Charge of the Laser Brigade

This is a humorous sci-fi short story that I am posting on my blog. It was sixteen pages long on Word, but if you can't read all of it, please tell me what you think of what you've read. Thank you!

 

Charge of the Laser Brigade

 

                A laser sliced through the jungle’s steaminess.

                “Stop messing around with that laser, Lance Corporal!”

                “…Yes…sir…darn it.”

Balaklava was the second-nearest planet to the gigantic red sun that the system revolved around. It’s mass was about that of Earth, and the gravity was just a bit less. The whole boiling planet was covered in primeval jungles that grew thousands of feet high.

                “The humidity’s the worst part,” the lance corporal swatted a fly that flew near his face. “The air’s so thick with moisture I can hardly breath.”

                “Aw, lock your jaw, Pliny,” said the soldier behind him, “this air’s thick enough without you adding your complaining to it.”

                The lance corporal looked back at the soldier behind him.

                “Complaining? You think I haven’t got something to complain about, Gail? I lost both my arms in the War, and when I come home I find out I don’t get my pension until I’ve served my time!”

                “You talk about it like it’s some sort of prison sentence,” said the Corporal leading the line through the jungle.

                “It’s worse.”

                “At least you got both your arms back.” Gail said.

                “I could have bought bionic ones anyway.”

                “With an army pension? Ha,” the Corporal laughed without humor. “A bionic arm can cost more than an apartment building. But two? That’s thinking for millionaires.”

                “Yeah,” Private Gail added, “and at least the Army can’t take your arms away when you do finish your military work.”

                Lance Corporal Pliny looked down disapprovingly at his two glistening appendages. Beads of water were forming on electronic biceps and dripping down to the metal elbows where they dropped to the ground. In these arms were the strength to lift a refrigerator and hold it for days. But still he resented them.

                “You there!” a voice called out of the sweltering noon, “Mech or man?”

                “Men!” shouted the corporal. “Seven of us in this troop. Here to see Major Raglan. Correspondence.”

                “Very well,” the voice replied.

                As the seven soldiers came forward they saw a lone guard with half of his face taken over by metal, and most of his arms and body also. He was standing by two humming pillars of metal. As they approached they saw him flip a switch on the back of one and the humming subsided. On either side of the pillars a deep trench had been dug, stretching away on either sides.

                The seven soldiers walked between the two pillars and when they had passed the humming began once more. Though nothing showed between the two pillars, the soldiers knew that if they came between them now they would be instantly fried.

                “They’re still using Dutch Ovens here?” Gail looked back nervously at the gate. “There’s been a lot of accidents with those, you know.”

                “Yeah,” Pliny replied. “If I were you I wouldn’t leave my underwear lying around.”

                “Clamp it, Badger,” the corporal snapped over his shoulder. “You’re with the army now.”

                “Yup,” Pliny breathed angrily. “And what a lot of suckers they are.”

***

                “Alright, men,” the Major said, “I’ve just received intelligence that the Mechs have made another landing here and are preparing to attack. They will outnumber us. Thus I think it would be best to defend here instead of moving out.”

                “A good choice, Major,” Captain Hussar chimed in.

                “Oh yes, top-hole ol’ bean, wot!” said Lieutenant ‘Cheerio’ Warren.

                The Major bowed and suddenly his eyes darted to a figure nearest the doorway. He was a young sergeant, the youngest here. A thick scowl was resting on his face, and he was having trouble concealing it.

                “Do you have a problem, Sergeant Lucan?”

                “A problem, Major? Not exactly. A feeling that we’re going to lose hopelessly? Yes.”

                The Major fumed. He did not like Lucan. Of course, he didn’t like any of his sergeants or lieutenants or captains for that matter, but Lucan he really didn’t like. The officer had come just three weeks before with flying colors from Officers’ School back on earth. Tall, handsome, and rugged, he was a likeable man. And thus Major Raglan hated him.

                “Do you infer that you think little of my judgment, sergeant?”

                “I do, sir, in fact I have thought little of most of your judgments so far, Major. However, of this one I think so little that I think nothing of it at all.

                “Sir, if we stay here—here, right where the Mechs know we are and where we have been for months, we will all die. The Mechs will close in and kill us all. They will have such a precise and quick method of striking that they will crush us easily. We must keep them away, keep them thinking, keep them guessing—because Mechs are really bad at guessing.”

                Cheerio tittered a bit at that.

                “What’s so funny, Lieutenant Warren?” Major Raglan glowered.

                “Nothing, sah, just—it’s so true.”

                Major Raglan said nothing, but turned back to Lucan.

“And I suppose you have had quite a bit of experience fighting the Mechs, eh, Lucan?”

                “No, sir, none at all.”

                “Then how do you presume to know how they fight?”

                “I studied videos of battles with them back at Officers’ School. I’ve seen the mind of the Mechs from a captured I and my class dissected.”

                “And thus you think you know everything about fighting them. Whereas I have fought them for years, for a quarter of a century!”

                “Sir, if you may permit me, there are only four kinds of generals; those who have little experience, but use what they know; those who have little experience and do not use what they know; those who have much experience and use what they know, and those who have much experience and yet do not use what they know.”

                The Major nearly exploded.

                “Are you even daring to presume that I do not use what I know?”

                “I did not say that, sir.”

                “But you meant it. I shall send a report back to the Superiors, Lucan, and I know now that it shall not be very nice!”

                “Sir, if we stay in this camp instead of moving out there will be no need to send reports back to the Superiors, nice or otherwise.”

                “I have heard enough from you, man! I will not be outspoken by a wet-behind-the-ears sergeant. I do not wish to hear you speak any longer.”

                “Yes, sir.”

                “No speaking!”

                “Sorry.”

                “I said none!”

                Lucan nodded and said nothing. Every other officer in the room had moved away from Lucan now, as Raglan moved in. Raglan was grinning half-madly.

                “But—if you think you are such a great commander, sergeant, then perhaps we should assign you a mission to test your skills.”

                Lucan said nothing, but swallowed hard.

                “Yes, I think so,” the Major replied. “Such amazing skills as yours cannot be wasted.”

                Cheerio started to protest, seeing the glint of hate in the Major’s eyes.

“Major, sah—“

                “I am briefing an officer, Lieutenant Warren! Please keep your thoughts and observations in your blasted head, thank you!”

                Cheerio blinked and retreated.

                “You will head a scouting mission to go out and alert us of the Mech’s attack. You will take a small squad.”

                The Major’s dark eyes gazed out into the camp. He spotted a soldier running towards the gate with a pair of—was that underwear?—in his hands, a private chasing him.

                “Ah, I think I have just the troop for you,” the Major grinned. “Some other cyber-soldiers that wish to test their… metal,” he laughed at the stupid pun. “You will leave now, Sergeant.”

                Sergeant Lucan saluted coldly and walked slowly out, like a man who went to his doom.

                “Sah,” Cheerio fumbled for words, “…What if there are Black Fairies out there?”

                The Major was unmoved.

                “Then we’ll see how smart Sergeant Lucan is after encountering them,” he snorted.

***

                Private Gail Gibson looked down at his laser, wishing he could use it on lance corporal Pliny beside him. It was a clumsy thing, with a heavy reaction chamber and a short, blunt barrel. On the top was a switch to change the focus of the laser; from long-ranged, thin beams of light to short-ranged, wide beams.

                The group was trudging through the rainforest, the sergeant at the front in his battle-suit. Pliny, the lance corporal, knew all of these cyborgs; he had spent the whole flight coming over with them. In the back was Private Dodge, a Texan who was good with a laser but was sour because the army had made him give up ‘the chew’. Walking in front of him were Privates Reese and Scoggins, both of them new boys who had given up all four ligaments for silicon counterparts. After them was the Corporal and then Lance Corporal Dane. He was a huge kid from Alaska, and nearly as dumb as a bear. His robotic legs looked skinny and strange under his formidable chest and arms.

                “What do you suppose we’re doing?” Dane asked Pliny.

                “Oh, we’re probably just out for a little jaunt,” Pliny answered cheerfully. “Running’s good for the legs, you know.”

                “My legs are robotic,” Reese commented.

                “Well, it’s good for the lungs, too.”

                “My lungs are going to stop working if I have to breathe much more of this dense air,” Scoggins bemoaned.

                “You’ll get used to it,” came a deep voice in front of them. It was the Sergeant. This was the first time he had spoken. He had stopped in the middle of the winding and bumpy path and was looking ahead.

                “You’ll also get used to the night raids,” he added, turning around, “when the Mechs zoom overhead in their antigravity jets, firing laser bombs down into the camp, and the screaming of men who have lost a leg or an arm. Men who wake up just to find that after all that suffering they have now got a cold, metal arm and have to stay and fight. You’ll get used to the Major telling everyone that ‘we’ll get them next time!’ and never doing anything about it. You’ll get used to this god-forsaken planet, or you will die.”

                All the men were staring at him. Putting his back to them, he muttered;

                “Then again, we’ll probably all die anyway.”

                He continued walking. The cyber-soldiers slowly followed.

                “I wish’t I had some ‘bacco,” Dodge stuttered nervously.

                 The radar was part of Lucan’s mind. His face was partly cyborg, a requirement for all officers in the Army. He had double vision; he could see what any other man could see and he could see for miles around through the radar vision. Whenever he closed his eyes the radar appeared on the inside of his right eyelid unless he shut it off.

                He didn’t tell his men about the Black Fairies; he knew that would scare them too much to fight well. But he knew about them; the newest technology in the Mechtoid armies, the Black Fairies had the technology to bend light particles about them and turn them invisible. This took quite a bit of heavy technology and thus the Fairies weren’t armored as well as the rest of the Mechtoids. And they could only move very slowly when invisible; even then a change in the light would cause them to shimmer, but other than that they were invisible. At least there were only a handful of them in the force of Mechtoids on the planet.

                “So,” Reese said after a while, “should we make up, like, names for ourselves?”

                Scoggins scoffed.

                “Why?”

                “Well, aren’t we some sort of special force?”

                “Us?” Pliny laughed. “Hardly.”

                “Sure we are,” the Private protested. “So we gotta make up some cool codenames for ourselves.”

                “Alright, Reese,” Pliny said. “You can be Poophead.”

                “Hey! I said cool names.”

                “Okay. How about Fecal Hawk?”

                “Stop it!” Gail shouted. “I’ve already seen enough poop in this jungle dropped by who-knows-what. If you keep going on like that, your codename can be Big Stubborn Walrus.”

                “Fine, Shadow Donkey.”

                “Wormstrike!”

                “Grinning Ferret!”

                “Clamp it back there,” Lucan commanded. “Respect your superior officer, Private Gibson, even if he is a clodpole.”

                “I know what mine’ll be, y’all,” Dodge drawled from the back of the line. “Tobacco Avenger.”

                “Good one,” Pliny rolled his eyes. “And what’s this Operation called? Operation ‘I’m With A Bunch of Dorks’?”

                “Operation With a Sarcastic Lance Corporal,” Gail replied.

                “Operation Gnat Swat,” Reese offered.

                “Death by Mosquito-like Organisms,” Scoggins added.

                “I think I saw a shimmer,” Dane said uncertainly.

                Pliny was about to quip with ‘that’s a stupid name’, but his words were lost as a laser rent the humid air.

***

                “Major?” Lieutenant Warren strode up to Raglan solemnly.

                “Yes, Cheery?”

                “We’ve…lost contact with Lucan’s group, sah. The Mechs have jammed the com link, sah.”

                “Sweet success,” the Major sighed. “I mean, uh…hope they get out all right.”

                “Right, sah.” Cheerio replied quietly. At times like this, it was hard for even an Englishman to like Major Raglan. He was a fine man in his own way, but he had such a temper and a vengeful attitude.

                Suddenly the Major’s earmike buzzed.

                “Major,” buzzed the voice of Captain Hussar, “a Mech just passed over.”

                “I didn’t hear any laser bombs, Captain,” the Major replied as if speaking to himself.

                “He didn’t attack, sir. I think he was taking pictures.”

                “Ahh…then they’re coordinating their attack, eh?”

                “I s’pect so, sir,” the Captain replied. “Or they want some souvenirs of our utter defeat.”

                “Shut up, Hussar.”

                “Yes sir. We all know we’ll win with you at the helm, sir.”

                “Right. Get every man at his post, Captain. Put the gun emplacement status on ‘alert’. Have everything ready for an attack.”

                “Yes sir.” The Captain’s voice faded out.

                Cheerio looked down at the ground.

                “I know what you’re thinking,” the Major said. “You think Sergeant Lucan was right, don’t you.”

                “You’re the commander, sah,” Cheerio replied.

                “You are thinking that, aren’t you? Well, he may have been right; I’m willing to give him some leeway in that. But the lad has got to learn some respect for his superiors, whether they’re right or not. He can’t go on thinking that he’s smarter than them.”

                “Even at the expense of a whole outpost?” Cheerio asked.

                “Um…yes. It’s just not right.”

                “Whatever you say, sah.”

***

Sergeant Lucan had seen it first, even before Dane. His laser blazed with light-particle energy and a black, smoking figure, more than three meters tall, fell to the ground.

No one had time to congratulate Sergeant Lucan because suddenly the forest around them came alive with laser activity. Lucan leapt back as a beam seared the ground in front of him. A laser decimated a tree right next to Dodge and he clamped down on his tongue so hard he screamed.

The Sergeant, hearing the scream thought that his troop was getting decimated; he reacted with lupine speed, landing on his belly with a clang of robotic parts. Thankfully the group were in a trench in the gangly forest floor and were protected for the most part from enemy beams. The Mechtoids hadn’t been ready and had fired prematurely; even their computer minds made mistakes sometimes.

Lucan closed his eyes and the radar screen glared in his vision. The Mechtoids had fired from a long ways away—perhaps almost a mile, and they were moving off now.

“There are a lot of them,” Lucan said, almost to himself. “Nearly a dozen. We’d better get back to the camp.”

***

                The Major had less than a hundred men under his command. Such things were expected in the U.S.E.A. The United States of Earth Army didn’t have enough soldiers to spread thickly on a good twenty solar systems. ‘Armies’ now comprised generally less than five hundred troops. But a good general knew how to make a few men work.

                Unfortunately, the Major was not a very good general.

                “They’re coming,” Captain Hussar buzzed ominously in the Major’s ear.

                “Thank you, Captain, I can see that.”

The electro-radar was in front of him. This thing was much better than other conventional radar devices. It could see even a Black Fairy coming. It was pretty hulky, though.

                “Major, sah,” Cheerio’s voice buzzed in his ear. “My gunners can see them nearly a mile off and are getting them in their crosshairs. Permission to fire, sah?”

                “Yes, Cheery. Blast ‘em.”

                “Yes sah!” Cheerio replied. The Major could almost hear the grin on the other side of the earmike.

                Another voice sounded on the mike.

“Sir, our gate is coming under fire. Long-range laser, sir.”

                “I haven’t got anything on the radar, Lieutenant Ouston.”

                “I said it was long-range,” the Lieutenant replied sheepishly. “They’ll blow the gate out soon enough, sire—this is some of their best technology.”

                “Fine. Power it off and get some soldiers over there.”

                “Yes, sir.”

                “We got some of them, sah, but I think…”

                “What, Cheery? What do you think?”

                “…I think it was just a distraction.”

                “Major! There’s nearly a hundred Mechs over here! We need reinforcements!”

                “Hold them, Ouston. Cheerio, get some troops over there now!”

                “Sorry, sah—‘pears it wasn’t just a distraction after all, wot? Tons of the blighters are coming out. We’ll be overwhelmed, sah.”

                “Ouston, can you hold the gate?”

                “No, sir, my men have no cover!”

                “Captain Hussar, get some of your soldiers over there. Now!”

                “Yes sir.”

                “We can’t hold them back, Major. Half my platoon is fried!”

                “Ouston, you’ve got to hold them! You have to until reinforcements arrive. Ouston! Ouston?”

                An explosion rocked the Comm. Center. Major Raglan held onto a control board and spoke calmly into his earmike.

                “Cheerio, how are you doing on our right flank?”

                “Alright, sah, but the blighters are fighting us ferociously. Our grapeshot guns are doing their work though, sah.”

                “Good, Cheery,” the Major said, somewhat relieved. He glanced at the radar. “Hussar! How are you doing at the front?”

                “Fine, sir. Nobody’s attacked us yet. I sent half my platoon to the gate.”

                “But I see dots approaching your sector.”

                “I don’t see anything, sir…”

                “They’re right on top of you, man!”

                Silence…and then a scream exploded into the mike.

                “Captain Hussar! What’s happening?”

                “My leg! Holy moons of cheese, my leg!”

                “What happened, Hussar, did they break it or something?”

                “They blasted it off! Ohhhh they shot it off at the stump. Great quadrants of dark matter! They came out of nowhere—Black Fairies, by the dozens! We didn’t have a chance.”

                “Cheerio! You’ve got to send some of your men—“

                “Beggin’ your pardon, sah, but I haven’t got any men to spare! There’s tons of ‘em over here—more than we ever reckoned!”

                “My leg! It was the one with the tattoo too,” Hussar sobbed.

                “Cheerio, you have to spare some men. You have to! Otherwise we have no chance!”

                “We haven’t got a chance anyway,” Hussar mumbled. “There’s tons of them. I never had any idea there would be this many on Balaklava. One of them’s pointing a laser gun at my head…”

                “Men, we can do this! Don’t lose—“

                Suddenly everything went black. The lights on the control board went out. Every light went out—and Major James Raglan was alone in the darkness.

                “Hussar? Hussar? Cheerio? Cheerio! Hello? Anyone? Hello?” The Major spoke vainly into his earmike. No answer was forthcoming.

                The sliding door slid open and a dark shape occupied the doorway. The Major shaded his eyes against the inflow of light.

                “Greetings, Major. It has been a pleasure defeating you.”

                “Um, the pleasure is mine,” Raglan replied, dumbstricken.

                “You are very kind, Major. Unfortunately, we have no need of you as a hostage or a trainee. Thus, my orders are to kill you.”

                “Well,” the Major replied, “Thank you for not beating around the bush about it.”

                “You are welcome.”

***

                The Mechtoids led a sudden charge from the forest and lasers buzzed with energy back and forth between the two sides. A cyborg landed next to Lieutenant Warren with a slight clang of metal feet.

                “Too many of ‘em, Lieutenant,” he said bluntly. “They’re coming from behind, too.”

                “I bloody well know that, sergeant!” Cheerio shouted. “They aren’t taking any prisoners, neither. Abandon your guns and grab your lasers! Retreat and try to save your metal skins!”

                The sergeant saluted and men leapt off of their gun emplacements. A black head poked over the low wall erected about the camp. It was metallic and squarish, with a black screen at eye level. Two little green specks, malevolent and monotonous, stared out from behind the screen.

                Cheerio blew the head in two with his laser and turned, beckoning for his men to follow. There were only twenty or so of them now, and they ran backwards on robotic legs, firing at the Mechtoids as they ran.

                The enemy came over the wall; huge, heavily built machines with small heads and lasers built into their arms. They never missed when given enough time to get the target in their sights, but they weren’t quick enough to dodge the lasers that blasted them into scraps of metal. Still more came over the walls.

                “Come on, lads! Almost there, wot?” Cheerio called to his beleaguered men.

                They followed him, still returning fire.

                Ten feet away from the ditch and the jungle screen, three large shapes materialized from nowhere and opened fire on the little platoon with wide-reaching rays. The soldiers, facing back at their enemies behind, were instantly caught and decimated. Cheerio dove to the ground and returned fire at the shapes, catching two of them in their heads. The third one raised its gun to kill him and he rolled over and squeezed the trigger again. Something seared his left arm, and then last one fell, deactivated.

                Cheerio clambered up from the ground and, panting, ran into the forest.

***

                “How many did we lose?” Sergeant Lucan whispered.

                “Um,” Pliny looked back at the group. “None.”

                “Then what was that screaming I heard?”

                “I bit mah tongue,” Dodge said. “Sorry.”

                The sergeant grunted, looking about from behind the rise.

                “Well,” he said, opening his eyes, “there may still be Black Fairies about, but I think we should head back to the base. We know they’re coming, anyway. We’ll head back to the base.”

                As they started moving, he added to himself; “If the base is even still there.”

                He blinked and saw it; besides their eight bleeps huddled closely together, there was another lone dot approaching. It was coming fast.

                “Men, get down!” he said, and fell quickly into a crouch. The rest of the troop did so, quickly. “Don’t any of you move. There’s something coming.”

                All of them were quiet, their eyes large and frightened. Dane gulped and put his hand down to itch his metal shin. Suddenly a clamp sounded and he couldn’t feel his hand any longer. He looked down. A three-foot high plant with a ghoulish symmetrical mouth had just clamped down on his hand. He fought the urge to scream aloud and tried to yank his hand out of the strong plant’s grip.

                “Mmmm, mmmm!” he tried to communicate to the sergeant. Dodge, beside him, looked at Dane strangely.

                “What’s the matter?” he whispered.

                The plant injected it’s saliva into the cyborg’s hand—just his luck, the one that wasn’t blown off and replaced. Now he did feel one thing in his hand; pain.

                “MMMM, MMMM!”     

                The Sergeant heard Dane’s frantic mouthing and looked over at him in a plea to be quiet. Then he saw the carnivorous plant that had attached itself to Dane’s hand and his face filled with shock. The other soldiers turned to look at Dane and all froze in horror. Only Scoggins had little enough brains to remark;

                “Holy heck, Dane—there’s a plant eating your arm!”

                “Oh, really?” Dane replied. “I’m sure I didn’t notice.”

                “Clamp it everyone!” Sergeant Lucan whispered frantically. “The last thing I want is to have the Mechs find us now.”

                “But my freakin’ arm is being taken off, sarge!”

                The sergeant was sweating.

                “I know, I know—just try and keep quiet, alright? We’ll help you when it’s gone.”

                “Here it is, sarge!” Dodge hissed.

                The trees were shaking around the approaching figure. It was running, and Mechtoids never run. Perhaps they know that they’ll get wherever they’re going sometime or another. Perhaps they just don’t like to rush.

                Dane was nearly crying as he looked forward—the pain and the general feeling of horror was too great. The figure appeared in the trees. It was Lieutenant Warren.

                Dane screamed for all he was worth.

***

                “You were right of course, ol’ bean, completely right. I wish the Major would have just done what you said. We’d have a fightin’ chance, eh?”

                The sergeant didn’t answer.

                “And we don’t now, do we?”

                “Well, the way I see it, our best chance is to get back to the landing ship soon as possible. We can leave then.”

                “Yeah,” Pliny agreed, “the sooner we get off this hell of a jungle pit the better.”

                “No.”

                Everyone stared at the sergeant. He was looking at the ground, apparently deep in thought.

                “What do you mean, no?” Pliny said, his voice cracking.

                “The Mechs are out, probably mopping up the battle-site. That means their base has less guards. We can cut out their comm. link and without any communications they won’t be able to do much more damage.”

                “What?” Pliny was frantic. “You can’t make the decisions anymore. We’ve got a senior officer here. We’re heading back to the landing shuttle, right Lieutenant?”

                Cheerio was quiet for several moments.

                “You think that’d work, Sergeant?”

                “I think it would, Lieutenant. I’d give my life on it.”

                “Then we bloody well better do it. This way, I think?” he pointed towards the way the Mechtoids had attacked from. Sergeant Lucan nodded and forged the path ahead.

                Warren looked at Pliny and the rest of the troop.

                “Ready to have a go at it, lads?”

                They all looked at Pliny. The lance corporal had a look of open rebellion, reluctance and anger on his face.

                “I can’t disobey a ranking officer, now can I?” he said angrily after a pause.

                “You can,” Warren replied, “but not unless you’ve got a blasted good reason for it. And then only if it works.”

                He followed Lucan.

***

                “I never liked the army,” Pliny muttered at Gail. “Too strict, in a dumb kind of way. Why, back at ‘Quarters they gave me demerits for jumping in a swimming pool without a life-guard present! As if I couldn’t save myself from drowning!”

                “You’re a dang cyborg, man,” Gail replied. “Your metal parts can’t take that much water.”

                “They’re still too strict,” Pliny rubbed his arms, remembering the shock he had had when jumping into that pool—partly from the shock of his arms losing complete power and partly from the realization of why those pool-side signs say ‘no diving in water under four feet deep.’

                Dane, at the back of the line, had his arm in a sling. He now knew what it felt like to have his hand covered in acid-like plant saliva and slowly melt away. No one wanted to look at his hand—that was the main reason it was bandaged up.

                “Once we take over the Mech base,” Sergeant Lucan was saying, “we can send a communication to the landing vessel to take us away or whatever they deem necessary.”

                “Very good, ol’ bean,” Cheerio replied. “But let’s not be hasty, eh? First we have to take the Mech base, and they’ll prob’ly have anywhere from twenty for a hundred troops there.”

                “Let’s hope less than a hundred,” said the sergeant.

                Cheerio smiled and swore under his breath.

                “So, are the names all agreed on?” Reese said as the sergeant and lieutenant pushed on ahead.

                Everyone nodded except for Pliny, who rolled his eyes.

                “Right,” said Reese. He pointed to Scoggins—“Shadow Grub,”—Dane—“Death Beaver,”—Gail—“Tom-a Hawk,”—the corporal—“Stealth Weasel,”—Dodge—“Tobacco Avenger,”—Pliny—“Poophead or Stubborn Walrus?”

                “Neither,” Pliny said. “Philosopher with an Old Musty Book.”

                “Ooh, good one,” Reese replied. “Philosopher for short, right? And me—Poison Beetle.”

                “And what do we call them?” said the corporal Stealth Weasel. He indicated Lucan and Cheerio.

                “Um…just call ‘em Boss and…Laser.”

                “Which one’s Boss and which one’s Laser?” asked Shadow Grub.

                “Lieutenant’s boss and sergeant’s laser. Got it?”

                “Right,” they agreed. Except for Philosopher.

***

                The trees around the Mechtoid base had all been mercilessly lasered. The ground was bare and up from it shot a thirty foot tall stand of metal. Around this were several smaller buildings and garages and a landing dock in the back. The whole place itself was not very large; much smaller than the Humans’ camp.

                “Any Mechs about, Laser?” Stealth Weasel inquired of the sergeant.

                “Only those three as far as I can see. There of course will be more inside the building. What we need to do,” he said to Cheerio, “is charge the complex, blast the guards and laser through the door before they can turn the unlight shields on.”

                “Top-hole, lad,” Cheerio agreed.

                As if they had heard the whole plan, the main cargo door opened and ten more Mechtoid soldiers marched out to congregate with those already there.

                “This is going to be suicide,” Pliny moaned.

                “Shut up. We’re special ops, remember? We’re special.” Tom-a Hawk reassured him.

                “Riiight…” Pliny sighed. “My only consolation is that I don’t have any more limbs to lose.”

                “Well, men,” Sergeant Lucan turned back to them. “This may be our last fight. This charge could very well be the end of it—for all of us. But maybe…just maybe, word about the fight will get back to ‘Quarters and they’ll hear of it. Maybe they’ll always remember it as the charge of the Last Brigade.”

                “Charge of the Lucan Brigade, chap,” Cheerio corrected.

                “Charge of the Laser Brigade,” Poison Beetle said. “Codenames are so much cooler.”

                “Well men…let’s do it,” the sergeant gulped and turned back around. “What am I thinking?” he said after a moment. “You’re a bunch of no-good newbies with less edge on your aim than a couple of old women. This will never work.”

                He felt a cold, metal hand on his shoulder and looked back. To his surprise, the hand wasn’t Warren’s. It was Reese’s.

                “Maybe we’re the only ones crazy enough to do it, huh?”

                Sergeant Lucan blinked.

                “Uh…well…maybe.”

                And so they charged.

***

                Mechtoids have much programmed into them; the ability to swivel move more quickly than a man, aim more precise than a man, and the strength to go much longer than a man. However, they don’t have one thing every man has the ability to do; to guess.

                None of the Mechtoid generals or Hierarchy Programs in the whole of army had guessed that this little brigade would charge their headquarters. That was illogical, and Mechtoids hated things that were illogical.

                Sergeant Lucan opened up at full power with his laser, catching three Mechtoids in the first blast. Cheerio was beside him, whooping and zapping at the Mechtoids right and left. Everyone was yelling at the top of their voices, and such yelling was highly illogical, confusing the Mechtoids’ minds even further.

                Nine were gone before the others had a chance to fight back. They raised their lasers and fired a barrage at the oncoming cyborgs. Thankfully, they hadn’t had time to change their lasers from thin-range to wide range and the thin stabs that flashed in the air did not do as much damage as they might have. But they did do some; Stealth Weasel and Poison Beetle both lost an arm and Tobacco Avenger got worse.

                Cheerio blasted the four remaining ones with a wide-ranged shot from his laser; Lucan ran to the door and melted away a large hole in it.

                “Dodge!” Dane knelt by the stricken soldier, trembling.

                “Go on, y’all,” Dodge said, clutching at his chest. “They melted mah innards away, I’m done for!”

                “You can’t die! We trained together!”

                “It’s not like I haven’t had a little heart burn before, partner,” Dodge pressed his laser into Dane’s quivering hands. “Go on—do your duty, son. Remember the Tobacco Avenger!”

                Death Beaver arose and followed the others, two lasers in his hand.

                There was another Mechtoid in the main room. He had no weapon but dodged the beam Cheerio aimed at him.

                “Where’d he go?” Cheerio exclaimed, looking at the place where the Mechtoid had been.

                “Must’ve been a Black Fairy. He doesn’t have a weapon. Where would he go?” Lucan looked about the room.

                “Haven’t the foggiest, ol’ chap. Let’s pay attention to the comm., shall we?” Cheerio pointed to the large control board at the end of the room.

                “Right. Where’s the Mech control console?”

                “Not in here, obviously,” Cheerio replied. “Troops! Go look in the adjacent rooms, wot?”

                “Yessir, Boss!” the soldiers rushed past. In a moment, Stealth Weasel’s shout came from across the hall. “Found it, Boss!”

                Lucan sprinted in, followed by Cheerio.

                The room was lit by many windows from the ceiling. There was a small dome in the middle, surrounded by a myriad of beeping lights and little whining thingies. No buttons could be seen.

                Cheerio raised his laser to decimate the console and an explosion rocked the room. The Lieutenant was thrown to the floor.

                “Blasted blighter! Blew my laser to shreds!”

                “It was that Black Fairy?” Lucan said frantically.

                “Yes, lad. Move or he’ll waste you!”

                Sergeant Lucan moved, and just as he did a laser blasted the ground where he had been standing. A shape shimmered at the other end of the room and the Mechtoid appeared.

                “Halt, human. You cannot destroy the—“

                “Funny,” Lucan said aloud as he blasted the console via laser, “I thought Mechs were never ones to waste words.”

                There was a great explosion that threw Lucan back against the wall with a clang. The Mechtoid was thrown too.

                The sergeant looked up. Just because the console was destroyed didn’t mean that the Mechtoids would all deactivate. They now had no orders—however, they were still programmed to kill their enemy, and he was their enemy.

Where was his laser? He saw it nowhere, but halfway across the room lay the Mechtoid’s weapon where it had been flung by the explosion. Lucan leapt up and ran towards the laser, and as he did from the opposite side of the smoking console the Mechtoid ran for it also.

He dove and grabbed the laser, and the Mechtoid landed on top of him. It flung him over and knocked his breath out, then picked him up like a ragdoll and prepared to fling him across the room.

Lucan struggled but even his cyborg strength was not enough against the steel arms of his opponent. So he brought his leg back and kicked right through the robot’s metal abdomen. The Mechtoid tried to throw him but couldn’t; his leg was stuck right through the Mechtoid’s body. The robot tried to yank it out, but to no avail.

“It seems you are stuck, human,” it said.

“Seems I am,” he replied.

And then, Lucan blasted him in the face with the laser.

***

“Tom-a Hawk, Poison Beetle, Death Beaver, you guys did well,” Stealth Weasel commended them, reconnecting his robotic arm.

“Yup. Good operation, eh?” Tom-a Hawk said.
“Yup.”  

“But let’s remember the ones who didn’t make it.”

“Yeah,” said Death Beaver quietly.

“Hey, where’s Philosopher?” Tom-a Hawk asked after a minute.

“I think Boss and Laser went to look for him.”

Cheerio and Lucan were, in fact, lasering through a door at that moment with Pliny at their side.

“What the deuce could be so important that they’d put it under a combination laser lock, eh?” Cheerio said.

“I don’t know,” Lucan replied. “But we’ll find out, I guess.”

The first thing Lucan noticed when he stepped through the hole they had cut open that whatever it was inside was shiny. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw what was before him; hundreds of bars of pure, glistening silicon.

“Holy…” Cheerio was blinking and shaking his head. “So this is the reason why they had to have us off the planet. Why, they could make an army with this!”

“You’re right. And we could make more,” Lucan replied.

Pliny was silent.

“Do you know what this means?” Cheerio said, grinning. “This could mean a good year in the war for once. We actually could have the materials to take some planets back!”

“Yes! Thousands of lasers! And there’s probably a mine here. A whole new fleet of space vessels!”

“Yes,” said Pliny’s ominous voice in the quiet gloom, “thousands of new arms for unwilling soldiers, thousands more men forced to serve even when their limbs have been destroyed serving their country.”

Cheerio and Lucan turned to face Pliny.

“What’s the matter, Pliny?”

He looked sullen and brooding in the half-light.

“What’s the matter? This means that hundreds more men are going to be forced to continue their terms, even when they have been through more pain than they thought earthly possible. You wouldn’t know, having given up your limbs for cybernetic transplants, but I know how it feels to lose an arm that you’ve had all your life, that you’ve pitched in baseball with and that you’ve doodled in class with…”

He was sobbing now.

“I know how it is! And some of the men out there know too. When you’ve lost your arm you don’t want to go on fighting! You’re dang sick of the whole thing! But it’s the law; you have to go on, thanks to the Cyborg Act. And this just means more of that tyrannical injustice—this hellish metal is going to make hundreds of men go through living hell and come out and learn that they have to do it all over again! Unless…”

                “Badger! No!”

                Lucan rushed at Pliny, pushing his laser out of the way.

                “Look, Badger—it’s hard, I know it is. It wasn’t easy to give up my ligaments for these. My wife will never be able to love all of me, because who can love a metal implement? I hated it too. But I had to do it. I can’t just sit back and let the Mechs take over the galaxy! I—we all have to fight them with all that we have, and that means trying to match them in strength and speed. And if we all kept resenting our role like you, Pliny, then the Mechs will win for sure.”

Pliny was silent for a moment, but the hate and remorse that had built up in him over the long months did not abate. He sent a crashing punch into Lucan’s face with his metal fist and shoved him aside.

                “No, Pliny! Don’t do it!” Lucan yelled.

                A flash of light filled the air and Pliny fell to the ground.

                Lucan got up, slowly and looked at Cheerio.

                “You killed him?”

                “He was mad,” Cheerio replied.

Author's Note

In case you didn't know, title is a spin-off on the 'Charge of the Light Brigade,' a disastrous maneuver made by the English in the Crimean War. This has been fun to write, as I love humor and have never really tried sci-fi. I was inspired by Orson Scott Card's sci-fi masterpiece 'Ender's Game,' which if you haven't read I HIGHLY recommend.
Thank you for reading it!