The Let's Play Archive

Front Mission

by Bob Smith

Part 5: Convoys. I hate convoys.

We're back!

Our newest recruit had designs on my title as artillerist. He got the second-rate launchers.

I'd been staying away from the commander after a little too much of JJ's home-brewed liquor but eventually fate (and embarrassingly empty pockets) called me back to his office. We stood there waiting to hear what stupid plan Command had thought up.

Keith was naturally outraged to hear we were going to have to escort a convoy through the front lines. I was forced to subdue him violently. Insubordination like that was a sure-fire way of losing our jobs.

We hung back from the highway for a bit to listen in on the drivers' conversations. I was forming an opinion of this Peewee as soon as I heard this guy taunting him. Another coward who thought transport duty was easy.

He couldn't take a joke. War is serious business for some people.

We made our move and the trucker was visibly more relaxed. We knew there was gonna be an ambush, but we were riding on arrogance.

The craven himself. Revealed in his full glory. Accusing us of potential desertion. I was livid.

Natalie's sweetly stupid voice interrupted any plans for a court-martial I was planning. It would have been easier to say we were fucking surrounded.

Still, there are expectations of an escort unit. It's not easy to hide an armoured truck, but you can always hope.

I'd done some research into the Egret system. It was a basic fuel/air bomb in a high-angle terminal entry system. Nice enough. And even better that it was mine.

I got my eye in with a grenade launcher. Those things are hard to aim, but pack a nice punch.

JJ had a nasty run-in with a command wanzer. But he did what he did best and tore its arms off in the end.

Incoherent screaming alerted me to the fact Peewee didn't understant what "hide" meant. It was only an anti-personnel missile, for Christ's sake.

Polite swearing seconds later also reminded me that you can never rely on Natalie for anything. Those repair and recovery bills were a nasty dent in my commission.

JJ finished off the last guy one-handed. Well, a missile had taken out the hydraulics on the other.

The truckers were exchanging the nervous jokes of those who have seen Death coming for them. But Peewee seemed genuinely scared. Perhaps I'd been harsh on him. He was, after all, serving Oceania. More than can be said for some people.

What a joke. We'd done a fine job. It wasn't our fault the drivers couldn't comprehend "take cover".

And we pulled into another town, liberating heroes and defenders of the defenceless.

Fuck that, those gunners on the trucks softened the enemy up marvelously.