Author's Note: Muv-Luv and its associated trademarks still do not belong to me, but to their respective owners.
"What happened that day would not be easy to explain to someone who had not been in this country from the start. It's not to do with race, or creed or political preference. It had to do with atmosphere, with our society. Even in a world dominated by never-ending war for survival, we had little contact with it – our homes were warm and lit, our bellies full, our paychecks and trains arrived on time. War? We knew of war, but to all good folks it was something of bizarre fantasy world beyond the ocean. We never have thought of it otherwise. Until that day.
We have fostered our belief by being spared the devastation. We had seen what happened across fields of Europe and mountains of Japan, and we believed that we have survived. By divine providence or pure luck – we were left standing and rest of the world wasn't.
Until that day…when the hammer of destiny smashed everything we held dear."
Sergeant Jim Hale (ret. Army) "The Mighty Motley – Defenders of Maryland" 2012 Edition
It was quiet.
All too quiet.
The entire room was seemingly dead. It was full of people, but it seemed as if no-one had any life left in them. Only ashen-colored despair and helplessness.
David Anderson sighed as he moved his hand through his short jet-black hair. "This is supposed to be the most powerful nation on Earth and we're around like cretins."
Of course he couldn't blame them – in one short moment, entire Washington D.C and surrounding area simply disappeared. Along with entire American political and military leadership. And all the precious memorials, symbols and above all – hope for a better tomorrow.
Objectively, not even during the War of Independence, did America saw such a threat to its very existence. And with their leadership gone, it was only natural that people behaved the way they did now.
"Well, not entire leadership"
The longer he stared at the charred crater that used to be Washington, the heavier his suit became. It slowly occurred to him that he wasn't just within one of the largest remaining American command hubs, but he was most likely the most senior federal official alive.
And that put things into perspective.
He forced his tired mind to think. He scanned the maps and displays – assessment of casualties, disruption to communication, status of all available military units, vectors of the hole in SHADOW network and the probable location where Hive fell.
Through decades of military service and political maneuvering, Anderson brought his mind to bear. One by one, the gears started to turn.
Good. Now he was doing something. All that remained was the final step.
"Gentlemen" His voice was quiet and overly hoarse, but in the stillness of the command room, it carried with nearly perfect clarity.
"As of current hour, we can safely assume that both President and most of his Cabinet, along with Joint Chiefs of Staff and majority on Congress are dead. As the most senior official alive, I am assuming direct control over Presidency." Almost every pair of eyes in the room was on him right now. It was now or never. It would be the toughest battle in his career. Not of men and machines, not of arguments and political gains. It was battle for souls.
"Our capital was destroyed, along with all that it contained. We lost friends, lovers and families. We had our hearts ripped out from us from blue sky." His gaze hardened as it dragged across the room.
"But we're still alive. There can be no greater achievement. Our enemy has struck, but he had failed to destroy us. And we have a duty – duty to all those lost, to stand up.
We may have long since forgotten it, but this nation had faced disasters in the past. And it wasn't our military prowess, knowledge or wealth that thwarted them. It was will. As long as we will, then events can be realized! Do not cry in despair! Cry in happiness and with vengeance! Fight for those that we lost, and for what we will gain. We can win. Against all adversities, we will win, because we accept no defeat! If it needs to be done, then I will go to BETAs myself and beat them with my own hands! But not before beat you all into fighting shape! Not before you all stand up and show the world the will of our nation! Give us future of give us death! Let's show loud and clear to those inhumane monsters that they just chose a wrong country to fuck with!"
There were claps and there were cheers. But most importantly, people stood up. They were no longer passive. They had a purpose now – something to fight for. And in revenge for their disrupted lives, they would give it their all.
"Mr. President" One of the remaining military officers saluted Anderson, as his subordinates lined up behind him. "What are your orders?"
South-Western Maryland, I(Impact)-Day plus 5 hours
"I'm cold Sarge"
Sergeant Mike Walters scanned the surroundings through his screen as the gunner of his M1A1 Abrams complained. It was winter already, and the sky had long-since became dark, fresh snow piling up across southern hills of Maryland.
If someone had told him as recent as a week ago that he's have to fight BETA – in his own homeland in fact – Mike would have laughed. There was no way that BETA would have made it this far.
Or so they all thought.
It had been a shock at first – the horrifying news of an entire city, capital city no-less, lost in the overwhelming explosion. He still remembered it well. Although his posting was well away, the vivid, unnatural aura was seen miles and miles away.
For what seemed like hours, everyone was in too much of a shock to act, after first confirmations arrived. It just seemed to unreal. Things like that happened in books, but not in real life.
But it did happen, and worst of all, it was far from over.
Mike preferred not to guess at just what were the odds of no less but two hives landing on top of the United States. At least one of them was supposed to be destroyed.
As for the other one…
"Move your legs from time to time Jimmy. Just don't push the fire button by accident."
It had been hours since the last scouting party reported their approach to what was supposed to be the Hive's location.
With radio (or any other wireless) communications suddenly unreliable for undetermined reason, and no idea of whether the chain of command still existed, the local military officials co-ordinated a unit of National Guard and regular military forces to investigate.
And if possible, slow the enemy down.
At least this time, he reassured himself that they had TSF back-up: a whole unit of F-16C Fighting Falcons escorting their tank unit, and dozen more scattered throughout the area.
He hoped that would have been enough to keep them alive.
"Sarge." It was the gunner again. "I'm scared."
"Me too son…me too" Sergeant reluctantly admitted as he leaned back.
"Really?" The gunner seemed surprised.
"Of course I am. Did you think I was in any wars before this?" It wasn't a good joke, but it swiftly drew attention from whatever bothered the gunner.
"Uhhh, well I…"
"…Never mind Corporal. Just focus on your job. Think about…you're going to fire that gun. Not about how you will aim, or what you'll be firing at. Just to motion. What angle and so on…just like on exercises. Focus on the job. Don't think. Too much. "
"Yes sir"
"Romeo Battalion" a voice suddenly rang out through the comms. "We're detecting approaching Group of BETA. Composition is not entirely clear at this time, but there seems to be no Laser classes among the herd. Repeat, no Laser classes detected."
Mike would ask how they'd know that if they weren't sure of what was supposed to be inside that herd, but then again, with all those TSFs flying, the Laser-class would be having a shooting fest if they really were there.
Not that it made him any happier.
"Romeo Lead, Copy that. All unit, stand by for long-range engagement. Load up explosives!"
The line of tanks suddenly stopped, their lumbering guns raising into air. The TSFs spread out, moving to the flanks much like cavalry of old.
The target data begun to flow through the squadron data link – the technology was far too effective to be kept only to TSFs, and was quickly converted to other military hardware as well.
Mike tensed involuntarily as he scanned the area ahead through low-light visor, searching for enemy to kill.
And then, he had seen it.
It was still far, but he could see it clearly. It was a wide tide, swiftly falling up and down over the hills.
It was seemingly endless, like an ocean spreading far beyond the horizon.
Only it was filled with vicious, inhuman aliens.
"My God. How are we even supposed to stop this?"
"All units! Fire!"
The ground shook as Abrams fired their volley, the bright stingers of the shells arching across the sky before impacting the targets. Mike could see the plumes of smoke and fire as the ground exploded behind the enemy vanguard, scattering the force – but only for a moment. Just like water, the BETA flew back into the formation. The wholes slowly filled up, like puddles after a rain.
"Well, this is going to be a shitty day".
The guns fired again.
Space Station Citadel, U.N Security Council Chambers, I-Day plus 7 hours 35 minutes
Secretary-General Walter Mortimer Evans quietly sighed as he overseen the latest meeting of Security Council abord the Citadel. In addition to French, English, Chinese (Taiwan) seats, there were also delegates from Imperial Japan, Germany and Brazil. Surprisingly, the Soviet seat was taken for once, by non-descriptive party official who identified himself as Yakhaev. By contrast, American seat was conspicuously absent.
Which was understandable, given the circumstances.
"Gentlemen" Evans drummed his fingers against the conference table "The longer we delay the worse the situation gets. We have to decide on –anything- , right now."
"It's obvious" French representative cut in as he leaned back into his chair. "The Hive needs to be destroyed. No matter the cost."
British and German representatives resisted the urge to roll their eyes. That was the one thing everyone agreed on. The actual question was how?
"Currently, the Hive is still in its developing stage, isn't it?" The Japanese representative slowly replied. "Which means…it should not be accompanied by Laser-class BETA…any sort of Laser-class."
Ah. That's what it's all about, isn't it?
"Absolutely out of the question" German immediately shot back. "We will not be using nuclear option."
"But Americans did" Frenchman swiftly interjected. "Now twice, given that they apparently used G-Bomb on their own soil."
"We do not approve of any use of nuclear weapons…or something worse. We did so back then, and we will do so now." German narrowed his eyes as he pointed his fingers at the other diplomat. "And we have no idea whether the use of G-bomb was intended…given the circumstances."
"Ah yes. Washington. All the more reason we have to move decisively. We don't even have any idea if America still has government"
Oh, now that was going too far. Sure, the first reports indicated that the town was gone along with more than half of current American leadership. But America was not stupid. It was dumb, but not stupid. Plans existed to deal with that sort of thing. Chains of command, an intricate web of civilian and military leadership hierarchies, crafted from Fifties to survive something much more horrifying then a destruction of a mere single town. An important town, but still just a town.
"Now, now" The Taiwanese diplomat, and the only woman in the room, finally voiced herself. "That is rather harsh assessment to make. And we also have to acknowledge that an indiscriminate nuclear attack on America may warrant unneeded resentment from one of the most populous and well-armed nations on the planet." She cautiously eyed everyone in the room. "And we hardly can afford such a turn of events."
That was pretty much the crux of the issue. There were many more people – including the Frenchman and the Japanese that wanted to put a nuke in United States of America. But it's just so happened that said nation was the only remaining superpower, and had just enough manpower and resources to send them all to hell.
And the cruel, and unfortunate truth, was that nations such as Canada or France were simply not worth bothering with. They lacked the science infrastructure that helped to push forward TSF development, or the same pool of manpower from which U.S and U.N military recruited by the hundreds. Loss of Canada was hardly felt in the grand scheme of things, barring the odious political fallout.
But the loss of United States would make defense of Earth impossible.
Even if U.S maintained it's isolationist policy, the world simply could not anymore survive without American capacity to manufacture and replace TSFs, tanks and guns. And all major control and command U.N structures were not based in New Zealand or Brazil, were within the USA.
But at the same time, the point stood that USA could not have been allowed to fall to BETA advance. And a Hive so deep within their territory a sign of just that to many dignitaries. Many of them felt that it was safe to destroy a part of the country, if only to save it from BETA invasion. Never mind that like a spoiled child, America would never appreciate the "help". It might even return it.
And that was the trap that Evans had to avoid.
"Perhaps" he carefully begun, taking a sip of his tea "Inaction for a time being is a course of action."
There was a grumble from the table, some in acknowledgement, some in protest.
"At any rate, we should give Americans at least several more hours to re-establish contact with us. Or for the matter, we should wait until our representatives in New York reply back."
"How about a compromise then?" The Brazilian minister suddenly asked. The large and lumbering man was almost completely mismatched with his sunny disposition. If anyone asked, Evans would sooner believe that the man was a rocker from Hell then a diplomat.
"If I recall correctly" he continued his thought, brows furrowing "the Laser-class BETA take a while to appear, right? About 19 days, isn't it?"
There were several nods.
"Then how about we…wait that period? We can even widely publicize the information, and declare aid to the U.S. It wouldn't matter if they accepted or not. But they key thing would be that everyone would know that there's a deadline at which the Hive must be destroyed…or we will destroy it for them."
Ah. A threat it is then? Well, fear always was an effective tool of management.
"We would still be going through with it." The German frowned.
"Yes. But the idea is sound. And it certainly takes the blame off us, should the worst come to pass" The British cut in. "In Americans had their chance, now they failed, way."
It really did make sense, Evans thought. By publicizing the information (at least in States anyway, in Europe the Hive data was hardly classified), the U.N would be making a huge "We're really sorry, but it's the only way" board, and in case that entire Maryland had to be nuked off Earth, Americans would only be able to blame their own government.
It was cruel, but for the sake of humanity, the pride and many American citizens would die, and their own government would probably collapse – Evans couldn't see the administration continue in the event that America was attacked as result of its own inability to deal with BETA.
The result would be an ugly chaos…but one that could have been turned into something useful for the U.N and rest of the world.
And to be perfectly honest, it was still less then what Americans deserved to pay.
"Since I see that we all agree with the basics of the plan" Evans eyes the German and Japanese for the emphasis "we can put it into motion. In the meantime, we will monitor the situation through the official U.S government channels, and if situation allows for it, our own officials that remain within U.S."
Yes…this isn't the first time we're doing something like this…After all, that's why we approved of the plan of that madwoman and created the A-01".
Area-51, I-Day plus 9 hours
It was a typical atmosphere that Yuuya had seen before. One that he couldn't quite call, but which reminded him of a whipped dog. People either talking in quiet, hushed voices or angry outbursts.
The news had arrived only a couple of hours ago, but it was already making waves. Not that Yuuya could blame it for that – after all it wasn't just everyday that your capital got blown up together with the President.
"There you are, Yuuya" He looked up to see Vincent, who wore almost unusual frown. Sighing, Yuuya crawled from under the labyrinth of cables that the cockpit frame of his F-22 became to face his friend.
"How is it Vinny?" He asked.
"Bad. Everyone seems to know just about as much as the next guy, which is squat. I heard from the Colonel that Command might have relocated to Cheyenne…that is, if we still have command left. Besides that, the usual – bunch of people running scared or depressed."
"Almost like in Reykjavik months ago. Jesus, that was a FUBAR." Yuuya rubbed his head as he leaned against the catwalk. "We're the biggest army in the world, and the moment a Hive lands in our backyard everyone shits themselves and act like a little girl. It's annoying"
"Well, not everyone serves in Space Force for starters." Vincent retorted. "And you have to admit that the Hive made quite an entrance."
Yuuya could only quietly nod. And feel the anger inside of him.
The battle for fate of his country was fought only a few hours away by an airplane or HSST, and all he could do was to sit on his ass and adjust the flight sticks.
But hey, that always beaten running scared. Or depressed.
"Well, suit up. If you're already here, you might as well help me with this thing." Yuuya finally replied, pointing at his TSF. "Better be prepared if their highnesses decide to call in real experts to the job, no?"
Mike Walters wished he was somewhere else. He really, really did.
The ether was filled with horrifying screams as the forward line of defense was being overwhelmed. The lumbering TSFs were brought down, like old monuments, smashing to the ground and picked apart. The tanks were now in full retreat, trying to put in some distance between them and their foes.
"Direct hit!" His gunner shouted. "Destroyer down! But I'm down to 3 AT shells , five explosive and one HEAT."
Mike cursed. They barely had any chance to resupply, and their once ample storages were practically out. Same could have been said of other surviving tanks.
"Fuck. Reynolds, can't we drive faster!?" The Abrams' driver shook his head, his voice barely audible by omnipresent rumble.
"I'm doing all I can! But I can't magically unthaw the fucking snow man!"
Mike held another curse short. The weather had hindered the advancing horde well enough initially, but now the trees and loads of fresh snow obscured Abrams' retreat.
"Tanks!" The gunners voice, despite the shouting, was much more calm then you'd assume. It seemed that in the heat of battle, the young man had simply forgotten to be afraid. "Those red little fucks are directly behind Lambda group!"
Mike grimaced. The Lambda was still within their firing range, but the enemy was closing in too fast, in too great a number. Any fire support now would be a waste of shells that could have saved their own lives. He slammed his fist against one of the panels, as the thought crossed his mind.
Is that the best we can do?
Suddenly the ground behind Lambdas exploded, as dozens of small object descended from skies. Fire, shockwaves and shrapnel massacred through Tank-class vanguard, as a crescent-shaped unit soared through havens.
"All units! Continue to withdraw. We will cover you."
Mike watched with amazement as the squadron of Navy F-14Ds screamed overhead, their guns blazing.
"Wow. Now that's some God-dammn balls" His driver commented as the Navy formation dropped in right before BETA main force, their 120mm cannons thundering, each shot bearing death and destruction.
Mike could only wish to be there with them, sharing in the joy of sending that alien filth to their grave.
But right now, all he could do is retreat.
But then again…you can't fight is you're dead. Survive to fight another day, isn't it?
South-Western Maryland, I-Day plus 10 hours
The old man smiled as his cigar caught light. Technically, a TSF cockpit was not the place to smoke, but it wasn't like anyone would give him hard time about it.
It's time.
"Old-Snake One to all Snakes, listen up!" His throat felt a little dry from the smoke, but his voice carried with the same authority that he exerted through his years of service. "There's one nasty herd of BETA just asking to be killed. And I was supposed to be in entirely different place, full of young, Cuban misses." His comrades grinned in less-than-proper way. "So we'll be doing one thing, and one thing only…killin' BETA. And because I'm just such a hardass, everyone here own me 1000 BETA scalps!"
"Yes sir!" His troops replied enthusiastically. The old man smiled wickedly at the sound, all the while his cockpit begun to be filled with sounds of rapidly-loaded ammunition.
"Good. Who's our love ladies!?"
"GUN, GUN, GUN!"
"WHAT'S OUR LOVE!?
"KILL, KILL, KILL THE BETA!"
By 1980s, the American TSF design philosophy had moved away from lumbering, armored walking tanks into streamlined, his speed sleek death bringers. The idea was that since Laser-class made almost all armor obsolete, then you'd have to avoid getting hit – and extensive amounts of armor were not particularly pleasant on the aerodynamics, as were heavy, integral weapons.
But there were exceptions.
One, was the Intruder line of amphibious TSFs. The other, was the America's attempt to bring that undaunted monstrosity of machine onto land proper – the A-10 Thunderbolt II – the Warthog.
Based on hybrid Phantom and Intruder chassis, the machine could barely move under the strain of it's heavy sheets of armor. But said armor contained dozens of Javelin anti-BETA CIDS, and the GAU-8 Avenger. A rapid-fire gattling cannon, the Avenger fed BETA with hundreds of uranium depleted rounds at huge velocities. And A-10 carried two of them. In addition to two hands further filled with Javelins, and capable of fully operating any hand-held weapon.
Extremely expensive and slow, the Thunderbolt II was simply not something you messed with. Rumors had it, that even the ATSF project heads were too afraid to pit their shiny toys against "The Hog".
And right now, a fully battalion of them was heading to the frontline.
Piloted by some very angry Army veterans. Men and women that fought through Fields of Fulda and Alsace-Lorraine long before Chair Force decided to actually make Orbital Divers useful.
The Hogs slammed into the ground just after the tanks passed behind them. The staggered line faced the BETA as if daring them to move forward, all the while Navy F-14s and the Army escorts of F-16s harassed the horde with its 36 and 120mm rifles.
The horde advanced undaunted, it's various strains almost melting the snow with their saliva at the sight of lumbering, resource-rich behemoths.
"In range" Someone called.
The old man just grinned and pulled the trigger.
Dozens of GAU-8 gattlings roared to life, like a howl of angry, vengeful God. And vengeance the God would have.
With only few Destroyers to cover them, the lighter BETA strains turned into a literal liquid and hundreds of nearly hypersonic depleted uranium rounds tore through them. The massive guns merely swept the line, angry fires of traces biting in into a mass of flesh and blood.
Then, hovering in air with impunity, the others TSFs brought to bear their rifles, smothering the BETA with 120mm shells.
And for the first time, the BETA advance faltered.
Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado, USA, I-day plus 12 hours
The just sworn-in President of the United States of America, David Richard Anderson, stood within the main communication hub of the Cheyenne Complex. The vast communication room became over the span of the day a command center for practically entire North America. Maps layed strewn around the hastily arranged tables, and communication specialists sat nearly non-stop, glued to their computers, trying to sort out the vast chaos that erupted over entire country.
"General O'Neill reports that his reinforcements reached to zone of BETA control. He had also re-established contact with remaining commanders across North-Eastern seaboard."
"Good" Anderson nodded "Tell him that his priority is to establish a defense perimeter surrounding Objective-29. He has free hand on how he does it – I don't care what he does barring dammn WMDs, as long as it gets the job done."
"Yes, Mr. President."
It might have been not much of an order, but Anderson didn't have much choice. With Derringer Effect still wreaking havoc with communications across almost entire northern border of USA, he was lucky he managed to co-ordinate any defense at all. And "co-ordinate" was stretching it a bit – all they managed to do was essentially find the highest-ranking officer on East Coast and basically give him command over every man, woman and child in the region.
But even as American troops died in droves to repel the alien invaders, bigger problem remained.
The actual Hive.
As long as that thing remained, it was a serious threat. And Anderson knew form his military training that for next 18 days, they would be free from the threat of Laser-class – but after that, East Coast aerial zone would be essentially shut down.
That gave them 18 days to contain BETA advance, surround the Hive and destroy it.
If it was only as easy as it sounded.
But if they didn't do it then the United States were finished, and all he did would be for naught. And Anderson refused to accept it.
Maryland Battlefield, I-Day plus 15 hours
The Tank-class viciously hurled itself against the lumbering TSF. Moments before it made contact however, a sharp, metal javelin ejected from one of the armor plates, impaling it inside out. Reeling back on titanium cable, the object left a trail of blood across the armor.
Old Snake barely had the time to recognize that however, as he gunned down another pair of Grapplers that attempted to flank his TSF.
The battle continued now for hours, and even though U.S reinforcements increased by the hour, it seemed like there was no stopping of the alien menace.
The A-10 slowly moved across now battered hills, as American desperately attempted to hold the enemy advance. To a degree, it was working – the BETAs failed to advance any further in significant numbers, but at the same time, Americans failed to advance themselves.
A classic stalemate.
Several Tanks again pounded on the A-10. The GAU-8 gattlings roared to life, turning some of them into red vapor and paste. But several managed to reach the TSF, their muscular hands tightly gripping the slightly torn-and-bashed armor.
Under most normal circumstances, this would be a nightmare situation for any TSF pilot. But not to someone piloting Warthog.
The leg Javelins came to life, their tips effortlessly tearing through Tank bodies before retracting. Like trashed puppets, the critters fell to the ground, forming a small wall around the craft.
But even with such a might…there was so far you could go.
"You know, I didn't notice it at first, but there's much more of these red fucks then before"
"True" Old Snake replied to one of his battle-buddies. His cigar had long since became a burned-out husk. "It was same at Fulda too."
"Destroyer carousel. That was dammn ingenious for a bunch of bugs, I'll give them that."
"Still, it's easy for us here. Fulda had tons of Laser-class." Snake replied and he off-handedly shot another Grappler to pieces, this time with hand-held rifles.
"Don't remind me. Who took them out in the end?"
A pair of returning F-16 screamed overhead, their rifles blazing as they tore a bloody trail through the advancing column of more Grapplers and several Destroyers. Snake rose his rifle in gesture of mock salute. "Depends on which approach you were. East was covered by Galm. Western was covered by those Easterners – you know, the ones led by Bernhard?"
His wingmate laughed as his own gattlings briefly came to life, turning into ribbons several more grapplers that were about to grab onto a downed F-14. The machine's wingmate made his own salute, as he pulled the downed mecha to its feet, slowly dragging the now twisted machine behind the battle-line.
"Eisig Hure, was what those cretins called her, right? Heh, that woman had more balls then entire of East combined-"
The comm. Line suddenly beeped, and Old Snake blinked in surprise – pretty much ever long-range comm. System in the area was down so how could have anyone..
"Attention to all forces in the area, this is Command Post Actual" it was a voice of a young woman that might have been in her mid-20s "We have managed to temporarily restore long-range communications. Several flight of bombers have been di*buzz*tched from *buzz**buzz* to assist. Please, hold out a little more! Fire support is *buzz* the way!"
"…It wouldn't happen to be climatic if this was the last wave, would it?" the wingman asked. The older pilot noticed the flashing icon for squadron tactical uplink, and pressed corresponding keys. In a second, the combined 3-D battlefield map composed from synchronized sensors of all surviving Snake TSFs came to life.
"That's a big wave." He simply said, grabbing another cigar from under the seat.
"And spreading in all directions…let's just hope whatever boys and girls in command have planned will get here soon."
"Major Walker! Enemies confirmed, bearing Alpha-Alpha-1. Unable to determine numbers! ETA 10 minutes at current speed."
Alfred Walken nodded to his subordinate as he studied the tactical map. The news that there was incoming fire support had certainly invigorated the defenders, but one big problem remained.
Remaining BETA.
"All Hunter elements, maintain current altitude and air speed! Contact with enemy vanguard in 8 minutes!" He loudly ordered to his Group, as he pushed forward his sea-green F-15E. On the flanks, he could make out similarly painted F-16Cs from Able company, which were providing fire support.
"It'll all boil down to those few minutes…if we can't hold them off here, then the BETA will spread out, and massed bombardment will be ineffective."
The next minutes dragged on by agonizingly, until finally, Walken could make out his foes.
"Here they come!" His XO, Irma Thesleff reported as the formation closed in towards BETA.
"Still no Laser-class sir" Someone else reported.
"Good. Then we can fight without altitude limitations. All units raise your level to avoid being caught by The Destroyers or Grappler arms! We will cook them from above!"
The TSFs activated their boost engines and swiftly ascended, roaring overhead of BETA. Without their might Laser-class escorts, the alien beings could only helplessly stare into the sky as their prey mocked them from above.
The mount pylons twisted from their back racks, the AMWS-21 roaring to life, as 36mm shells made a piece meal from unprotected Destroyer backs. With no way to strike back, the vanguard was obliterated in a flash.
"Good" Walken nodded as he seen the first incoming wave slowly dissasipate on radar screens as more and more specimens were killed. "Able company, sweep the next rank with missiles! 12-shot volley, each craft!"
Several dozens of missiles surged forth from Falcon's shoulder-mounted missile containers. Again, with no Laser-class, the missiles reached their mark without fail, tearing into the BETA wave with finesse of blunted hammer. Fire, blood, earth and entrails danced across the sky as American formation advanced, their guns blazing.
If the enemy had even a shred of human-like cognition, he would have withdrawn – understanding that casualties were too high and tactical situation untenable.
But BETAs were not human. They advanced without remorse over smoldering corpses of their compatriots, showing no fear against screaming death that surged towards them.
Walker winced. His unit remained almost completely unharmed, and he achieved almost complete supremacy over his enemy – and yet he was losing. For his objective was not to simply kill BETA – but stop them at specific point.
"All units fall back! We have to make a stand! If the BETA get out of encirclement, then the battle's lost!"
The jump units swiveled forward, instantly generating reverse thrust that took Eagles away from battle line. With heavy thump, the Eagles settled several dozen meters away from BETA horde. With swift movement, Walken deployed all of his rifles forward, his squadron following suit while Able company continued to pound the BETA from above.
"No-one gets past us! Fire everything!"
Eagle's guns thundered again, alternating between 120mm and 36mm fire. Explosions tore into Destroyers. The tungsten-tipped arrows with which Eagle's cannons were loaded tore into Destroyer ranks, denying smaller strains their protection. Quickly catching up, the Able company hovered above the BETA, firing their explosive shells in-between Hunter's kills – creating a true mayhem of metal and carapace shrapnel, fire and flying Destroyer bodies as they fell upon other strains, finally disrupting BETAs endless march. Finally, from behind the Hunter's position emerged, battered but operational, American armor elements, their lengthy barrels shaking with each shot that sent lethal projectiles to kill some poor alien son-of-a-bitch.
"It's no good Walken!" Able's captain reported over the booming noise "Their still climbing above the Destroyers."
Clicking his tounge, Walken moved his F-15E forward, despite reverberating kicks from his rifle's attached cannons echoing across its frame. "Hunters, close in! Put in some distance between BETA and armored battalion."
It was a fearful slaughter as countless BETA died, dyeing fields in several shades of red and purple. But finally, several specimens were finally able to reach the Eagles.
Close Quarters Combat has commenced.
Walken swiftly dodged a Grappler arm, promptly shooting the offender to bits, before blasting a pair of tanks. Around him, individual pilots deployed their knives as they came face-to-face with Tank groups. He barely could assess the situation, before another Grappler lunged at him. With seconds to spare, he blocked incoming claws. Metal clashed against silicate as Grappler pressed its attack. Twisting his control sticks, he applied increased thrust to his boosters, slipping from under the creature's grasp. Throwing away two of his rifles, he deployed his knives, immediately slashing through Grappler's leg muscles and belly organs, basking his TSF in blood.
Almost immediately, three tanks jumped unto him. Two met almost immediate end at the edge of his knives, but the third managed to solidly latch onto his Eagle's chest, it' monstrous mouth bearing its teeth. With a grunt, Walken pulled his Strike Eagle into a tight turn, causing the Tank to momentarily lose its balance, giving enough leeway for his knife to plunge into it.
Catching his breath, he had just enough time to look around before diving into fray again. All around, Hunters were surrounded by their enemies, BETA waves dividing into smaller strings that sought to tactically strangle individual TSF elements with sheer numbers.
"Major!" Irma Thesleff's ragged face appeared on the screen. "There's too many of them! Hunter 4 and 6 are down – We're being overwhelmed!"
Walken yelled in frustration as he repeatedly drove knives into a backside of a Destroyer. "Dammn. But if we fold here, the BETA will roll out en masse towards Virginia…Able Company, come in!"
As lightweight TSFs, the F-16 remained airborne, fruitlessly trying to stem the tide of enemies heading for Hunter Group.
"Still here" its commander laconically reported.
"Hereward, fire every missile you have in between our positions and the BETA!"
"I can't guarantee that we can avoid hitting your guys Walken! We can't see shit down there!"
"Just do it! Otherwise we will bleed out in close-quarters anyway!"
The Eagle turned sharply to the right, driving its knives into another tank, prying it off from a downed Hunter F-15E.
"This is Able! Missiles away in 5! 1, 2, 3, 4, FIRE IN THE HOLE!"
A tight barrage of missiles dived into the swirling melee, exploding in between its participants, scattering dirt, rocks, shrapnel and alien remains. Eagle's rocked as their gyros fought to keep the machines stable against the shaking ground.
Walken's F-15E emerged from the smoke, it's shoulders smoldering from shrapnel impacts, but otherwise intact. Its secondary rifles, now reloaded and replacing its predecessors on main combat arms, blazed again, scattering more BETA.
The desperate maneuver succeeded in creating several craters that would slow BETA down. Although not significant, the slight lessening of enemy numbers allowed several Hunters to finally fight off their enemies and assemble into a single formation, firing again into the BETA ranks.
Just in time for bomber arrival.
Before the arrival of Laser-class BETA rendered aerial weapons nearly completely ineffective, bombers were among some of the most feared anti-ground vehicles. Carrying thousands of bombs, these crafts carried enough ordinance to wipe out a whole military unit by themselves – or even level entire towns. When atomic bombs were devised, the bombers were then adapted to carry it, becoming capable of finally ending the civilization of their creators.
For decades, Americans built mass of these bombers, in preparation for massive aerial assaults should the war ever erupt between its rival, the Soviet Union. Although this bomber fleet no longer had a purpose, or strategic niche, Americans chose to retain them, "just in case".
And this case had just arrived.
"Buffalo Lead to Buffalo Flight, time to show the Army how's it done. Drop all bombs, reserve nothing!"
The B-1 Lancer bombers lowered their altitude, as their bomb bays opened, revealing their payloads – hundreds of primed bombs, of almost all types.
"Colonel" The lead machine's co-pilot quietly reported as the machines lowered altitude. "I have confirmation of the location of local defense forces, along with main BETA concentrations."
"Good job" his commander nodded as he gently turned the bomber towards updated co-ordinates. "Now, let's roast some marshmallows."
The Bombers passed Hunter Group with overwhelming roar, typical to jet-propelled aircraft. Only a second later, fire rained from the sky.
The cries of pilots, once filled with the untold agony and despair of the dying as they were crushed or torn by Grapplers and Tanks became a roar of triumph as their living comrades witnessed their enemy's annihilation. The already-scorched Earth exploded once more, as bombs fell in droves, smiting the BETA with their ungodly power. Cluster munitions and big, dump iron bombs smashed into the Earth, creating an infernal orgy of destruction.
Hunters – battered but victorious cheered, as they rose their bloodied weapons into the sky. Justice was done, and mission fulfilled. Elsewhere, situation was similar as tank crews and surface pilots cheered the mass annihilation of Man's greatest foe.
But some did not laugh.
"We won, but only because of the advantage of our airpower, and command's succefull attempt at co-ordinated aerial assault." Walken grimly thought as he surveyed the ruined battlefield. "Had this been an honest fight…would have we won? Or…"
The question remained unanswered as BETA and the bodies of their unfortunate comrades burned to ash.
General O'Neill looked out hopefully through the window of his Humvee. The long loud of black, low-hanging smoke meant that his plan has survived.
He turned behind him, where on the back ramp one of the soldiers continuously fiddled with portable radio station.
"Do we have contact with the bomber units or Langley?"
The trooper shook his head "On and off sir. It's better than it was an hour ago, but I cannot gurantee that the channel won't go dead or static all of a sudden."
"Tell Langley to continue bomber assaults. Tell them that each squadron is authorized to operate on their own. I'll take the responsibility. And tell those dammn cable-laying teams to hurry up. I can't fight a war if I don't know where my troops are!"
"Sir, yes sir!"
The Humvee's driver, one of General's staff officers gently coughed to get his superior's attention. "We're almost to the CP sir. The forward scouts should already be there to relay the latest information."
The man nodded, as he leaned back into his seat. The adjutant continued.
"What do you think the SecD…I mean, the President will do? You don't think he will…bomb the Hive, would he?"
"With nukes? Nah, not right away. Besides, if we hurry, we can probably wipe them out conventionally…unless, the BETA pushed up their Laser development schedule. If that's the case, we're screwed either way.
Although his face remained neutral, General frowned inwardly.
"But then again, it would be detrimental to your objective, wouldn't it, CIA? Using one opportunity to terrorize the U.S population and replace civilian government with ad-hoc organization that will most likely be based off martial law, not to mention killing all opposing politicians in one go…but even so, to go as far as to actually prepare communication cables, forming entire Engineering Corps units out of their agents, putting Thunderbolts units, bombers and entire Hampton Roads on stand-by almost 12 hours before actual attack without wider world knowing…no…" O'Neill shook his head. "Not even CIA has these resources…even if it really is the case that they're co-operating with the FBI and SOCOM… Whoever is really pulling the strings here, is above and beyond the CIA director. And whether the USA survives, is dependant entirely on the goodwill of this…entity."
"General?"
"It's nothing" the man absentmindedly replied, as he desperately tried to assess the new threat.
Area-51, Nevada, USA, I-Day plus 23 hours
It had been close to over 24 hours now.
The heightened alert at Area 51 remained however, and the Surface Pilots remained at their stations, wearing the powered Reinforcement Suits under their vests.
Not that this really bothered Yuuya. As frontline soldier, he had long since became familiar with the custom of near-permanent wear of "the Armor", since as it happened on the frontlines, you never knew when the next BETA raid would be. Or when you would be sent off into Space as a Diver.
From the good news department, it seemed like there was still a command – in Cheyenne complex, just as Colonel predicted. But what went on besides that, no-one knew. Except maybe for a massive commotion within the U.N orbital space station. Again, not that Yuuya could blame them for the matter. U.N buildings in New York were not that far away from the hive.
But as long as no-one sent any HSSTs, then his hands were tied. It was kind ironical that almost entire of America's rapid-response troops were simply elsewhere and couldn't respond in force.
So that left Yuuya and his squad mates playing cards in the hangar with some of the mechanics, while trying to ignore the increasingly restless aces of Nevada.
"Flush" Vincent called next, smugly throwing his cards down on the deck. Yuuya just smiled.
"Full House" The several people cheered as his cards landed on top of Vincent's. He was now almost-certain that he could win…
"Oh, my turn I believe." Max cut in, twirling his elongated ponytail with his free hand, before throwing down his cards on the deck. "And, I believe that's my pot."
Straight Flush
"Motherfucker." Vincent and Yuuya said almost simultaneously as their fellow pilot happily took the arranged pile of bills and coins.
That was when Yuuya noticed them.
Infinity pilots were leaning against the railing, not really sure what to do with themselves. He could make out the naturally-ass looking Leon' face, as well as the other 3. Guylos as usual looked like he was made of stone, and only Keith and Sharon looked like they might have had legitimate concern.
Leon's and Yuuya's stares locked for a second, with Leon's frown deepening, if it was even possible. Yuuya hurriedly averted his gaze – he was in no mood for more staring matches with that guy.
Big mistake.
"Yo. I see you're having a lot of fun over here." Leon's voice called from overhead.
"We are." Max smoothly replied as he stuffed the bills into the pockets of overcoat he had draped over the armor. "Want to join? Word of advice, we only take cash, no credit cards, cheques or valuables."
"I'm sorry?" Leon's voice was momentarily stunned, for long enough for Max to actually turn to him.
"You're here because you want to play card games, right?"
Leon's face twisted, and Yuuya mentally cursed.
"Do you even know what the fuck is going on!? Our capital is in ruins, rest of the army is running around like headless chickens and you're playing cards? Look outside the window man!" Leon snarled. Suddenly, Max's face became perfectly neutral, and Alice and Yuuya shifted their position so that they could jump into any fight. They had seen this type before – mostly from troops who never stepped into the battlefield – who tried to take out their frustrations on troops who blatantly didn't care because there was nothing that their caring would have done.
"Unless you can magically shit out a Space Shuttle, there's only so much that I can do. So why shouldn't I relax before my commanders possibly throw me into a battle where I can be shot, blown up, melted or bitten to death? Take a break or something tough guy, we don't you want you dying out of anxiety before we even get onto the dammed HSST."
Leon's hand twitched and drew back, in what might have been interpreted as a vaguely intimidating gesture.
Another big mistake.
Max was up almost unnaturally fast, and jabbed Leon in between the ribs. The powered armor that he wore caught most of the blow (otherwise he'd probably lose a lung) but the feedback still caused the man to unexpectedly bend. No wasting time, Max swiftly kicked his feet from under him and flipped Leon around, face-straight into the deck. Yuuya and Alice were up seconds later, before Leon's friends even moved an inch.
Not that it was necessary – with his adversary momentarily stunned, Max sat down, like nothing ever happened. Sighing, Yuuya walked over his fallen Nemesis, shaking his head.
"Is this really worth it Leon? Feel any better?"
"Oh shut up!"
Yuuya rose his eyebrow while nearby crowed watched on with interest. "Or what? You will have me whip you a one too? Look, not that we're friends or anything, but you don't completely suck at your piloting for me to break your spine before we're deployed." He took a deep breath. "So take it for truth when I say that yes, we are aware that there's a massive SNAFU going over our heads, and yes – we are fucking pissed about it. You think you have it bad? You don't know shit. You think we enjoy hearing how helpless grunts get assfucked by those monsters while there's nothing we can do? Fuck. That. But you know what pisses us more? When the little crybabies get all up in arms about how they cannot help, and that hey, we're not helping either! Are you even seriously trying?" Yuuya shook his head before taking a look around. "And that goes for everyone here – we're not kicking back because we don't give a shit. We kick back precisely because we're the most pissed out of you. Except that this here is not something to waste your hate on. " his eyes narrowed. "Just like we said, there's time for everything. There's time for heroics, time for mourning and a time for hate."
His shook his head, before finally offering his hand.
"I still hope you go off and die in a ditch, but I'd rather have you kill some BETA first. Got it? Rage without purpose is meaningless." Yuuya's eyes hardened. "After all…I learned it the hard way, didn't I?" He reminiscence about those who were killed on that first flight – and afterwards, and just how little hatred and spewing curses did. It was only after that Colonel told him "Revenge is not Fire. It is ice. Don't let it control you. Control your hatred instead. The hatred of being useless. Of being weak. Of being defeated. Let them simmer – and when the time comes, when hope fades and everything seems hopeless, pick a target and then lash out. Relying on hatred all your life is not good, but it's a hell of a doping when you're in deep shit."
It was what he told Leon. In retrospect, or Max, should have done that after their dogfight. "Just to make sure" as they said.
"Fuck" Leon finally said, his arms dropping. "Just fuck".
"No, not yet" Alice suddenly cut in. "You haven't lost in cards yet."
It was a crude joke, but the laughs, short and curt and gruff – but still laughs, seemingly broke the tension. Yuuya felt like releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Max, for all good he did, finally smiled, and handed out a deck of cards. "I renew my offer."
This time, Leon took the cards. And who said violence doesn't solve anything?
"Why did you do it?" Yuuya asked his partner, as the man pocketed another share of winnings. In all honesty, the man's luck was beyond unnatural at this point. "Or better yet, why did you want me to give Leon – and by extension all those scared grunts a little pep talk?"
It was only after the fact, that Yuuya realized that the eyes of the troops around them – the other Surface Pilots that wearily eyed their game had finally some…fire in their eyes. They had a purpose, and observing how they moved or went to start calibrating their TSFs again, Yuuya could tell that it was far from accidental.
"Assuming I pulled this farce intentionally?" Max sing-songed "Maybe you – with your reputation and status, are simply someone who's more convincing when talking about reputation. Or maybe I needed someone they were more familiar with? Certainly in case of Leon – especially as I have a feeling we will be seeing this guy and his pals a lot more in the future."
"God help, we won't. But even so, why?"
"Because" Max smiled a little mysteriously "It wouldn't be fun if he'd burst all shockingly pink before we even entered the fray, would it?"
And with that awkward metaphor, he walked off. Yuuya shook his hand. Poker aside, there were some aspects of his friend that he would never get.
Somewhere else, a woman eagerly watched.
She looked beyond the crowds of men, and the parts they fiddled with, beyond catwalks and cranes.
What she eyed was a golem that was never meant to be used, put to sleep as a curious, and possibly useful tool, but one without any real application for its master. Until today.
Colonel Bishop eagerly awaited the time when the YF-23 prototypes would be fully operational.
And if what the former project manager told her – an old, withered, but still proud man, then it would be soon. Soon enough to make a difference.
END.
Author's Note: Phew. That took me way too long to write. We're now in the final part of "Cerberus Arc", with the next chapter being focused on Yuuya and co. finally taking the fight to the BETA, while the rest of the U.S Army rallies for a big huzzah…with French and British nukes hanging overhead. Speaking of which, I apologize for not including too much Yuuya this chapter. I initially tried to fit him and rest of Comets/Infinities onto the battlefield, but I couldn't make it stick without magically pulling HSSTs out of the desert, so that plotline had to go bye-bye. Instead, we got to see Max's awesome car skills. He's just that good. In fact, every riddle/person-reading game he had ever played has been mastered by him. Plot point, or me just throwing everyone a bone? You decide. Also, I tried to capture what I think all the "elite" pilots – but ones without any combat experience whatsoever might feel in an utter "Holy Shit, the World is Ending and We're playing cards!?". That had actually happened to me (albeit, without the world-ending part). Do note, that A-10 crew had actual combat experience, and Walken is simply Walken. And yes, I put him in because I couldn't fit Yuuya in. Rejoice, because he will be popping up and out. Now, the next chapter will finally see this mess brought to conclusion, and Yuuya being on his merry way to Yukon. Oh, and since it'll involve a Hive infiltration, there will be character deaths. Be afraid. Be very afraid. This is not meant to be a happy ended MuvLuv fanfic. As Kouki puts it best himself: "Nah, this isn't your kind of story. You like more gritty, bloody stories. You don't have to lie to me."
Incidentally, that wasn't the whole of battle. "The Defense of Maryland" as it will be known in the future involved days or brutal, savage fighting. Initial hours especially, as engineers raced to restore communications while O'Neill relied on carrier pigeons and actual recon units, and whatever telephones that were "wired" (i.e, none of that digitalized or radio …stuff).
If enough people will want it, I was thinking of writing a side-story, featuring Yuuya's life before this point, and various adventures of other people on the side. If I ever do it, the full version of the Maryland battle will certainly be there, since otherwise it would simply be impossible to fit it in.
Once again, thanks for everyone who reviewed and favorite'd.
P.S No Lexicon update right now, but it may come up somewhere around end of the week or later. I haven't yet gotten around to figuring everything I want to put in around at this time.
