"Hawkins!"
The moment he heard his teammate's worried cry, he knew exactly what was coming.
Never mind that he hadn't even caught a glimpse of the enemy at this point – that just meant the enemy was doing a good job of hiding. His head was still in the process of turning to look for an immediate threat when a bolt of energy struck him squarely in the center of mass, sending him reeling. He fell backward as feeling left his limbs and his thoughts compacted into an overwhelming stunned sensation.
As his vision cleared he struggled to move. Fingers twitched and curled into fists; he faintly registered the stock of his rifle clasped in his left hand. The back of his head smarted from the impact it had made on the ground. His entire midsection felt as if someone had taken a live wire and pressed it to his sternum.
"Gah." Sounds escaped him, half-words and mutterings in between groans. "Ugh. Nnngh. Blast it."
"Jim!" A voice shrilled into his right ear, so loudly it cause the earpiece to emit an electronic whine. "Are you okay?"
"Y-yeah." He gave up trying to sit upright at this point and settled for rolling over. He had a clear view of the enemy's position now, though there were no personnel in sight. A quaint little bunker, just the right size for a five-man squad in need of somewhere to camp and pick off their opponents.
Behind him was a thick tangle of flora, a mixture of trees and enormous fungal growths which provided enough cover for what remained of Jim's own squad. His discombobulated mind began to reorganize itself as he recalled how exactly he had gotten shot. He remembered taking point, leading them toward the trees, betting that the enemy's lack of activity meant they hadn't advanced this far just yet. A bet he had lost.
"Triona. How's Francis?" he managed, gritting his teeth as pain shot through his chest. The numbness was wearing off.
"Out cold, I'm afraid." Her voice was high-pitched and sharp with worry. "They hit him in the head. The rest of us are okay."
Francis had been the first to go down. Two shots at nearly the same time, taking down the front and rear of Jim's team. That meant there were two long-range marksmen in play.
"Got it." Jim slowly got a better grip on his rifle while his free hand fumbled for his belt. His pouches and reserve ammo were still there but he couldn't locate any of his grenades. If they had gone off when he was shot, he would completely unconscious right now. That meant they had simply fallen away. "Listen up. I've got a plan."
"I'm all ears," Triona answered tersely.
"You've still got Onyx and Finch, right? That's three shooters. Think you can cover me while I make a run for it?"
"Make a run for – oh no, Jim, you're not pulling a stunt like that again."
"Last time Francis accidentally shot me in the foot," Jim retorted. "Besides, those other guys are at a disadvantage. They got good cover, but that's the other side of the field. We're closer to the objective than they are. If you can keep them busy I can push on ahead and win this."
He made sure to keep still as he spoke. Better for the opposition to think he was out of play.
"C'mon, you see me out here, right? This is our only chance at surprising them. I can't get up and make a run for it unless I have backup."
"Alright." Her tone was disapproving but Jim knew Triona would trust him. As much as they butted heads, they were remarkably similar when it came to strategy. "You get your tail feathers zapped, Hawk-boy, and I'll just say 'I told you so.'"
"Yeah. Like you always do."
The pain was quickly fading to tingling. He wasn't at one hundred percent just yet, but waiting for that would cost them victory. Jim clenched his jaw, willed his disgruntled body to act, and prepared to do what he did best: something reckless.
"Three."
The sky above was a mixture of purples, reds and yellows, the fiery glow of sunset with starlight barely visible beyond. The horizon was hazy, anything beyond the current staging area obscured from view.
"Two."
Blue eyes narrowed to slits as he focused on what was to come. Muscles began to tense; sweat wet his palms underneath the gloves he wore.
"One."
He risked a glance in the enemy's direction – saw silhouettes cautiously emerging from the bunker, rifles glinting in the waning sunlight -
"Fire!"
A volley of energy bolts sizzled overhead. The timing was perfect; rather than firing in unison, his teammates were pacing their shots. It was a rhythm they had practiced over and over again, one each of them knew by heart.
Jim knew exactly when to get to his feet and start running before the next volley. He nearly fell over as he stooped to scoop up one of his grenades but recovered before losing his balance completely. He stuffed the grenade into one of his pockets, too busy to bother clipping it to his belt.
The enemy fired a shot of their own but it went wide; they were skittish now, unwilling to risk exposing themselves for a clear shot. He clutched his rifle and half-ran, half-limped in the opposite direction, away from the enemy and his team. Regrouping would only slow him down and give the enemy the chance they needed to move in.
A treeline waited twenty meters ahead. Fifteen now. Ten. He closed the distance quickly and didn't slow down. At the rate he was moving, an onlooker would expect him to crash into the densely-packed tangle of branches and foliage.
Instead he went through it.
The sudden change in lighting caused his eyes to smart and he blinked rapidly to orient himself. There was no sunset here, no faux environment; the space around him was plain and metallic. His boots clacked on the floor as he approached the elevated platform that dominated the center of the room. He could still hear the shooting behind him as his teammates continued to battle in the simulator. A crooked grin spread across his weary face as he drank in the sight of his prize.
A flag. A single maroon flag bearing the standard of the Academy.
He brushed his sweaty dark bangs out of his eyes, slung his rifle across his back, and stepped forward to claim his ticket to victory –
– and went down with a ragged yell as a ball of lightning struck him squarely between the shoulders.
"Never let your guard down," a voice simpered as footsteps sounded behind him. A boot entered his field of vision and kicked away his rifle, then prodded his side and rolled him onto his back. The boot was connected to a leg, which was connected to a cadet who wore the same uniform as Jim. The only difference was that her armband was red, while his was blue.
"Blake," Jim grunted, furious and humiliated.
"Hawkins." The Leonid blinked her amber eyes at him and gave him an acknowledging nod as a small smile curved her lips. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to win this match."
Jim's hand snapped out and grasped her by the ankle as she turned toward the platform. "S'my flag," he growled. His hands and feet were numb, his head felt like someone had just used it as a gong, and his back had suddenly become a pincushion full of invisible needles, but he wasn't about to just let her take his prize.
Blake emitted a huff and tried to yank her foot free of his grasp but his grip was stronger than she expected. "This is ridiculous," she sighed. "Look at you, you're in a heap on the floor and the match is practically over already. Be a good sport and admit you're beaten. This is embarrassing."
Jim refused to let go. Sensation was creeping back to his extremities and he was itching to get back on his feet. "Embarrassing for you, maybe," he quipped, smirking despite the pain he was in.
"Fine." Blake pulled her foot right out of the boot and stepped away looking cross. "There. I've got a flag and you've got a boot. I hope that satisfies you." With that, she turned her back to him and made strides toward the platform. Her dignity was surprisingly intact for someone forced to walk in one boot and a sock.
Jim tossed the boot away and reached into his pocket. His tingling hand closed around the grenade he had salvaged. The pad of his thumb found the activation button and he focused all of his willpower on sitting up. As he did so, he could clearly see Blake about to climb onto the platform and claim the flag. His eyebrows lowered into a glare and he activated the grenade, mentally counting down before hurling it into the air.
BOOM.
A searing light erupted in midair as the stun grenade unleashed an orb of energy. The blinding explosion prevented Jim from seeing whether or not his timing had been good enough to catch Blake in the blast. But sure enough, after his vision cleared he saw her lying prone on the platform, mere feet from the flag but inert. It was enough to elicit a pained chortle from his beleaguered lungs.
"Never let your guard down," he minced as he staggered and wobbled toward the platform. He climbed up with a grunt and didn't pause to regard her as he reached for the flag. His hand stretched out and moved to close around the staff.
He paused. Listened.
Spun just in time to see her leg coming at him in a sweeping kick.
Blake's eyebrows arched and her eyes widened, but she didn't waste time further reacting to his unexpected agility. Jim was still slowed from the stun bolt but managed to block her kick with his outstretched arm. She countered by attempting to elbow him in his exposed midsection but he blocked that as well, stepping backward. They tried and failed to land a hit on each other for a solid fifteen seconds before Jim simply took another step back and closed his left fist around the flagpole. As soon as he did so, the entire room lit up and a loud chime sounded.
"Blue Team has captured the flag. Blue Team wins-" an automated voice announced.
"Better luck next time – " Jim began, only to be cut off as Blake lunged for him. She got a grip on the flagpole and tried to wrench it from his grasp, but only succeeded in tugging him along with it. Boots clacked on metal as the other cadets came running into the flag chamber, only to stop and stare at the ongoing tug-of-war match.
"Red Team has captured the flag, Red Team-"
"Blue Team has-"
"Red-"
"Shameless daredevil!" Blake snapped.
"Overachieving... uh, overachiever!" Jim retaliated, more focused on keeping a firm grip on the flag than on making a witty comeback.
"You threw a grenade at me! That's cheating!"
"How is that cheating? It's a stun grenade, and you only pretended to be stunned!"
"You only win because you play tricks, it's not fair – "
"ENOUGH!"
The tugging stopped, but both cadets' hands remained clasped around the flagstaff. The automated voice went silent. All heads turned to watch as a newcomer strode into the room. In contrast to the plain gold-trimmed white uniforms the cadets wore, this woman wore a royal blue overcoat and her chest bore several medals. Her catlike features tightened into a severe expression as she approached the platform, not a hint of amusement in her bearing.
"Admiral. Ma'am," Jim managed, sparing one hand to salute with. Blake did the same – but neither of them relinquished the prize.
"Cadet Hawkins." Amelia's gaze shifted. "Cadet Blake." She gestured at the flag. "What is the meaning of... this?"
"I won," Jim declared. "But she doesn't seem to get that."
"You use underhanded and dishonorable tactics," Blake hissed at him. "You leave your team behind and run after glory all by yourself, while the rest of us actually pull together. You don't deserve this."
"Hey, my team has my back and I have theirs," Jim argued, heat warming his cheeks. "And I didn't see your guys following you in here, Miss I-Have-To-Be-The-Star – "
"I said enough." Amelia stepped forward and casually took the flag in her own hands. Neither cadet dared hold onto it now. "I hope you thoroughly enjoyed the shameful spectacle you've made of yourselves, because it will not happen again." Her cerulean eyes locked with Jim's, and he looked down at the floor to avoid her fury. "Will it, Mr. Hawkins?"
"No ma'am," he managed.
"And what about you, Miss Blake? Are you content with this episode of tomfoolery, or will we be treated to a second outing?"
"No ma'am," Blake half-whispered.
"The outcome of this match will be recorded as a tie," Amelia stated matter-of-factly, the flag still in her grip. "The first tie in the history of this Academy's combat training. Your juvenile attitudes aside, you both displayed measures of cunning and resourcefulness meriting recognition today. However."
Jim looked up, fearful of what was to follow.
"As of today, you are both suspended from training exercises until further notice. You will report to alternative duty tomorrow and continue to do so unless instructed otherwise. Is that understood?"
A sigh of relief escaped him and he thanked his lucky stars it wasn't expulsion. Despite their history together, Amelia was nothing short of impartial as a teacher and had yet to give him any special treatment compared to the other cadets. He stole a glance over at Blake. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked ready to cry. His relief gave way to unease as he realized he felt badly for her.
Amelia set the flag back into its slot and swept her critical gaze over the other cadets, who were standing around and watching silently. "I don't recall giving any of you permission to lollygag," she intoned sharply. The response was a flurry of motion as they sorted themselves and marched toward the exit. Amelia gave a little sigh and followed after them. "You as well, Hawkins. Get a move on."
Jim trudged after his former captain but looked over his shoulder as he passed through the arena doors. Blake was picking up her discarded boot, her expression utterly crestfallen and her shoulders slumped. He couldn't tell from a distance, but she might have been tearful.
"Hey." Triona nudged him, having fallen behind to meet him. Her curly dark hair bounced as she walked. "You did good back there. None of us think you're glory-hounding. Well, maybe Francis, but he doesn't count." She nudged him again as he glanced back at Blake a second time. "What's up with her, man? I say let her throw a pity-party. She takes all this stuff way too seriously. Always bragging about being the vice admiral's daughter – I think she deserves it."
Amelia turned and gave them a look that clearly said shut it. Jim kept quiet as the procession made its way back to the armory, where they would turn in their stun weapons before heading off to clean up. As he passed by one of the many windows lining the long corridor, he slowed his pace to study the stars that twinkled and shone outside. He felt lucky to be here at the Academy, he really did. But on days like this one he couldn't help feeling like he was supposed to be on the other side of the wall, out there sailing on the solar winds and actually doing something. Not just playing games.
A tie... Whatever. I won and I know it.
He'd chosen this path for himself, sure – but it felt like anything but the makings of greatness at the moment.