They had done these strikes at small or understaffed Belligerwitch camps a hundred times before, all the roles were clear.
Tanuki would go in first to pave the way for Riley and Matt to hit the Belligerwitch camp, Quinn was standing by outside, ready to hold off the Witches' reinforcements. Nikki was standing by in the van with Skunk as another lookout to keep their mobile base safe from surprise attacks. This maneuver was made even safer with the help of the 42nd's pilot friend Red. It was all planned out and had worked perfectly dozens of times.
Quinn's radio crackled to life, the Witches were coming, it was her time to light up the place with her trusted custom Vulcan, a weapon which she had worked very hard to make the most powerful one in the company, maybe the entire Peace-Bull army. The rattling chain transported more and more foam to be flung at her enemies who must have felt like they were caught up in a thunderstorm.
"CCRRRRKKKKTT!"
A nasty grinding sound shook Quinn out of concentration. The heavy weapon's chain belt had stopped and wouldn't move either way. With a frustrated grunt, Quinn unclipped the weapon's strap, making it and the backup Shellstrike fall onto the empty crate she had been using for cover. Quickly loading the Shellstrike with one hand, her other flung open the Vulcan's access hatch. When her gaze returned to the troublesome MG after aiming her shotgun shots, she was filled with terror. The transport gears had completely chewed up the nylon strap of the chain, fibers wrapping all around the axles completely immobilizing the heart of the mechanism.
"Witches are getting closer" Red reported on the company wide channel.
"We're almost out. Quinn, what's going on?"
Shellstrike in one hand, pliers from her multitool in the other, only the sound of her Captain's voice reminded Quinn that shooting took priority over fixing her main weapon right now. "I had a jam, but I'm about to fix it"
There were steps behind her, then a hand on her shoulder and Quinn looked up into Riley's green eyes. "No time! Take this, we need to go" he thrusted his Regulator into her hands. Watt and Tanuki were there too, rifles at the ready. As quickly as possible, Quinn reattached the carrying strap and flung the heavy blaster over her shoulder to retreat with her friends.
They backed away firing, the occasional burst from the bright red ultralight cycling above their heads helping them staying just clear of the witches. After a few hundert meters, the familiar sound of a car horn followed by a sliding door welcomed them to safety aboard the 42nd's mobile base.
~~~~~
In the course of the next few hours, Quinn's little worktable next to her bunk had expended all over the kitchen counter and the dinner table. The Vulcan's belt had been cut to either side of the Blaster and rejoined into a slightly shorter one but the real problem was still the section stuck inside the gearbox. With an assortment of tweezers, she had been picking and pulling at the nylon fibers slowly extracting more and more of the mess. The plunger was moving again and Quinn had been able to give of single shots out the window as they were driving but the belt transport wouldn't budge and loading each dart by hand defeated the purpose of a Vulcan.
Everyone in the 42nd knew hoe important the custom rifle was to Quinn so no one complained when Captain Wells changed the driving shifts around to leave their Corporal with the time she needed to fix her primary weapon. But as the sun went down and Skunk took over the wheel, Quinn was still picking fibers out of the gears, eventually falling asleep with the blaster still on her lap.
~~~~~
A sudden stop of the van woke all of 42nd. It was still dark out.
Illuminated by the van's headlights was a pit, no an old reservoir, filled only half with greening water and algae. Swimming in the murky liquid where blasters. Mostly old Dart Tag or N-Strike blasters but also some of the newest Doomlands pistols. One that stuck out of the pile was a Whiteout LongStrike with a broken barrel, a dirt-soaked blue bandana wrapped around the middle of it. Riley carefully reached for it with the rest of the company watched silently. As he brushed off the dirt from the rifle, something scratched into the stock of it became visible.
"61st Company, October 2014"
It felt like the crickets and the wind all fell silent as realization set in as to was this place was. It was a place of remembrance for the battles won and lost with these weapons. Somewhere where you could leave behind a part of your past and embrace your future.
Riley gave the very sleepy Quinn a nudge and at first she didn't know what he meant.
"Don't you think it's about time? I haven't seen a working Vulcan around in years now"
"No, I can still fix it, i just need more time"
"Hey, I've seen you make blasters as old as these" he gestured towards the partially overgrown bottom of the pile "shoot like brand new. But I've seen you work on it today..."
Something Quinn had already known but wasn't ready to accept crept into the back of her mind. She should have been able to fix it by now. She'd worked on the Vulcan ever since before the war, taken it apart countless times, maybe there was a reason she couldn't fix it this time. Maybe the time had come to lay the dead to rest.
Riley's eyes followed her as she went back to the van. The others also watched as the lights inside went on. A few minutes passed until Quinn returned, carrying her beloved primary weapon now reassembled. Without the strap it was very cumbersome and awkward to hold. With a flat head screwdriver, she carved todays date and their company number into the access hatch.
With the help of some strings, they all helped her to lower the massive blaster down into the water without disturbing the rest of them.
Wiping away a tear, Quinn turned to her Captain.
"You'll have to radio Command now and ask for weapons resupply"
"I'll ask them to send the biggest blaster they have on hand" he smiled at her