Memory fragment.
Summary: The horrors of war told through eyes of one broken man.
Tags: Grimm War AU - Bad End , connected snippets I am unable to pierce together into a story.
Disclaimer: RWBY belongs to Rooster Teeth the blessed Monty Oum. This is a work of fanfiction, and while an unfinishable one I hope I can do him proud, or at least, amused in his rest.
[Memory fragment: Jaune 1.]
-Vale, Valean Industrial Port.-
Dead blue eyes gazed down at the great struggle shown on the tactical holomap, of the thin line of Human and Faunus standing agaisnt the tide of hundreds of thousands of Grimm. The Second Stage of Operation VTAL was in its final phases. The command bridge revebrated rhythimically as the RAMF-Vanguard II laid down earth-shaking artillery barrages to support the force on the ground and to prevent, or just merely thin down Grimm reinforcement from crossing through the few natural bottlenecks connecting the two halves of the Industrial district and the entire city. This would cause problems later when it would be his turn to cross those bridges, pun not intended, but for now the important thing was not to be overrun.
Even as trains of data and information ran before his eyes, hundreds of possible scenarios and solutions forming at the back of his mind non-stop, he was still unable to focus completely. The gashes and wounds and puncture holes that ran all across his chest burnt; healings which would had taken months, if not years, now accelerated to mere weeks. The red-coloured skin itched, sensitive; the thick cotton bandages on them felt like needles of fire, and to add in his cold plate armour pressing agaisnt them... Jaune gritted his teeth, repositioning a Huntsman team to intercept an attempt to flank his army from the Omega. His prosthetic right arm hurt with phantom pain, along with the cracked silver locket on his chest burning reminders of the things he lost and earned after the 'final' battle.
Hand drew imaginary lines into the air, firing projections made in a split second. The artificial intellegence confirmed his thesis in an emotionless voice before he gave that order out in a similarily tired tone. The Vanguard again shook as its spinal cannon sent another volley over the horizon.
Jaune hand curled up, so tight the heavy duty tactical glove creaked. He felt useless. He knew he wasn't, that he was better off here, but he also knew that he was a Huntsman, and that every single. Huntsmen. Counts. -Regardless of his injuries!- His friends, on the other hand, had only been too glad to pull him out. Said that his 'injuries' could impair his tactical judgement, even if the next best place to put him was behind the 1-foot thick wall of military composite armor, still doing pretty much the same thing. Even if they were little better themselves.
The air rumbled with sounds, music to his ears. A symphony of war, both man made and Grimm. The thin line under them ebbed and flowed like a river, forming funnels, directing the Grimm into newly-set kill-zones, wiping out entire waves before their Hivemind could react. Machine guns and rifles opened fire, Dust cells rapidly disappearing into individual receiver ports as from the barrel came out condensed orbs of plasma. Repurposed construction and hauling mech-suits roared as chainsaws and hydraulic clamps crushed and mauled and sawed any Grimm that got too close, while Atlesian Paladins opened fire, streams of auto-cannon rounds and missiles tearing into the horde of soulless monsters. Mechanized battalions worked in unison with Huntsman strike teams, targetting important enemies like Alphas and Goliaths and reinforce faltering positions, the battlefield where she would duck and weave and strike and dance and retaliate and reap her dues, flying on human feet and caped cloak of red blood bringing utter ruin to the other side, the angel of death and retribution, where she-
Another tap, the ship's cannons shook him out of his memory, back to the truth of the endless swarm with no end in sight. The Vanguard's smaller turrets joined in a barrage from dozens of artillery pieces, pushing the tide back further a little, granting the defenders some much needed breathing space just before the next wave broke upon them.
Razor sharp feathers tattered agaisnt the reinforced window, making a few of the command staffs jump to their feet. He didn't blame them. Most of them weren't professional soldiers nor huntsmen, just normal people with the approriate skill sets roped (or for a rather few, volunteered) into this role. Around them, the aerial combat raged on, a dog fight between metal with soul inside agaisnt fleshy husks without. Vacuoean Helios and Valean Minotaurs, flying bunkers zipping in the sky, tanking and dishing out damage ten times in return with their half-dozens turrets and plasma lances, each ship a mini-corvette in its own right. Atlesian Raptors and Mistrali Tempests danced off agaisnt swarms upon swarms of flying Grimm, autocannons rattling in long bursts clipping wings and sinews, occasionally diving down to strafe at the horde below, missile bays emptying their loads into the largest masses of Grimm. From the Vanguard, hundreds of point-defense turrets sent literal hailstorms of bullets into any thing that got too close. Even the men on the ground joined in the crescendo, dozens of anti-air turrets opened fire, lighting up the sky with criss-crossing patterns of tracers, whirling trails of missiles and the iridescent glow of plasma orbs.
Yet for all they were worth, they were not invincible. Casualties mounted up as the battle raged on since early morning, tiredness and exhaustion seeping into their very bones when a single slack of arm equals death. Many fighters and vehicles bursted into fiery balls of flame or became utterly silent when massive razor-sharp feathers connected and found a critical spot. Gryphons and Nighthaunters descended from the sky, talons and fangs rending through aura and flesh; some latched onto planes in mid-air, ripping and tearing away components and pilots alike. Chittering swarms of smaller flying Grimm swept through the air, surrounding and swarming view ports and soldiers, buying time for the horde to close in. Sometimes, but too often, enraged forms merely shrugged off injuries that should have fell them then proceeded to tear into the rank of men and faunus until finally put down.
A Nighthaunter rammed agaisnt the bridge's window, shrieking and clawing and making noises that sent a chill down his spine. It wasn't scary, just... irritating, like fingers clawing on a chalkboard. Scores more carried smaller Grimms in their claws and dropped them on board. Boarder alert siren blared, red lights bleeping continously, irritatingly. Jaune told the technician to shut it up. The man couldn't agree more.
"Deploy Combat Droids and Sentry turrets. 3... 2... 1..." Streams of tracers filled the deck, peppering the Beowolves with bullet holes while the fliers leapt up into the air, only to be picked off by the more appropriate PD system. Like a game of chess, or a duel. Jaune Arc versus the Omega. Strike, hold ground then counter-strike.
'No. Not really.' A voice whispered at the back of his mind. His eyes darted around the room, to check for any rippling in the air, for any seemingly-inconspicuous disturbances. He almost sighed in relief when there was none. Not a Yuki. He remembered the last time one had managed to snuck through this far in the Mistrali campaign. Brr.
'Were it so easy?'
This was siege warfare. Grinding attrition, where the only way for you to win was through staying alive and fighting more than the enemy did. All he could do to tip the scale in their favor had been done weeks ago, through a series of high-risk covert and overt Hunter-ops. From simple recon and ranging down Grimm to hunting down older, more dangerous ones, destroying spawners, hive-structures, and assassinating as many Omega as they could. It had made him felt older by decades, since there was nothing he could do but supervise and help them from afar. Especially then.
Fuck Salem, and fuck her Dark Palace.
The damned bat used its leathery wings to shield its face from the streams of bullets that it was now the sole target of. The Nighthaunter roared in pain, then ripped a sentry turret off its base and threw it up into the comm array above, the force ripping the array apart (technically, the replacement for it) for the third time that day. The holographic map and images buzzed out, disconnected from the battle below. He was flying blind. Jaune scowled, shouting an order to rerout the server through a nearby frigate through the short-range relay instead. Someone took the chance to hand him a mug full of a shake made of sweet coffee syrup and grounded up ration bar. Jaune took a gulp, the liquid sticking onto his throat. The taste, while terrible, reminded him of pancakes. His fingers around the mug tightened, and he had the urge to pull out a flask and lace the shake with-
The holomap came back online. Jaune gave a 'good job' nod to the comm technician, as the chief engineer reported in that they were still trying to fix the damage.
And now, his turn.
A/N: a short one, one intended to go with part 2 and 3 but ultimately doesn't fit due to mood dissonance.
