"He'll make it." A disembodied voice grumbled in the darkness.
"Suit stopped mos' tha bleedin'," Another grunted, it's words soaked with a small town twang. "Ain't no reason to jus' leave him here. Give him a jump start, Doc."
There was silence again for a brief moment, then fire coursed through Merrik's body. Pain was an understatement as a medic injected the wounded soldier with adrenaline. The lord said let there be light. And there was.
Eyes snapping open, Merrik's first reflex was to sit up, grab his rifle and, well, do what he was trained to do. That would have happened too if it hadn't been for his suit, all 300lbs of it, refusing to move.
"Give me a second, Klains." The first voice spoke up again. "I locked your suit up to keep you from convulsing."
Merrik stared into the night sky, bombshells and flares still igniting turning night to day. Glancing down into the bottom of his visor, he could see three lights blinking red. The medic fidgeted with something in the back of Merrik's suit, and the slow passing of time soon became an annoyance.
Red light....Nothing....Red light....nothing....Green light...Party Time.
His suit hummed quietly as the internal computer came to life, stiff joints loosened and a Heads-Up-Display popped up on his visor. Grabbing for his gun, which thankfully rested nearby, Merrik pulled himself up and finally got his chance to survey the battlefield.
"Staff Sargent Fredricks," An artillery shell exploded near by, both of the soldiers cringed a little. As the ringing faded, the medic continued. "Fredricks patched your suit. He moved up the line."
Merrik looked down at his leg, confirming what the medic said. A grey, unpainted piece of steel was welded into place where the gapping hole was before. Patting the medic on the shoulder, a silent thanks, the soldier looked towards the frontlines, and headed off that way.
'Easy, this is Baseplate. Looks like the Brass is bringing in a phantom. Captain Krieger. Hope you boys like fireworks, he's bringing the Omen with him.'
The Comms chatter was alive, now more than ever with the momentum shifting after Merrik's stunt. An opening for a Harbinger Battle Suit to be dropped, breathing room finally. Looking to off to his left as he headed up the line, a vertibird touched down, kicking up dust all around obscuring its cargo.
"Harbinger to Easy Company. I hear you boys are looking for some bigger guns. Hope you wont mind us stealin' some glory. I hear the girls love them a war hero."
The Vertibird released its hold on its cargo, taking off almost as quick as it has touched down. Gears whinned as 20 tons of steel stepped out onto the battlefield. 25 feet tall, body width of roughly 14 feet, the mechanicle death dealer walked up right on two legs, each 15 feet. It's body was squared, yet had curves in the armor specifically for deflecting artillery rounds and rockets. A haze of blue surrounded the Harbinger, and as the first bullet struck, the area consumed by the haze lit up. A shield. For shoulders the machine had multi-rpgs, housed in a square box of steel similar to that used on attack helicopters. Ontop of the head swiveled a turret, loaded and ready with hot plasma rounds. The arms, each with a span of 12 feet, lowered and aimed, instead of hands for this goliath, there were chain guns, the bullets fed from an internal feeder to prevent jamming and sabatoge. Inside, a team of two highly skilled engineers, Michael and Charlie, worked the contraption as if it were an extent of thier own body, one controled legs and arms, the other the upper turret and shoulder rockets.
"So who dies first?" Mic chuckled into the radio, over his head he wore a strange visor, when his head turned, so did the turret.
The first to die, unfortunate souls, was a group of rebels stupid enough to thing an emplaced machine gun would defeat this metal giant. With surgical precision, Mic turned the turret, and with the squeeze of a joystick trigger, took out the small squad. Plasma consumed the emplacement weapon, the gun itself melting into mush along with anyone near it. Charlie finished it up, the upper body of the machine whirling around to face the emplacement, the chainguns started up, a high pitched whine as the turrets revolved. And then, bullets. Lots of bullets. 50 caliber, Full metal jacketed, high explosive rounds flew by the dozens. The first struck the sandbag bunker, exploded, and left a hole the size of a man's head in one of the sandbags. Soon 100 more struck, and the once safe haven of a bunker was turned to rubble. Any remaining signs of life were eliminated as an rpg flew from a shoulder canister.
"Another one bites the dust. Alpha-Foxtrot. Requesting new target. Over."
As the Harbinger went about its work, explosive light barely contained by the fog like dust as it fired its guns, Merrik continued his movement up the lines, finally reaching a large trench-like encampment that was the front lines.
Jumping down into the trench, he made his way to the main alcove like bunker made into the trench wall. There inside stood a group of men huddled around a table.
"Mitchell, Shantaclair, O'Leery," Captain Brocklaw, the man in the middle, looked up from his map towards the new guest. "Nice of you to finally get here Klains."