This Machine Kills (2 page)

   Taylor, who had watched with bemused curiosity, offered the unlikely looking trooper a sarcastic smile,

   “Thanks for joining us Spike.”

   Spike nodded, returning a curt smile of his own.

   They had pulled up on a patch of waste ground that had once been a place of recreation. In the old days, a Sunday morning on the vast space would have seen at least ten games of football being played by wheezing men who hadn’t bothered turning up for the mid-week training session. A single, splintered goalpost was the only visible testament to the ground’s former life. Other than that, it looked more like a battlefield with large craters pock-marking the whole site and a complete absence of grass. Taylor could remember his father putting him through sprint-training drills there whilst the other kids his age played keep-ups.

   The area was the unofficial buffer zone between the State-of-the-art City that lay behind them, its skyscrapers gleaming as they reflected the morning sun, and the urban squalor known as the Old-Town they now faced. It was to this decaying pile of bricks, steel and rubble that Taylor was about to send his team.

   “Listen-in then boys,” he said, his voice raised but calm, “this area has been identified as a hot-zone.”

   He nearly blushed as he heard himself speak. He sounded just like Captain Mason.

   “From the information we’ve been given, it’s highly probable that last week’s attacks were launched from here.”

   “Yeah right,” Lennox grumbled, “I bet we don’t see shit.”

   “I’ll take fifty dollars on that,” Spike answered quickly, “something’s gonna go down today. I’ve got an ache in my balls and you know what that means.”

   Lennox reached over to shake Spike’s hand in acceptance of the bet, “I hope you’re right bro, I feel like popping some of those fuckers.”

  Spike laughed, “You won’t ‘pop’ anything, I’ve seen your shooting and it’s fucking ugly.”

  Lennox shook his head, “Why you gotta talk shit like that in front of the new boy?”

   “Because it’s true,” Spike answered, before breaking into a deep, belly laugh.

   “Listen to this Doyle,” he said, turning to address the newest member of the team, “one time Lennox over here left his helmet on the ground and this stinking old dog pissed all over it.”

   “Shut up Spike,” Lennox said.  

   Spike ignored him, “So then he decides he’s going to teach it a lesson and tries to take it out.”

   Lennox’s face had begun to redden, “I said shut the fuck up, Spike.”

   “The fool went through an entire clip and still managed to miss,” Spike continued, undeterred, “I’m telling you, the thing was so old it could barely walk. I swear I never knew dogs could laugh until that day.”

  He gave Lennox a smile as he wiped a tear of mirth from his eye, “Even that mutt could see what an asshole you are.”

  Although they all laughed, it was Doyle who was Lennox’s target. He stared at the boy accusingly,

   “You think that’s funny do you?” he growled, “Well you try talking to me like that fat fuck just did and you’ll you get my boot up your ass.”

   He jabbed his finger towards Doyle, “I want the respect that is due.”

   “Hey Lennox,” Spike said, his middle finger sticking up, “respect this.”

  Taylor quickly stepped in before things could escalate, “Ok girls, let’s play nice. Lennox, I’m sure Doyle has the utmost respect for you, right?”

  Doyle nodded back, a little too quickly for Taylor’s liking.

  “And Spike, I think you’re mistaken. This is going to be a simple patrol. I don’t expect any trouble,
Ok
?”

  Spike quickly caught Taylor’s meaning.

   “The Sarge is right, this’ll be a breeze,” he said to Doyle, “you’re going to have to learn to ignore me. I’m just the fat driver, I don’t know shit.”

  “There we go,” Taylor said, a note of content in his voice, “now if you don’t mind, do you think we can get back to the fucking brief?”

  When nobody said anything he continued, “You all know the routine, we’re going to sweep the entire area.”

   He pointed towards the crumbling streets that consumed their view. Dilapidated buildings loomed over them from both sides, poised to collapse on anyone foolish enough to pass beneath them.

   “If anything looks suspicious, we investigate it, and if we come across hostilities, we respond with the necessary force. Otherwise…”

   Taylor cast his stare onto Lennox and Rudy, “You keep control, I don’t want to see another bloodbath today. Got it?”

   “Yes Sir!” Doyle shouted, as Lennox and Skinner grunted in the affirmative. Rogers gave a solemn nod. Taylor knew he was steady and unlikely to get trigger-happy.

   “What about you Rudy, do I make myself clear?”

   “Oh yeah Sarge,” Rudy replied, “crystal.”

   Lennox shook his head, “This is fucking bullshit man, look at the size of me, I’m built for smashing shit up, not walking. I’m going to lose some serious muscle mass today Sarge. You realise that, right?”

   “What you complaining about?” Skinner called down to Lennox, “I love these patrols.”

   Looking up at his friend, Lennox used his hand to shield the sun from his eyes,

    “That’s ’cos you to get to sit up there shooting the fuck out of those sons of bitches. How about we change places for once?”

   Skinner laughed, “I don’t think so bud, you know I’m the only one allowed to play with Vicky.”

   He reached out and run his hand lovingly along the black metallic paintwork on the giant machine gun in front of him. At least twenty stick men were stencilled along the side of the weapon in white spray-paint. A large, red cross went through each of their torsos, neatly quartering the victims.

   “My girl needs to be treated right. If you came up here, you’d just jam her up with those clumsy hands of yours.”

  He leant forward and kissed the gun, “That’s right baby, I’m not letting that fool anywhere near you.”

   Taylor turned to Doyle, who was staring into a ditch off to his left.

   “Doyle, pay attention! I thought I made myself clear at base.”

   “Sorry Sarge, It’s just…” he nodded at the bloated corpse of a man facedown in a slow trickling river of shit. He was wearing a white t-shirt with his trousers wrapped around his ankles exposing the mottled veins on his greyish-blue ass to the world.

   It hit Taylor that this was probably the first time Doyle had seen a dead body. Unlike the rest of his team who were so familiar with death they forgot to notice it anymore, Doyle had spent most of his life sheltered in a germ-free, air-conditioned atmosphere. He was a City boy, where powerful fans blasted over the populace, protecting their delicate noses from the decay that festered around them. Taylor envied him for his ignorance.

   “Stay with me,” he told the boy, “you’ll be fine.”

   He only hoped he sounded convincing enough.

Chapter 2

   The Rhino trundled slowly over the cracked and weed-strewn tarmac with the team leading ahead on foot. Their weapons were trained on potential ambush points in the ravaged buildings that surrounded them and every few seconds their eyes would scan downwards to check for booby traps. Taylor and Doyle had taken the right flank whilst Lennox and Rudy covered the left. Rogers took up the rear position on his own. 

   It would have been easy to believe an atomic bomb had gone off in any one of the streets they had patrolled that morning. Most of the windows were smashed, and everything was affected to some degree by the products of fire. Doors either hung from their hinges, ready to fall off, or had been removed altogether, allowing anyone who wished it access.

   Graffiti marked every filthy wall. Not artistic murals, but gang signs threatening rivals that had stumbled too far into enemy territory. Other slogans were used as vents of frustration: CLEERSKIES SUX ASS, SECFORCE KILLZ, and the one that had made Taylor chuckle to himself; MILTON IS A CUNT.

   With the exception of a few looted objects that had been rejected due to their uselessness, the scorched streets were empty. They passed an abandoned television with a piece of metal pipe protruding from the cracked screen like the periscope of a submarine and on one street corner the charred breasts of a female mannequin stood to attention as the Rhino crossed its path.

   The occasional gaunt face they witnessed hiding in the doorways quickly retreated into darkness when it caught sight of the team. Their movements reminded Taylor of a rodent whose nocturnal activities had been disturbed by a man brandishing a powerful flashlight. If it were not for these few brief glimpses of life, it would have been easy to believe the place had been deserted for decades.

     As they walked, Taylor cast regular glances at Doyle. Although he tried to hide it, the look of shock on his face was unmistakable. It was his job to keep a close eye on his surroundings, but Doyle stared so intently at the gutted environment, he had almost come to a complete stop. Taylor had seen the same expression many times before when kids like him first set their eyes on the waste-ground that enveloped their natural habitat.

   “You ok trooper?”

   Doyle looked over his shoulder and offered a meek grin. His complexion was even paler than when they had left SecForce headquarters.

   “What is this place Sarge?” he asked, “it looks like hell.”

    Taylor managed to suppress his laughter,

  “This isn’t hell Doyle, this is Jubilee Street. My mother used to bring me shopping here when I was kid.”

  “Yeah?” Doyle looked amazed at the claim, “I guess it must have been a nice place in those days?”

   “Not really, this was always the arse-end of the town… You see that building there,” Taylor nodded at the burnt-out husk of what had once been a shop front,

  “That used to be a butcher’s shop… I think.”

  Doyle stared at the ruins of the store, trying to visualise how it would have looked in its former life.

   “It must be strange to see how things have turned out,” he finally said.

   “You got that right,” Taylor answered, “now pick up the pace before we fall behind.”

    Raised voices followed by the sound of a bottle smashing caused Taylor to spin his assault rifle in the direction of the noise. Two old winos; one sitting, one standing, were involved in a drunken argument in the porch-way of another fire-damaged shop a little way up the street.

   Being on Lennox and Rudy’s flank, they were almost halfway to the men before Taylor had even moved.

   “Hold your fire,” he shouted, knowing the pair’s likely reaction. He was in no shape to deal with the smell of fresh guts.

   With their weapons aimed, Lennox and Rudy charged toward the commotion with Taylor running behind to catch them up.

   “Wha-the-fuc-do-ya-wan?” yelled the bum on his feet at the rampaging troopers.

   He was answered by the stock of Lennox’s pump-action shotgun smashing him directly in the jaw. The force of the action lifted the man clean off his feet. He was unconscious before he hit the floor. Rudy kicked the sitting wino square in the chest, knocking him flat on his back. He stabbed his rifle at the man’s face.

   “Are you a terrorist?”

   The drunk looked up at him with a blank stare.

   “I said, are you a fucking terrorist? You better talk old man or I’ll put a hole in your head.”

   The prone figure raised himself onto his elbows and gave out a chuckle that quickly turned into a rasping cough.

   “A terrorist?  No sonny, I’m an alcoholic.”

   He laughed again, only to be knocked down again by the sole of Rudy’s boot smashing into his solar plexus.

   Taylor arrived and wrenched Rudy’s arm back, swinging him around so they faced each other. The anger in Rudy’s face quickly transformed into a passive, if contemptible smile. 

“Everything OK Sarge?” he asked, still smiling.

   Taylor let go of his elbow, trying not to wince at the smell of shit and piss exuding from the stinking men.

   “He’s not a terrorist Rudy,” he answered calmly, “he’s a bum.”

   “Thanks sonny,” the drunk shouted from below.  

   Taylor thought it was probably the most sincere thing anybody had said to him all day.

   “I was just doing my job, Sarge,” Rudy said, “thought it was best to play it safe.”

   He was too. In basic training, this line of questioning was how the recruits were taught to address potential suspects. They were told not to risk conversing with anyone they considered a threat, but simply to ask them if they were terrorists. If they said yes, they were to treat them with the necessary force. If the suspect said no and they didn’t believe them, again necessary force could be shown. It was a licence for the security forces to do whatever they chose to, and in Lennox and Rudy’s cases, they usually chose to shoot.

    “Next time you see us coming,” Taylor said to the drunk, who now seemed content to lay where he was, “you and your friend need to keep out of the way, otherwise you may not be so lucky.”