Nicholas Smith - The Biomass Revolution

He took a knee at the edge of the trailer where the twisted metal created a cage for them to set up position. The canvas clung to the metal columns like skin and provided the perfect camouflage.

“This gives us little protection if the Scorpions find us,” Ajax whispered, taking a knee next to Obi.

“Don’t worry, their heat sensors won’t be able to pick us up in this storm. And besides, I’m not going to give them that opportunity.”

“What do you have in mind?” Ajax asked, with a strained look of concern.

“I just need some bait,” Obi said, surveying the stark landscape.

Time: 8:24 a.m. January 28, 2071

Location: The Wastelands

A mile away the three remaining Scorpions regrouped, their gunners anxious to start a search and destroy mission. Their engines humming, they sat paused in the dry gray ash.

In the middle of the unit Captain McNeill stood on the hood of his tan Scorpion. He was covered from neck to toe in gmetal, the polished silver armor glimmering naturally under the gray sky.

His men watched from the comfort and safety of their vehicles, wondering why he would risk making himself a target on the hood of the Scorpion. But the rookie Knights had not heard the stories of how Captain McNeill gained the respect and loyalty of his superiors. It certainly wasn’t by hiding his face behind the armor of vehicles or the walls of bunkers. He rose to the top of his unit by fighting the rebels face to face for over two decades.

His skin was a canvas of scars, like a battle map; peppered with red streaks, each scar revealed a different story. It was his bravery, which appeared to some new recruits as foolishness, that earned him the rank of Captain from Commander Augustus personally. His wounds were a constant reminder of all the injuries suffered over his years of service; from his left cheekbone wrinkled and dark from radiation exposure during the Biomass Wars, to his prosthetic knees—they were all medals gained in the loyal service of a Royal Knight.

A blast of wind tore into his armor, whistling across the gmetal. He grimaced as his leg began to ache. The memory of the TDU ambush that had caused it slipped into his mind.

He could recall it vividly, almost able to taste the smoke from the bombs Squad 19 had planted in an apartment building. The trap had wiped out half of his squad.

Squad 19.

McNeill snarled. He had hunted the squad and Commander Obi for years, trailing their scent into the tunnels snaking deep beneath the cities and into the Wastelands.

Are they out there? he wondered, massaging the metal skin of his robotic arm and staring into the distance.

He shook the painful memories out of his mind and glassed the horizon for the rebels. His eyes read the landscape like a hawk searching for its prey, combing the dark gray ground, dry and peppered with ash. There was no sign of the people who once lived here, save for their charred vehicles and bones. The Wastelands were a graveyard, and disgusted him almost as much as the rebels.

As his eyes continued to scan the terrain he came across a rock structure jutting out of the ground like the spikes on the back of a prehistoric monster. Underneath the formation were the remains of an old highway. He could scarcely make out the shapes of ruined cars, but there was no mistaking it. He instantly knew it was where the rebels would be hiding. He knew because this was where he too would be hiding if he were them.

He jumped off the hood of the Scorpion; his assault rifle clanking on the back of his armor.

“Hand me your radio,” he commanded, reaching into the vehicle’s open window.

“Base this is Captain McNeill, over.”

“Roger, base here, go ahead.”

“We’ve been ambushed and suffered the loss of one Scorpion. I’ve identified a possible enemy location and request permission to engage, over.”

The sound of static followed as McNeill waited for a response. The driver of the Scorpion shook noticeably, his armor-covered hands gripping the steering wheel as if he was clinging on for life.

“Captain, this is General Logsdon. What’s your current location, over?”

“We’re about 20 miles due west of the walls. The rebels are dug in close to a large rock formation. We do not know their exact location,” McNeill paused for a second, more than enough for any veteran to notice a hint of reservation. Luckily none of the rookies seemed to notice it, or at least acknowledge it.

The static of the radio blurred to life. “Captain, do you need reinforcements? Over.”

McNeill paused and stared at the rock formation in the distance. “No sir, I can handle this one. Over,” he said firmly.

He had failed to eliminate Squad 19 many times before, almost losing his own life in the process. This time was going to be different—this time he had them cornered. He didn’t need help to bring Obi’s head to Commander Augustus.

“Roger. Keep us updated Captain. Over.”

McNeill handed the radio back through the window to the rookie Knight, who fumbled with the small device before placing it back into its charger.

“You better get with it,” McNeill shouted before strolling confidently over to the passenger side door.

With over 20 years of experience, he had grown accustomed to routing out rebels and finding their leaders. Today, in his opinion, would be no different—today Obi’s time as commander of Squad 19 was coming to an end.

Time: 8:26 a.m. January 28, 2071

Location: The Wastelands

Obi and Ajax knelt patiently under a sheet of torn canvas shaking violently in the wind. For a second Obi took his eyes off the terrain and looked over at the massive frame of Ajax beside him.

He recalled all the times the monstrous man saved his life in other battles, before the buzzing of the Scorpion engines tore his eyes back to the black top. He gripped his rocket launcher and tucked it under his shoulder, nodding at Ajax as he began to crawl under the metal planks of the trailer.

I’m only going to get one shot at this.

Obi knew the senior officer of the Scorpions’ unit would use the cover of the dust to shield them during their counter attack. And while the conditions would likely confuse the drivers, the gunners had the advantage of a turret that rotated 360 degrees.

Obi froze as he saw the first Scorpion in the distance. Just as he predicted, the commander of the unit split the Scorpions up, something he should have done in the first place to protect them from possible ambushes. The commander probably didn’t expect Obi’s men to be so close to the wall, which would signal to the CRK that Squad 19 might be planning a larger attack. This was only a small concern; he didn’t have time to think about that now. He just needed to find a way to stay alive and to keep his men alive.

The first Scorpion slowed and came to a complete stop, its engine humming as it sat idle near the rock formation.

Holy shit, he’s using it as bait.

He brought the scope of his rocket launcher to his eye, lining the cross hairs up with the vehicle. Minutes crept by and Obi began to worry. He glanced down at his watch, knowing the CRK commander would have called in reinforcements by now. His only hope was that Jackson’s units would show up before the reinforcements arrived. Either way Obi realized he was going to have to move to a different location in order to take out the commander of this unit.

Slowly he began to crawl out from the canvas canopy and signaled for Ajax to maintain at his position.

Obi pulled himself to his feet and took off in a sprint down the highway, his head tucked into his chest. He stopped twenty feet from Ajax’s position and kneeled next to the front of an overturned pickup truck. Glancing around the front bumper, he checked for the location of the other Scorpions.