One of the militants tried to fire a rocket at them, but an OIST trooper snapped up his rifle, the smart targeting system locking on in milliseconds.
Before the rocket even left the launcher, the militant was blown into pieces, his body parts falling in pieces to the dirt.
Another group of civilians, still crazed and foaming at the mouth, rushed at the OISTs with improvised weapons, pipes, knives, and anything they could find.
It didn't matter. The OISTs didn't even flinch. Their armor was thick enough that none of the civilians' attacks could get through.
No deflectors, no fancy energy shields, just solid, indestructible nanocomposite plates designed to absorb kinetic impact.
"J*sus,"
Darius muttered, still manning the .50 cal.
"It's like watching g*ds descend."
I crawled toward Robert and Paul, my leg twitching with each movement.
My leg was slowly accumulating toxins and I had less than 1 hour and 50 minutes before my leg would have to go for good or I'd die from toxin overload.
"You guys got any anti-bleeding gel?"
I asked casually.
"Yeah, I got some,
Robert said, fishing through his tactical belts medkit and pulling out a small canister.
He crouched next to me, shaking the canister before spraying the gel onto my wound.
The gel immediately began to solidify, sealing the torn artery.
"19.36,"
I muttered, reminding myself when I applied the tourniquet as Robert gave me a nod.
"That should hold for now,"
Paul said as I slowly loosened the tourniquet, letting the blood flow again but keeping an eye on the wound to ensure it didn't reopen.
We watched as the OISTs absolutely wiped the floor with the militants and civilians. Their exoskeleton-enhanced strength allowed them to move faster and hit harder than anything on the battlefield.
Even when the militants fired at them, the bullets pinged off their armor like they were shooting at a tank.
It wasn't even a fight, it was a massacre.
The OISTs moved with machine-like precision, cutting down anyone who stood in their way.
In minutes, the battlefield was littered with bodies, and the militants who had once looked so ferocious were reduced to nothing more than bloodstains in the dirt.
"Damn,"
Paul whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Makes you wonder what the point of even having regular soldiers is."
"It's simple"
I replied, as I shifted my weight off my injured leg.
"It's all about money, even if UNOE could armor and arm every dick, tom and harry grunt to OIST standard they would never do It, because If they did a lot of powerful people would lose a lot of UNOEs taxpayer's money that goes straight to their pockets"
Robert grunted in agreement, watching as the OISTs moved through the wreckage, mopping up the last of the resistance.
We sat there for a moment, watching the battle wind down as the OISTs finished their brutal work.
The once-raging mob was now scattered, the few militants still alive either retreating or surrendering in the face of overwhelming force.
It was over.
...
A few hours later, I sat in the bridge of Invicta, my injured leg propped up on a cushion.
The medbay's robotic arms had done a good job reconnecting my arteries and veins, leaving a fresh surgical laser scar across my thigh and a neat layer of bandages covering the wound.
I sipped on a cup of coffee with a bit of my special, my eyes locked on the holographic display in front of me.
The news feed was running a report from the UNOE's main channel, broadcasting updates on the situation on Uyiescapus Prime.
Footage from the earlier chaos flashed across the screen, militants and crazed civilians storming the space lift, explosions rocking the streets, and then the OISTs, dropping in like a hammer from the sky.
They tore through the battlefield with brutal precision, mowing down anyone in their way.
And, of course, there we were, caught on camera in the midst of the mayhem, me and my battle brothers, sticking out like sore thumbs.
We looked utterly ridiculous. Amid the chaos and carnage, we were wearing armored vests thrown over brightly colored tourist clothes, rifles in hand, some of us barefoot or in flip-flops.
As the footage rolled, the screen began filling up with the familiar flood of bullet comments from the enthusiastic netizens, and I couldn't help but glance over at them, a smirk creeping onto my face.
@GunGoddess01: "Wait...are those guys fighting in FLIP-FLOPS?!"
@LaserPirate209: "LOL who goes into a warzone with Hawaiian shirts and beach shorts?"
@SpaceBoi69: "These dudes look like they just came back from a vacation in hell."
@XenoLover23: "Is that guy barefoot?? Did he just THROW his flip-flops?? 😂"
@TacticalTuna: "Battle tourists confirmed. New merc class unlocked: PMC-Resort Soldier."
@VoidWalkerX: "Flip-flop chain coming to a planet near you. #SpaceChads"
I chuckled into my coffee as I read through the ridiculous comments. I had to admit, the absurdity of the whole situation wasn't lost on me.
Here we were, professional mercs, looking like we'd stumbled into a warzone straight off the beach. I guess it was only a matter of time before someone turned us into a meme.
"Damn, galacticnet,"
I muttered, unable to keep from grinning.
As the comments continued to flood the screen, I leaned back in my seat, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all.Â
@SpacePigeon: "I can't take this seriously. These guys are out here like it's spring break while people are getting vaporized around them."
@PlasmaPanda: "My new favorite mercenary outfit: The Flip-Flop Commandos. Sign me up."
@SpartanFan420: "Man's out here losing blood and still throwing sandals. Absolute legends."
I couldn't help but laugh at that one.
"Legends and sandals, huh?"
I took another sip of coffee, feeling the warmth of it spread through me, a contrast to the madness we'd just lived through.
Yeah, we looked like total idiots out there, but in the end, we got the job done, and we walked away with our lives, and a hefty paycheck.
"Flip-Flop Commandos,"
I muttered, shaking my head with a grin.
"That's gonna stick, isn't it?"
I muttered to myself as the news continued to play.
"In a shocking development, officials have confirmed that the chaos on Uyiescapus Prime was caused by the planet's semi-intelligent fauna. The native organizms, known for emitting mild hallucinogenic compounds as a defense mechanism, are believed to have altered the brain chemistry of the colonists after years of exposure. Recent studies suggest the fauna began to feel threatened by the rapid expansion of human activities, leading to an increase in the potency of their emissions."
I snorted, taking another sip of coffee.
"Figures. Damn planet's been messing with people's heads for years, and no one thought to check or they did but a certain governor decided to f*ck around and find out resulting In the fauna fighting back"
I muttered to myself ammused.
The report continued, showing images of the fauna in question, small, plant-like organizms that looked harmless enough.
But apparently, they were responsible for turning a whole colony of people into a bunch of raving lunatics.
"The planetary governor has called for immediate measures to neutralize the hallucinogenic effects, and the UNOE has dispatched additional forces to restore order."
"Yeah, good luck with that,"
I muttered, leaning back in my seat. The coffee in my hand warmed me, but my leg still twitched yet no pain, disabling my pain receptors was the best Idea I ever had, a reminder of just how close we'd come to being torn apart.
I sighed and looked out the viewport, the endless expanse of stars stretching out before us.
We'd survived again. But that was just part of the job. And with the extra 300 billion credits In my pocket, we'd be well-prepared for whatever came next.