Grendels

GRENDELS

By

Zachary Deaderick

Sanders soaks in the scene, cars waiting to make the intersection and others just starting to cross.  Several vendors selling snacks at the edge of the street.  Hundreds of people transiting sidewalk, far too many to observe them all.

“Heading for the door sir,” the headset speakers relay, as the text box in the top right corner of the suit’s HUD announces DAVIS.

“Roger Davis, just give me a ten second count.”

Sanders sweeps his gaze up the steps in front of the courthouse to the door.  Empty and elevated above the rest of the street the stairs make the client vulnerable and exposed. 

“Alright folks, look lively.  Eyes up for anything coming from further than the street.  If they move it’s going to be from out of our reach.”

A board on the HUD lights up green by each of the names and then the table vanishes again.  Sanders grins, enjoying the simple pleasure of operating combat equipment above military grade.  Peacekeepers shift anxiously on the steps, pretending to watch the street itself but all the while continuously sweeping their gaze over the heavily-armored security personnel.

“Ten.” Davis says lighting off the electronic timers on each of the team members’ HUD.

“Alright bring the IFVs and the car,” Sanders says hefting the massive rifle into his shoulder and lifting it closer to the ready.  On the stairs the guards follow suit raising their own miniature versions.

The counter shows a four as a large eight-wheeled, armored and heavily-armed bellows wheels-squealing around the corner.  In tow, a small light civilian vehicle swings around the corner followed by another infantry transport.  The counter reaches one and the doors to the courthouse open at the same time as the three vehicles arrive. 

In tight formation, the security detail shifts, Sanders ascending the stairs halfway, Davis descending one quarter, Thompson and Allen drawing in from the sidewalk to the base of the stairs while the four additional personnel let go of the side of the trucks and step down onto the sidewalk. 

“It really has been a pleasure to see you again, your honor, but truthfully I would prefer if we met under different circumstances.  Maybe dinner with the family this weekend?”

The judge pales noticing the eight towering suits of armor below, “Why yes, dinner would be perfect!  I’ll bring Julia!”

“Great!  Alright I’ll send you the details and have a car pick you up.” 

With that the client, Jake Owens, turns and descends the stairs two at a time.  Davis collapses and follows Mr. O. down the stairs, descending alongside Sanders once he reaches him. 

Thompson turns and opens the door on the car and waits until Mr. O. is seated before closing the door. 

For the brief moment the door hangs open it becomes apparent to anyone looking that the vehicle is heavily armored.  Sanders frowns, noticing the look on a few bystanders’ faces taking note of the door.

“Alright take us out,” Sanders says over broad comm.

Grabbing a handhold on the side of the lead truck he steps up onto one of the plates while sliding the battle rifle back into the sheath on his back.  On his hip he unclips a large machine pistol.  The two IFVs roar to life lurching forward followed in the middle by the small maglev car.  Sanders waits for the convoy to start moving and the tension to abate before asking the boss how the meeting went.

“Well boss man?”

“Those pricks are going to file an injunction that the weapons we moved into orbit contain “genetic modification weaponry”.  They claim that because the weapons are designed for
Grendel's use, they are genetic modifications equipment.  Bastards!”

“What did the judge say sir?”

“Oh he’s on our payroll but it’s going to be out of his hands.  They are filing it with the commerce committee.  Going to have to see who is actually buying this shit and see if they have any pull with the committee.”

“Somebody outfitting an army of
Grendels or something?” Davis asks over the security channel.

Switching to receive only on the mainline Sanders clicks on transmit on the security line, “Looks like it.  We uploaded about two hundred units.  Maybe a quarter as many suits of armor as battle rifles.  Squad leaders only get armor?”

“Screw that,” Thompson snorts.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t go outside without armor anymore,” Allen says switching feet on the platform to shake out his leg.

“Eyes out, we aren’t exactly out of the woods yet,” Sanders interrupts.

“Captain, I think you mean we aren’t in the woods yet,” Thompson lights up in the dialogue box.

Rolling past the last of the buildings, everyone relaxes and sags down inside their armor just a little.  Sanders pulls up the aerial scans of the route ahead.  Nothing suspicious from the drones chasing the convoy.  The imagery from the small robot provides a very close up view all the way for the next fifteen miles to the compound. 

The data recording indicates nothing moved along the road the entire time they waited for the meeting. 

“Alright Jeff, speed us up.  Road is clear.”

Both IFVs tilt back as the massive engines push the crews up and over one hundred and fifty kilometers an hour.  The wind roars over the outside of the suit but between the suit and super human strength Sanders nor any of the rest of the team struggle to hold on.

“Open’er up!” Sanders barks into the comm.

Tearing into the open, the convoy crosses the empty killing field before the large twelve foot concrete outer wall.  Ahead a gate wide enough for both IFVs to travel through at the same time slides open.  Manning the weapon mounts on top of the wall are several unarmored guards.  Sanders wonders how they feel watching the convoy and the superior equipment.

Behind them the gate closes back down and the weapon crews turn back to watch the perimeter.

“Must be nice to be an arms dealer,” Sanders murmurs.

Pulling into the main courtyard of the house the security detail disembarks from the fighting vehicles and gathers around waiting for Mr. O. to step out of the vehicle and head inside.

After several minutes waiting, the door swings open and O steps out, “Sanders, My daughter needs a ride to her class.”

“Roger that sir,” Sanders says keying in the codes for Davis and Allen to accompany him.

“Babysitter duty,” Thompson laughs and points at Allen.

Davis shunts Thompson’s comms, “Taking just one of the IFVs?”

“Yeah, we can’t fit in the car without taking the armor off.  I’d prefer not to ride around with her without armor on.  I’d also prefer to have the firepower of the Hunter if anything goes wrong.”

“Alright Miller, keep your sled running.  Smith put yours in the shed and check the maintenance on it.  Thompson take a four-by and do a patrol of the wall.  Everybody else post up on watch in the armory for three hour stints.”

Sanders nods his approval of Davis’ orders.

It may have been decades since the war but squad wouldn’t have acted any different if it were still going on.

Sanders and Davis walk to the back of the Hunter and open the cargo compartment.  Each looks over the various equipment in the trunk ensuring that the med kit, spare tire, extra munitions for the thirty millimeter cannon, and a full load out of ammo for one battle rifle are still in the trunk.

“Sir, you know we haven’t taken a truck out without all the gear since that shit show back on Caldera when that other unit loaned us their jacked up truck.”

Sanders laughs, “You know why we haven’t had that happen since?”

Allen shrugs.

“Because the captain and I always check to make sure
it's there after we got screwed,” Davis says.

“Alright, alright, alright everybody give me a sitrep.”

After a second of glancing over his gear Davis responds, “Three hundred rounds primary, seventy-five secondary and suit still reads ninety-two percent juice.”

“Three hundred primary, seventy-five secondary and eighty-seven percent juice,” Allen adds.

Miller sighs, “Alright, Four hundred primary in the can, one hundred in the secondary under the seat,” Millar laughs outright, “ninety-seven percent juice.”

“Lazy,” Allen pipes in.

“The truck?” Sanders.

“Oh,
she’s got one hundred eighty-six miles in the tank, another hundred in cans, two thousand rounds for the cannon, two RIM-19 Lances, and four RGM-3 Hammers.”

“Roger, ok we are waiting on
Cinderella then.”

Miller’s name populates the comm box, “We know how long this is going to take?”

Sanders gives what would pass for a frown among the soldiers, “Well it’s the first of the month and if my memory serves me, we’ll be there for a couple of hours at least.”

“Shit, who’s got personnel duty?” Allen lights up this time.

“Davis you want it?”

Staring back out through the opaque helmet Davis stands perfectly still. 

“Davis you know staring at me through a camera and a screen is less effective than actually staring,” Sanders chuckles.  “Alright I’ll walk her.”

“Cinderella,” Allen.

Three black obelisks of armor, weapons and war-hardened soldier stare at the little girl running down the stairs two at a time.  Sanders smiles watching the veterans’ attention entirely swept up in watching a child.

“Hi Spot!” Sarah beams up at Allen. 

Crouching down the giant picks up the little girl, “Well hello little miss Cinderella!  How are you this morning?”

Stretching out the few steps to the Hunter Allen chats away with the little girl before setting her down inside the vehicle and climbing in himself.  Sanders tilts his helmet at Davis, passing a salute in armor. 

Davis steps around the vehicle taking the offset seat beside the cannon controls behind the bench seat Allen and Sarah are sitting on.  Sanders walks forward climbing into the command seat.  Miller cycles the locks on all the doors and checks the air integrity of the vehicle. 

“Interior all green.”

“Let’s roll, and everyone watch your language,” Sanders says over the internal comms to avoid Sarah overhearing anything inappropriate. 

Sanders watches as the vehicle thunders down the paved road, wheels roaring and wind tearing at the protrusions for armor and weapons.  From his command seat the vehicle’s myriad scanners and cameras give him a view around the entire vehicle as well as thermal imaging, low light and long range optics.

In the back seat Cinderella bubbles up with stories for Allen.  Stories about her day or her new friends at school. 

“How many children are in your class?”

“Oh just seven, it's pretty small.”

“Oh wow, I had a few hundred kids in my school.”

“That’s a lot,” she says in stunned shock.

Sarah would have been about nine standard years old but Sanders wasn’t really sure if they were using the planet’s local calendar or if the clients were using Earth standard. 

“How could you remember everyone’s name?”

Allen laughs, “I didn’t say
I knew them all.  I just said we went to the same school.”

Sanders begins checking records for spacecraft docking at the station overhead.  Along with their own transport trapped in lockdown for now there were five other ships.  Three passenger transport, one for cargo and one EUSF frigate.  The transports were normal fare for the station to see.  The numbers of passengers were also normal.  The frigate on the other hand, Mongoose, shouldn’t be here. 

Selecting Davis’ comm line only, “Hey take a look at this.  She’s parked overhead.  Just sitting in the station.  Contacts aboard the docks claim she isn’t taking on cargo or fuel.  Only a handful of personnel stepped so it's not a port call.  They are here on some kind of official business.”

Sanders gives Davis a minute to read the entire report.

“She’s definitely on recon.  Nothing onboard to put up a fight.  I mean she’s got rail guns but you know, nothing to work this far out on her own.”

“Just what I was thinking,” Sanders says checking the sensor net for the planet’s defensive matrix.  The gravimetric scanners, radar and optics fail to note anything floating out in orbit waiting to provide air support.  “She’s definitely the only Earth Unification Space Force bird up there though.”

“Sir we have arrived,” Miller.

“Alright you three, one awake and two asleep.  Miller park it and leave it running transfer the fuel from the reserves into the tanks.  Davis if anything changes for our visitors call me immediately.”

“Yeah Cap’n.”

Sanders scans the exterior monitors one last time before popping the hatch of the armor.  Outside the warm sun glares off the glossy black combat armor, while the suit’s hardware keeps the air inside cool.  Shifting to pull the battle rifle out of the holster he keys the sequence into the suit to open the passenger door. 

Dangling from Allen’s right arm Sarah swings down to the curb and skips on ahead of Sanders, “Watch her sir,” Allen gives a stern warning.

“Alright princess, let’s go.”

She sticks up her hand and Sanders grins reaching down for her small fingers.