MGF(014): the Paul Cezanne Ch. 01

Synne had often wondered what it would be like to meet one of the charming (if simple) people from the last century. The only remnants of that old group were in hospices, hooked up to virtual reality where they could their final days however they chose. Seemed almost preferable to her, contemplating the dreary landscape of Heath Colony outside her window.

The rain pelted against the windowpane, and ran down the glass in separate beads. Synne traced one's path with her delicate finger before it came to rest at the bottom. She sighed. "Why can't the rain ever stop," she asked herself. She had heard the stories of what the earth was like before the constant rain, but those were just that: stories; the ravings of an old man whom she barely knew. Never mind he was her grandfather.

Ever since joining the military, Synne had not had much time to spend with her family. Which, in one case, she reasoned, was a good thing. Yumer, the Heath Colony's controlling power, began constructing a fighting force after a rival power, Zia'aq hinted at annexing the North France Colony. The front lines of this army were made of the same stuff which the armies of centuries past had been. Men. Men with guns and facial stubble, swearing and spitting their dip spit in a communal old Gatorade bottle.

But that wasn't for her. In fact, it wasn't for women at all. Despite the historic advances of the 21st century (African American president, the curing of AIDS, even the Robotic Discrimination Clause of the legislature), the 22nd century still would not let women fill infantry roles. So Synne took a different path. A path called LA. Lebensarmierung.

Suddenly a shrill siren broke the silence of Synne's room. Once...twice...three times it cut through the room. Then, a voice stiffly announced:

"All attention all, all attention all, this is not a drill. Defensive operations code three to commence in Five Minutes. Repeat, be ready and waiting at your deployment stations in five minutes. LA unit, your uniform is SCPS. Repeat: Sierra Charlie Papa Sierra..."

Synne wasted no time letting the message repeat. By the end of the first sentence she had ripped open her wall locker. She pushed aside her standard camouflage and dress uniforms to the very back. Out of the locker she took her SCPS, or Service Coverall Plug System. Synne removed her undershirt quickly, followed by her trousers. She unhooked her conservative bra, letting her full bust spill out. She didn't hate having to get naked to put on the SCPS, she just wondered if it was really necessary.

She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her cotton panties, sliding them down her soft thighs before kicking them off. Synne stepped into her SCPS one leg at a time, glad that the built-in boots still fit well, then putting her arms into their respective sleeves, adjusting the built-in gloves to assure a snug fit. She zipped the crotch-to-neck zipper, careful not to pinch her generous breasts in the zipper (again). She took hold of her hair, making sure none got caught in the back, and began the 'plug'.

She pressed a small button on each hand, causing her arms to become vacuumed, as the suit formed to fit her arms. She did the same for her legs, and then prepared herself for the last button. Located on her sternum, it was always her...favorite...part of putting on the suit. She pressed it, and braced herself as the material sucked inwards, squeezing her breasts ever so lightly, like the hands of a gentle lover might. At the same time, the suit sucked in to clutch at her mound, as though a palm was cupping it, a tiny bit of material managing to slip in between her labia.

Try as she might, Synne could not remove the camel toe which had formed; the suction was far too strong. "How come it feels so gentle, but I can't get it out," she asked no one in particular. Admittedly, she did enjoy the feel of the thin bit of material rubbing in between her lips as she walked. The alarm once again cut through the room and her revelry, announcing that two and a half minutes remained until commencing of operations.

Synne grabbed her cover off the chair, her coveted white beret, and headed out of her room. In the hall, many soldiers milled about, but none seemed to notice the vision of skintight beauty who had joined them. Normally, she would be annoyed by the fact that no one noticed her, an young lady of eighteen years, soft curves, wearing something looking painted-on, but today, she was annoyed for a different reason.

Though her voice was normally that of your typical girl her age, she could be serious and commanding when she needed to be. "So not one of you bastards calls hall attention when an officer comes on deck!?"

The soldiers all froze where they were, and assumed a group attention, but none spoke. "Waiting," Synne said. One soldier, a corporal she saw, took a step forward, and called rather loudly:

"Hall! Attent-Hun!"

Synne smirked at the recruit's reaction. Sure, he was probably two years or so older than she was, but he seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes ahead and not on her. She liked this attention, but decided to maintain the professional atmosphere. "All of you look at this sonnovabitch. 'A' for effort... 'F' for delayed reaction."

The soldiers just stood and looked on.

"Well, what are you guys doing? Two minutes! Move your asses!" And move they did. Lucky thing that Corporal, Corporal Patterson it was, decided to speak up. He saved them from a shitstorm, she thought. Synne followed the rest of the soldiers, grabbing her overcoat off the wall, and stepped into the crowded elevator.

With a minute to spare, Synne rendezvoused with her maintenance team, who assured her everything was in working order. She turned and looked at that device which, despite how hard she tried, she always found herself inside.

It stood twenty or so feet tall at the shoulder, gleaming in the light streaming through the open hangar door. The large 'feet' led up to the heavy armor surrounding the 'hip' juncture, while the main chasse supported two jointed arms on it's armored shoulders. A head unit for radar sat between the plated shoulders. Synne looked up to it and could see her reflection in the shiny visor where eyes would have gone. Across the left shoulder was embossed it's designation: MGU-MG1-BS2-01J "CEZANNE"

The Cezanne, named after the post-impressionist artist, was one of a kind. Lighter than most LA units...

One of her maintenance team, Lance Corporal Gorbachev, addressed her with a quick salute, and asked, "which plates would you like to deploy with today, ma'am," in his heavy accent. It was the same accent which most from the Balkan Colony carried.

"Wait for the briefing, we need to know what the objective is," she responded.

A man took his place in front of the many gathered troops, to whom he began to explain the situation. A good fifty feet behind the main group, Synne could barely hear the man's gruff voice:

"The enemy has been advancing slowly for the past three hours. Intel picked up heat signatures around twenty kilometers outside the colony barrier. Orders are to form three lines of defense in front of the main entrance. Traffic has been cut off on road accessing the Colony entrance, so no fear of civilian endangerment."

"That must be why brass OK'd the use of the LA today," Synne reasoned.

"After all, Captain," Gorbachev added, "the LA's like artillery."

"Refresh my memory, Gorbie?"

"Don't use it unless you want to kill. Everything."

The man finished giving his orders, and the main infantry moved out. He moved towards Synne and her team. "So," he mused as he approached, "this is the infamous Ironblood Angel, Heath Colony's Ace."

"I didn't come up with it, sir. It's just something they came up with," she responded, pointing to her team.

"I suppose when you have something like this under your control, it's hard to lose, eh?"

Synne turned to the Cezanne. True it was an amazing piece of engineering and programming, but it also took the skill of a pilot to make it work. "Yeah, the Cezanne's one hell of a machine, sir."

"And it's got one hell of a pilot," the Major said under his breath, circling behind Synne and running his hand over her thigh. The material of her SCPS stretched taught, leaving nothing to imagination. The major moved behind her closer, rubbing against her rear. "All that skill, and yet still so feminine, so soft."

"Major Luco, this is highly unprofessional," Synne said after she could stand no more. "Remove yourself from me before I file a complaint."

"You're threatening your superior, Captain," the Major said, spitting out the last word.

"No, I'm threatening a dirty old man who wormed his way up the ladder." She shook off his grip and walked away towards the Cezanne and her team, and Major Luco left to take command of the infantry. "Sorry you had to see that," she said to her team, who had clearly noticed the display of unwanted attention.

"Don't feel bad," Private Coral, a young woman not a year older than Synne said, "he pulls the same crap around me, but what can I do? He's got rank."

"Yeah," Synne retorted, "but he doesn't have rank in his pants. Now let's fit the Cezanne with the light gunfire rejection. We don't expect any enemy LA, so we can keep it simple."

At once the team got started with fitting the light steel plates onto the form of the Cezanne, as retainers might fit their king with armor. The cockpit hatch in the back opened, and Synne crawled headfirst into the dark, cramped space. Her hands took hold of the grips, and she slid her feet into the holes. A light whir began as the restraints locked around her wrists and feet.

"Whoever was the first to pilot one of these was either very brave or very stupid," Synne said to herself. Cushioned pads rose and descended, holding her torso with a similar gentleness to the SCPS. She knew what was coming, but for some reason, she could never overcome the creepy feeling of the midbrain probes.

"I know, ma'am, just try to relax," Coral's voice chimed in over the intercom. Through the view screen, she had seen the Captain trembling in the cockpit, her eyes locked shut. This happened nearly every time, and Coral couldn't blame the Captain for being put off by the process.

The thin metal tubes extended down and rested on either side of Synne's head. A jet of compressed air fired, and the tiny wires painlessly penetrated her skull. "Remind me again why I have to endure that shit every time, Coral?"

"Certainly, Captain Altaria. The probes are inserted upon entry into the LA in order to more effectively link the desired actions of the pilot to the taken actions of the LA. In effect, if one thinks about walking, the Cezanne will walk."

"Very good, Private. But as usual, it doesn't set me at ease."

"One day you'll get over it, ma'am. And on that day we'll all pop the bubbly."

"Yeah," Synne laughed. "One of these days." She steeled her nerves as the startup procedures happened around her. She opened her eyes, relived that the midbrain probes had finally hacked her eyes. She could see the hangar around her, even turn her head to see everything from the Cezanne's point of view. "Visuals are nominal. I'm heading out. Captain Synne Altaria, launching in the Cezanne."

A voice came over the intercom system, a familiar voice. "You're cleared to sortie to the Colony entrance. Follow main road and stay behind the infantry. End at phase line Charlie."

"Roger."

******************

It was quiet on the backmost phase line. This was Synne's least favorite part of her job: the waiting...the clam before the storm. But then, taking lives was hard for her, so the battle itself was also pretty bad. Then again, all of the paperwork for collateral damage caused by the Cezanne was shitty as well. Come to think of it, most aspects of her job sucked, she thought. "But somehow I always find myself behind the controls of this thing," she said.

"Captain Altaria," the voice on the intercom said, "The enemy will be in range for the first phase line to attack in two minutes. Are you worried?"

"You sound familiar," Synne remarked, ignoring the question. "What's your name?"

"Corporal Patterson," he responded. "I'm the sonnovabitch who called the hall to attention, as you put it. I'll be monitoring your combat today. I must say it'll be a pleasure to analyze your combat data later."

"Who the hell would want to do that," Synne wondered.

"I heard all the stories about the Ironblood Angel, about how you're the ace pilot of this whole division. About how you once took on a whole battalion of enemy infantry by yourself. About how..."

"About what, Corporal?"

"It's nothing..."

Suddenly, a distant explosion rocked the land. Pressure waves momentarily disrupted the rainfall. "Patterson, did we open fire on the enemy?"

"Hang on...No! Command log shows no offensive maneuvers have been executed."

"So it's the enemy," Synne said with a grin. "Finally some action. Ready, Cezanne?"

The Cezanne's visor gleamed in the light of a signal flare, signaling the call to attack. "Hold it, Captain! You can't move up to the front without orders! You could endanger the lives of our infantry already on the scene," Patterson said urgently through the intercom.

"Well then I'll get orders," Synne said calmly. "Open a channel to Major Luco for me, Patterson. "Major Luco?"

"Ah, if it isn't the Angel. What do you want, we're under attack."

"Permission to engage the enemy offensive?"

The major responded angrily, "Absolutely not!"

"Come on now, Major. Remember this morning?"

The Major sighed heavily. 'If you really want to, be careful. I'm withdrawing our primary force. Position's on radar...now. You'd better be going somewhere with this."

Synne smiled. "I'll be adding to my score today," she said. "Try to keep up with the figures, Patterson," she remarked after closing the channel with the Major. "I'm going to engage the enemy from medium range with the MG, then move in close to mop up with the Sabers."

"Confirmed, cleared to move up." Synne looked to her right, and picked up the heavy machine gun on the ground. With 80 caliber rounds, and a fifteen foot barrel, it was just the right size for the Cezanne. She moved up past the second phase line, seeing the withdrawing troops.

A row of enemies was slowly advancing towards the first line. Synne aimed the sights at the enemies, and burst-fired across the line, mowing them down in a single pass. "Good kill," Patterson commented, "lots of little pieces."

"Heads up," Major Luco barked over the intercom, "Enemy Lebensarmierung confirmed. Five in number. They're using old models, but don't let your guard down."

Synne scanned the horizon, and saw the form of five enemy LA's. "I...I can see the enemy. It looks like they're Renaissance-type units. I see four Raphael units, and one unknown type," she reported.

"Our UAV has confirmed the unknown LA as the Van Eyck, in all probability it's an enemy ace. Exercise extreme caution."

Synne fired a burst from her machine gun into one of the Raphael, and seconds later it exploded in a cacophony of orange flame. "That's the old Renn-armor all right. No match for 80 cal." She dispatched another of the Raphael, and dodged a volley of fire from the third. Recovering from the dodge, she brought the machine gun to bear and fired on the third. It fell to the ground to explode seconds later.

As Synne took a breather during the lull in crossfire, she checked the gauges to discover she was nearly out of ammunition. "Shit, I'm low on ammo. Going to move in and deploy beam sabers for close combat."

Major Luco didn't like the sound of that. "We still don't know what the Van Eyck is capable of. Be very careful."

"Will do."

Synne boosted towards the last Raphael unit as energy surged to form the blade of her beam saber. The discharge sparked and the beam formed, just in time to sever the Raphael at the waistline pivot point. A second strike to the main body left the unit inoperable. Suddenly tremors shook the Cezanne, and Synne felt a stinging pain in her back as the midbrain nodes told he she'd been hit.

"Van Eyck has opened fire, Captain. You've been hit in the chasse's rear plate," Patterson reported.

"Think I don't know that," Synne said gritting her teeth in the pain. The Cezanne may have deflected most of the hits, but it still felt as though someone had held a lighter to her lower back. "The Cezanne isn't like other Lebensarmierung, Patterson. It probes my mind in the floor of the midbrain. Scientists tell us that's where love is processed, or the feelings of a parent and child. I know and understand Cezanne, and it passes it's experiences on to me!"

Synne stood and faced the Van Eyck, whose Gatling gun still steamed and spun slowly. "I know that my LA trusts me; it lets me become one with it to fight for our common goal. And that goal is to eliminate those who would hurt the people who are precious to me!"

The Van Eyck began spinning up its weapon for another volley. Synne continued, "I communicate with it through these plugs in my head. I give the orders, and Cezanne executes them. But..." Van Eyck's weapon reached a blur, and let out a salvo, which Synne instinctively avoided. "Cezanne also speaks to me. He improves my orders, helps me do what I cannot. He suggests strategy, and reassures me in times of trouble."

Another volley from Van Eyck grazed across Cezanne's shoulder as Synne began walking forward towards the enemy LA. "And now he's speaking to me again. The fire in his voice burns me like enemy crossfire. His fiery embrace tells me to defeat my enemies!"

Patterson looked on in awe as Synne dropped the machine gun and charged a second beam saber from her hand. As she continued walking, she pointed the second saber at the Van Eyck, and yelled as she began to run, "And today, my enemy is you, pilot of the Van Eyck!"

"Wait, Captain, we don't know what the Van Eyck's close combat capabilities are," Patterson reasoned. But it was too late. Synne sliced cleanly through the Gatling gun with the left saber, and stabbed the right blade through the head of the Van Eyck. She stabbed the munitions box for the Gatling gun and quickly retreated, as the incendiary rounds went off, engulfing the Van Eyck in a cloak of yellow phosphorous-flame.

"Captain, that was highly irresponsible," Major Luco commented on the intercom. "But, it was also a damn good feat of piloting. How did you know the munitions were incendiary?"

She could have told them that Cezanne mentioned it in her brain just before she struck. She could have told them that it was printed on the box itself. "Never distrust a woman's intuition."

Major Luco and Patterson shared a good laugh. "Sometimes, Captain," Patterson snickered, "when I see you pilot the Cezanne, I forget you're a girl."

Synne frowned for a moment. "Oh, is that right," she muttered. "Sometimes I even forget myself I guess," she said, feigning a giggle. Disgusting old Major Luco couldn't get past the fact that she was a girl. But Patterson didn't even notice. "Who fucked up this life of mine," she wondered, as she shut down the Cezanne, slid out the midbrain probes, and jumped out of the cockpit, onto the tarmac. In the middle of the pouring rain. "Just who fucked up my life?"

******************

She could hear his voice permeating the thick, swirling darkness of her uneasy sleep. She felt crowded and claustrophobic even though no walls surrounded her. His voice became clearer. "My angel, my little Synne." His voice was warm; flowing with fatherly affection. All at once the fear surrounding her became warm and soft as she felt a kind embrace. "You're so beautiful, Synne. Just like your mother." The warmth grew, and the grip tightened. Synne felt secure; he was holding her, protecting her. "We've lost too much. If I ever lost you, I don't know how I could go on." His voice sounded saddened, but still the embrace remained the same. "You remind me so much of her." The full embrace of warmth seemed to become physical, and moved to grasp her waist. Something changed in the mood as well, something not quite right. "I love you so much, Synne. Let me show you how adults say it to each other." The grasp tightened, squeezing her uncomfortably. "It's not supposed to feel good at first, honey." Synne felt a presence in front of her, rather, on top of her. It was heavy, pushing her down. "Now you and I have a secret we can keep together okay?" The weight increased, and Synne found herself struggling to breathe.