One More Day

Wait. Fire. Reload. Repeat. Wait. Fire. Reload. Repeat.

Time slowed to little more than a crawl for the pilot of the DMX-87/s model Long Range Combat FRAME. The seven meter tall, humanoid machine lay prone in the middle of the desert, scanning the horizons for signs of enemy activity. The FRAME’s brown and tan armor blended well into the area, camouflaging it from all but the nearest units.

Clutched in its grasp was a long, gunmetal grey particle beam rifle. The weapon was covered with massive, sand-colored tarps in order to camouflage it as well. He was hidden, a shadow against the sand. All that stood out was the mech’s matte black visor, and even that looked inconspicuous from the distances the sniper chose to fight from.

The pilot sighed and activated the FRAME’s long range camera, hoping to see something in the distance. On the horizon stood a nine-meter-tall enemy FRAME. The mech’s four-armed form was silhouetted against the horizon. Urban defense and construction class, the sniper identified. Not specifically military, but it worked for the enemy.

In war, people got desperate. Very desperate. Anything, including construction mechs meant for municipal work, functioned as combat units. It was a sad state the world was in. Only the large players could afford working combat equipment. The rest had to make do.

The sniper tightened his FRAME’s finger around the rifle’s trigger. One less enemy would now stand on the field.

The enemy mech turned, causing the sniper to pause for a moment. He observed the unit against the setting sun as it pulled something up from the other side of the dune. It was another mech, damaged and beaten and missing an arm. It was a combat type, built for low-altitude air strikes on forts and encampments. The sniper readied to pull his trigger and end the threat of that enemy once and for all. Air strike units were dangerous, and he had lost friends to them before.

The air-strike unit collapsed before the sniper could fire, falling into the sand. The enemy construction unit scrambled to help, desperately trying to pull its fallen comrade up. The sniper magnified his view. He could see the “injured” mech burning. The other, four-armed mech began tearing open the fallen one, desperately trying to open the cockpit. It succeeded and pulled out an unconscious, bleeding pilot.

The sniper eased on his trigger for a moment. Compassion amongst the enemy was rarely seen, he had heard. It was an uncomfortable sight to behold.

The air-strike unit’s reactor popped, sending up a shower of shrapnel and flame. The construction unit shielded its comrade from the maelstrom.

The sniper watched as the construction unit set down its wounded fellow soldier. The pilot climbed out of the FRAME and began to set up a small camp. The sun had long ago dipped below the horizon, and stars were beginning to rim the sky. The sniper watched as the pilot slowly started a small fire with what little supplies he had. Both the pilots were young. Too young for soldiers, it seemed.

Time passed. The night continued. The sniper discovered that the injured pilot was female, probably a fellow soldier. But then again, they’re clothes didn’t look like uniforms… He couldn’t tell. They may have switched out after leaving wherever they were fleeing from.

The sniper thought to call in and see if there had been raids on any of the nearby forts, but that would break his orders to maintain radio silence. He continued waiting, weighing both options.

The less-injured enemy pilot smiled weakly at his companion, unaware that they had been under observation for the past four hours. He appeared to be trying to cheer up his injured frie…comrade. She looked in poor condition.

The sniper bit his lower lip. Four hours was long enough. Orders were to kill any enemies on sight, and he hadn’t taken one in nearly two days. Waiting in this hot mech was getting tiring. He needed something to break the monotony of this.

The male pilot laid out a sleeping bag and climbed inside. The sniper tensed his mech’s finger, readying to fire…

For a moment, everything stood still. The silence hung over the desert like a fog. And a minute later, the same silence was still there.

The sniper let out a frustrated breath as he powered down his rifle, both enemies still locked center in his scope. Still breathing. Still alive.

He would give them one more day and no more, he decided. They would live one more day.