Opposing Force
(Sequel to "Interview with a Micro")
Opposing Force
"Some hikers reported a barbed wire fence surrounding a significant perimeter, the fence stretching about hip high," Sergeant Groznyi said, speaking for the first time in the long trip. "For all we know, this is nothing but someone's personal pot farm. No reason to suspect that this is one of the micro strongholds."
The sergeant paused, and then continued. "With that being said, I don't want any fuck-ups. We are here to kill or contain the micros, if any should be found. We are not here to eat the micros. We are not here to see who can stomp the most under paw at once. And we are not here to shove any down our pants. We are the police, and I expect each of you to behave as such. Do I make myself clear?"
There were slow nods from the five in the back, who shared the bench seats of the armored truck with the sergeant. The six of them, all dressed in body armor and helmets, the look of frustration and confusion was quite evident on their face even under the clear plastic mask. They were special forces police, after all. And investigating a possible micro stronghold was something that each, even the sergeant, found beneath them. But they were professionals, and they would do their job, as it was ordered of them.
The truck came to a stop, and they all piled out. The sergeant was first of course, followed by his five subordinates. They each wore their body armor and tactical helmets with little headsets that would let them keep in touch. Even that seemed absurd, since there would be little reason for them to split up. None of them carried heavy weapons, as if they were dealing with micros, assault rifles and shotguns would do more harm than good. So they carried pistols and tactical knives, save Sergeant Groznyi who carried his pistol and a ballistic shield.
It was amazing how far these little micro terrorists had come. Since the state's water supply had been poisoned a few weeks ago, the pressure had been on to make some sort of break-up of the MLA. Even a tip like this, which really was absolutely absurd, couldn't be overlooked. It probably was just some stoner's farm, but orders had come down from high up, and Sergeant Groznyi had assembled a team with haste to aid him with the investigation. The weapons, which were not particularly unfamiliar to the sergeant who had spent almost a decade breaking up protests and riots, seemed odd to carry again. Now out of the truck, he spent a moment stretching and growing accustomed to the added weight on his off hand.
"Why would the micros put this up? I thought they wanted to hide from us. I mean, why not just put a sign that said, 'we're here. Come eat us.' ?" asked Officer Jameson, when they came upon the barbed wire fence. A stag, the fence came up about his mid-thigh. Officer Jameson could probably step over it if he wanted to, but in case there was some sort of trap, they would cut through it.
"Keep in mind, if a feral rat, rabbit, or wolf comes wandering into the micro's town, it'll lick all them up. The micros must want to put up something, enough that the ferals will be put off to going any farther, but not large enough that it would be easily seen by us. How many hikers go through these woods a week? And we're only finding about it now." The sergeant paused, pondering, then sighed. "That's assuming we're dealing with micros. We might just be dealing with some pothead, of course."
Sergeant Groznyi gestured to Officer Fusco, who holstered his knife and pistol and took a pair of bolt cutters out of the truck. He used the bolt cutters to snip the intricately crossed barbed wire, he slowly worked until there was an opening in it large enough that they could all walk through single-file.
Everyone here had military experience, due to the state's mandatory military service. And though some had done the bare minimum, and some had been career soldiers before moving to localized police, each understood when Sergeant Groznyi made a hand gesture: they moved into a herringbone formation. Everything felt... absurd, to be honest. Acting like this, like they were back in the field, fighting real soldiers instead of action figures.
It was when Sergeant Groznyi heard a gunshot, he was honestly happy for how they had set up the squad. Officer Mackenzie groaned loudly, and stumbled back, into the arms of Officer Jameson who was beside him. In an instant, there were shouts and groans, and Sergeant Groznyi skimmed the trees, trying to understand what had happened. He knew it was a gunshot, a .44 by the booming noise, and yet, he couldn't understand where it could have come from. Another gunshot rang out, the muzzle flash marking the location, and Sergeant Groznyi felt a slap against his shield. But now knowing where the shot had come from, he lined the sights of his pistol, and squeezed the trigger four times.
Jameson had dragged Mackenzie behind a tree. The rest of them formed up behind the sergeant, waiting to see if another shot would ring out. When nothing came, Sergeant Groznyi made a gesture, and Fusco moved forward. Sergeant Groznyi watched closely, until Fusco waved a hand in front of his throat, gesturing that the danger had passed.
"Would you look at this," he said, reaching into the foliage, and tugging something metallic out. Holding it up, Sergeant Groznyi was able to see it resembled a revolver, with the grip trimmed off. "They built a cannon. They built a fucking cannon out of a fucking revolver's barrel."
Despite the fat, .44 slug, Mackenzie was alright aside from some pain in his shoulder. The body armor had absorbed most of the impact, though the concussion of the bullet had left him with a sprain at least. Perhaps there was more, he refused to be looked at, but when asked if he could go on, he nodded and stood.
"Look what I found," Officer Grey said, coming forward. Pinched between his forefinger and thumb was a micro, hanging limp by its tail. It was a fox, by the look of it, orange colored and nude, as micros usually were. Maybe a female. There was a very slight wideness of the hips and a protrusion of the chest. Though, given how small it was, Sergeant Groznyi could not tell for sure. Grey, the husky, let everyone see the limp looking fox, before he pulled his helmet off and dropped it to his side. Then, he threw the micro high into the air by its tail. Opening his elongated mouth, Grey positioned himself beneath the micro, whose elevation was just now arching, and then it began to plummet. Grey would have caught the little fox in his mouth, where its fate was clear, had Sergeant Groznyi's hand not shot forward. His hand clenched into a fist, and sickly crimson exploded out, splashing onto Grey's snout and eyes. The husky recoiled, shaking his head, as the sergeant moved to him and wiped his stained hand on the husky's chest.
"We are here to kill or capture the enemy," Sergeant Groznyi said. "We are not here to eat them. I told you that. We are doing this all by the book."
"Yes sir," Officer Grey said, lowering his head. His ears bent down. His tail went limp. He took up his pistol and knife, and looked for his orders to follow.
"If we manage to catch a micro," Sergeant Groznyi said. "You put it on your belt." He brushed over his belt, then flicked open a large, silver compartment. About ten inches in height, and ten inches in diameter, after he opened it, it displayed five harnesses, stacked side to side. "If you capture a micro, you put it in this. Push their torso forward, it will automatically lock around their waist. You got that?"
Soft nods and growls noted their understanding. The squad resumed walking, returning to the herringbone formation, though Mackenzie was now bringing up the rear, a hopefully less dangerous position. "Keep your eyes open for trip wires, disturbed earth, or buried spikes. Keep your nose open for gun oil, poisons, gasoline, or feces."
"Sergeant, how are they doing all this?"
"Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. We've got to secure the area, and then we can call in the exterminators."
So they walked, eyes swiveling side to side. By grace of god, however, there didn't seem to be any more traps. The attack had wakened something in Sergeant Grozynyi, now he was expecting anything: trip wires that would release swinging balls of death, buried ordinance, more little Micro gunners, or even a whole swarm of Micros armed with pikes and spears that would attack at their ankles. His eyes weaved from side to side, looking for any glint of reflection or a crash or the sound of a gunshot. A few minutes passed, and there was enough of a break in the texture of the ground that Sergeant Grozynyi deemed it a trap. Picking up a large rock, and tossing it against the ground, the ground suddenly gave way. Sergeant Grozynyi instinctively backed away, as the hole continued to widen and spread out, until the hole had been revealed to be around six feet wide. And looking down, he saw that it was roughly ten feet deep. Ten feet wasn't enough to kill a trained soldier, who understood how to tuck and roll on impact. Even a random hiker might escape with only a broken leg. But the jagged, jutting spikes that rose up from the ground, not to mention the sickening brown sludge that dotted each of the spear tips, they would prove fatal.
"How could the Micros...?"
"They have help," Sergeant Grozynyi said. "Sympathizers. Now shut up and pay attention."
They had been walking in formation for almost an hour before they finally found the city. And even then, that was primarily done through lots and lots wandering around, as well as following the traps. The closer they came to the city, the more traps they came across, until they found...
Well, it was a little like a toy city. Several trees had been cleared out, making a diameter of around of around twenty feet. In the center of this clearing, were several little boxes, lined shoulder to shoulder, with space enough at their front that there could be "streets". From the distance (Sergeant Grozynyi and his squad were hiding behind the thickness of the trees), the little houses looked to be composed of twigs and leaves and stone, like toy log cabins. Sergeant Grozynyi actually squatted to one knee, and took out a pair of binoculars that were worn at his front. He examined the little architecture, marveling at it, before lifting to his feet. Hoisting his shield to his front, he began to walk forward. He had taken three steps out of the covering of the trees when a gunshot rang out, and struck the shield, making a little ping. Sergeant Grozynyi continued forward, though there were constant little punches and dings as the bullets struck or bounced off the shield. Sergeant Grozynyi came within a few feet of the toy city, before planting his shield down.
"Micros," he said with a loud, booming voice, when the gunshots finally stopped. Either the micros understood they couldn't penetrate the thickness of the shield, or they were reloading. Either way, he had to talk fast. "I am Sergeant Adamska Grozynyi of the NCPD. I have a warrant for all your arrests. If you surrender, I can guarantee you will be protected and prosecuted under the guidance of the law. If you refuse to come, I will have your entire city razed with grenades, and this area gassed for kill any survivors. My men will surround your city, and if any of you are seen attempting to flee, I will order my men to throw their grenades, and then have any of your survivors crushed and devoured. You have thirty minutes to surrender. Any who do not by that time will be executed and gassed. If you desire to surrender, approach one of my men. Remove your clothing, your weapons, and surrender yourself one at a time, hands and arms held over your head. You have thirty minutes."
Sergeant Grozynyi lifted his shield, and carefully backed away, before returning to the cover the trees. The sergeant planted his shield down and squatted down, setting his watch to count down from thirty.
For a long time, the micros remained in their little city. Perhaps they had all organized for a town meeting, to discuss what would happen. Truthfully, Sergeant Grozynyi couldn't fault them for not believing he would treat them fairly. They no doubt suspected that, the moment they made themselves known, they would be grinded beneath paws. It didn't matter though. Sergeant Grozynyi took one of the grenades off his belt. Each man in his unit had two fragmentation grenades, along with a gas grenade, that would release a choking powder that would linger over the town for some time.
"Sergeant," said Officer Jameson said, pointing forward. Sergeant Grozynyi looked past his shield, to see a small column of micros coming forward. He squinted slightly. Each of the micros was nude, and held their little hands over their head. They walked in a little single file line. Sergeant Grozynyi walked forward to meet them. He squatted slightly, but still towered over the tiny creatures, most of who weren't even taller than his ankle. He moved his shield to the side, understanding that that would present his front to a sniper, but taking a chance. "I'm going to pick you up," he said slowly. "You'll be transported in these carrying cases." He showed the case that clung to his belt. One of the micros, a little gazelle; a woman by the slight protrusion of her chest, came forward. Sergeant Grozynyi, as careful as he could, pinched the little thing by one of her arms. He opened the compartment, and pushed her inside.
As the number of micros began to rise, more and more coming out of the city and pooling before Sergeant Grozynyi, the others came out of the trees, holding their weapons level, as if the pistols might do something against such minuscule targets. Something occurred to Sergeant Grozynyi however: there weren't enough carrying compartments to take all the micros prisoner.
The others noticed that too. Officer Jameson looked to Sergeant Grozynyi, placing his pistol in its holster, and tapped the ground with his hoof. What he was suggesting was obvious. Sergeant Grozynyi gave a sigh. By now, they had about six micros inside the little housing on their belt.
"Micros," he said, addressing the assorted mass that was before him. "We can only take thirty of you captive, and there are clearly... more than that... Select the thirty that you want to surrender. I give you my word, they will all be treated humanely, and the death penalty is off the table. They will... be imprisoned, for the rest of their natural life, but they will not be harmed. The rest, will be executed humanely."
It was a horrifying order for Sergeant Grozynyi, though Officer Grey seemed excited at the thought of executing a whole sea of micros by himself. Sergeant Grozynyi kept a close eye on the husky, in case he decided to jump forward with the execution. There was a low sob in the air, as the micros began to decide who would be spared. They all huddled together and discussed in voices low enough that the sergeant could not hear. It seemed as if the youngest would, of course, be taken. Then the women, though they simply did not have the capacity to take all them, and there were still several women and youthful men in the center mass, all holding together. It was odd, how none of them even attempted to run. Perhaps they accepted that this entire area would be razed, and the thought of thirty of their kin surviving was better than all of them dying.
When their belts were full, the dozens of micros just rested and waited, sitting on the ground with their heads down between their legs. Sergeant Grozynyi sighed. He tried asking if the micros had... any preference, but they were all unresponsive. They didn't even curse at him, or shout. They had all just given up. Using pistols would be absurd for targets so small. It would be harder than killing rats, and probably end up only wounding many of the little creatures, leaving them to bleed out in agony for precious minutes. And the grenades would be too dangerous, and there was no way to be sure they would kill all of them. Then the little creatures would be left to smother in the gas. The sergeant sighed, and gave the order that they were to be crushed under paw, though, to do it quickly and efficiently. There was to be no grinding, no toying, no games. Just quick, efficient, and painless executions. That didn't stop Officer Grey from being a bit enthusiastic, but he was quick at least: stomping the micros, twisting his foot side to side, and then lifting it to crush another. Sergeant Grozynyi was oddly happy that the micros were all staring down. To look up to the paw, covered in the gore of their brothers and best friends, and knowing that that foot was going to stomp down upon them. He heard a little squeaking on his belt, little sobbing. He placed a hand down on the slit, not wanting the micros to see or to hear their crying and screams.
Eventually, all that was on the ground was a mass of crimson goo. Sergeant Grozyni ordered each of the soldiers to wipe their feet. He ordered it because Officer Grey would have happily left the gore and muck on his foot to remind him of what he would do. Officer Grey was flustered and panting softly, tongue rolled out of his mouth. Sergeant Grozynyi was tempted to punch him but refrained, instead just flexing the fingers on his hand. He ordered his men to throw their grenades, and toss them into the micro town, razing it. Last were their gas grenades, to choke out any who might have been hiding, and were not killed by the explosion. At last Sergeant Grozynyi and his men turned, and headed back for the pick up.