Purgatory, 17: Enemy of My Enemy
28 Jan 2024Meowers
Warning: violence, cruelty, graphic descriptions.
"Surviving against all odds. Staying strong facing overwhelming forces. Putting your own life on a line to protect what's dear to you. Striking where it hurts. Bravery, prowess and sometimes self-sacrifice have always been fascinating for me, and I try to make my own actions worth the same words."
T + 85h 34min. Crappy sorry piece of bus. The engine is failing. Techs inspected it earlier once it stalled for the first time almost an hour ago and said there's damage in the power converting lines and internal capacitor array, and they couldn't fix the latter without the specific spare parts on hand. So... I've been squeezing the last bits of life from the thing until its final meltdown. At least we can use what's left in its batteries to top up ours before we move on.
Phah... Love the irony. Direct path to C-02 lies right through another village. We'd go around it anyway but uh. The irony. The road itself is too much of a time waste, it's curvy and mashing mud isn't much faster than chopping jungle. It's still an evening thankfully, by the local cycle.
T + 86h 21min. Oh, this one is different. So... It's conveniently, for us, placed in a large clearing, in a lowland between three hills, two of which are on our way, and the trees inside the village itself are scarce, so I have a good picture. Relatively. To the 'it isn't blocked completely and thank you for that' kind of level.
And it looks like it had been built in a fashion similar to the first one, a while ago. Now it has no fence, almost, only remnants of one, with several logs in it being pointed and decorated with human heads. Recent trophies. And skulls of older ones. And, complementing the picture, there were helmets, smashed, shot through, shattered and in other ways made unusable; not the ancient ship crew helmets but modern combat ones. Also, it's currently quite a standoff happening over there...
So there's an Azimuth truck, stopped at the village entrance, with scientists and troops around it, those elite troops, not conscripted captives, like ten to twelve of them, maybe a few more in the truck, and a heck lot of armed villagers against them. A hundred, no less. Maybe even more. And there are... Modern rifles and pistols in the hands of some of them, whilst others carry the same primitive clubs, spears and bows. Some of the tribals wear scraps of modern armour, and those who don't have any, at least sport crudely crafted wooden planks as a better-than-nothing measure of protection. Seemingly, the scientists are trying to calm them down at the moment, using the same emitter-like devices, and both sides are pointing weapons at each other.
We're low on ammo and supplies yet I think I have an idea about what to do to get more. And, well, khm-khm. It's me. Oftenly, when I have an idea, there's a charge somewhere on the list. Maybe I should get a bayonet one day.
They say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?
So... Wounded who can't run fast, medics, engineers, sharpshooters, Navarrete and her machinegun, Foster and Whitley are going to stay on the hillside, ready to provide some overhead supporting fire. In the meantime, I'll take the remaining, er... Nine soldiers and sneaky-crawl downhill until the trees are out of our way. As close as possible. And, casualties amongst the tribals are to be avoided if they don't show any aggression towards us.
86-28, checking the equipment now, and we, the forward group, also have our belts full of suit batteries... Okay. Let's get that show on the road.
86-35, yep, we're almost in the clear now...
Open fire! Charge!
Come on you meatbags!
Mwahahaha, I'm your fate, you brainwashed morons
Just die you fucker
Can't hide from me... Dammit, Black, get behind me and swap the battery now!
Hey, hey, look... Villagers opened up too... Yeah! Yeah! Nail them! Leave none alive!
Two more behind the fence, finish them off
Get back you arsehole... Hells, that's brutal
86-42... Phew. A hell of a ride. The fuckers are dead. I've tried to capture one scientist, but a group of tribals got him first, literally picking him apart alive, stretching his limbs and puncturing his body until he popped. And the louder he screamed, the more excitedly they did so. Now, his internal organs aren't internal anymore.
Nobody was hurt on our side. That was flawless. Idiots ran frantically left to right trying to find a place to take cover and aim, or even just to figure out what was happening, like beheaded chickens, until they turned beheaded chickens themselves, figuratively speaking. Though, in some cases, with those tribal warfare methods, not so figuratively.
And, what's interesting, amusing in a way, it's another bunch of cavemen worshipping us. Hope it won't end like before though. They didn't attack us, they certainly could tell us from the Azimuth bastards and they look glad to see us swaying the balance of the standoff, making winning the battle possible with minimal casualties on their side. It's very likely that they also have recognised that I'm the commander of the platoon. Maybe they appreciate my tactical choice too.
Those folks... They're warriors. Every one of them, men and women, young and old, everyone's armed, and... Looks like they're celebrating the victory. Dozens of them are around the dead mercs now, shaking weapons above their heads, making those low, deep, guttural short shouts, almost animal, and jumping in place slightly... "Uuuuukhhhh-uuukhh-uuuuh!"
You know what?
Uuuuukhhhh! Uuuukhhhh-uuuukhhhh! Uuuukhh-uuuuh!
Phah. I did the same. Clicking the helmet glass open so that they could see my face and hear my uuuuh's better, pffft. Much to the amusement of my marines and approval of the locals. They encircled me, joyfully shouting, and the circle moved around me like in a ritual round dance, with those sparks in their eyes... Hey. They like me.
The rest of my troops didn't feel like clowning around but... I see they're making themselves comfortable, sitting on the logs and stones around one of the campfires.
Anyway, with the remaining marines joining us, I'd like to take a look at another example of primitive settlement and stroll around a little... With those tribals following me. Looking proud. Smiling and stretching their arms out, pointing at stuff, making curious noises, like they're presenting their place to me... For me, for us to be proud of them? Or for us to stay? Like, some of them stood next to their huts, making welcoming gestures, of sorts... Okay, I should go look at things.
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T + 87h 16min. We've finished our exploration for now. So... Yep. This one is different. First, those people are vile. Like, really vicious. In the depths of the village, where there are more trees, they keep piles of dead mercs for insects and animals to feast on, relieved of their armour and weapons, both long and recently dead. Bleached, gnawed bones along with the putrid decomposing corpses, bearing multiple signs of wounds, both gunshots and marks of primitive weapons used against them successfully. Low-grade ex-captive kind of guards and elite Azimuth troops, strewn all over the small island of trees on the edge of the settlement, hanged, chaotically piled up, tied to logs and wooden planks, mounted on top of the remnants of the fence, charred human remains sticking out of bonfires, limbs and pieces of flesh covering the ground so thickly it's difficult to find even a patch of grass that isn't blood-stained. Some dead bodies were presented in unnatural, mocking, insulting poses, alone or combined together in various depictions of perverted intimate intercourses, with sticks and leaves put into bodily orifices. Limbs, both attached and severed, were used in ways they weren't supposed to, or even whole heads or parts of heads. Carcasses and skeletons of indigenous animals served as an addition to wild, eerily sarcastic installations which local warriors apparently used to keep their morale up. Can't blame them. Azimuth sucks. Literally.
A group of villagers began stripping the dead mercs off their belongings as soon as the battle ended and distributing them amongst their tribe, prioritising young and able-bodied, those who didn't have any modern gear until that moment... Hm, they're smart.
And... They keep their dignity. Wandering deeper into the grove, I noticed a mound of charred bones and remnants of a bonfire surrounded by large, flat stones and several lines of both primitive and broken modern weapons stuck into the ground, next to an outcropping rock. The rock was decorated by dozens and dozens of brown-coloured hand marks, old and recent, left there deliberately, imprints made of human blood, dried by the heat of the ritual fire, which they set ablaze to burn their dead with all the honour known to them.
They're generally more advanced compared to the sorry morons before, absolutely head and shoulders above. Using large pieces of tree bark put together by resin, they keep their huts dry, some huts have floorings made of wood or pebble, and they're bigger, with some of them having two or three storeys and many people residing there like in military barracks. They don't leave their food to rot, smoking and roasting the meat. Having no direct access to rivers or lakes, they collect rainwater that looks like an inexhaustible resource on this planet: numerous pools were dug in the ground, their walls and bottoms reinforced using the same technology of wood, bark, vines and tree resin. There's even a district of premium estate, of sorts, smaller, more curiously decorated huts made for one or two people, surrounded with little fences made of vines and sticks. Better huts also have more of the same ancient metal plates incorporated into their structure, and, surprisingly, pieces of Azimuth trucks, crudely disassembled, picked apart, yet definitely trophies, peppered with gunshot marks and dents left by primitive tribal weaponry. And, the elephant in the room, or, more correctly, in the hut: they use modern weapons. They know why and how to reload. Lacking proper skills and tools necessary for weapon maintenance, at least they keep those guns clean and protected from the rain when not in use. They know pistols and rifles are way more deadly than bows and clubs, and they distribute newly acquired weapons amongst the tribe, not stockpiling them for themselves personally. In free time, they practise in weapon handling, with magazines detached for ammo conservation: at least they're getting to know how to aim and how to move, having a modern weapon in hands, pointing the barrel away from their fellow villagers. They even keep their fingers off the triggers while not aiming. They use salvaged armour, distributing it the same way: tribals may not know how to activate the shields and they have no means to recharge the batteries, yet they are fully aware that the modern armour is vastly superior.
That doesn't mean they aren't friggin absolutely violent. Bones and heads are the most popular decoration for the walls and interiors of their huts. Human skulls used for food bowls. Some dead Azimuth mercs bear torture marks, smashed palms and twisted limbs, dozens of blood-stained little cuts and punctures all over their bodies. Small sticks in their eye sockets and mouths. Large, gaping open wounds overrun, ravaged by insects, filled with crawling yellowish maggots, looking a day or two older than the alleged day of death. Limb stumps burned by fire, in an attempt to stop the bleeding, prolonging the suffering of victims. Several corpses were crammed into crude wooden cages, too small for a human to even move, locked in uncomfortable poses with their hands and feet tied together outside of those cages or to the wooden bars. Azimuth mercs were hanged, placed onto pointed logs, stretched between two bent trees to be ripped in half, some corpses had their intestines wrapped around them and I'm quite convinced it was done when they were still alive. Deep, five to seven metres, pits in the ground, with charred flesh and bones on the bottom, or with sharp wooden spikes, or simply used as public toilets. I've always thought that working for Azimuth is a shitty way to die, and those folks just pushed it to the limit. There even was a chain of relatively fresh corpses put on all fours, with their knees and elbows broken and mouths of victims tightly tied to naked backsides of those in front of them. The most unlucky mercs had all their limbs, and also ears, eyes, noses and tongues removed, so that, in the last hours, maybe days, of their lives, they were devoid of any capabilities to perceive the world around them and interact with it, yet staying conscious or near-conscious, aware of their fate and their condition, dying slowly and hopelessly, in darkness and silence.
That tribe has an impressive kill count. Literally a half of their village is dedicated to dead mercs and sometimes even scientists. Some corpses had their stomachs sliced and intestines strewn between the tree branches, forming eight pointed star figures, with blood-painted stones attached to their centres... Thargoids? The heck... They're nailing a fresh merc corpse to a tree right now and pulling the guts out, to give him the same treatment... Godsdammit, I'd really like to ask but they won't understand...
Uh, anyway... 88-06, we decided to stay for a night, it's getting darker, a night is about to fall soon. Another bunch of locals are acting friendly and, those, especially those... I don't want to make them angry by rejecting their hospitality, whilst having so many wounded and so little ammo left. They offer us their food, the same roasted I-hope-it's-animal meat and indigenous fruit yet certainly of better quality, and also we've gotten a few more MRE packages from the dead mercs and their truck, and some energy to pump into our tired batteries. Ammo, too. Not as much as I wanted yet definitely better than nothing. And, the truck, it looks okay, we could also use it tomorrow to move further.
You know, it's getting a little less hopeless. Quite an odd choice of words for such a place, isn't it? Pfft. Anyway. Less hopeless. And I like it.
It's strange, however. Okay, everything on this insane planet is either heinous or strange. But... That particular tribe is definitely against Azimuth. But Azimuth, for some reason, doesn't want to wipe it away, considering that they absolutely can bomb the village to shreds in mere minutes, no need to even dip the boots into the mud. Does Azimuth need them for some reason?.. Maybe it's another source of soldiers? The tribal people are still dumb, backward and tribal yet they know how to shoot modern weapons and they seem really, really ferocious in fighting.
Meanwhile, yeah, it will be dark soon and the locals look like they're preparing to begin their weird rituals, perhaps I'm about to witness it and I can't say this place has a wide, or any, variety of entertainment...
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Next part: #18: War Drums
Next part: #18: War Drums