Code Geass: New World.
By Flipdarkfuture
CH 1: Sands of the south
Australia, a vast continent to the south of Asia and the area formerly known as Japan. A vast land full of unique life and secrets. A land that is now owned by the Holy Britannian Empire. A land now known as area 7.
2010 (7 years before the Black rebellion)
The majesty of Uluru dominated the desert landscape. The morning sun hit its red flanks, bathing the land around it in a warm red tint. The glow also hit the Britannian 1st air Calvary in the sky above. The monolith shook as wave after wave of ordinance pounded the area around it, On which the ADF had dug in.
RPG trails spiralled upwards, only to explode prematurely against the wall of flak put up by clusters of Wasp gunships at the centre of the formation .Squads of Australian soldiers were nestled in and around Uluru, the precious few tank brigades Australia had were in the fields in front of the lines. Surrounding the entire force was a massive Britannian suppression force, consisting of infantry, MBTs and the newest tool in their arsenal, Knightmares. From a Bird's eye perspective it looked like an oddly colored bullseye, with Uluru as the centre, the ADF as the thin inner ring of green and brown, and the Britannians as the thick outer ring of blue and grey. Five thousand men and four hundred vehicles, against fifteen thousand men with five hundred vehicles, and two hundred Knightmares.
The ADF's last stand was here.
Eastern face of Uluru, 5:00PM
A plume of dust swept over Echidna Company as they hunkered down, trying to present a small target to the airships above, and the artillery on the horizon. A group of four Abrams tanks were nearby, their treads squealing and sparking as they worked to move the Behemoths. Their main guns roared a explosive challenge as they lobbed shells at the Brit ground forces, great clumps of the Earth were sundered and mulched, turning the hardened soil into a slippery powder. Those tanks were the last remnants of the Western line.
Things were getting bad.
Two Glasgows were taking cover behind two halves of a boulder, their massive rifles thundered as they unleashed a massive amount of ordinance at the squad. Their blocky frames were just only covered by the boulder.
Sergeant Black shouted orders into their old radio. "Delta 2-1 aim for the fault in the obstruction, switch to expansive rounds, commence fire in two minutes. Delta 2-2 keep him covered, switch to flash rounds, soon as those Knightmares poke their heads up, hit the fact-spheres."
The two Tank commanders replied back.
"Yes Sergeant!"
"Right away sir! Keep the designator on the fault and we'll take care of the rest. Out."
Black hooked the receiver onto its perch; he fastened his helmet as he ducked through a foxhole, filled with ammo boxes, med kits and stretchers, he spotted a rocket launcher, grabbed it and kept going. A nearby 25mm gun fired methodically, creating gaps in the Britannian tank brigades. The trench walls shook constantly, caking the helmets of the Troops behind them in a coating of fine red dust. The dull blue and grey tanks of Britannia were arrayed in a classic line formation, suited to open desert environments. Each Tank brigade fired their guns in unison, sending a volley of explosive shells into the defensive lines. It wasn't a precise tactic, but one designed to beat the enemy down morally and mentally.
A grizzled old gunner fired their modified Minimi at the Knightmares, using AP ammunition to disable them so the Tanks could finish the job. A young Private next to him stood ready with binoculars, relaying enemy positions and keeping track of the two Knightmares facing them.
"Cutter, 1'o'clock, rocket squad, rip em a new one."
Cutter swung the barrel towards the rocket squad
"Roger that, mate!" the Minimi roared as huge 50 cal rounds streamed towards the squad, turning them into a bloody mist. At least it was quick.
What else we got, Runner?" as he waited for his answer, he scanned the churned up field in front of them with grey eyes, hidden behind ballistic glasses.
He noticed something odd after completing his first sweep.
Why hadn't the enemy advanced their tank columns?
Unknown group of boulders, 700 metres away.
A full kilometre away, in a group if red boulders lay a figure in sleek grey armour, he heard a small chime come from his inbuilt headset, new orders. He thought.
MRKMN APLO
TARG DIST: 1019M
DESCRIP: MG Team targeting two GLASGOW'S.
ORDER: NEUTRALIZE.
-OUT-
He positioned himself behind the huge rifle in front of him. It was a long narrow blocky thing, with a picatinny rail running on the top for mounting different scopes and sights. The picatinny rail occupied the middle length of the rifle. The business end of the rifle tapered to a blunt point. He wrapped his hand around the grip, resting his index finger next to the trigger guard. He looked through the high powered scope, giving the environment a slight blue hue and a HUD overlay, detailing wind direction and strength, and showing a compass and a clock. His gaze passed over multitudes of Frames and infantry, locked in ranged combat with the enemy.
He found his quarry; a problematic Machine Gunner and his spotter had locked down a small but important section of the advancement zone. Luckily he was a problem solver himself. His reticle centered on the helmet of the Gunner. One squeeze of the trigger and he would send a tungsten sliver 3 centimeters in length and five millimeters in diameter into his brain, sending a massive output of kinetic energy through his body, turning his solid body into red paste. They didn't nickname these Railguns 'the Eviscerator' for nothing.
"Hang on man..." he gazed through the binoculars, and sorted through the throng of enemy units in front of them, none of them seemed to be of any concern, he was about to put down the binoculars just as he swept over a group of small red rocks he noticed a glint, fuck a sniper! In the space of a second he had a decision to make, save Cutter or save himself. No contest, he took the former.
"Cutter! Get down!" Runner yelled at him as he pushed the big man under the trench. He heard the distinctive whine of the dreaded rail sniper as it completed its half second charge up. He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for a messy and bloody end.
Just as he squeezed the trigger, he heard the distinctive sound of a subsonic sniper round, the scope's front lense exploded in a shower of circuits and glass as a huge fifty millimeter bullet tore down its length, it exploded out the other side, into the marksman's visor. He shook as the force of the bullet was absorbed by his suit, lessening the damage to him. His vision fluttered as he blacked out.
Gum trees can take root in almost any type of terrain. A huge rock the size of the central business district of Adelaide was no different. almost five hundred metres behind Echidna unit's defensive line, was a small flat ledge, jutting out from the Uluru's flank, on it sat a group of gum trees, poking out from between the trunks of them was a huge black sniper barrel, shaped like a bevelled cube. Behind that barrel was the main body of the rifle, a thin black, blocky affair, on top of that was a rectangular electronic scope, far superior then normal scopes when it came to accuracy at massive distances.
Looking into the display of that scope, was a calm blue eye. The sniper's gloved hand pulled back on the bolt, opening the chamber to eject the spent casing. The casing hissed as it sailed through the air, such was its temperature that it glowed slightly. It hit the ground with a soft thud, landing on a rolled out hessian strip, upon which lay dozens of other spent shells. The man pulled his green mask down under his mouth, revealing a pale complexion and a thin layer of stubble on his jawline. He touched his ear.
"Leftenant Anders here, enemy scope had zeroed in on your mg team, enemy scope has been taken out, you're clear for the time being, carry on Captain."
A sliver of molten metal zoomed past him, carving a shallow furrow in bis left cheek. His hand shot up, covering the wound as he gasped in pain. He hear Cutter groan on the ground beside him, with one hand clamped onto his cheek, he bent down to pull up Cutter. The broad shouldered man rubbed his side with a huge muscled hand. He glanced at Runner
"Ahhhh shit that hurt. Shouldn't push around a old man like that." he grumbled, he noticed the faintly glowing scar on the young man's cheek.
"You okay Charlie?", he nodded a yes. Black rushed over to them, one hand on his Helmet while the other cradled a standard issue Steyr.
"Corporal! Are you alright?" Black had a concerned look in his green eyes. Charlie straightened.
"Yes sir, just a enemy sniper." He put on a professional front; he always did in front of Sergeant Black. "I can still do my duties, Sir." Black patted him on the shoulder.
"Alright. Stay alert and keep it up." He nodded to them both, Runner nodded and picked the binoculars back up. Cutter nodded gruffly and went back to work.
Black walked up a trench ramp to their right, which ended up at an observation post.
Now to deal with those two Knightmares.
It was four hundred meters from the little MG post to the observation post. As he walked he checked his gear, one Steyr assault rifle, standard issue with non-standard grenade launcher undermount. Two mags of 5.55 X 45MM NATO standard, with one mag of some special custom ammo he received as a 'gift' from Cutter. In addition to the standard survival equipment on his webbing, he also had a few distinct differences. His ballistic armour was a mass of segmented plates, with gaps running horizontally to allow quick access to the pockets and pouches on the webbing. The plates were shaped like downwards chevrons, and were covered with adaptive spray, meaning they could change color or pattern at any time. Useful for avoiding enemy squads or Knightmares.
A belt of grenades hung on his hips; they were featureless balls, with a partition running around the middle so the armed light could be seen. Hanging off a pouch over his Bowie knife was a detonator for the grenades. He was a bit more heavily armed then the other soldiers.
He sped up, going into a quick jog, making sure to hug the trench wall to his right, which ran the whole way up to the post. His black combat boots kicked up small puffs of dust as he jogged, soon enough he reached the observation post, the massive rock it was set in protected them from enemy eyes and fact spheres. The back half of the rock was removed for the post, with a thick wall of rock running down each side, with slits cut into the rock in regular intervals, all covered with desert webbing. The actual observation post was in the shape of a sharp U, trestle tables hugged the walls, they were piled high with radios and transmitters, ever present ammo boxes and med kits. He went over to the center table. It held racks with slots for Datapads, boxes full of batteries, stands with spare goggles nestled on them, and one set of strange binoculars. He quickly grabbed the binoculars, he looked them over, they were blocky instead of round, and had a small block in the middle, decorated with blinking lights and buttons, and a small lens at the front. He nodded and walked over to the forward facing slit. He peered through, surveying the area.
200 metres from him was the huge red boulder with a crack down the middle, currently the cover of the two pinned Knightmares. 50 metres from him, just at the edge of the slits's point of view, was one of the four remaining Abrams of Delta column, the others were spread out along the line. Delta was a column that used to be 20 Abrams strong. About 400 metres to the south was the little MG post, from which poured a storm of bullets, only visible by the tracer rounds spread out among them. The Knightmares were still pinned down by the four tanks, e keyed his radio, setting the transmission to all friendly frequency's within 500 metres.
"This is Black, I'm in position with the designator." He pressed a tiny red button on the binocs, the lens flashed to life, glowing a bright red. He aimed the laser using the binoculars, settling on the middle of the huge crack running through the boulder. He saw a flash of movement on the left side of the boulder.
The Knightmare's rifle!
The massive grey barrel swept the trench walls, unleashing a massive tirade of burning orange bolts at the Australian squads in the area, a few soldiers were unlucky enough to have poked their head up at the wrong time, only to have it vanish in a mist of crimson spray, leaving their bodies to crumple among their friends and comrades.
The Delta Abrams Thunder and Devil-Dog managed to manoeuver out of the open, putting heavy cover between them and the storm. Their turrets swung towards the offending Glasgow, and fired with precision, trying to disarm it by destroying its rifle. Only one round managed to hit the rifle, breaking the reloading chamber and magazine mount. As soon as it would run empty, the gun would be useless.
But the relentless assault continued, erstwhile rounds made craters where they slammed into the ground, the barrel finally was directed at Black's observation post, the rock structure shook violently with the kinetic force going through it, cracking open the rock and forcing Black to take cover. Red dust fell onto his helmet as he tried to keep the designator steady. With one hand holding the designator, the other reached for his hand radio. He brought it to his lips.
"Black to all units in this operation, commence in ten seconds, out."
The commander of Thunder, a heavy-set dark skinned man with the rank of captain, directed his crew; his meaty hands swooped down on the head of his driver.
"Pete! Keep us behind this cover; do not move her for anything!"
The blonde haired young man swallowed. "Yes sir, captain Matheson." His grip tightened on the controls.
Matheson nodded, and turned his attention to the man sitting above him on the gunner seat. "Gunner Grayson! Target this object!" He brought a data pad showing a real-time feed of the outside, he digitally circled the huge boulder's fault line in bright red, and handed it to Grayson.
Grayson nodded and handed the pad back. "Roger, sir. Swinging turret 36 degrees, target: Heavy cover for two enemy Glasgows! Ammo type sir?" he asked.
Matheson had to shout over the din of the Tank's rumbling. "Expansive! Aim for the fault line!"
Grayson pressed a combination of buttons, prompting the display to switch to target mode.
The display showed the full colours of the environment the turret was aimed at, even the wisps of smoke drifting across no-man's land. He centred the pale green reticle onto the fault line.
He shouted down to Matheson. "Target sighted and locked. Ready on your order!"
Matheson responded "Fire!"
The interior of the tank shook violently for a few seconds, and everyone strained as they resisted the G-force of the turrets backfire.
A strange silver shell, with a yellow segmented tip, was launched out of the main turret. Its passage through the air left a shrill scream as it bore towards its target. One of the Glasgows spotted them, and turned his rifle towards the Thunder, time seemed to slow down as Matheson and his crew watched the barrel turn towards them, a fiery glow emanated from the depths of the barrel as a bolt began to make its way towards them. They were toast.
Suddenly a tiny phft sound was heard, and a small silver shell arced between the Knightmares and the Tank, it dropped onto the ground with a thud. Then it activated with a roar. small compartments on it exploded, releasing a glittering white powder into the air. The shell beeped once, and suddenly the powder began to glow intensely. While it was a pretty lightshow for anyone else, to the Knightmares it was crippling.
Inside the cockpit of the Glasgow on the right, the pilot was bewildered, his viewscreens were going haywire, instead of showing the environment in real colour and real time, it showed a screen of rainbow colours, shifting from one spot to the next. The only thing discernible from the screens was the big red letters
SYSTEM DOWN. SYSTEM DOWN. OVERLOAD.
He was blind to the outside world.
In the outside world, the yellow capped warhead embed itself into the fault line, tiny motors worked as the yellow segments flipped outwards, given the appearance of a metallic flow with a silver stem and golden petals.
A red light began to wink on and off on the main body, sending a signal to the flaps, their tiny shaped charges detonated, causing massive fractures throughout the boulders structure.
The main shell then detonated, blowing apart the boulder and completely shattering it. Reddish brown dust enveloped the blinded Knightmares, rendering them unable to counterattack.
All of this took place in the space of thirty seconds.
Matheson grabbed his hand radio. "Sergeant Black! He's all ready for the attack, switching to cracker rounds!", He glanced at Grayson, the gunner nodded, he slid out of the chair, opened a purpose built compartment near the turret's reloader. He grabbed a rack of red shells with a white line running from back to tip, he lifted the heavy load carefully, he slid it into place in the chamber, he punched a button on each corner of the loader, prompting four metal rods to lock into place, securing the ammo pack.
Grayson slid back into the gunners' seat, and took aim.
The pilot of the left Glasgow was panicking; his systems were crashing randomly, stopping his attempts to quickly maneouver out of the crossfire the tanks would catch them in. He whimpered and shouted as he tried to bring it back online, but to no avail, the Sakuradite core had completely stopped its motion.
He heard a heavy whump.
Glumly he diverted power to the view screens, they winked on, showing the Thunder's main cannon aiming right at him, he barely registered the noise of the motion alarms, as the cockpit began to break up. He barely had time to scream before he was burned away.
The heavy red round slammed into the Glasgow's chest piece, burying itself into the fault, coming to rest metres away from the vulnerable cube of Sakuradite. The conical tip began to glow a warm orange, as miniature fission took place in the depths of its warhead, it tore apart as the reaction expanded, annihilating itself in a massive white explosion. It died down, revealing the now wrecked Glasgow, the front half of it had been completely vaporised, it fell backwards with a slight mechanical screech. The Thunder swung around to meet the other Knightmare, repeating the process, after both were left as burning, twisted hulks it rolled backwards, heading back into the cover of the jumble of rocks it and its unit were spread out among.
Runner blinked a few times, trying to shake the white spots he swore he could see. "Well, we can kill them now."
Cutter whistled appreciatively. As Thunder rolled to the left of their post back to its original position, he snapped off a salute. He swore he heard laughter come from inside as it moved past them. Runner grabbed the radio, tuning to Captain Black's frequency. "Sir. It works." He turned it off and set it back down. He chuckled and turned to Cutter, "You think the Britannians will be moving in on us now?"
Cutter laughed "Yep, they sure as hell won't run from this, something about honour and all that. Back to work." he hefted the MG and peered through the scope, watching for enemy movements.
Black shook his head, and slapped his the back of his helmet, to get rid of the spins and concentrate. He broke into a run, rifle bouncing on its harness as he headed down the hill towards the command bunker, he ran past the MG post, heading away from it through a trench heading towards Uluuru, he panted a bit as he began to tire, but kept going, running past the wounded, the sick, and the deceased. The trench walls ran all the way to the physical red rock of the monolith, he faced a metal door, with a keypad set into the rock. He punched in his command code and the door swung open. He entered, closing the door behind him, a hiss was heard as it relocked. He was in a long but narrow corridor, metal poles supported the roof, and a netting was strung up in front of the rock. Lights were placed at regular intervals. He headed for the thick metal doors at the end of the hallway in front of him, he came to the door, punched another code in, and walked through.
A wide circular shaped room greeted him, mobile consoles beeped constantly, operators organized and updated enemy movements, people all over the room bickered and argued, most of them generals and colonels.
Yep. The war room.
He sidestepped a oblivious aide weighed down with paperwork and folders, sidled past two fat commanders arguing about something unimportant. Soon enough the uproar of the room began to get to him, he gritted his teeth unconsciously.
He always hated being in command centers, he couldn't be out there directing his men and guaranteeing their safety. Something a general just wasn't able to do from here.
A broad-shouldered silver haired man spotted him. "Captain Black! Over here!" he waited while Black maneouvered through the traffic.
Black stopped in front of him, snapped of a quick salute and took of his helmet. "Sir."
He waved him down, "No time for that, we're a bit short of time." He saw the ghost of a reaction on Black's face. Concern. "Anything to report?"
"General, our plan was a success, two enemy Knightmares have been scrapped." He paused, cautiously adding, "I think we can win this sir. We just need to hold out a little longer, if you can send the details out to the company commanders..."
The general rubbed his forehead in worry, "I'm afraid we're out of time Captain. Take a look." He walked over to a wall-screen, it was streaming the view of a global hawk drone in low orbit around the battlespace. Black already knew where they were positioned, and he was sure the Britannians still had most of their forces arrayed in their much vaunted 'Suppressive encirclement'. He asked the technician seated nearby to highlight all forces in the area.
The map changed dramatically. ADF forces took the form of a thin blue line running around Uluuru, only 2 brigades deep. The enemy however, was far larger. Their encirclement was at least 5 Brigades deep, and had enough forces to completely surround them and then some. In between the opposing fronts, was a scattering of grey dots, denoting destroyed units, with either blue or red line over them, showing their side. There were far more red lines then blue lines. But that wasn't the problem. He noticed that the inner circumference of the Britannian formation was getting smaller and smaller.
They were throwing everything they had at them. Black swore a long string of expletives under his breath.
The general's hand rested on his shoulder. "We did all we could son.". He sighed. He noticed a dangerous glint in Black's eye.
"Sir, you and the command staff need to evacuate the area. Continue the fight, the Diggers can handle this." He concentrated intently on the map. There was no point trying to convince him otherwise.
Black saluted. "It's been a honour General Williams."
"Likewise, Jonathan." He watched sombrely as Captain Black left the room, heading back to the fight. He headed over to the central table, picking his way through Majors, Colonels and other Generals. The chatter started to fall silent as he clasped his hands behind his back.
"We are falling back. The Britannian's are closing in on our position and we need to retreat. All command staff and personnel will make their way to the evac convoys, your convoy commanders will recieve a map of the tunnels."
A General with a grey buzz cut shouted. "We're running away? Why! We still have operational capacity! We can still fight!"
"Because if we don't evacuate now, the ADF dies here General Vateman!"
He didn't reply.
"Our forces will make their stand here, until we have all been safely evacuated, then they shall escape as well."
A Colonel with red hair spoke up. "They'll be taking huge losses."
Williams nodded. "Yes. They will."
Uluuru battle lines. 7:00PM.
Black ran outside, out of the stuffy air of the command bunker, to the cool night-time air of the desert.
He headed back through the trench, running past support personnel who were just receiving their orders to evacuate. He ran past throngs of stretchers and mobile beds as they moved into the Bunker. He reached the MG post, where Cutter and Runner were unleashing storm after storm of death. The smell of the freshly dead was horrendous, the wind was blowing fiercely, whipping up the sand in a fury, causing a small dust storm to rage, it also carried to smell to them, forcing them to cover their noses and mouths with face masks to avoid having to vomit from the horrendous stench and to protect from the stinging flecks of sand. Black copied them, pulling a dirty brown face mask over his mouth and nose, almost completely obscuring his face.
He had to shout over the rapport of the Minimi. "What's the sitrep?"
Cutter only grunted as a reply.
Runner brought him up on the situation. "Sir, there is fuck ton of pissed off Oppressors heading towards us, currently they've taken out two of our MG teams, and ten riflemen!"
"You two are getting sloppy, did you hit them back?"
"Of course sir, we've taken out several armoured units and several infantry squads just in the last half hour!"
"Good man! Let's keep it up!"
He took up a firing position next to them, peering down the sights of his rifle. He could barely make out a few of the enemy squads, hunkered down to avoid the suppressive barrage and the majority of the storm.
In the dust cloud, a few small whumps were heard, Black shouted. "Take cover!" He dived for the ground, taking Runner with him, "Cutter! Get down here!", a loud whistling drowned him out as three AI grenade rounds sailed past them, their lights winking as their proximity sensors set off, Cutter swore loudly and dived down in front of Black and Runner, shielding them from the barrage of white hot shrapnel.
Black's eyes were wide in shock. Cutter...
Cutter groaned as he struggled to rise, blood could be seen seeping through his combat uniform. Jagged bits of metal pin cushioned his back. He fell to the ground, and tried again. This time, he managed to get to his feet, swaying uncertainly. He gritted his teeth and wiped the blood getting into his green eyes. He limped to the Minimi, grabbing a hold of its grips, he waited for the enemy onslaught. Another series of whumps sounded, and a volley of grenade rounds barrelled towards them again. Cutter roared as he opened fire, putting a metal storm between them and the grenades.
Against all reason and logic, they exploded in mid-air, shredded to bits by Cutter's barrage.
The older man grunted as he kept the barrage going, directing fire towards the source of the whumps. A series of cries and screams were heard as the bullets found their mark. Black tore his eyes away from the spectacle, and turned to Runner, he was badly injured, some of the shrapnel found their way into his chest.
"Cutter! Runner is hurt pretty bad; I'll take him to the Aid station." He heard him grunt in reply. He looped his arm around Runner, supporting him as they made their way towards Uluuru. As they made their way to the Bunker, Runner was in a state of half-consciousness, he looked around him groggily, vision swimming.
He noticed something odd once they were two hundred metres past the aid station. "Sir, we've passed the aid station..."
Black nodded "Aid stations been moved into the rock, Greg."
"Why?"
Black sighed "Because we are evacuating all injured, sick and command staff personnel out of the area."
Runner's eyes widened. "But sir, what about Cutter and the others?".
Black chuckled. "Don't forget me Private, I'm staying as well."
Runner was silent. So I escape safely while they lose their lives?
Black watched as he struggled to make a salute. "It was an honour sir, and fun too." His eyes betrayed his concern and sadness.
Black smiled as he guided them into the tunnels of the compound.
Confusion was all around Black as he weaved through the throngs of stretchers and wounded. He took a hallway to the left, following the arrows towards tunnel C-6, meanwhile a voice blared on the loudspeaker.
"Tunnels A-0 to B-10 are now sealed off, remaining personnel evac to tunnels C-1 to C-10, ten minutes until Britannian forces close in." it cut off with a click.
He went past a guard directing the flow of soldiers, heading towards a a huge blast door. He shifted into the group in front of him, and waited for them open.
A klaxon flashed and wailed as mechanical grinding could be heard behind the door, with a grinding screech it slid open on its rails, giving access to a huge cargo elevator. The crowd surged onto the platform, filling it up to capacity. Black unhooked a crutch from the bed, and handed it to Runner. He nodded his thanks and swung his feet over the side, he leant on the cane for support.
Runner spoke. "So this is it. Huh Sir?"
Black nodded sombrely. "Yep." He patted his shoulder. "Good luck Steve." He turned to leave the elevator.
"Sir!" Black turned around. "Give em' hell." The doors came together with a metallic thud, cutting the private from view.
Black was still for a few moments. He was not going to come out of this alive. He straightened, held his head high, and wheeled the bed around, back to the front. Uncertainty gnawed at him, he pushed it down, trying to focus on the task at hand. He would do what had to be done, even if it cost him everything.
He ran back up the tunnels, his footsteps echoed throughput the tunnels, unjoined by any others.
The entire interior of the bunker was empty.
After a minute of traversing the lonely tunnels, he ran forward onto the surface, barreling down the dirt walkway on a straight line for Cutter's position. He pulled the bolt on the Steyr, checking the chamber for any damage or problems, he released the bolt, and detached the magazine, he tapped it against the gun, and put it back where it belonged. He felt the thunder of artillery as theirs and the Britannian's exchanged pleasantries in the form of huge explosions and screaming. He heard shouting and screams in the distance as enemy squads were cut down in droves, unable to get past the suppressive barrage of ordinance. The ever present rumbling and whirring of Tanks, punctuated by thumps as they fired back and forth, gave the battlefield a tempo of war.
He shook himself of his reverie, and continued forward, as he reached the intersecting trench path, he ran into five bare-faced recruits, led by a grim looking Sergeant. He noticed their wrecked uniforms, the cuts and bruises on each man's face, and the barely concealed terror in the recruit's eyes. He stepped forward.
"Mac? You look like shit, mate." The Sergeant slung his rifle over his shoulder and walked towards Black, his good eye fixed on him.
"Still better then you Johnny boy." He responded with a deep, scratchy tone.
Black was confused, he looked up. "What's happened? The North line…."
Mac's eyes narrowed as he recalled the events of the day. "Britannia overwhelmed us, they just threw wave after wave of infantry to soften us up, then came the Tanks, and finally twenty of their precious Knightmare Frames. We only managed to get most of the wounded into the base in time for the evacuation, everyone else….." he trailed off, his face gaunt. He took a deep breath. "We're still combat effective sir, will you have us?"
Outwardly Black was the very picture of calm and collected. Inside however….
What else can we do?
We can buy time for the evacuation that's what.
But how, with a force as small as this….I don't even know how many people are left!
Wait…I know what to do.
He pointed at the recruits; he gave a small bark "Are any of you specialized in communications?"
A small olive skinned man at the back of the group spoke up "Ye-yes sir….?"
"Come with me. Sergeant, take your squad and fill out the part of the defensive line behind me, Gunner Quaras could use a hand."
Mac nodded and turned to the other four recruits, "Let's go, guys!" He took off at a jog towards the MG post, closely followed by the recruits.
Black nodded and gestured for the small recruit to follow him. He took off at a jog, heading down the trench going south. "What's your name?"
In between breaths the man responded. "Private Hendricks sir."
"Hendricks, I need someone who can fix the communications equipment at C-post 1. I need to get in contact with all of our forces and determine our battle strength."
Hendricks had a confused look on his face, "Sir, why are you taking command, if commands still around?"
Black sighed despondently. "They've been evacuated Hendricks, everyone not on the line, everyone non-essential, all the wounded. They're gone, headed to secret bases throughout Australia. Our only objective now is to stall the Britannian forces, and weaken them."
The young man blinked his eyes twice, he watched as the young man comprehended the consequences of what had to be done. To his credit, he stood tall; with a determined glint in his eyes, and nodded. "Let's do it then."
"Good." They crested a small dusty hill and saw the other half of their defensive line. Several massive craters marred the ground in front of the trenches, these depressions held several piles of mangled human bodies, unrecognisable and reprehensible to behold. The land behind the trenches rose steadily in three landscaped tiers, the first tier was bristling with howitzers, cannons, 50 cals, and missile emplacements. The second tier actually cut under the third tier, upon which he was told the command post was. An absolutely shrill screech cut through the air, he looked into the distant scrub, a line of five Knightmares smashed into the open, their guns and missile launchers firing a storm, huge rounds and missiles smashed into the fortification, tearing huge chunks of earth and concrete from the hill, he heard screams and cries of men as they fought the onslaught. Countless streams of fifty cal were belched from the fortifications, ripping into the Brit squads pinned in graveyard of both side's vehicles.
Have to get there. "Private, your radio." Hendricks passed it to him, "Matheson, relocate to the tree line three hundred metres to your right, I'm putting it down on your data pad. Out." he switched to another frequency. "Stretch, get your ass over here, I'm marking down a few suitable positions for you to provide overwatch. Out"
He jogged down the hill, closely followed by Hendricks. Heading into the storm.
Echidna company's combat zone, 8:00PM
He swore and ducked as a line of rounds slammed into the space where his head was.
He loosed a roar and poked his head up, firing an accurate barrage into the smouldering wreckage the enemy squad had taken cover in. Most of his barrage pinged off the heavy armour of the wreck, while a few managed to tear straight through, wounding a few of the soldiers. One of them leant out of cover, only his helmet and gun visible, the rifle flared as ceramic slivers were super-heated and sent down its length, they glowed a pale blue and left a slight smoke trail as they sailed towards the MG post.
The recruits ducked their heads, only keeping their Steyr's' and 416s visible. They fired in sync, suppressing the enemy squad. A tall raven haired recruit glanced at Cutter. "You alright sir?"
Cutter cursed and waved him off, a few patches of blood had soaked through his uniform, he grabbed another bandage and wrapped it around his chest, trying to stem the worsening bleeding.
"I'll live, keep the fire on them!" His breath was starting to get heavy as he got back up, holding onto his Minimi for support and balance.
"Oh fuck!" A recruit next to the raven haired youth pointed to a clump of trees three hundred metres to the left of the wrecked tank. A massive Knightmare Frame skated into the open, its faceplate flipped open, revealing a fact sphere, it swept the area, identifying all threats and all friendlies. The plates snapped shut, and the Knightmare hefted a massive black tube, connected to a blocky ammo pack. It swung the barrel towards them, a yellow glow lit the innards of the tube as it prepared to fire.
The recruits shouted and yelled as they grabbed Cutter and the Minimi, two of them took a knee, training their grenade launchers on its legs, two heavy headed grenades sailed towards the giant's legs, and promptly bounced off the thick armour and detonated uselessly on the ground, they got up and followed the rest of the Recruits up the hill. The Raven-haired recruit grabbed his handheld. "This is Private Swan, new Knightmare Frame approaching; we are falling back to your position, Captain Black. Copy?"
"Swan! Its firing!" the back-blast of the Knightmare's launcher singed a huge cluster of tree's behind it, a thin orange rocket spiralled towards the MG post, it slammed into the middle, utterly annihilating the little shelter from the Earth. As they ran up the hill towards C-Post 1, they heard the enemy cheer. Swan looked out towards the enemy forces and groaned audibly.
A huge dust cloud trailed behind a massive column of tanks; he could also see several large groups of figures moving through the forests towards them. And to add the icing on the shitstorm, ten more Knightmares screamed towards their former post.
Cutter raised his head groggily. And sighed when he saw the enemy forces.
"Fuck."
A massive hand slammed down onto the table, the force of the impact quivering the owner's magnificent moustache. He was a tad angry. "We're all that's left!"
Black winced as he watched a radio crash to the ground; a technician quickly took it away to be fixed. Evidently, they were used to Colonel Johnson's 'quirks'.
He took off his helmet, resting it in the crook of his elbow. "We are now Sir. Command issued a general retreat for all wounded and command personnel. We have to stall the Britannians so they don't discover the convoy. We-"his radio hissed and squawked at him.
"This is Private Swan! We have a new Knightmare Frame on our hands; we're retreating to your area, Captain Black! Copy?"
He grabbed the handheld off his belt "Roger that Swan, what's the status of your fire team?"
"Shaken but functional Sir….But Gunnery Sergeant Grelinsky is unconscious, we need to get him to a infirmary."
Black's fist shook with fury, "It's alright private, there's a infirmary next to my position, get to it."
He hooked the handheld onto his belt, and turned back to the table. The Colonel had a concerned look.
Johnson's gaze softened. "He'll pull through John. Nothing can put him down." The main door to the bunker was flung open, and a flustered messenger ran through, he stopped in front of the Colonel, panting as he caught his breath.
Johnson's eyebrow twitched. "Yes Son?"
The lanky soldier stood straight. "Sir, the enemy are renewing their assault on our position, our SAS lads in the bush confirm twenty Knightmares, ten MBTs and at least fifty enemy fire-teams, coming at us from the rock's eastern flank. Orders sir?"
He turned to Black with a questioning look. "Black you just came from there, did you see these forces?"
"No sir, when I left the area was secure. I'll radio my men to confirm."
"Good. In the meantime, get down to the front line and take command, my men will need instructing in how to deal with their walking tin cans."
Black replied with a dark smile. "With pleasure Sir. Hendricks let's go!" The short Private nodded and followed Black out of the bunker.
unidentified light forest, 400 metres Northwest of Echidna's combat zone.
The area beyond the treeline rumbled as a host of Britannian Knightmares and MBTs moved towards Firebase Omega. Four hundred metres behind the treeline, parked in a wide clearing, was the two remaining tanks of Delta Company.
The sand coloured behemoths were utterly still and silent, not even their turn signals were on. Inside the Crews were utterly silent, not daring to utter a single breath in case a enemy Knightmare was looking straight at the treeline.
Matheson leant against a bulkhead, eyes closed as he dozed for a bit. Above him Grey had his wallet open, keeping his gaze fixated on a photo of his Wife and two kids at their little apartment in Sydney. Corporal Line's stared their camera screen as it swept the surrounding brush, keeping a vigil if the enemy decide to come knocking.
Suddenly the rumbling faded away.
"Matheson!" The radio was speaking.
He opened his eyes and grumbled. Leaning over Corporal Lines at the Tanks wheel. He turned a dial on the Tank's radio.
"Yes, Captain!"
"Where are you located?"
"Currently we are hidden in a small forest north of the enemy armoured company. What are your orders?"
Grey passed the data pad down to him; on it was the map of the surrounding area. They were currently in the middle of pale green mass, the eucalypt forest, while the enemy company, a long red line of blocks and circles, snaked its way towards Firebase Omega, a concentric ring of bold blue blocks nestled against a massive brown wall that dominated the right half of the screen. Uluru. In front of Firebase Omega was a loose mass of red and grey dots.
Black responded. "I need you to position yourself in the forest four hundred metres south of you, that armoured company will most likely attempt to flank us from the north, this is a perfect opportunity to take out that brigade."
Matheson nodded. "Will do Sir." He turned the dial back to its starting point and concentrated on the data pad, working out the best route and position to get to. After mapping a path to the ambush point, he handed the data pad to CPRL Lines.
"Pete, run her quiet like. Put those expensive new toys to good use."
"Yes Captain."
He turned the dial on the radio again, Tuning to Devil Dog's frequency. He unhooked the receiver.
"Reggie. Did you get those orders?"
A gruff no-nonsense voice replied. "Yep, we'll follow your lead, Dan."
He turned the dial back, and motioned for Grey to activate the dampener. A soft hum signalled its activation. They felt their skin prickle momentarily as the field expanded past them and around the Tank. He gestured for him to turn the engine on.
What would have been a magnificent roar was now a soft rumble as the engine awakened. Grey took the controls and guided the Thunder out of the treeline, closely followed by Devil Dog.
They rumbled across the desiccated ground, weaving in between craters left by artillery and the wrecks of IFVs and MBTs. They took a bit more caution when they passed the wreck of the two Knightmares and the boulder, making sure not to touch the glowing blue shards interspersed across the two wrecks, any pressure on those shards would cause them to detonate, annihilating both Tanks. After a few tense minutes of traversing the open field, they entered the cover of the treeline opposite from their hiding place, the only sound that could be heard and pinpointed by outside forces was the crunching and churning of the brush under their heavy treads.
Matheson hated using the dampener. It didn't do a very good job and sometimes the absence of sound could lead the enemy right to them. Plus visual contact was still a guarantee. After rolling a further three hundred metres through the forest they came to the southern edge of the little forest. They came to a stop just behind the gum trees.
All Australian forces had been recalled to cover this section, and it showed.
Numerous squads of Britannian troops were advancing towards the lowest tier of defences, using a fire and advance technique that they exceled at. Supporting them were several Tank squads, their twin barrels blowing chunks out of the entrenched forces. Weaving amidst these formations were several Knightmares, acting as fire support or surgical strikers. That was the main force. The ones they were following were about to join the battle, flanking the ring of defences, if something wasn't done quickly, they would quickly break through and slaughter everyone. He desperately wanted to fire as many shots as he could, to do as much damage as possible, to wreak as much expensive destruction as possible. But he had to stick to the plan, so he was forced to wait.
"Hope you know what you're doing Captain…."
Hendricks shouted a warning to Black, he ducked as a wire guided missile flew over him, nearly taking his head with it, Hendricks couldn't get out of the way in time, so he fired full pelt at the missile, hoping to nick the guiding sensors on its nose. A lone bullet managed it, and the missile spiralled upwards in a uncontrollable ascent, once it was high enough, a conical tower at the back of the outpost rotated, bringing its barrel in alignment with the runaway missile, it belched a storm of lead, shredding the mechanisms of the warhead, making sure it wouldn't explode when it was cut to ribbons, like a metallic rain, it fell down on the Troops, luckily they all had helmets.
"Thanks Private, got a good eye there." They continued making their way to the lowest tier, passing ammo stores, machine gun emplacements, even a cutting edge devastator anti-armour cannon, its turret gleaming slightly from the massive temperatures created inside it from the force of the shells it lobbed at the Britannians.
A pair of suppliers, laden down with ammo boxes and assorted equipment, lumbered past them towards the cannon, they passed the entry to the second tier, continuing down the gently sloping path, occasionally holding onto their helmets as an artillery shell or missile passed uncomfortably close by.
Soon enough, they arrived. All across the lowest tier, men fired and took cover, others screamed as the back burn from a narrowly dodge missile seared half their face, or a massive bullet from Knightmare left a bleeding stump where a limb was. They were losing. Badly.
Black looked around himself, spotting a grimy-faced private huddled close to the trench wall, his hands were twitching and his eyes were wild. He walked over and squatted in front of him.
"Are you hurt?"
The private didn't even acknowledge him, he just stared into the distance, past the maelstrom of violence and suffering.
He switched tracks. "PRIVATE, ATTENTION!" the man whimpered and looked up at him, eyes registering his presence.
"Ye-yes sir? I was just taking a break from the weapons exercise." His eyes seemed to flutter and glaze over as he said it.
"Son, they need you up at the medical hall, all the recruits are having a drill there and they need you, for the example technique."
With a dazed look in his eyes he stood, "Right away, Drill Sergeant!"
Behind Black, Hendricks had grabbed a passing Medic, gesturing in the direction of the shell shocked boy.
The Medic walked over, giving him a warm smile as she held out her hand to him. As they walked away, Black stood up and sighed. "I've been doing that countless times ever since the start of this. I'm sick of it. I really am."
Hendricks nodded in sympathy. "Sir that Medic told me where to find the commanding officer down on this level, it's this way." He walked down the trench running to the northern edge of the defence.
Black followed him, coming to a circular, squat bunker, reinforced with a black latticework of metal poles, he passed through the camo patterned mesh strung up as a door, nearly banging his shin on a low table sitting in the middle of the little bunker. A older man, 'bout 40 years old, looked up at him, his dark brown eyes casually taking him in.
He gave Black a grim smile, and a casual salute. "Captain Hutch, you are Captain Black right?" He asked in a deep, hoarse voice.
Black returned the salute, and nodded. "Yes sir, what's currently going to be our doom?"
Hutch chuckled quietly. He waved his hand dismissively, "Oh you know, just the average Britannian force of shit-loads of Knightmares, lots of armour, and lots of bodies to throw at us. The usual."
"Where are they currently pushing at?"
Hutch turned and rummaged through a table overladen with maps, troop orders, supply requisitions, until he finally brought out a data pad.
He gestured on the touch screen a few times, then handed it to Black. "As you could probably tell from the amount of ordinance flying back and forth, they're currently attempting to break through on our northern flank, my boys over there can't hold out forever, and will run out of ammo soon. We need a new plan, Captain. Those skating monsters of theirs are a tough nut to crack."
"I've worked out a technique that counters them. I'll head down now."
"Don't get your head blown off Captain."
Britannian command crawler "Camelot", 9:30PM
The control room of the mobile command centre Diomedes was filled with quiet chatter as technicians and their officers worked, sorting the chaos that was a battle into a cohesive and concise battle plan. A bugle sounded from speakers set into the ceiling.
"Agamemnon vi Britannia, 2nd Prince to the throne, has arrived. All operational assets rerouted to his will. Long live Britannia!"
The pristine white double doors on the left side of the command centre slid open, revealing Britannia's favourite son.
His blue eyes seemed to glisten with a blood thirst as they swept the room, even though they were at the rear of the battle line.
He was huge, easily towering over his brother, the young Prince Schneizel, who stood to his left. A massive crimson cape, festooned with polished golden clasps, draped over his massive shoulders. On his belt was a ornately detailed and very deadly sabre.
The bridge crew quickly got out of their seats, snapping off a salute towards their new commander.
"ALL HAIL PRINCE AGAMEMNON!"
Agamemnon chuckled. He waved down the praise as if he was modest. "No, No, That isn't necessary!"
A small voice spoke up from bend him, almost inaudible. "Umm Brother? The troops need you."
"Quiet Schneizel, you're here only to observe and take notes." He walked confidently to the command chair, set into the wall behind the bridge crew's stations. A older man, with the bars of a general intercepted him. He stuck out a gloved hand.
"General Weiss, I'm in command of this op."
The hulking Agamemnon slipped a rolled up missive out from within his breast pocket.
"Orders from my Father, General, you are relieved of command."
Weiss's hands shook with fury as he put on a calm front. "Very well, where is my next post….Sir?"
"You've been recalled to Regional Hub 10, to serve as acting viceroy until these pathetic rebels have been stamped out."
He saluted and walked out of the room, Schneizel noticed his hands were bone white.
Agamemnon sat down onto the command chair, immediately slouching as he did so. Schneizel moved cautiously by his side, watching the numerous screens with interest.
Agamemnon glanced at a female officer, noticing how snug the uniform was on her. He had a huge smile on his face. What's the status of the scum?"
A tall, brown skinned officer answered him. "Sir they're putting up a good defence, our forces can't break through."
"Why don't we just commit all our forces to that point?"
"Supplies and fuel are dropping fast; we can only afford to assign a small portion of our forces to engage them."
"Focus on resupplying our Knightmares and artillery only, reassign our mechanized brigades to close off all access in or out. Trap them here."
"Yes Sir." He swung back towards his workstation, pushing various buttons and radioing the necessary officers.
Agamemnon laced his fingers together, chuckling softly as he contemplated the rewards and titles his father would bestow on him.
Wipe them from the Earth…
"Dyl! I need a mag!"
"I'm out Jamie!"
"Shit!"
The two privates ran, sprinting away from the Glasgow that decided they were goanna be its bitches.
As Jamie ran, he could have sworn he heard laughter coming from the hulking giant as it raked the ground around them with massive bullets.
He vaulted over a piece of rubble, keeping pace with Dylan as they slowly outpaced the Mech. They heard cursing as it lost its footing among the rubble, unable to get through. With a roar, it unleashed a burst towards them, vaporizing the wrecks of Tanks and Knightmares around them. He watched as Dyl dived into a small foxhole, he pumped his legs, and dived as well, managing to get all of him into the tight space.
He glanced at Dyl. "Think we're fucked?"
Dyl gave him what he assumed was a wry smile. "Aren't we always? This is it man."
The shrill scream of the Knightmare's wheels grew louder and louder, they heard the whir as its machine gun spooled up...then it stopped. Everything outside of the little foxhole was hidden in a massive blaze of light. Dylan squinted, and looked away from the blinding sight.
A whump was heard, and a whistling as something was travelling through the air at high speed. They heard a mechanical thud as it hit something. A voice cut in on Jamie's radio.
"Get down, you idiots!" Jamie complied, thrusting Dyl's face into the dirt, and his as well. The foxhole's walls shuddered as they resisted the pressure wave of a explosion nearby, flames licked the gaps of the walls as they roiled past, making it unbearably hot in the foxhole.
The heat dissapeared, and the the blinding light ceased.
The voice came back. "Now, get back here!"
He grabbed Dyl by the collar, half dragging him out of the foxhole, Dyl shrugged his hand off, and started running. Jamie followed, gaze fixed on the broken pile that was their doom.
The voice spoke once more. "Pick up the pace, you've got more Knightmares coming!"
He kept pace with his friend, as they came into view of the western defence line. They saw their comrades beckoning and waving, some flashing a...innapropriate gesture that insulted their intelligence and virility.
They landed with a thud in the trench, and stopped to catch their breath. A Medic ran over, tossing them some bandages and morphine.
"What, no special treatment?" Dylan joked. He winced as the Medic glared at him.
The Medic rolled his eyes. "Got people more important to heal then you." He ran off, stopping occasionnally to treat or diagnose the wounded or shell-shocked.
"Are you two alright?"
They quickly rose, facing the figure behind them.
"Yes..." Jamie spotted the man's rank band, it had a golden pip, followed by three chevrons. "...Captain?" He was confused, but tried to not show it.
The man smiled as he noticed. "Captain Black, Echidna company." His smile faltered. "Well was...Its only me and a few others now."
Jamie lowered his eyes. "Sorry Sir." He glanced at Dylan. He was silent, staring at the ground.
Black perked up, "Corporal, I've got a job for you. Feel like going for a run?"
Knightmare squad 1 skirted around spire of rock, their target being the Australian defensive line past the treeline, the lead Knightmare whipped his arm to the right and left, signalling for the other six units to spread out in a staggered line, they complied, angling away from him slightly. Like a arrow they pierced the treeline, weaving inbetween the thin eucalyptus trees, as they neared the other side of the strip of forest, the lead raised his arm, and clenched his black fist.
As one the unit shouted. "Yes, my Lord!", they took their rifles off their mounts, and hefted them, aiming straight ahead.
The lead of squad 1, a tall black haired man named Knight Crowley, narrowed his eyes as they stared at the viewscreens. He pushed a button on his left.
"All units, prepare volley fire on first tier, fire and advance motion. Out."
The screech of their wheels on the ground drowned out the roars of their guns as they spat a barrage at the Australians. Smoke and debris billowed out from the impacts, while shouts, some of surprise and fear, most of weary indifference, carried from the defensive line.
They break through the wall of trees, into the gnarled and twisted ground before the line. Fellow Knighmares and tanks littered the battlefield, some still burning as their fuel and cores cooked off. The three Knightmares on his left skidded left, skirting the edge of the treeline as they provided cover for the units advance. One of them accidentally strayed in front of the heavy bore artillery of the Defenders, several heavy whumps were heard as heavy artillerry shells knocked the Knightmare off its feet, while the last one penetrated its armour, consuming pilot and mech alike in a vicious fireball.
Crowley snarled, and angled his gun towards the offending artillery pieces, he squeezed the controls of his left arm, sending short but precise shots towards the pieces, disabling them and catching a few unlucky gunners and spotters.
He continued his precise assault, grinning savagely as his unit began to push forward, continuing their inexorable advance towards victory...
A small figure poked its head up on his left viewscreen, the rest of it hidden behind the wreck of a old Abrams tank. It was holding what looked like a tube, resting on its shoulder.
He laughed, putting his gun away, he pushed a button. The metal plates covering the Glasgow's left arm shifted and moved up towards the shoulder, revealing a folded metal blade. With a mechanical whir it flipped out into position, he chuckled and raised it for a overhead slash, preparing to bisect the stupid ant...
A projectile alarm blared, he stopped and brought his hands back to the movement controls, but was too slow. A red tipped shell slammed into him, knocking him over and cracking his chest armour, it came to rest a metre into the casing, and activated. The segments on the tip opened like the petals of a flower, their tips blinking with a red light. A single beep sounded, then a massive chain reaction through the shell began, explosive charges throughout it detonated, utterly ripping apart the front half of the Knightmare's chest. It fell back with a groan, smoke rising from its disabled frame. Crowley held a hand to his bleeding left eye, barely obscuring the immense rage coming from it, his right eye made up for it with the most horrifying stare. With pained grunt he shifted, checking the few viewscreens still up. He watched as one by one his Squad fell to the same dirty trick, ending up like him, he barely registered the proximity alarm blaring again, he closed his eyes, waiting for the final rest...
A narrow tungsten dart was fired from the Thunder, puncturing the weakened chest and impaling the cube of blue rock. Cracks spread out over it, showing a light burning with the heat of a thousand suns within. It consumed itself in a firey storm of radiation, melting the wreck from the inside.
The small figure stumbled a bit as he recovered from the explosive result, he slapped the side of his helmet, and stumbled off back to friendly lines. Jamie decided he would not do that on a day to day basis.
Through out the night.
Explosion after explosion rocked the battlefield, as enemy Knightmares continued to fall for the same trick over and over again, they tried to counter it, by moving infantry platoons in for support, but artillery nailed those. They tried a different tactic, weeding out the Tanks by burning the forest down, that fell through due to Predator drones covering the area.
The commanders and officers of the Britannian army bickered and argued amongst themselves, not quite believing, that maybe, maybe, for the first time since their manifest destiny was realised, they were being beaten back due to overconfidence and reliance on unproven technology.
As the night wore on, the Australians morale soared, as they were nearing the completion of their only mission objective: To provide a distraction for the evacuation trains underground. And yet as it wore on, they gradually whittled down, little by little, until only a handful of Tank squads and artillery batterys were left, along with the surviving infantry companys, all boxed in by the Britannians, in a area the size of central park in New York.
Command Crawler 'Camelot', 6:00am
The young mans head snapped back as Agamemnon's massive fists connected with him, he fell to the floor, quietly sobbing and trying to cover his wound.
"I'm sorry, Sir! I-I'm just a technical officer!"
"We are losing, you weakling! The strong. Never. Lose!"
His death glare quelled any chatter in the room, for everyone but Schneizel. He looked at his brother with a strange eye, almost one of contempt and pity.
"I'm getting out there, I'm going to annihilate those Insects!"
Schneizel shrugged. "As you wish, brother, I shall observe from here."
Agamemnon didn't reply, he shouted at one of the bridge officers. "Don't move anymore units in, me and my guard should be enough."
As he stalked out of the room, all of the technicans stood up in their seats, giving a stiff salute.
Once the door closed the tension and fear in the room dropped off. Schneizel shook his head. He sighed and sat down on the command chair.
"Prince Schneizel...?"
"Lieutenant I am taking operational command of this task force. All orders will now come down from me. Inform the Company commanders and Generals." He paused, studying his datapad. "Move Armor line N-1 to encircle areas B-1 and D-2."
"Sir, there's nothing there..."
The young officer paled and froze as he saw the Prince smile, those ice blue eyes seemed to bore into him as he continued. "Call it a hunch, Lieutenant."
Countless headlights lit up the pitch black tunnel as the escape convoy made its way to freedom.
General Williams sat in the back of the cramped APC, squished in among the wounded and those who could no longer fight, his head was bowed, and his thoughts were dark.
I wish there was another way. If only...no...If I had just-no!
He watched as the Driver flipped a switch on the bulkhead, and nodded. "Roger. Sir we are clearing the tunnels in about thirty seconds."
"Thank, Keys."
He felt it as the ground started to rise gradually, heard it as the air whooshed down past the convoy into the pitch black tunnel. Another crunch as the APC cleared the incline.
Under a sea of bright stars, in a virtually uninhabited plateau, the convoy of one hundred vehicles had just driven right into a Britannian ambush force. Runner looked out of one of the gun ports, straight into the twin barrels of a Britannian Kingmaker.
He spoke everyone's thoughts aloud. "Well. Fuck."
Cutter shook Black's shoulder, the captain woke with a start, he blinked, showing massive bags under his eyes.
Cutter chuckled. "Guess you needed that."
"What-oh right. Guess I did. What time is it?"
" 'bout 5 am, things have been strangely quiet for the last hour."
"Odd. Must have finally decided they lost too much. Have they withdrawn?"
"Actually most of their forces have. A lot of them seem to be heading west, further into the desert. They've evened the odds for us."
Black shook his head. "I don't know how much more we can take of this. We've nearly used up all of our special ammo."
The radio next to them beeped. Black glanced at it. "Captain, make your way to the central outpost, somethings happening."
"Colonel sounds sincere. I've got patrol soon with the recruits, see you later John." Cutter got up and grabbed his Minimi, heading towards the tents where the recruits were.
Black rubbed his eyes with the his palms, and shook his head. He got up, donning his helmet, and headed to the central outpost.
The field in front of outpost omega was pitch black, the only source of light being the fires licking the carcasses of tanks and Mechs. Seven hundred metres from where Johnson and Black stood, with slightly perplexed expressions, was a lone Knightmare Frame, and for a Knightmare Frame, it was a midget.
Unlike the blocky Glasgows, this one was sleek, with curved plates covering it, its head was in the shape of a old style flanged helm, with the telltale dome of a factsphere nestled on top, currently sheathed.
unlike other frames, its chestpiece didn't bulge out in front of it, rather just carving a gentle slope downwards, the crest of this slope, was in front of the fragile Cube core. It looked remarkably similar a fairy tale Knight, about to do battle with the evil enemies of the crown.
It didn't even have a rifle, only a small sleek pistol held in its left hand, and a fragile looking, crimson sword in the other.
Despite its outward appearance, Black and Johnson were wary of it.
Johnson grabbed a radio.
"This is the Colonel to all artillery positions, zero in on that tin can and scrap it!"
He whipped his hand back, gesturing for the technician to hook up feeds from the artillery stations.
Black gazed at the screen, through which multiple guns were visible. The radio was bursting with chatter, all of them on a synchronized count down.
"3..." He watched as their massive barrels angled their trajectory towards the red giant.
"2..." He saw as the guns were loaded with red tipped shells. Thunder rounds.
"1..." On every view screen, the gunner pushed the fire button.
"FIRE!" a massive crescendo of roaring thunder absolutely drowned out most noise around outpost Omega, he ducked outside, watching as more then a hundred glowing lances screamed towards the lone Knightmare Frame.
They impacted, each one detonating all of their warheads in unison, combining their tonnage into a massive fireball, and directing it all onto the unfortunate robot. It was akin to a toy soldier being thrown into a glass furnace.
A miniature sun occupied the spot where the Frame stood, lighting up the whole area in brilliant white luminescence.
The sun died down, roiling and raging as it was dissipated into nothing.
Something else occupied the spot.
A glowing ball of energy surrounded the Knightmare, made up of hexagonal panels of a red hue.
The Knightmare's factsphere was deployed, and it glowed a pale red.
Inside the cockpit, Prince Agamemnon vi Britannia grinned like a wolf.
The ADF's last stand.
A/N
I honestly had no idea to end it, which is why it jumped from ending at 8000 words to-well- the number up there.
This will essentially set up the backstory and motivations of the characters I will focus on in the next five chapters.
Don't worry, most of the characters from the series will be putting in appearances throughout these chapters, and later ones will focus on them.
I'll be definitely working on the next chapter.