2953-07-02 - Tales from the Service: The Commandant’s Eyes
The Kodiak heavy armor-suit, which is only an armor-suit in the loosest of senses, has garnered a lot of public attention, especially since Marine public relations have focused on imagery of these behemoths fighting spindly black Incarnation scarecrows. Such duels are of course rare – I can only find record of three or four of them taking place, all on Montani under rather one-sided circumstances – but they are how the machines are being portrayed in the public eye.
The propaganda that sells the Kodiak as an unstoppable battlefield titan is, as far as I can tell, for morale purposes. They are capable machines to be sure, but they were designed early in the conflict as a fast response unit to stabilize certain kinds of battlefield catastrophes, and they actually don’t seem to do well when they are left in the line for long periods due to their extreme maintenance needs.
Why the Incarnation built an opposing unit of nearly the same size and of similar firepower is obscure. Naval Intelligence reports seem to indicate they assumed that Kodiaks would be massed in broad-scale breakthrough attacks and wanted their own fast response unit to break up such an assault and stiffen the infantry. Neither of the machines is particularly optimized for fighting the other in a fair meeting engagement, though perhaps in this the Cyclops has a slight advantage, being the later design.
I don’t think these facts will impact the popularity of such duel-of-the-titans imagery, however.
Garth Raimundo permitted the guard to lead him away from the Kodiak bays toward a squat prefab structure back near the main avenue. The smaller man was visibly trembling – he probably hadn’t had to do this before – so it would have been child’s play to disarm him and be off about his business, but there was no point taking even that small risk when there was in no particular hurry. The paperwork would be a matter of minutes, and then the chagrined guard would release him to continue his inspection, if somewhat less covertly.
There were two other guards at their post, and both jumped up from lounging positions and grabbed for their carbines when Garth and his captor came into view. No doubt they had relaxed their vigil somewhat after Incarnation forces had been driven from Montani, even though many thousands of left-behind holdouts still roamed the outlands and a desperate, doomed rearguard force was still barricaded in the labyrinthine quarries and tunnels of the Btenda mines.
“Let’s make this fast, please.” Garth turned his head toward the man with the carbine behind him without slowing his gait. “I really do have work to do.”
“Around the Kodiak stands?” The guard prodded Garth with the butt of his gun. “Not damned likely.”
Garth shrugged. “My ident card is in my right breast pocket. You will find I have access.”
“Nobody but the operators and the brass have access.” The man shook his head. “Least of all someone in a too-clean dress uniform disguise.”
Garth chuckled, making a mental note to report the probability that the 114th's uniform code was needlessly lax if these guards hadn’t seen a properly clean dress uniform to compare his to. “Run my ident, then critique my attire.”
One of the other men scampered into the guardhouse and emerged with a portable digi-reader. Garth held perfectly still as the trio turned out all his pockets, predictably leaving the right breast pocket for very last. They found little besides the card and a few receipt-chits, of course; they didn’t even find his side-arm, a Liann Zhi micro-compact tucked into his left boot. He’d left nearly everything he’d brought with him in the groundcar.
The reader chirped the moment it was run across Garth’s nearly-blank ident card, and the wielder frowned as it displayed an error code. “Bio-tagged card. He needs to be holding it for it to read.”
Garth slowly held out one hand for his card, which was quickly placed on his palm and scanned again. This time the reader emitted a bright pinging noise, and Garth could see page after page of authorizations scroll over its small screen.
“He’s got access.”
“To what?” Garth’s captor leaned over his associate’s shoulder.
“Looks like...” The other guard gulped and looked up at Garth. “Everything.”
Garth arched one eyebrow. “Am I free to continue my duties, gentlemen?”
The trio exchanged uneasy looks. “You really should, ah.” The third one stammered. “Come with us up to headquarters.”
Garth shrugged. “I don't think that’s necessary.” He outranked the regiment’s Colonel, at least technically, and hated to pull that rank on field officers who’d done far more to earn their position than he had. “You are welcome to report my presence.”
“Hey!” The man with the reader suddenly scowled. “This ident card isn’t working. It doesn’t show your name or your holo. Who are we supposed to report we apprehended?”
Garth shook his head. “It is functioning to spec. But the contents of your report isn’t my problem.” He loomed at each of them, one at a time, then reached out for the handful of items that they’d taken from his pockets. “And it wouldn’t have to be yours, either, if you decided not to report it.”
At this, Garth’s original captor bridled. “It’s protocol to report anything unusual. You just want us to overlook-”
“I was only making a suggestion to make both of our lives easier.” Garth turned and started back toward the line of docked Kodiak suits. “Do what you have to do.”
