Chapter Three – Coffee Break-in

Chapter Three – Coffee Break-in

“Washington: What about the New Montreal branch? How are you faring?

New Montreal: NM is doing well enough. We have a few promising new samurai. None of them are space-capable yet. Our crop of high-tier samurai are all in Mars orbit already. We’re left with a few mid-tier samurai that have been keeping to themselves.”

–New Montreal Family Internal Messaging, 2057

***

“Hey,” I said as I pointed to a little coffee shop on the corner ahead. It looked like the place still had power. Actually, most of this area was still powered. Lights were on indoors, and the streetlights on a few corners were still flitting between Coca-cola red, McDonald’s yellow and Fanta green.

“What is it, boss?” Crackshot asked.

The road ahead of us was littered with dead aliens. Still mostly just model threes and maybe a few model fives and sixes to spice things up, but it was overwhelmingly small-fry that we were dealing with. “Let’s stop over there, grab a drink, take five.”

“It’s probably not open,” Knight pointed out. She was breathing heavily and covered in a whole heap of alien blood.

“Uh, yeah, I figured as much, but the lights are on. They probably have fridges with drinks, right?” I said.

“I guess?” Knight said.

“Right, so what’s the problem?” I asked.

She paused for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess it’s mostly just… not allowed? Sorry, I’m still not used to thinking like, well, thinking like a samurai, which I’m not, so… yeah.”

That was fair. “Don’t sweat it,” I said. “I don’t think the owners will be too pissed that we popped in to grab a drink. Hell, if they find out, they might use it for advertising or something.”

Knight nodded along, and we crossed the road to the sounds of distant gun-fire. We were still a little ahead of the soldiers, having pushed forwards while they moved in a more… stuttery fashion. They’d cover one road, clear it, then move on to the next with a fresh squad or whatever. It gave those who’d just done some work time to reload and such.

There was a communication network running between the three battalions present, and all of the smaller platoons that made up those battalions. I was privy to it, since some members of the brass were still running along the misconception that I knew what I was doing.

The moment I clicked into the command channel I picked up some chatter. There was a helpful little readout box that popped up in my augs. Some secretarial AI transcribing everything that had been spoken so far. People were still talking aloud though, of course.

“East flank reporting in. I have three injured that need moving here. Low-priority.”

“West flank, update on the fire situation. We have three trucks hosing it down. Should be under control.”

“Keep me posted, west flank,” a familiar-ish voice said. The coms transcribed it as coming from Lieutenant Colonel Juno.

I cleared my throat. “This is Stray Cat, on the east flank. I was wondering if we could slow progress down a little on this side? Unless we’re far behind the west flank?”

“You’re a little ahead of the west flank at the moment,” Juno said. “May I ask what the pause is for?”

“Uh, I need to check in on everyone, and the broader situation. Crackshot’s still raring to go, but I think Knight needs five. Hell, I could use a bit of water too, you know?”

“Right. I’ll tell the sergeants on your flank to hold their next position. We could use some time to reorganise and bring ammo up to the front as well. Some troops need to be moved back.”

I frowned at the last, then focused more on what was going on immediately around me. Crackshot and Knight had moved ahead while I was a little distracted. They were tugging at the predictably locked doors of the coffee shop. Crackshot pulled out the handgun at his belt, some sort of revolver, then blew a hole the size of a melon through the door and its lock.

An alarm went off in the shop, and the two slipped in and started looking for a way to shut it down.

“Are there lots of injuries?” I asked.

“No ma’am,” Juno said. “But this is the first encounter with xenos for a lot of our ground troops. Puck Battalion is three-quarters filled with less experienced soldiers. Regulation suggests pulling soldiers back after their first violent encounter if their augmentations detect any major signs of stress.”

“Wild,” I said. I supposed it made some sense. Needed to ease people into the idea that if they fucked up, they’d be eaten. “Didn’t know we were dealing with so many noobies.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“The Seventy-Seventh Recon Company and Twenty-Second ‘Maple’ Battalion are all veterans,” the Lieutenant Colonel defended. “Don’t worry, ma’am, we’ll handle our part. Let me know when you’re ready to move again and I’ll unpause the flank.”