Chapter 29: War zone and blood pool (Martine Tronnes)

Sorry for the late post, the next section will probably be up tomorrow or i migth wait and give you guys it next weeks as i have an exam then and my extra chapters accumulate very slowly and i dont wanna use them yet. 

anyway the * means the conversation takes palce in norwegian

(Pov Martine Tronnes)

Martine fell in behind her squadmate and knocked the back of her cuirass twice. The signal started a cascade of movement as the first of her squadmates kicked in the door, throwing in a concussion grenade. 

Screaming and gunfire erupted through the door, cut short as the grenade detonated a few seconds later. Luckily, they weren't standing in front of the door when it did. Concussion grenades were really damn good at clearing a room of people, or at least making the moving ones stop moving. 

The succubus at the head of their team took a short breath before she leaned her M29 SAW in through the doorway and fired a continuous sweep over the room at chest height. The air started to stink of sulfur long before she finished. 

It didn't take them long to clear the room after that. Crushed glass covered the floor, crunching under their feet as they walked. Artillery fire in the distance sent a weak shake through her body, like a weak bassline from some metal song. 

“*Do we have any more survivors?” The sergeant called from where she was helping the medic stabilize one of the new POWs. 

“*No, unfortunately.” Said Karen, the succubus who always insisted on being first through the door, from where she stood looking out the window at the street below.

Martine tightened the zip tie cuffs on the surprisingly uninjured man in front of her. “Is that too tight?” The ties bound his hands behind his back. She had searched his pockets for knives and anything else he might have to get loose.

“It's fine.” Said the man in resignation. 

She was glad the guy wasn't resisting, well, not anymore. Not that it would have worked; to say the US Army had shit hand-to-hand combat training was the understatement of the century. It certainly wouldn't help against someone who was probably four or six times stronger than he was. No, Martine was glad she didn't have to subdue him any more than the original firefight had. Gods knew it would have been far too close to being just boy-bashing.

Rock and glass crunched under her feet as Martine flipped him over. She blinked. On the front of his plate carrier was a single silver bar, a vertical one. She couldn't stop the small grin that spread across her face.

“*Gals, I got a fucking officer. First lieutenant, it looks like.” Martine shouted to the others. 

“*Fuck yeah. We're getting paid bitches.” Karen exclaimed. The devilish Cheshire Cat grin she wore came through in her voice. 

“What the fuck.” mumbled the man in front of her. His eyes darted between Martine and the rest of her team. The shock seemed to be settling in, with the immediate stress having passed, at least mostly. She didn't blame him for that. 

Anyone raised outside Scandinavia wouldn't be used to seeing homunculi. And here in the room with him now was a red woman with horns and a tail; a woman with paw-like hands, dog ears, and a tail; and, last but not least, Martine herself. A woman with goat-like legs, a goat-like tail, and ram horns. 

No, it was entirely reasonable for anyone to be put off by that.

“Sorry, we get paid extra for capturing officers alive. Intel's probably going to put you in some cabin in the Rockies and then ask you a lot of questions.” She gave him a reassuring smile. Not that it was particularly visible through her helmet.

“And my men?” The army lieutenant gave her a look with a raised eyebrow. 

“Regular POW camps. I think they get employed to help build some stuff. Like solar water heaters or dig earthworks or something. I don't know the details.” She hesitated a bit. “They'll be fine; they will get the medical help they need, and after that they just gotta wait for the war to be over.”

“Martine!” Karen shouted from the window. “*Get over here.”

Her prisoner secure, Martine walked through the destroyed room, stepping on crushed glass, fractured plaster, and pillow stuffing as she did. Most of it was caked thinly in blood. The laminated windows were shot through with bullet holes, but were mostly intact. No serious artillery had hit this section of Billings downtown. At least not yet. 

The reason was obvious when she looked toward the sky. Cloth sagged across the space between building roofs. Blocking drones and air recon from seeing anything happening in the streets below. It made it darker, but not more so than looking at the sun through thin fabric. 

Periodically, down to not quite the ground, hung a fuzzy series of thin threads. The damn things had saved her team more than once. They got wound up in the blades of various drones, making it a nightmare to fly them inside the city. Of course that applied equally to their own side, but that was fine. 

On the roads below, the wreckage of cars, containers, concrete blockades, and a wide variety of other debris blocked the path for armored vehicles and transports. It did provide ample protection for infantry on foot, but that had been engineered in their favor. It also left their enemy with only one realistic option. Unsupported infantry, entirely reliant on wired communication or heliography. 

“*What is it?” 

The succubus nodded towards a brick building further up the street. “*Movement.” 

“*Ours?” Martine shielded her eyes with one hand as she fumbled for her binoculars. 

“*No. I don't think so” 

Well, that certainly wasn't good. It was likely some remnant of the company the platoon that had been holding this building belonged to. They had taken them by surprise only because the dwarves, not that there were many among the mercenaries the Northwestern Alliance had brought over, had dug their way into the basement from the sewers. 

Her hand closed around her binoculars just as someone punched her in the face. The sound of metal slamming into metal rang out through the room as spall from the bullet that had shattered against her helmet was sent flying in every direction. The scorched smell of copper being shattered against oricalcum filled her nostrils as she fell on her ass. The faint thunderclap of gunfire reached her less than a second after the slap.

“*Sniper!” She shouted as she scrambled closer to the wall.

Karen's SAW was up against the window before she had even finished the sentence, dumping an entire magazine in the general direction the bullet came from. The woman didn't even bother aiming, not that she ever did.

“*Martine, you hurt?” Came the voice of their medic from where she had just finished looking over the last of their catch.

Her shaking hand flew to her cheek, feeling only the warm area of metal where the bullet had hit her helmet.

“*Just startled; the enchantments slowed the bullet, and the helmet stopped it. I am fine.”

“*Ah ha. Sure you are. I'll look at it once we're back.” The disbelieving dogkin said as she took one of her new patients by the shoulder straps and pulled him toward the hallway. She was lucky enough to not be in view of the shooter. Lucky bitch, I gotta sit here and wait for– A heavy, thunderous bang mixed oddly with a snapping sound echoed down the street. –”*Well, thank the gods that's done.”

“*You think she got the sniper?” Karen said, leaning against the wall next to her.

Martine looked up at her friend with one raised eyebrow, not that Karen could see it, but they had known each other long enough that she didn't have to. “*When was the last time you heard about a siren sniper missing a person in regular armor?” She asked rhetorically. “*No, whoever that was has either had their brain converted into a thin pinkish mist, or they're heavily injured… Or I guess she could have taken pity on them and just shot the gun. Either way, they aren't a threat at the moment.”

Martine stretched her neck, got up, and walked toward her captive. “*Come on, we gotta get them downstairs and ready for pickup by the militia once they move in. So grab one and let's go.” 

Martine had to chastise her friend as she started dragging one of their captives by the foot using her tail. They wouldn't get paid as much if the guy was injured from glass being dug into his back. And again, it got dangerously close to boy-bashing, and she sure as shit wouldn't tolerate that shit. Though neither would Karen normally.

As they reached the designated storage site for the captives, she could hear their lieutenant talking to some militia sergeant about prisoner transport. They probably had another five minutes before they moved on to the next building.

“* Hey, Lt!” Martine shouted as the militia man left to do something or other.

“* Yup! What is it?” The older elf looked at her, not that you would know that by looking at the woman. She was fifty and barely looked like she was in her late twenties. 

“How long until we rotate out?” Martine asked, chewing on her chocolate bar.

The elf tapped her finger on her chin, her lips pressed into a thin line. “A month or two. Though if we chose to take less money for the captives and take points toward leave or rear-line duty rotations instead, maybe three weeks. I heard they need people up in a place called Fairvern to help protect the new logistical facilities the clans are building there. Normally that's militia work, but we can get the rotation for a short while if we ask.”

Rear-line did sound nice, at least for a short while. Not that they hadn't done far more stressful work for longer. But you never stood when you could sit, so if the chance came, they'd have to take it. And who knew Fairvern sounded nice. Like a quiet little palace where they could enjoy a beer during their off time and eat large amounts of meat. Not that she was that big of a meat eater, no satyros was, but you might as well enjoy it. A sly grin slid across her face. Oh, the decadence.