by H. J. Pang
Two teams of soldiers, almost invisible in the dimness of the night. They had gained quite a lot of ground in the time he had been musing. But nothing escapes a Hawkeye’s sight for long. Shifting himself to a firing position, Zhen reached for his radio.
Just as they were up against the wall of the Youth Olympics commemoration area, Major Shang held up a hand. Everyone stopped, dropping behind cover. A long whistle could be heard, getting steadily louder and louder.
“Get down!” yelled the Major, and everyone hit the ground. Hands were placed over necks, faces down with legs hastily crossed.
Greg had been military exercises utilising live rounds before, but nothing could have prepared him for this. An earthquake that shook his very chest and bones, resonating throughout his being. The volume of a hundred thunderstorms, all happening right beside him. He might have yelled, but couldn’t hear it over the din. He could have been in purgatory, but couldn’t see. Bits of concrete rained down upon his exposed hands, several making loud reports against his helmet and armour plates. A loud ringing persisted throughout his eardrums, and Greg was amazed they hadn’t yet burst. His body felt sluggish, resisting his every move.
Hawkeye Zhen cursed as the dust erupted 15 metres away from the targets, levelling a couple of short concrete structures. The mortar’s targeting systems must be faulty, to go so far off as that. But what wasn’t after The Storm? Residual magnetism could last a long time.
“Volley wide! Volley wide!” he spoke quickly on the radio. “Compensate barrage by 15 metres left!”
“Walau eh!” came the reply, followed by a burst of static. It would take a while for those idiots to recalibrate their shots. Gripping his TRG-42 rifle, Zhen chambered a round, well-oiled bolt sliding effortlessly.
Electronics may fail without reason. But mechanical weapons rarely do.
Greg was vaguely aware of being dragged by his left arm, and staggered upright. The others were likewise dazed, but were stumbling onwards to the bridge that led across the river. He vaguely remembered there were supposed to be three bridges in total, one of them being a monstrosity of spiral steel.
“Get to the bridge!” yelled the commando grabbing onto him, and Greg nodded groggily.
The commando gurgled and fell. A loud report resounded across the city. The soldiers looked around in confusion, and fell quickly back to the ground. A couple of them swore in Hokkien.
“Sniper!” groaned Greg. He slid quickly behind a slab of concrete, right beside Wesley. The acolyte didn’t seem disoriented by the mortar attack; rather, he looked more attentive than usual.
Another shot erupted, disintegrating a portion of concrete. Greg knew this wasn’t the time to lose his nerve. But even against a large group, a sniper could prove dangerous. At the very least, they would be pinned down, and unable to move. At worst, some would try to flee in panic, making them vulnerable to fire.
“I’m picking up radio transmissions in the area,” reported Wesley. “It’s being transmitted between the sniper and the mortar teams. The signal’s coming from the Ferris wheel!” The acolyte pointed at the Singapore Flyer. Several of the carriages were missing, but a few still stood.
“So which carriage is he in, then? What can we do?” Greg asked. “It’s not like we can get a direct shot at him.”
“Make good use of what you have. Necessity is the mother of improvisation.”
Zhen yanked the bolt of his gun back, cursing. A puff of smoke curled out of the chamber before he rammed it back shut, aligning his crosshair on one of the running figures. He fired, throwing his target to the ground. As expected, the others looked stunned. If he kept this up, they would all scatter in due time. He only needed to hold them long enough for the mortar teams to get their act together.
One of the figures stood up, weapon held at the ready. Fool. He couldn’t possibly see where the firer was, and yet he exposed himself for a shot. Zhen set his sights on that guy’s head.
The firer’s gun jerked, surprising Zhen mentally, his finger pausing at the trigger. A loud explosion sounded, the carriage he was in erupting in flames, metal and glass disintegrating. The carriage pitched forward and fell.
Zhen screamed as he saw the ground rushing towards him, the sound of creaking and tearing metal loud in his ears.
Despite being hundreds of metres away, everyone felt the vibration of the carriage crashing onto the ground, the sound echoing far into the night. No more sniper fire could be heard, at least for now.
“Everyone okay?” yelled Major Shang. “Sound off!”
“Hunter 1 to 4, clear!” yelled Captain Ping, looking quickly at his men.
“Avenger 2 and 4 are down!” yelled the commando known as Zari. “Avenger 1 and 3 remaining!”
“Fuck,” began the Major. “We have to advance across the bridge now! There’ll soon be 418 heading towards us.”
“You said you’ll escort us as far as the bridge,” reminded Greg. He dusted off his hands. He was glad for the Nomex gloves he was provided. Any cuts he sustained could be easily infected.
“I didn’t expect this clusterfuck to happen. By the look of things, you’re going to need our help anyway.” Major Shang turned to Zari. “You still with us?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Go! Cover to cover on the bridge!”
There used to be three bridges, two for vehicles, but they had long since collapsed due to the effects of The Storm. This left only the Helix Bridge. Crafted out of stainless steel, the Helix Bridge was supposed to depict the human DNA structure, with various symbols representing the four DNA bases affixed at different points of the bridge. Greg had personally thought it looked like an overgrown series of creepers, more akin to representing Singapore’s ever-increasing population. In many of the places he had travelled to, any sizeable metal structure such as statues and railings had been sawn off or otherwise removed to be melted down for the precious materials they provided. To have such a large quantity of untouched stainless steel was an extremely rare sight, and could qualify as one of the wonders of the post-Storm world. Leaping over the plastic barricades that had been set up years ago for some event or other, the soldiers dashed onwards, boots and shoes clopping on the concrete.
A circular blob of white light flew high in the sky, bathing everything in a bright radiance.
“Illumination flare! Get down!” yelled Captain Ping, but he needn’t have bothered. Everyone’s training had kicked in, sending them hugged close to the floor of the bridge.
Machine gun fire erupted through the night, sporadic tracers indicating their line of fire. The 7.62mm bullets ricocheted off the metallic sides of the bridge, creating a cacophony of squeals and clanks. It was terrifying, to say the least, and Greg was all too aware of how little cover the bridge presented. There were viewing decks at the sides where they could duck into, but they were spaced about 20 metres from each other. Two ice cream carts could be seen, as well as what appeared to be a dustbin. One could only hope they weren’t as flimsy as the usual stuff made in China.
“To the sides! To the sides!” yelled Major Shang, and the rest didn’t need telling twice. One of the viewing decks was near enough that they could duck inside it, but every good soldier knew getting clustered together is bad news. A single explosive could take them all out.
“Anyone got any smoke?” asked Greg. A burst shattered several light fittings overhead, and he was glad for his goggles and helmet.
“I do, but it won’t work here. Bridge’s too narrow,” said Ang. “They can just shoot within the narrow space and get us anyway. Maybe we can use a 40mm?”
“Nabei, they’ve got to be at least 500 metres away! Well out of range!” Captain Ping looked around. “Anyone got a sniper rifle?”
“It fell with Santosh back there,” confirmed Major Shang. “The sniper got him first.”
“So we lost our sniper support. What do we do?” demanded Captain Ping. He risked a peek over his cover. “We better be prepared, ’cause a couple of tattoos are co
ming up fast.”
“Their mortars use electronic targeting,” said a voice dreamily. Greg turned. Of all the times, Wesley was swaying side by side, his hand touching the steel of the bridge. His AV-2 carbine hung loosely from its strap beside him.
“What?” demanded Greg. “Wesley, we don’t have time for this. The 418 are coming. Get your shit together and prepare yourself.”
“I can tap into their communications. There are electronic targeting systems and ammunition close by,” slurred Wesley. “The Cloud will set things right.”
The Helix Bridge was a large metal structure, and it was then that Greg knew it could also function as a giant antenna, especially with an acolyte of the BOC in contact with it. He turned to yell at the rest to brace themselves.
A series of booms went off one after another, shaking the very submerged foundations of the bridge. Just six years prior, the last series of fireworks had gone off in the same area for National Day, an event which took the better part of a few months to prepare. Only now, the explosions were far quicker in succession, with the city lit up in flashes of orange and red, rather than the more varied colours every Singaporean was used to. The other side of the river billowed with an almost otherworldly light, and some would say it was the fires of Hell itself. And in its way, it was. The screams of the MG and mortar operators couldn’t be heard at this distance, but even up close, the roar of explosives would have drowned them out. Interspersed in the midst of the red and orange inferno were flashes of white and green, mostly likely the illumination and signalling mortar shells going up in flames too. Wesley had had less than a minute to prepare, and yet the lightshow before them was more professional than could be expected. In the far distance, another series of explosions could be seen, lighting up part of the skyline. The mortar tubes in another area were going up in flames as well.
And then it was over. All that was left was a series of bonfires lining the side of the Singapore River. If one didn’t know that a mass detonation had taken place, it could have just been business as usual by the riverside, the year before The Storm laid claim to all there was. And what was more business as usual now with men of different interests trying to kill one another?
Some things never changed.
The other side of the Helix Bridge was a huge mess. Although it was estimated from the debris that no more than four mortar guns were assembled, it seemed that a large stockpile of ammunition had caused a chain reaction. One person was still wandering in a daze, shreds of what looked to be an ILBV fused to his bloodied frame. His skin was so badly fried that no one could identify his tattoos or ethnicity.
“Put him down,” ordered Major Shang. Zari nodded, jerking his SAR 21 towards him. A bang resounded through the night.
“What a mess,” whistled Captain Ping. Chunks of the solid granite tiles that had lined the riverside were thrown up during the tumult. The side of The Shoppes facing the bridge had collapsed, glowing ends of rebar and metal framework indicating what had transpired. “To think that I wanted to shop here once.”
“But we survived! We fucking survived!” laughed Ang.
“Keep your fucking voices down!” snapped Major Shang. “418 could have sent troops to search the area. Besides, we don’t know how many Mindless are in there. And will someone please tell me what the hell just happened?”
This was directed towards Greg and Wesley. “It’s rather hard to explain,” said the acolyte.
“You just caused military-grade munitions to detonate, NDP-style. Manufacturers test that crap to ensure shit like this doesn’t happen by accident. What. The. Fuck. Happened.” Major Shang crossed an arm over his rifle, glaring through his goggles.
Greg cleared his throat. “Major, the important thing is that we—”
“We?” the Major exclaimed. “That’s the point, isn’t it? ‘We’ includes the people who are accompanying you on your little jaunt. ‘We’ comprises the ones who had braved fire from mortar teams, only to have said teams consumed by what can only be described as Heavenly Fire. Life may be common, but my men’s lives are precious, so you’ll understand if I wish to know the capabilities of the ones we’re dealing with.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, during which the four remaining soldiers stared down Greg and Wesley.
“I used high-frequency propagation to tap onto the local 418 radio frequency, and detonate the electrically-primed munitions,” said Wesley finally. “That’s all there is to it.”
“What?” exclaimed Ang and Captain Ping in confusion.
“It’s rather hard to explain to those who aren’t versed in electronics and computer science—”
“Enough,” said Major Shang as Captain Ping flashed Wesley the finger. “Can you do it again?”
“I’ve used much of my internal power reserves to do that, not to mention detonating another cache at Marina Barrage,” said Wesley. “But when my power’s recharged through my kinetic motors and power bank, I might just be able to pull it off again. I’ll need a large-sized antenna to do that.”
“We have a superweapon with us then,” said Major Shang. The veteran was either incapable of smiling, or unwilling to. Why, Greg couldn’t figure. “That means we can fight anything the 418 throws at us, be it artillery, mortar or cannon fire. Do you agree, men?” He looked around at the soldiers.
“To the ends of the Nation, Sir!” they chorused.
“Then we check our weapons and move,” Major Shang said, reloading his SAR 21 MMS. “We have Mindless to watch out for.”
Like Ion Orchard, The Shoppes at Marina Bay wasn’t so much a mall as a place for shoppers to view designer brands they would otherwise never be able to see, hold or touch. Despite Greg walking through the mall with his wife countless times before, they had never bought anything in there, not unless he counted tickets to Les Misérables and The Lion King. Even the prices at the food court were exorbitant.
Perhaps that was how the management broke even with the rent. Not that it mattered now, when property and COE values were down to pretty much zero. Things that were most valued now? Working guns and weapons. Competent guys to gather and use them. Clean water. Palatable food.
For now, Greg could say he was pretty much a millionaire in wasteland terms, with four gun-toting Old Guard soldiers and a computer cultist to back him up. They even had a half-full SAF water bottle each, with dried bread as night snacks and emergency rations. He wielded a 4th-Generation Ultimax 100 SAW that would probably jam somewhere along the line, but had proven capable of firing rounds quickly with accuracy.
The only thing he was missing was his son, and that would soon be set right.
Dark gaping storefronts stared silently out at them, with signage inside indicating their previous occupants—the likes of Hermès, Chanel and Gucci. It was these stores that had been broken into, while stores such as 7-Eleven and those selling food and local brands were untouched. The looters sure knew their priorities.
“It’s too damn quiet here,” commented Ang. “I thought Mindless would be crawling all over us as soon as they hear the explosions.”
“They hate the light and loud noises. They’re probably holing up somewhere in the basements,” answered Zari. Their footsteps were punctuated by the soft crunch of glass underfoot.
“Quiet! We have to get downstairs,” hissed Major Shang. “The door to the server lies below.” Switching to a two-astride formation, the six of them stepped their way carefully down the escalators, boots click-clacking down the rusted steel steps.
Being a considerably short building, The Shoppes suffered relatively little destruction, with only the shattered glass of its outer facade betraying what happened. If society ever got back to normalcy, one could probably refit the large amount of floor area into fields of crops, and the shops into living spaces. It was prime real estate for the 418, and yet it remained untouched by the major powers in the wasteland, a place trapped forever in the past.
There were starting to be signs of another presence as they
got to the artificial canal in Basement Two. A rancid odour permeated the air the deeper they got, with distant sounds of what sounded like scrabbling. Everyone was all nerves, flicking their weapons left and right, but for all the gloom, none of them could make out anything.
“It’s as dark as a tunnel down here,” whispered Captain Ping. “Sir, I suggest we turn on our torches, or pretty soon we’re going to walk into a hole in the ground.”
“Very well. Lights on.”
Everyone reached for the torches taped to their weapons. A mix of incandescent and LED beams lit up the area.
The first thing they noticed were the misshapen spots littered throughout the ground, brown and yellow lumps that could best be described as many digested meals. This presumably gave off the stench they were breathing in. Yellow pools were similarly interspersed throughout the area, and Greg noted with disgust that he had stepped onto one. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was in a zoo enclosure or slum.
But a light breathing could be heard in the artificial canal that cut through the middle of the basement. Training his weapon beam upon it, Greg saw something that proved all this wasn’t the work of mere animals.
The canal used to be about a metre deep with water, and one could take boat rides on it for a fee. Now it was waist deep with stack upon stack of bones and crouching Mindless, all tensed like men waiting in a trench.
Like men waiting for the signal to attack.
Greg backed away, but an exclamation from behind him broke the silence.
“Mindless! Kill! Kill them all!” screamed Ang. He let loose a volley from his SAW.
In such an enclosed space, the noise was deafening, echoing throughout the endless halls of the complex. But if gunfire was deafening, the combined screech of all the Mindless was the most terrifying thing any of them had ever heard.
Storefronts shattered as Mindless burst out of hiding, dressed in a mix of rags and adornments. Several more dropped from the floors above, where they’d been minding their own business. Those in the canal nearest to Ang were shredded by his gunfire, while the rest poured out by the sides.
