heal.

The machine was a hive of activity, even more so now that it was on the ground. Riggers rushed about, sealing gaps, hauling tarpaulins, maneuvering fabs to carry loads and secure repair sets. Twice Marasco was nearly run over by large cargo haulers belching steam from their boilers, arms loaded with metal and replacement camo panels.

"She looks bad..." Shaw's voice startled Marasco from his thoughts. He'd forgotten his Corporal was with him, too deep in his own mind and the situation to remember.

"She'll bounce back, she always does. Best of both worlds isn't she?"

"Aye. No small part thanks to use and Second..."
"Columbia."
"Columbia."

Not for the first time Marasco wondered if part of the Fists fabrication had included mind reading. How else would Hester have known his mind had strayed there?

"You still think it was worth it? Causing that rebellion, helping that Pinkerton escape? I mean...did we really have a right to do all of that, just to get the parts for the Grunnel Dynamos?"
"And to deal with Comstock. Don't forget that. That was why we were officially there remember? Columbia dealt with that rebellion in Peking, Congress got pissy, they succeeded, and when they finally showed back up again after more than a decade, they send us in to make sure the place STAYED."
"Oh. Right."

Silence as both soldiers contemplated the events in that floating city. A mess of anarchist-communits revolutionaries, ultra-nationalist Clanker leaders, and strange, seemingly impossible advances in technology; tears in time and space they said, windows to other places...
Marasco didn't believe any of that clart for himself, but he'd seen strange things in Columbia...stuff that he was a loss to explain. So he'd stuck to what he knew; slaying Clankers, completing his mission, and ensuring Darwinism survived through everything.

As a result, Columbia had burned, bits of it falling out over eastern Washignton state, the great central church its leader had once lived sinking, with glorious irony, into the Columbia River that formed Washingtons southern border with Oregon. And the Fist had escaped with materials that were needed for the perfection of the Dreadnoughts hydrium system, that when installed ensured she was capable of carrying the unit anywhere in the world and deploying them with brutal efficiency.

And yet...

"You know...this kinda feels like when we were up there, doesn't it? After our landing but before that mess with the Vox and the Founders and Booker..."
"The one with the balloons, the one with the Fireman, or the one where Elizabeth made four of you to slaughter those rioters?"
"That last one NEVER HAPPENED. But no, the first one with the balloons."

"Yeah, it does feel like that...you think we're gonna get attacked from above?"

Marasco paused and looked up at the sky. Icy clouds, a slight trail through them where the airship had decended quickly.

"Maybe."
It was the only answer he could really give and he hated it. Once more he started walking, his boots digging into the ice.
He found himself wishing that something WOULD attack them. He wanted to fight. He wanted to do something other than just WALKING around this barren icy strip of land in the middle of NOWHERE.

Sometimes the fabricators did their jobs too well...and this was one of those cases he realized.

"Splicing hell."
"Sir?"
"Nothing, Shaw. Just annoyed. I was kind of hoping there's be more of a fight in these Russians..."
"So you stated before."
"Yeah, I know b-"
Marasco paused. His helmet, which he'd forgotten he was wearing, was suddenly vibrating. Click was up, and it soudned like it had heard something.

"Marasco" Lt. MacPherson spoke through it.

"Go, el-tee."
"Is the ground secure, Sergeant? It seems Agent Ferdinand wishes to go out and observe the damage to the airship...and what you did to those Russians."

Well now...that was worth looking in to...
"He's up and about?"
"Barely. After your little...chat with him Sharp mate his genitals until he was unable to move anymore. Then passed out. Or so he says. He only just woke up to the sound of gunfire and rapid decent and I think he could use with some cold air to clear his head. Keep an eye on him, would you?"
"Yes ma'am. Send him on down, Shaw and I will watch him."

Silence, and Click stilled, the lieutenant done talking for the moment.

He turned to Shaw.
"Looks like we're babysitting for the moment."
The Corproal sighed, but Marasco could see she was alright with it. At least it was something to do.

With a slight smile, Marasco offered her his hand, armored in its carapace. She took it with a smile as they approached the downed airship together.