The Siege Against Tolkeen

"This is great," said Perrin to himself as he cruised through the treeline of the wilderness around Tolkeen, small branches and leaves flying out behind him as his stolen Turbo hovercycle ripped through the forest. Once again, he felt the wind in his air and the heady thrill of speed, and once again he wondered how he could have done without them for so long.

It's a good bike, thought Perrin, as he easily dodged a huge tree branch. What a pity that I'll have to leave it behind. Oh, well. My men can steal me another one. "My men?" he suddenly whispered to himself, clouds of doubt and confusion clouding his helmeted brow. "Why did I think that?" Perrin began wondering about his connection with the Human Freedom Association. Did he really associate himself with a band of rabble like that? Or was the HFA really a decent fighting force, and not the petty crooks they appeared to be? Perrin could not decide, and that troubled him greatly.

Some of their hackers were damn good, that much was definitely true. Perrin lovingly patted the small black box connected to the hovercycle's controls by duct tape and wiring. That box, installed by an HFA computer geek, had managed to cloak Perrin from Tolkeen's technological radar net as Perrin had flown through the one blind spot in Grand Alamar's walls, where none of the garrison troops could see from their positions. The ace was still worried that he may have been picked up on magical sensors, but had seen no enemy opposition yet.

The forests gradually began to thin out, as Perrin came closer to the battlefields. In this part of the wilderness, golems patrolled constantly, magical radar and shielding bases dotted the woods, and the sounds of battle could be heard echoing from far off in the distance. Some trees were down, indicating spaces where errant CS missiles had hit. Most of the lasers used by the Coalition could travel further than a mile away, and these woods were only a few miles away from the Coalition's bases. There was precious little buffer zone of battlefield in this war. But it didn't make much difference, since neither side was getting much of anywhere.

Suddenly, Perrin saw the base of his enemy. A fence of barbed wire had been stretched around an area of about 50 yards square, and a few shacks with "Caution: EXTREME DANGER" signs on them by the sides of the fence alerted Perrin that the wire was probably conducting huge amounts of electricity. There were about half a dozen pillboxes in the ground, all of them surrounded by deep trenches. There were a few deactivated robot vehicles outside, slumped over like dead metal giants, and half a dozen Mark V APCs, repainted in camouflage colors. Perrin couldn't see any anti-aircraft batteries, but there were a couple of huge plasma cannons at the gate, doubtless to discourage base-crashing 'bots. It made pretty good sense to Perrin that this mini-base wouldn't have high security. This place was just a medevac base, where the wounded were brought to be patched up. Larsen hadn't been expecting an attack here, behind his lines, at a non-combat base, and now he would pay for his overconfidence.

"I see him, sir," said the mutant ape under his camouflage tarp, his thick, muscular hands wrapped around the fire controls of an anti-aircraft mini-missile battery. "Should I blow that arrogant sky jockey's ass outa the air, or what?" The ape adjusted its headset a little bit, rolled around the toothpick on its tongue, and fidgeted in his seat a little bit. In his humble opinion, Base Commander Carlsen always took too friggin' long to make up his mind.

"No," said the gentle, milky voice of Carlsen a few moments later. "All anti-aircraft batteries, hold your fire. Repeat, hold your fire. I want to see what this intruder is up to. If he tries to escape or attack, then you may return hi fire. Until then, let's see what his game is."

The ape growled in frustration and anger, along with his three counterparts at the other three anti-aircraft batteries at the other three corners of the base. Too many people had died due to delays like this for the ape to respect this command. He would obey it, but he would not like it. For the moment, all that the mutant could do was hope that nobody he liked got killed in the attack which he was sure would come, and pray that Larsen removed Carlsen from duty soon.

Carlsen was too conservative.

Perrin leaned back for a moment, and patted the mini-missile pod, full of his hard work. Seeing what these babies could do would make up for the hours he had spent carefully removing every drop of foul goo from the thick, oily, Rhino-Buffalo bladder. As long as the piss vaporized. That was the key. If the urine simply came out as a liquid, it was no good. It had to vaporize. Perrin took a moment to pick his target, finally settling on a frail-looking fellow in Plastic-Man armor (minus the helmet, thank heavens), who seemed to be looking up at Perrin with a pair of macrobinoculars. The ace then pushed the fire button, and half a dozen mini-missiles full of Rhino-Buffalo piss went speeding out.

Carlsen saw the burst of smoke and flame as the mini-missiles shot out from the pod, and realized that he should have acted earlier. This was an attack after all! As he raised the walkie-talkie to his lips to give the order to fire at will, Carlsen's eyes followed the trail of the fluttering, smoking missiles, expecting them to fly at one of the deactivated, helpless combat robots. He was very much surprised when they started coming in his direction. The Base Commander dropped his walkie-talkie, yelped in horror, and then began scrambling off towards cover. But the mini-missiles were much faster than he was, and good cover was nowhere near. The missiles slammed into Carlsen's chest, and knocked him backwards about ten feet as they burst apart. For a moment, Carlsen thought that the missiles had been duds, and that he was safe. Then he noticed the thick mist of yellow-green vapor that had exploded out from the missiles, and then he smelt the air, and the only thing he could do then was scream.

The ape winced, as a steady stream of profanity shot out from his headphones. The mutant threw the things off of his head, disgusted by the screams of pain (?) and anger that his comrades were crying out. It sounded like they had been terribly wounded, maybe even crippled by the missiles that the jet jockey had fired. The ape growled, and took careful aim, knowing that he had to send his enemy to hell with one shot, or else he himself would be the next target. However, before he could pull the trigger, a mini-missile fired out to hit something or someone just behind the simian's position, and suddenly the mutant was enveloped in a cloud of yellow-green mist. He took one whiff, and his nostrils began to burn as a scent like ammonia and rotten milk gently and thoroughly caressed the insides of his sinuses. The ape joined his fellow mercenaries in the screaming of curses, as he rolled on the ground, holding his nose in pain.

Perrin watched the clouds of thick, vile gas flow over the enemy camp. He saw the mutant mercenaries screaming with rage as the scent incapacitated them. They should be thanking me, Perrin thought, as he slipped his gas mask over his face. I'm sparing their lives. Perrin eased the hoverbike forward, gliding through the clouds of urine vapor.

Suddenly, he felt his hoverbike rock from underneath, like it had hit something big. Perrin felt the bike heave and pitch under him, and he saw a fire begin to envelop the bottom thrusters. Then the Turbo began to move even more wildly, like the robotic bulls which they had in some of the rec centers at Lone Star. Perrin was tossed off effortlessly by the convulsing metal bird, as flames enveloped its belly.

He grunted as the corrugated tin roof of one of the garages came up to meet him. As he rose to his feet, Perrin reflected that he got tossed off of hoverbikes a little bit too often. It was good that he was trained in absorbing impact and loosening his body when he hit the ground. Then Perrin looked over and saw his fallen bike caught in the barbed wire fence, sparking like a firecracker as electricity surged through it. "Good thing I wasn't wearing my seat belt," he reflected, as the Turbo exploded.

It was now that Perrin realized he was in trouble. The APCs were on the other side of the camp, the gas was beginning to clear, and there were dozens of pissed off mutant animals, armed to the teeth, on the ground beneath him. The pilot reached into his knapsack, and pulled out the light autocannon he had brought along. He then reached down onto his utility belt, selected the clip labeled with an "R", and jammed it into his rifle. That task done, he began leaping from roof to roof, slowly getting towards his target.

"Fucker!" cried a headhunter in heavy, environmentally sealed body armor, crawling up onto the roof behind Perrin. The merc grabbed the pilot in a choke hold, and began trying to slip a vibro-blade through the protective mesh covering Perrin's throat. The pilot merely smiled, flipped the headhunter onto his back, and then fired a quick burst into the headhunter's face as the man tried to stand. The soldier of fortune yelped, and was thrown backwards, off of the roof.

"If those weren't rubber bullets, you'd be dead, buddy!" yelled Perrin to the dazed mercenary.

A couple of humans wearing gas masks but no body armor ran out of a building carrying particle beam rifles. Perrin brushed them away with another burst, leaving the two lying on the ground, holding their chests in pain. The prize was almost within reach...

A combat 'borg climbed up in front of Perrin, grinning malevolently. It had opted to retain its original face during the surgery, but the cyborg body which it had chosen was not really suited to it. The end result was a face that looked square and flat, a surprisingly eerie appearance. "I'm going to break you in half, gringo," the 'borg laughed, in a Mexican accent. "Nobody sprays crap on my amigos!" With that exclamation, a pair of vibro-swords snapped out of its palms.

"It isn't crap, you ignorant fuckhole!" said Perrin as he blocked one of the blades with his armored forearm, while simultaneously ejecting the spent clip from his autocannon. As he ducked the second attack, Perrin inserted a clip labeled "H." "It's piss! I put piss all over your amigos!" the pilot yelled, aggravating his enemy even further.

Just as the 'borg was about to swing its blades in a lethal strike, Perrin pulled the trigger, and a high explosive round crashed into the machine man's chest. The mercenary was thrown backwards off of the roof, spraying coolant fluids and fragments of armor. "Pendeho," it snarled as it hit the ground.

Perrin sprayed a quick burst of HE rounds into the door of the APC, shattering the entrance. He then gracefully leapt from the roof and darted inside the metal behemoth. The pilot leapt into the driver's seat, pushed the ignition button, and then slammed down onto the accelerator and roared off in a screech of glory. He easily slammed through the electrified gates, and off into the wilderness beyond, leaving a urine-soaked camp of humiliated mercenaries behind him.

Next Chapter

By David Haendler.

Copyright © 1996, 1997, 1998 David Haendler. All Rights Reserved.

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