Operation: Pacifica, Flat Earth Society
by J. FoxGlov (foxglov@ksu.edu)




 This wasn't a happy moment for Lieutenant Chris Andrews.


 Twenty feet away, the tide swept up the remnants of many poorly
  engineered mini-sandcastles. Swarms of bleary-eyed humans in gaudy swim
  trunks pockmarked the beach of Pacifica's lagoon, mindlessly reforming the
  sand immediately in front of the crashing waves, which would just wash them
  away again. Occasionally a killer wave would sweep up the castle and the
  builder as well, who was often too engrossed to move.


 None of this was happening now. Now, the spounge minions had fled
  to their prefabricated, pastel-colored huts in the village that surrounded
  the tiny inlet on the western side. The Dobermensch fleet, anchored just
  outside the inlet, had dispatched its hovercraft. Jihad soldiers and
  generals alike had scoured the beach minutes after they disembarked, and
  were making their way through the city.


 The population of 'minions was too busy either mounting a pitiful
  defense against the invaders, or as usual, unable to tear themselves away
  from their TV sets to save their lives. The confusion provided cover for
  Andrews, and his comrade Lieutenant Richter, who both were unable to join in
  the fun, so to speak.


 "C'mon Ric... wake up. Egh..." Andrews stifled a hiss of pure
  frustration as he held Richter's head upright against the side of a house on
  the village perimeter. He only knew what his Corps emergency medical
  training had taught him about humanoid physiology, enough to know the victim
  should be taken out of the sun to avoid overexposure, and held upright to
  aid normal breathing.


 His tail swished anxiously. Richter only took shallow, ragged
  breaths, the sun had burned a red shade straight through his bronze
  complexion, and he seemed to be running a fever. And he hadn't responded to
  any shouts or prods, only occasional mumbling.


 Andrews sighed, and glanced around. He hated the water, even more
  after having to swim what might have been ten feet or ten miles with the
  unconscious human draped over his side. The two had been blown free from the
  wreck of the DE fleet transport ship, the WolfBane, that had carried them
  within sight of Pacifica, only to blow up in a freak engine explosion.
  Thankfully they had both been on deck at the time.


 He couldn't decide whether the timing was good or bad. The swimming
  distance had been possible, sure, but the confusion caused by the explosion
  minutes after the island had been sighted by the rest of the fleet made the
  survivor rescue half-effective at best. The two had been lucky enough to
  land close to one another, and Andrews had been particularly lucky to stay
  conscious after he hit the water. The two reached shore immediately
  following the first few hovercraft, and had limped to the perimeter.


 Andrews glanced around, realizing something. _He's drying out_, he
  thought to himself. _All that salt drying out on his skin can't feel too
  good either. Where's a garden hose when you need one?_


 He scrambled to the backside of a nearby house. _Here's one...
  uff!_ He tugged at the hose, impatiently clawing it free of a ridiculous
  magenta water toy. He pointed it at Richter's parched face and turned on the
  flow.


 "Ackptht!" After a mere second, Richter was sitting up holding his
  hands to fend off the stream. "Enough! Give me that thing!" He snatched the
  hose away and drank.


 Andrews was unsure whether to look amused or concerned, so he
  maintained his usual unreadable expression. "We need to move. Hurry up."


 Richter tossed aside the hose. "Why, where are we?" He looked
  around, squinting at the reflections of the sun off the houses, and the
  sounds of distant gunfire.


 "Never mind." The two were off along the perimeter. With the
  diversion behind them, both found it easy going. The random, spiraling
  streets of the city stretched out to the east, and every resource was being
  dispatched to the inner bay area.


 A few miles, then a few more, until neither one had the advantage
  of stamina. The two collapsed in front of a greenish shed whose front
  overlapped a road that ran parallel to the treeline jungle.


 Richter opened his foil-wrapped caffiene pill ration, and handed
  one to Andrews. "This is intolerable. We can't keep walking the whole way."
  He sat up, and peered at the road through collapsible binoculars. Far in the
  distance a guard post could be seen next to another road, clear-cut through
  the jungle. The guard was sitting at his post, eyes downcast to a glowing
  gadget on his wrist.


 "He's watching the show." Richter smirked painfully, and adjusted
  the focus just a hair, pulling back to a spot in the road closer to him.


 He frowned, and passed the binoculars to Andrews, pointing in the
  direction of the spot. "What... is *that*?"


 Andrews grunted and sat up, peering at the place Richter pointed
  out.  "Erm... well, it's gray, set in the ground, about 6 feet in diameter,
  3 feet deep, semi-smooth surface." He handed the binoculars back. "Looks
  like a crater."


 Richter gave a nonplussed look, and shrugged, too exhausted to
  argue.  He raised himself up to have another look... and heard a sound.
  Rumbling.  Close, with a dull thumping that echoed.


 *kludge* ... *kludge* ... *kludge* ... *kludge* ...


 "You hear something?"


 The briefest pause. "Chris?" Richter looked to the side, into a
  very glassy, bewildered gold-scaled face. He turned to follow Andrews's
  gaze, and sat shocked.


 From within the city, towering just above the tallest houses, came
  the hulk of blazing pseudo-purple metal. A Wyrmbot, fifteen feet high at the
  shoulder and looking for all the world like B'Harnii with a lot fewer
  rounded edges, tromped noisily towards the clear road.


 Before either of the two could react, the door to the shed flew
  open, a crackling blue field surrounded them both, and yanked them inside in
  an instant, the door slamming shut behind them.


 "Shhh," a voice hissed. Richter and Andrews knew it was J even
  before they noticed the glow behind them. They peeked out through a hole in
  the door, watching the bot tromp along, a strange yellow truck passing in
  front of it, towards the guard post to a stop.


 "A truck!" Richter got a paw around the mouth for his outburst.
  "Yes, I see it, Lieutenant," J replied in much quieter tones. "We need it."
  He pulled his hand away, and glanced around the inside of the shed, eyes
  adjusting to the darkness.


 _Hello,_ J thought to himself as his foot bumped against a large
  wooden box on the floor, thoughtfully marked "NO" in bright green letters.
  This demanded inspection.


 The 'bot ground to a halt behind the truck, blocking it from view.
  It had apparently been sent to aid the guard in guarding the jungle passage,
  but wasn't expecting company... just yet.


 "...only when necessary, and only under strict Lyran supervision.
  All rights reserved, copyright 1995 Lyran Corporate Research." J mumbled to
  himself, reading a long white tag attached to the prize inside the box.  He
  passed a glowing hand across his new toy -- a spaceage pistol, something out
  of Flash Gordon. Huge, almost unwieldy, like a squash with a handle and a
  gunmetal grey parabolic dish for a barrel. The rest yellow.  Bright yellow.


 _Dunno what you do,_ J thought to himself, _but I like you
  already._ He turned to the door, and whispered to the two lieutenants.
  "Here's what we do."


 Ten seconds later, one Aurak and one crossbreed human burst from
  the shed, sprinting for either side of the 'bot. J stood his ground just
  outside the shed, raised the pistol at a high angle, and pulled the trigger.


 *PWMMMMMM* *FWAAIIISH* *CRUNCH*


 J's eyes went wide at the sight of the gun's discharge. He quickly
  lowered it, gaping as if it could tell him more. He completely missed seeing
  the Wyrmbot's head explode with terrific force, the body toppling backwards
  onto its tail, or the remaining two crewmembers making a hysterical escape
  back into the city, arms flailing.


 Andrews had just sidearmed one of the truck's occupants into a
  nearby tree's branches when the Wyrmbot fell over. Stunned, he dropped the
  remaining occupant into the dirt. Richter was more nonchalant, grinning.
  "Nice fuckin' Gun."


 The latter strode to the other side of the car, punched Andrews in
  the shoulder to pull him back into reality, and glanced over at the guard.
  Still watching his wrist TV.


 "Let's see." Years of experience as a helmsman on an Alliance ship
  should have provided him with enough know-how to drive a truck, surely.
  Quite a piece of work, too. Somewhere between a humvee and a Tonka [tm].  He
  yelled after his Admiral. "Sir! You coming?"


 J shook his head and made a few running vaults of the wreckage,
  jumping in the back. "Hit it."


 Andrews remembered something as Richter stepped on the gas.
  "Sir...how'd you get here, anyway?"


 "You saw that crater back there?"


 "Um, yes."


 J rapped his knuckles against his temple. "Ouch."



-tbc