T H E C U L T O F U G - Q U A L T O T H
The sound of the bodies climbing onto the side of the vehicle, scratching over the surface before finally coming to a hold, reminded Sledge of flies that crawled over a carcass. Chewing on the dried meat, he gave a kick to the driver in front of him.
"Forward!" The ghoul Morris grunted, as the engines of the tank howled, as the beast moved forward. The treads crawled over the asphalt, as the commander of the tank could hear the sounds of roaring battle in front of them, which was strange, as the only other sound in the tank, was the eternal roaring of the engine in front and behind them, making all talking impossible and the use of the tin-can radios necessary.
Climbing through the narrowness of the vehicle, he opened the lock of the tank, before pulling himself up, staring at the fire in front of him. The narrow streets were filled with corpses, wounded and captives, as the militants pushed onward.
"Praised be the Prophet, brother!" A cheer went through a group of militants, that had huddled around a fire, roasting a large chunk of meat, still dripping blood into the flames. Next to it, an IRD soldier was hanged upside down, while four tubes provided an injection to wounded warriors, groaning in pain, their heavy chest plates removed, and their bodies, scared by radiation, combat and their training, as pale as snow.
On the other side of the street, the captives were pushed onward, in a long narrow line, towards the center of the captured city. Women and children mostly, a whimpering huddled mass. They soon would be sent off, onto the long march east, towards the holy city.
A close explosion and a flash of light turned the attention of Sledge back to the matters at hand.
"GET YOUR LAZY ASSES OFF MY TANK, YOU DOGS!" His harsh shouts were followed by him grabbing a warrior by the neck and pushing him down on the ground, before he slid down into the secure hull of his tank. Reaching for another piece of dried meat, he leaned into the periscope, the world now even narrower, then the streets had been. Behind his tank, a line of warriors would have formed, eager to use the protection to cross the street, before their miasma fueled wrath would be unleashed. Pushing onward, the first shots connected against the armor, but were not able to penetrate it. Sledge could easily spot the source, and reached for the tin-can speaker.
"Gunner, you see that building ahead of us? Red bricks and a blue door?" The crackling of his own voice made Sledge once more aware of the creeping sickness in his body. He needed the Miasma!
"I do brother!" With two taps on the back of the driver, he made it clear that he wanted the tank to hold, before once more speaking into the tin-can.
"Good, for i do not wish to see it any longer! HE-Ammunition, two shots." The building broke down, as the second shot broke through the door, collapsing with a deafening whimper, as the dust coated the street. The men behind the tank howled out a crude war cry, before rushing past the tank, using the dust of the collapse as cover. Sucking on the dried meat, salty and rough, Sledge reached for his own rebreather.
"Just a single breath....it will help me stay awake.." The sudden sound and the shaking of the ground made him hit his head against the side of the tank, as he pressed his eyes against the periscope. Where the group of militants had been advancing, was now just a bunch of mangled corpses, as a shot had broken through them. The rest was huddling back into the cover, cursing and screaming, while one of them crushed back, trying to pick up a wounded militant, holding on his bleeding chest. Another shot followed, that turned the warrior wanting to save his friend into red mist. In the distance, he could spot two cars, one with a machine-gun on top still firing at some other street, while the other had turned towards them, the soldiers on the back reaching to reload the long tube mounted on the car. The sight of the heavy rocket launcher made Sledge feel a cold terror, as he gave the ghoul-driver a hard kick.
"GET US BEHIND THAT BUILDING! HURRY!" Reaching for the Tin can, he could see more IRD soldiers advancing into the breech. The hissing flash of a rocket then appeared behind them, as the gunner from the car had let loose at them.
Finally, the two machine-guns on the side of the tank returned the favor, unleashing their fire into the street and ruined building, driving the IRD soldiers back into cover, while the rocket flew past the tank.
"Gunner! HE-shell onto that car over there! And tell the two fuckers on the side to keep the fire going " Once more, Sledge cursed the lack of ability to communicate with half of the crew of the tank he was driving.
Turning to the side, seeking cover behind another building, Sledge could finally see the front, as a group of militants were firing onto the other side of the street. Spitting out the dry meat, a new explosion shook the tank, as debris was hitting the tank like rain. Then, cracking contacts against the side, as something suddenly was climbing onto the tank. Growling in anger, Sledge reached for the cutter-gun, before pulling himself up to the hatch above. It was pulled open above him, as he glared into the face of a bearded IRD militiamen, holding onto a bundle of grenades. Wasting no second, Sledge emptied half the clip into him, the recoil shaking his arm violently, while the flashing light drew a grotesque picture of the red spilling into the inside of the tank. The sound of the firing was all around him, painfully entering his ears leaving him half deaf with a violent ringing inside them. The militiaman fell forward, the explosive still in hand. Cursing loudly, Sledge pushed him over the side, as the first shots came down onto him. Hissing near him, like angry bloatflies, he quickly ducked away into the tank, closing the hatch, as the silent explosion to the side shook the whole vehicle once more, yet this time, the engine gave out a pathetic croaking, before turning silent.
"Gunner, why are you not firing?" Pushing himself lower into the tank, he found the gunner struggling with the main gun, as the loading hatch did not close properly. The gunner was saying something, yet Sledge could not understand a single word, the ringing sound of his gunfire drowned out anything around him. Yet could see the jammed loading mechanism. Without a word, Sledge reached down and pushed with the gunner, finally closing the hatch. Breathing heavy now, he
"NOW FUCK THEM UP!" The turret above them turned, and with a huge recoil, the beast fired onto the car with the heavy rocket launcher. Sledge grinned, as he watched it went up in flames. Reaching for the tin-radio, he coughed, before once more shouting into it.
"Get the engine running again! We cross this street.."
It was hard to tell, when dawn came in the battlefield that was Detroit, as the smoke of the battle constantly drenched out the sun, yet the crew of the beast was blessed with some rare rays of sunlight, as they finally retreated back behind the cult lines. By now, their fuel had run low, their ammunition had been spent and Sledge ears had begun to bleed. Helping Morris and Gunner out of the tank, Sledge had a hard time keeping on his feet, as he jumped down from the tank. Stretching himself, as he took in the burned air, he glared at the streets before him, while Morris and Gunner went out to organize some food and water.
"Tankmaster!" A deep metallic voice came from behind and as Sledge turned, he glared at the power armored frame of the Warleader. Dosh-Novan was wearing his helmet, metal spikes attached to it, while his cloak was striving over the ground. Sledge raised an eyebrow, as he realized, that the backstabber had taken an IDR flag as his new choice of garment.
"Warleader, how can i serve?" Sledge bowed his head in front of the power armor wearing traitor, who towered over him, like the tank behind Sledge.
Behind the Warleader followed a retinue of around twenty men. Most of them were veterans, their armor decorated with grim trophies, some new, others old. Yet in the middle, he could see a group of purple robed, masked ones, accompanied by slaves scribes. One pitiful creature had the task of being a walking desk, holding a terminal upright, while the masked robe behind him typed away on it.
"What news from the northern front? We get mixed reports and i came to see it for myself. Tell me, what is going on." Sledge could hear the self-satification of the Warleader, as he walked past him, to overlook the street, where militants jumped to attention, as slaves rushed back and forward, their collars beeping, to remind them of the price of flight.
"The heathens have massed up near Highland Park, where a great mass of their civilians have fled. They put up heavy resistance, and fight street for street. We could flush them out easily if you would grant us more tanks..."The warmaster stopped in his tracks, before turning to Sledge.
"I am not here to discuss strategy with you, driver! Tell me, what about Redford?" Sledge frowned, as her moved his hands behind his back.
"IRD heathens have established themselves in that area. They have mined the houses and somehow been able to activate a great amount of Robots. Mostly Protectron and Junk-rigged ones, yet i have heard rumors about multiple sightings of Sentry Bots." The backstabber shook his head, as he once more turned on his heel.
"The faithful that have infiltrated this corrupt republic have made sure that there are no heavy machinery around. The one that is, will soon fall into our hand, when the advance in the south will crush the rest of IRD resistance. Tell the men to lay of the Miasma for once." Turning to Sledge, the Warleader gave him a short pat on the shoulder, with his cold, power armored hand.
"I thank you, for your Intel, Tankmaster. You rest now! Have some food, water, booze...hell, look among the captives for some entertainment!" Chuckling, the Warmaster walked past, as Sledge leaned against his tank.
He did not share the Warmasters confidence for a quick victory, not after what he had seen the fight the IRD had put up in the streets.
