by Noah Barnett
"Shit," he muttered as his boot sank into the warm water. The enemy team was closing in. Charlie could feel it in his bones, so he hid behind a set of three trees and withdrew Elva from the thigh holster. The safety slid free, and he waited trying to calm himself with regular deep breaths.
The only reason he was being chased was pure overconfidence. Their team was mostly dead, and the only ones left were Monty and himself. Everyone else had walked into a well-planned attack. The enemy was probably a clan climbing the ranks, but that also made them eager for blood.
Charlie could feel them drawing closer, like prey who instinctively knew the tiger was behind them. Less than a minute later a chocolate skinned underwear model dressed in jungle camouflage sprinted from the tree line. Small green and gray pieces of cloth were intricately woven into his shoulder-length dreadlocks. The African American man skidded to a stop and scanned the opposite bank with his silenced MP5K. The compact SMG was an excellent choice for keeping up with Charlie. After a few seconds, the guy touched his throat mic.
"He crossed here," the man whispered noticing the boot marks on the river rocks. The sound of running feet and breaking branches neared. His pursuer though didn't want to lose Charlie. He clipped the SMG to his chest rig and started across the river. Charlie waited until he was ten feet out before stepping from cover, and raised the pistol aiming at the smaller man. Their eyes met as he looked up in surprise, and a brief second passed in tableau as the river roared by.
"On the far shore!" The enemy shouted just before Charlie fired three times. Two heavy slugs slammed into his chest, and he went backward into the water. Almost immediately his corpse slid into the river, and over the waterfall to the rocks below. Two girls ran out of the tree line already shooting in his direction. Dirt and pieces of bark sprayed around Charlie, and he fled into the forest as the hail of bullets filled the air.
At least he'd killed one, and the fastest enemy at that. He dodged past several trees then turned west. Charlie had lost his lead crossing the river, but the enemy would hopefully be more cautious when chasing him. His stamina was good, better than most, so he figured it was better to trot along at a fast pace. The two women were hot on his heels with two more massively muscled Russians just behind them. The point of this was to get them separated enough to take on one at a time—or at least in smaller groups.
Charlie caught the scent of smoke in the air and smiled. Monty had finally finished his preparations, and he turned toward the haze in a headlong sprint. The smoke filled the low valley, and piles of wet leaves smoldered on burning logs. He heard the loud call of a magpie and groaned.
"Do I have to say it?" He asked slowing before the bonfires. In answer, there was a louder, more annoyed bird call.
"Northern Yankees are yellow-bellied!" Charlie yelled, but didn’t wait for the reply. The enemy team was still right behind him, and he ran through the smoke. A figure in gray stopped him with an arm.
"They is yella’ bellied, and sissies." Monty reminded him.
"Well, you'll just have to forgive me."
They paused, listening. Then quickly hid at the sound of running feet. Monty was smiling as he pulled a gray cloth over his face and crouched next to the burn pile. A long bayonet was already fixed to his Kentucky long rifle.
Another branch snapped as a woman with outrageously huge breasts ran down the valley floor toward them. She held a Tavor SAR bullpup rifle against her bouncing chest. The second woman was more modestly built with athletic runners legs, and carried a modified M4a1 assault rifle. Both girls slowed to a trot, sensing the trap, but the call of blood was too compelling to ignore. Charlie waited behind a thick tree with Elva in his hands. At the last second Monty rose from his crouch and leaped forward.
"For the South!" He shouted skewering the large breasted girl. She made a strange sound and flailed on the end of his weapon. Bullets slammed into the ground as she squeezed the trigger. Blood gurgled from her lips, and she released her rifle to claw at the steel bladed in her chest. Silver pupils rolled back and her mouth opened in an unspoken warning.
At the sound of gunfire, the second girl turned toward them in the dense haze. "Tiffany?" She asked.
Monty kicked the girl free of his bayonet. Charlie could see little in the smoke, but he heard the corpse hitting the ground. Monty raised his musket at the second hazy figure and fired. The old man laughed, filling the forest with the raucous sound.
"A bayonet charge in the smoke. Grant used it in the battle of Antietam ‘gainst the yanks. Can't believe people still fall for that." He said removing the bloody bayonet and cleaning it on the corpse's shirt. Charlie still held his 1911 and moved through the dense smoke.
"Two are still left," Charlie reminded the man.
"Ah, yes. Several repeaters if I recall." Monty said lifting the rifle and blowing through the flash hole. He withdrew his powder horn and poured a measure inside.
"If by that, you mean machine guns, yeah."
"Everything has its weakness. We'll just have to exploit their low speed." He replied seating a ball on the muzzle and tamping it in. Then he slid the ram down into the breach and replaced the percussion cap. "Romans loved their defensive squares, but they fell like cattle to the Mongol Horse Archers. Never underestimate a mobile force."
"I get to run around some more, yippee—" Charlie drolled in a less than enthusiastic tone. "The circle is closing in, and I'm down to using Elva anyway. I'll draw them toward the center while you come at them from behind."
"A good plan, sir. I like it."
"Even if we lose the match, we made the enemy team pay. They should have taken the center and held it."
"It was our good fortune that they were overconfident in facing a perceived weaker enemy."
Charlie took a moment to reload Elva with a fresh ten round magazine and slid the spare into his dump pouch. He jogged up the valley floor toward the forest center. The burn piles continued to spew a black obscuring smoke, and for a minute he wondered if a wildfire would start. Gold Matches had proven very different than his previous ones. They lasted twice as long, and the circle was much broader. The players were considerably more skilled, though in this case, over-eager for blood.
Bullets cut into the tree's around him, and Charlie threw himself to the ground. By chance, he found the earthen bowl between two giant tree trunks, and he rolled into it. A second machine gun began to chatter to the right pinning him in place. Fifty meters ahead a figure in heavy armor stepped from behind cover holding an M60 squad automatic machine gun. Charlie raised his pistol and fired a few rounds at the target. A fat 45 acp round careened off a shoulder pad, and the Russian man grinned under his helmet.
The smoke was leaking from the valley below and filling the air with a foggy mist. Neither man noticed a gray shape skirting their flank. Charlie unloaded the rest of his clip trying to keep their attention long enough for Monty to close in. A bullet slammed into Charlie's shoulder spinning him around. The pain was momentarily intense before being replaced with a dull, annoying ache. He rolled over and saw that his entire left arm dangled by a few pieces of bloody flesh.
Charlie struggled to sit up and reached for his dropped weapon. With one hand he pressed the magazine release and pawed a spare free. Two massive men appeared at the lip of his depression, and both looked down with hungry eyes as they leveled their weapons. The head of the first disappeared as a .58 caliber ball slammed into the back of his helmet. He was knocked forward into the pit with Charlie.
The second turned spraying the forest behind them with lead. Charlie awkwardly slid the mag into the well, then bit down on Elva's slide, and shoved hard with his remaining hand to rack the pistol. As the Russian turned, Charlie raised the 1911 and unloaded at close range. The man tottered at the edge of the pit, then collapsed into the makeshift grave. Charlie sagged back against the dirt as the darkness closed in.
[Match Complete]
[Team Win]
"That was well played," Monty exclaimed as he exi
ted the lobby door.
"Another round?" Charlie asked coming forward, but the older man shook his head.
"I have preparations to make before I log out,” he said with a complicated frown.
"I know we didn't get off to the best start, but I'm glad to have met you," Charlie admitted holding out a hand.
"Everyone makes mistakes, but it takes a true man to admit to them. I am honored to call you a friend, and a brother-in-arms." Monty said clasping his hand firmly and looked Charlie in the eye. His dark pupils were sharp as blades today.
"Jesus, get a room you two. If you're going to kiss, at least warn the children." Remy mocked as she started to make gagging noises. Monty rolled his eyes and released Charlie's hand, then turned to the smaller girl.
"Your ability to ruin a moment cannot be underestimated. Despite yourself, I might actually come to miss you." Monty said as the elevator opened. The trio came out into the lobby.
"Admit it—you will," Remy said with a wry grin.
In a moment of rare seriousness, she added, "I hope you make it back inside."
"Thanks."
"You still owe me a mustache ride."
"Never… upon my honor," Monty said turning away. He left the two and made for the exit. The man carried the long Kentucky rifle against his shoulder as he made his way through the crowd. His back was straight, and he marched like the soldier he represented.
"Maybe when he gets back we can start a clan. Jen should be Silver by then, and we'll have enough people." Charlie mused watching the Confederate man leave.
"Oh, I have a great name," Remy said excitedly. Charlie groaned but gestured for her to continue. "NeverPullOut… Get it? It's a double entendre." Charlie shook his head.
"I'm going to log out and cook dinner."
"How about Mortally Fingered?!" Remy shouted after him.
"Hard as Diamond?!"
"Your Mom, My Harem!"
Charlie walked toward the competition center exit. Today had been fun, but he was going to have to buy more magazines. He touched the assault rifle slung across his chest.
"I'm glad we have another month together. Do you want me to add anything to our little contract?"
"Add?" Fara asked into his mind.
"Stipulations," Charlie added.
"I suppose you want something," Fara said in a dry voice.
"I do. The next time we contract, I want sex. You are an excellent gun and a cute woman. However, I have no desire to sacrifice a pound of flesh every month for you."
Fara changed, appearing before him, and searched his face. "I make no promises," she said before her eyes slid past him.
"Derek?" She asked pushing Charlie aside.
"Yes?" A player said stopping.
"You're back," Fara breathed in relief.
"Ahh, Tuesday. I didn't recognize you at first. You've changed your hair." Derek said in a cold, distant voice.
"Where are your other guns?" Charlie asked noticing he was minus his fancy full-auto Glock.
"Because of you I was banned for thirty days, so I lost them. I also de-ranked to Silver, but I should thank you." Derek admitted.
"Oh?"
"You gave me the chance to part with Tuesday cleanly. There was a new batch of weapons, and I contracted with Friday. She's a very modern FN Scar-H, so I didn't even bother picking up a pistol." The man said caressing the weapons hips.
"Well, at least the ban gave you some time to cool off." Charlie said turning away.
"For what it's worth Tuesday, I'm sorry for my actions." Derek said moving toward the consoles.
Fara had a bewildered look on her face, and barely reacted when Charlie took her wrist. She swayed in an unfocused daze as he left the competition center. Her processing centers were busy shifting memory connections and reassigning personality values. She was still dumping data into archive as they got to the Mustang. He opened the car door, but she continued to stand there. Charlie took her by the shoulders, turning the young woman around, and pushed her into the passenger seat. She mechanically drew the seat belt over her chest as he walked around the front and got into the driver side.
"I'm going to screw you tonight," she said in a voice that was not her own. Her usually high, teenage voice deepened with rough unwaxed cords. Charlie glanced at her, but Fara was staring into the distance, deep in calculation. He felt conflicted about the girl. She'd started off unbearably nasty to him, but her attitude had improved by leaps and bounds over the last month. Despite her offhand nature, she was fun to keep around, and Fara might have caved even without meeting that nasty twerp tonight.
"I look forward to it," he said after that pause. Charlie started the Mustang and left her to work through whatever mental juggling she was doing. The trip home was silent except for the rumble of the engine.
As Charlie walked into the beach house, he pulled his armored vest off, and dropped the light gear onto the couch. He withdrew Elva from her holster, dropped the mag, and racked her slide. Then caught the bullet in mid-air and set it down on the table. By now he could take the 1911 apart blindfolded. The top and bottom came free of one another, and Charlie set them on the table. He sprayed her parts down with a light layer of solvent and used a rag to wipe Elva clean. Then he oiled her and put her back together. She changed into human form, and appeared on the couch next to him. Elva wasn't swooning like usual but he'd only done a quick cleaning.
Charlie was about to pick up Fara when the doorbell rang. He stood perplexed, because nobody ever came to visit. A pair of hands grabbed him as he opened the door, and he was dragged into a set of enormous breasts.
"I so angry with you," a thickly accented voice said above him. He managed to look up into a pair of glowing steel colored eyes.
"I seem to be annoying most of the women in my life. How did I wrong you?" He asked giving up his struggles.
"You v’ere at the Armory today. I saw you come into the lobby. I v’as so happy to see you, because I thought you come to contract, but no, you spoke to man. That explains shirt you are v’earing," The giant Russian said pushing him away. Charlie stumbled back and glanced down at his pink t-shirt, which was still proudly displaying his gay pride. Damned Fara… He wanted to cover his face and laugh at the absurdity of the situation. He had a gun that was going through a personality crisis, and this new girl thought he batted for the same team.
"I'm not gay."
"The shirt says othervise," the SVD said with disdain and walked quickly back up the street.
Charlie pulled the stupid shirt over his head and tossed it into the bushes. "Ignore that, I'm not gay," he said chasing after the tall red head. Charlie grabbed her by the waist and dug his heels in, but she didn't stop. It was like trying to halt a tank from moving. He desperately said, "I was helping a friend find her pistol, so I wasn't there to contract. I'm not even Gold yet."
"I’m sorry, I meant to call you,” he apologized. The SVD slowed just enough for him to run around her front, put both hands on her stomach, and brace himself. The red headed giant made an annoyed sound but finally stopped.
"So you're still available?" He asked.
"I vaited so long," she said in a despairing voice. He'd been too busy with running matches to check on the weapon, so it was no wonder she was annoyed.
"You're right, and I'm sorry for not contacting you," Charlie said quickly.
"I saw you and remembered your grip. I v’anted so badly to be held again like that."
Charlie closed on her. "You came all this way, so why don't you stay?" He asked with sudden inspiration.
"V’hat?" She asked in surprise. He let go and gestured toward the beach house.
"Stay here. I hit Silver Master tonight, so in a few days to a week, I'll be Gold. We can contract then. I have food, entertainment, and a beach you can swim at." He gestured to his house. Her eyes flashed from steel to silver as her decision tree went into overdrive. He continued to try and coax her back toward the house. "I have spare bedrooms you can use."
"Very well, I v’ill stay. We sleep in same bed, but I v’ill not sex without contract. I am not that kind of weapon." She warned poking him in the chest. Charlie pulled her slowly back down the sidewalk. She was a foot and a half taller than Charlie, but he led her back like a stray puppy. Finally relaxing, the woman draped her arm around his neck. Her long fingernails brushed over his naked chest, and now that she had an arm around him she was reluctant to let go.
"I'm Charlie,' he said.
"Do you have a name?"
"Nyet," she said in a dreamy voice.
"We aren't Meister and weapon yet, but you need one." He muttered glancing at the woman. Charlie had to call her something, at least temporarily.
