Descent into Mayhem

CHAPTER SIX - FIRST BLOOD

Mining Quadrant, 14H15, 19th of April, 2771

The convoy lumbered steadily onwards, the trail's degraded surface causing each vehicle to bounce and shudder in turn. The trucks bore no emblems, but their antique lines recalled the modular transport vehicles once popular in the 2030's. Their gray panels were battered and scratched in a way that suggested they had seen extended service in harsh conditions.

The trucks were preceded by a light tactical vehicle, its chassis, comprised of a framework of metal tubes, bounding along gracefully as the exposed suspension system mopped up vibrations. Four men in civilian attire manned the buggy, the driver and his wingman strapped into their seats with three-point harnesses, the other pair squatting on the rear-mounted engine and firmly gripping the metal tubes.

They appeared to be having the time of their lives.

The men came upon the clearing carelessly, the tactical vehicle galloping over the treeless expanse as the engine noisily cleared its throat. As it reached the clearing's opposite end, the buggy slowed down and then executed a tight about-face, abruptly ejecting the lesser prepared of the rear passengers. He rolled over the sandy soil to the laughter of his comrades, only to laugh himself once he recovered, taking a moment to slap the sand out of his generous head of hair.

He clambered back on board and the buggy set off slowly and deliberately, the second rear passenger spraying a fluorescent orange line onto the ground as it rolled in the opposite direction. The trucks turned towards the line as they arrived and toed it in turn. Before long, eighteen heavy transport vehicles were resting side-by-side in a neat line.

The clearing was soon teeming with people. All wore civvies, the younger workers wearing colorful clothing of all sorts, the older men preferring conservative earth-colored wares, making them look as if they were wearing different versions of the same crappy old uniform. Those men seemed the more diligent workers of the lot as well, and they set about removing equipment from the trucks, recruiting the nearest and most cooperative youths to assist them. The remainder took to the clearing like children to a playpen, and soon their laughing voices could be heard as they crossed the grounds at a run.

One of the running boys suddenly stopped as if something unusual had caught his attention. He peered down at the depression at his feet, and no doubt there must have been a curious expression on his face as he considered the pattern stamped there. He hollered towards a group of passing boys, and soon they were doing some staring of their own. Then one of them took off towards the remaining workers and spoke briefly with them. All work was abandoned as the workers began to spread out over the field, and their shouts of excitement soon became clearly audible.

"That's right, natives, worship the spoor of the gods," Deadhand whispered, the briefest of smiles alighting on his face.

The convoy had been picked up by drones well before their arrival, and the clearing was presently being covered by three mobile Suits. Mentally opening the appropriate comm channel, Deadhand updated his commander for the day.

"Lippard, this is Deadhand, over."

"Lippard here, inform."

"I don't know if you see it from your vantage point, but these natives are civilians. I repeat, they are civilians."

"My vantage is good enough to see that, kinder. That is not the issue. Their chances of survival depend on whether they suspect our presence here. First appearances are not encouraging."

Deadhand didn't like the way she stated that last part.

He preferred Kaiser in such operations. If the Bavarian had been born with a personal totem, it would most definitely have been a fox. He was sly, calculating and wise beyond words. Lippard's totem, however, would have been just like her nickname. She was a leopard to the core. Her tail twitched nervously all the time, and she was always ready to pounce at a moment's notice. To a leopard's eyes, the most innocent of gazelles was fair game. As long as she was hungry and conditions were fair, she was fated to ambush her prey, and she would never feel an ounce of shame in the aftermath of the carnage. Lippard was his number one choice of commander in a stand-up fight, but as soon as he had seen the boys playing in the field, he found himself missing the old fox.