A 7th Troop Holliday
Life in 7th Troop had always been easy. We were the dropouts of the Marine Corps and we knew it. To us it was the ideal job, getting paid to piss about with big guns and even bigger bits of machinery. Our days consisted of little more than cleaning the machinery and making sure everything worked properly, and then after that we could pretty much do as we pleased. We were never sent out on any missions because it was practically guaranteed that we would mess them up and so we spent most of our time slurping down gallons of Ice Boxs home made special brew, which was quickly nicknamed piss for more reasons than just the colour. Ice Box was our AT gunner. He was a huge black guy towering over even some of the synths in the corps.
7th Troop had a distinct lack of a synth and frankly we didnt deserve one. We misused most of the equipment we had at our disposal.
Today we had decided to hold a heavy loader wrestling tournament using the bright yellow loading exosuits. The rules are simple. First one immobilised looses and you must remain within the cargo hold. Betting was in full swing as I clambered into the durasteel shell and started her up. I looked over to see how my opponent Michael was getting on. Michael was our demolitions expert. This hairy Russian never shaved and spoke with a thick accent. He had a reputation for being a vicious bastard but commanded respect as it was well known he could drink anyone under the table.
We faced each other across the cargo hold, staring into each others eyes. A whistle blew and we charged forward as fast as these heavy lifters would allow. Heavy lifters were the predecessor of the military exosuit of which we again had none. Jock, our engineer, had modified one of the heavy lifters lying around and had added some modifications of his own, mainly all the weapons he could smuggle out of the armoury and a few durasteel plates on some of the exposed areas. Heavy lifters due to their role were slower than combat exosuits but could handle a greater load capacity up to around ten times that of its military counterpart. This had allowed Jock to turn Jennifer as he had named his creation (after his girlfriend of the time) into a regular tank, supporting four modified M-41A pulse rifles and two M-240 Flamethrowers. The M-240s ran off a large gas tank welded onto the back of the contraption. Jock was still working on a way to modify theM41-As so that they would be able to be reloaded without external help but was looking very close to giving up.
I charged, or rather waddled towards Michael as fast as the heavy lifter would allow and crashed straight into him with a large jolt. I twisted my torso in an attempt to topple him off balance but only succeeded in tilting him off to the side. This manoeuvre had exposed the hydraulics in my back and I heard the sound of his lifting claws closing in on my exposed rear. I turned the torso back round trying to pull him out of reach but just out of time. I felt the hydraulic fluid hit the back of my combats and I knew I had been severely crippled. I had lost the use of my left lifting arm and it was slowly sinking towards the floor as more and more hydraulic fluid cascaded onto my combats. This left my whole left side open for more punishment.
A flash of inspiration hit me as I stood less than a few feet away from Michael. All that was separating us were the outer supporting bars of the lifters on which the arms were fastened. I turned and closed my remaining lifting arm round the back support of the external skeleton of Ivans lifter and hit the welding torch ignition. I heard the sound of expelled gas as the valve opened but the ignition switch failed and the torch hailed to ignite. Thinking quickly I spat my cigarette at the nozzle and it lit up in a flare of heat. The welding torch was right in contact with the frontal support of Ivans lifting arms and I simply waited for it to melt under the extreme heat.
I suddenly became aware of heat coming not only from the welding torch but also from my leg.
As I looked down I saw that the cigarette had landed in the puddle of hydraulic fluid which was now alight and had set fire to the fluid on my leg. I looked back up in time to see the welding torch cut through the last section of Ivans support. I heard it creak under the weight but still didnt give way. I looked past Ivan to where my hydraulic am was gripping one of the back supports. I began to twist it, wrenching the support out of its bindings. The creaking increased and Ivans hydraulic arms toppled backwards pivoting on the remaining support which was now bent into a neat U shape. Heavy lifters are equipped with a huge counter balance in their back which allows them to carry large loads without toppling backwards. When the lifter is not carrying anything this moves forwards moving the centre of gravity back over the reinforced legs. Unfortunately the limit to how far the counter balance was so that it only could move far enough forward to counter there being no weight on the front. This meant that heavy lifters had a terrible tendency to topple backwards if they experienced any force in the same direction of the counter balance. This meant that the only thing keeping Michael's lifter upright was the heavy lifting claw attached to the twisted remains of his rear support. I opened the claw and over he fell, but as he fell I heard a tremendous hiss and one of the hydraulic legs started malfunctioning, spilling yet more fluid onto me which in turn set alight. I was on fire and was getting burnt as the material of my combat trousers flaked away. I started scrambling out of the flaming exosuit and was helped by some of the on looking marines. It was then that the CO (commanding officer) spoke.
My office now gentlemen. We followed, even though I was in pain due to the burns on my leg. We entered and stood to attention in front of his desk as he sat down.
The activities of 7th Troop have come to the eyes of my superiors, and this time gentlemen, the shit has hit the fan and the fan is not amused. I'm afraid that, due to your actions, it has been decided that you are being given a mission. A mission that, due to your track records you will probably fuck up. But then who cares abotu you lot?. Prep your gear and get ready to move out. You will be briefed on the way.
