Sean-Michael Argo - Salvage Marines

Samuel was dazed, but pushed himself to his feet and raised his combat rifle just in time to see a mech-warrior painted in Helion logos switching off its mini-gun and rotating the weapon arm to activate what appeared to be an infantry sized plasma-lance.

Ben roared and began firing his rail gun as he and Samuel rushed to get out of the enemy’s line of fire. Their only hope was to keep moving and use their superior mobility to out-flank the mech-warrior. The two marines had landed on the wrong side of the water container and were unable to use it for cover, so they ran past it, doing their best to dodge the high-pressure spray of the water as it poured from the rents in the container.

Ben’s rail-gun slammed enough bullets into the mech-warrior that it finally stumbled and was forced to readjust its aim as Samuel continued to cut to the right while Ben lunged left laying down suppressing fire. By then the rest of the marines above had begun to pour fire down on top of it.

The mech’s armor was strong, though enough projectiles slammed into it that the odd round was managing to damage the robust war machine. Ben’s weapon clicked empty and he kneeled behind cover to slot a fresh magazine, which seemed to be giving him some trouble, as the weapon, though powerful, was still unfamiliar. The mech-warrior’s off hand was outfitted with a basic combat rifle attachment, drum fed for continuous use, and the mech-warrior sprayed semi-automatic fire at the marines above as it turned the plasma-lance towards Samuel.

The marine had hoped to skirt the edge of the container and work his way around behind the mech-warrior, but as the plasma-lance fired, his world became one of steam and pain. The lance fired its bolt of super-heated plasma at the decking instead of the marine. The incredible heat from the shot had instantly turned hundreds of gallons of standing water and what still poured out of the container, into steam that expanded outwards like an explosion.

Samuel was knocked off of his feet by a surge of lethal steam that sent him into convulsions of pain. His Reaper environmental suit had kept him alive, even though many of the seams in the armor had been heated sufficiently to burn his skin. The marine blinked through the pain and did his best to scamper the rest of the way around the corner to get one of the massive turbines between him and the mechanized enemy.

Through the shouts and gunfire he could make out the voice of Lucinda Ulanti and Wynn Marsters in his com-bead shouting orders. He realized that the pinned down squad had used the steam explosion as a cover for maneuvering into a better position. The marines were engaging the mech-warrior from both sides. Now that the enemy was using a plasma-lance, the chance of damaging the turbines was dramatically high.

Samuel reached into his med-kit and snatched a stimulant vial, slotting it into his hypo and dosing himself into full alertness. He knew he was playing a dangerous game with the drugs, as the stim boost would only last for a few minutes before it began to slow his system down. The shot was designed to keep the victim from going into shock before gently easing them into unconsciousness.

Samuel got to his feet and began searching for a way to engage the mech. While the small arms fire from the marines would keep it busy, it was doubtful that they would be lucky enough to score a direct hit on the warrior’s weak-points before the war machine was able to inflict significant casualties. It was a miracle that Squad Ulanti was still at full strength. As Samuel took a moment to survey the battlefield, he could see that another squad of salvage marines, from what platoon he couldn’t tell in the gloom, had been killed to the last marine. They must have been the ones to send up the emergency call in the first place.

In all likelihood, the mech-warrior had fled the battle when the tide took a hard turn against Helion. When the enemy corporate forces had decided to back out of the fight, their various ships, tanks, and speeders had made their exits so swiftly that several pockets of enemy troops and vehicles were left behind by their comrades in the chaos. This mech-warrior was likely engaged against elites and was driven inside the turbine station, though once such a highly prized piece of salvage was in play the elites were pulled away from the engagement to be replaced by Reapers. Samuel gritted his teeth and silently raged at the callous indifference of the administration as he realized that the shift manager, or her superior, had made the decision to send in salvage marines, who carried no anti-armor weapons or demolitions, to engage the mech-warrior that they knew was inside. If management had sent in elites, who were equipped to deal with that class of hostile, then blame for the damaged turbines would fall squarely upon management. However, if the shift manager or her superior followed protocol, even though it flew in the face of real world events on the battlefield, and sent in the salvage marines, then there would be no blame to bear.

Samuel nodded his head grimly as he realized that management knew that the turbines were unlikely to escape this battle undamaged, but because they followed the rules of engagement their jobs would be secure. The balance sheet might have had a smaller profit margin for the loss of the turbines, but the report would be much cleaner and easier to file seamlessly without the black mark of allocated collateral damage.

If the salvage marines were sent to deal with the mech-warrior then the damage to the turbines would be written off as standard battle hazard, and all because of the way the conflict would look on the after-action report. Nowhere in any of those calculations would there be the consideration for the lives of the marines who were knowingly marched into that deathtrap by their leaders.

Imago’s words rattled around inside Samuel’s head as he crept towards the mech-warrior while it exchanged salvos with the marines who were now scattered around the station. It was all about the money, until you were in the fight, and then it was about your comrades, recalled Samuel as he watched his friends fighting hard against a superior foe.

The lights in the station were on emergency levels only, so much of the station was bathed in a murky darkness, temporarily lit by muzzle flashes and tracer fire as the combatants fought. It was in that moment that Samuel decided to let Grotto’s apparent policy of indifference work for him and his comrades.

“Tango Platoon, listen up!” Samuel shouted into his com-bead as he crawled up the service ladder of the turbine he’d been hiding behind. “I’m tracking critical turbine damage to Unit 12 and Unit 17 from gunfire, and the whole D Block looks like it might have shorted out after the hydro-container breach.”

“Prybar, I’m not seeing anything wrong on Unit 17,” responded Boss Ulanti from somewhere in the gloom. “What’s your position? What are you seeing?”

“I’m above it all, and I see everything,” replied Samuel, his voice taking a low tone of authority that surprised himself and the others, “The turbines are lost, so instead of getting killed trying to protect damaged goods, let’s get this fight over with.”

“Hyst, our mission is to preserve the turbines and from here I don’t see that any have been damaged!” snapped Boss Ulanti. “You’re stepping out of rank, soldier.”

“Lucinda, I’m seeing the problem too, Prybar is right, this place is lost,” piped up Boss Marsters from his vantage point at the top of the walkway. “We can use the turbines for cover once they are reclassified as scrap.”

“I don’t see anything, but it’s your call, Marsters,” snarled Boss Ulanti over the com-bead. “If management wants to hang someone out to dry, it won’t be me.”