Fayt took several steps forward, his boots clanking loudly on the massive metal grate platform. He was a bit battered, and more than a little bloodied, but he was far from out of commission.
The platform had been a surprise... but then again, he hadn't really known what to expect when he beamed down to the Earth's surface for the first time since the attacks. He vaguely wondered what part of the globe he was standing on... New York? Old Tokyo? Paris? Buenos Aires? He imagined the sandy and pock-marked vista rolling out around him looked about the same no matter what part of Earth he was on. Blasted canyons and mountains flanking a reddish sun just added to the devastated picture.
The platform was roughly the size of two football fields shoved together length-wise. On the north side of the structure he could make out several helipads; on the east side were what looked like half built barracks and other buildings; storage containers, all emblazoned with the stylized 'Earth Reclamation' project insignia and the seal of the EFSF, were spread liberally across the platform, though they were most thickly clustered directly to the south.
But what commanded Fayt's attention most was what looked to be a portable creation generator connected to three very familiar capsules... and the uniformed man tending to a terminal next to it all.
"Schilling..." In the silence of the devastated world and aided by the slight wind, Fayt's words seemed to echo and hang in the air for long moments.
With almost a laugh, Schilling stopped his labors on the console. "Well, I guess my best men really weren't all that great after all." With a needlessly dramatic swirl (and here Fayt suffered a moment of déjà vu – hadn't Luther done something similar?), Schilling turned to face Fayt. "Well, Mr. Leingod. Shall we chat?"
OOO
For a heartbeat, Maria was afraid that she and her ship had died. After what seemed like an eternity, emergency lights blinked on across the bridge. In the red haze, Maria fought a feeling of rising panic.
"Get communications back up!" she shouted, gripping the armrests of her chair tightly. "We have to give the signal for stage two!"
Below, Lieber cursed as his panel remained unresponsive. "Just a—!" He lifted his arms to protect himself as his console sparked. "Just a second!" he shouted once the sparks passed. With a grunt, he dropped to the deck, quickly removing several panels under his station.
Tense minutes passed, the only sounds the harsh breath of the bridge crew and the frantic sounds of Lieber's work. "Dammit!" he shouted, shaking his hand after shocking himself by grabbing the wrong wire.
"Lieber!" Maria snapped. watching as he struggled with a tangled looking mess of wires.
Lieber, triumphantly, climbed back into his seat seconds later. "Marietta, try it now!"
"Federation defense line," Marietta started, breathless, "initiate stage two immediately!"
"Can we get the main screen back up?" Maria asked, her urgency dampened now that the message had been relayed.
Steeg had already been working on it, tangling with wires behind his console. After a moment, his screen winked back on. "It'll be a few moments, Captain, but our backups are already starting to kick in."
Sure enough, the main screen soon followed. The master tactical plot it displayed froze for a moment as it updated. Maria's mouth quirked into a smile. The Striker was covering the damaged Diplo. And stage two was well underway.
OOO
"...and long-ranged sensors indicate that the enemy flagship survived our last attack," reported the operations officer on the bridge of the Line Raptor.
Sergeant Brooklund scowled. "Damn," he grated out as the main screen hazily showed a battered enemy flagship (oddly, what looked to be a heavily modified diplomatic ship) struggling away, covered by another Federation battleship. He turned to his weapons officer. "Lieutenant, prepare to fire another volley at—"
"Captain!" Brooklund's executive officer broke in, "we have several more Federation ships inbound on our right flank!"
"What!?" Brooklund demanded, his eyes flying to the tactical plot on one of the Line Raptor's secondary screens. Several new icons blinked into existence to the right and just behind his forward ships.
The answer was obvious. In Brooklund's zeal for the remaining Federation fleet, he had advanced too quickly, without doing a detailed scan of the planet they rushed past. The full understanding of the situation, of course, was little comfort to the Sergeant at that precise moment.
After a few choice curses, Brooklund's face remained stony. "Turn the right element back to meet them as they can." He turned his attention back to the main screen, and its magnified image of the damaged enemy flagship. "Signal the Razor Wing. It and the Line Raptor will proceed to harass the enemy vessels from the left. All other ships... advance."
OOO
"I don't have anything to say to you, Schilling," Fayt answered gravely.
"Oh, come now, Mr. Leingod—surely after coming all this way, we must have something to chat about," Schilling protested. "I must admit, you have me at something of a disadvantage... I have no idea why you seem so intent on tracking me down... though, judging from your equipment," and here Schilling made a point to glare at Fayt's weapon, "I could hazard a few guesses."
Fayt's response was silence.
"I guess you really aren't interested in talking. Fine then – I supposed I can deal with that." He turned back to the capsules. "You've no doubt been keeping up on the recent state of the galaxy...?" Schilling asked as he resumed his previous task.
"The Federation bleeds white in an effort to save the galaxy from those... things... The Executioners—wherever the hell they came from—and when we just barely manage to hold on, barely manage to survive despite the overwhelming odds, what's the first thing so many of our friends and allies think to do?"
He slammed down the enter key on the keyboard with much more force than was necessary. After a moment, he resumed typing. "So, then, if the bastards are going to try and stab us in the back in our time of need, they were clearly never friends of ours. And they've left this once proud Federation bloodied, battered, and almost broken."
He leaned forward against the machine. "But that's all okay." Fayt had not expected Schilling to say that: it sounded almost... magnanimous.
Any such doubts in Fayt's mind were quickly dispelled, however. "Don't you get it!?" Schilling demanded hysterically as he twisted away from the machinery. "With this," and here, he paused to affectionately pat the Leingod machinery, "I can fix it! I can restore the Federation to greatness, and put those traitors – and Rezerb –back in their place!"
"That's not the Federation's way!" Fayt countered angrily. Fayt's mind flicked back to the oversight hearing the dying Federation officer had directed him to...
It had been a recording of a respected admiral, from an esteemed military family, putting his career and his reputation on the line to ensure passage of legislation outlawing symbological genetics experimentation in humanoids.
The admiral had explained in a patient and reasoned tone that the potential for these humanoid biological weapons represented a choice between the Federation's founding ideals or power at the cost of tyranny. An ancient empire had once made that decision and, though it had long since faded from the universal stage, it had left behind a legacy that had nearly destroyed the universe. And now here, on a devastated planet in the light of a blood red sunset, history was threatening to repeat itself.
"The Federation's more than just—" Fayt began.
"Hrk—!" Fayt gasped, as pain blossomed in his side.
The blast had caught Fayt about mid-abdomen; the pain was immense. Twirling away to the left, Fayt landed heavily on the platform behind him.
He could feel the vibrations as well as hear Schilling's steps across the metal platform toward him. "I don't think you quite understand the situation, Mr. Leingod. I'm going to save the Federation, from its enemies as well as itself. And since you insist on standing in my way... Well, I imagine that you can guess what happens next..."
OOO
"Ma'am, the two modified corsairs have broken off from the main force, and are cutting through our right flank," Marietta informed the bridge.
Maria scowled. Well, she thought tiredly, they always did say 'Catch as catch can.' "We'll have to worry about them later, for now." She stared intently at the tactical display on the main screen. "They're advancing too fast..."
"What would you like to do, ma'am?" Steeg asked from his station.
Maria interlaced her fingers, resting her chin on them. "I guess we're going to have to risk it..."
"Ma'am?" Marietta asked.
Maria's expression had settled into a stone mask. "Give the signal for withdrawal plan 1-B."
"Yes, ma'am," Marietta answered automatically.
The rate of fire from the Federation force increased dramatically, but the entire line began to move, full reverse, one-half sublight engines. It was at that precise moment that the Illusion suddenly came to nearly a complete stop, venting plasma from its starboard nacelle at an alarming rate.
"Captain, the Illusion is hailing us," Lieber reported, his eyes flying over his personal display. "They're reporting too much damage... their engines are barely functioning..." He turned back to face Maria. "...They're effectively dead in the water."
Maria's mouth pressed into a thin line. "All stop – act to cover and—"
"Captain!" Steeg called out, "The Rezerbians smell blood: they're advancing against the Illusion!"
Maria's fingers began drumming wildly. The Rezerbians could hardly be expected to act otherwise: the wounded Illusion was now alone and exposed ahead of the Federation line, trying desperately to limp back to the rest of the fleet. It could be easily isolated and torn apart with close weapons fire... The display emotionlessly displayed the rapidly shrinking range between the Illusion and the advancing Rezerb ships.
"Captain?" Steeg called out.
Maria didn't respond.
"Captain! Now!?"
"Not yet!" Maria grated out as she intently watched the rapidly shrinking distance between the Rezerbian fleet's lead elements and the struggling Illusion.
Steeg blinked, clearly surprised. He glanced at Marietta and Lieber (whose expressions were hard to read, as they watched the main tactical plot) then back at Maria. "Captain, we have to—"
"Now!" Maria shouted the moment the range indicator click below 1000 kilometers.
Steeg, startled, quickly twisted back to his terminal, imputing the appropriate commands. Nearby, Lieber was already relaying the next set of commands: "All ships, special packages away, Illusion clear to run."
The supposedly-beleaguered Illusion suddenly stopped venting plasma before loping its way back to the protection of the Federation line at full sublight engines. In the seconds after, it became apparent that the Illusion had been playing decoy all the while.
At that same moment, nearly every Federation ship fired off a mass of ball bearings, releasing them from specially (and hastily) converted missile tubes. In the darkness of space, they silently shot forward towards the enemy fleet...
"Here we go," Maria declared, gritting her teeth as she focused on the ball bearings, "all ships, shields to maximum." Within seconds, as the small spheres traveled through the Rezerb fleet – too small and insignificant to be paid any heed – Maria's powers manifested. Each was instantaneously changed to anti-matter, enveloping the entire area in catastrophic explosions.
Maria let a long whoosh escape from her lips, trying hard to fight the nausea rising in her. "Enemy status?" she asked, a hint of hope in her voice.
"Most ships have suffered damage to shields between 14 and 25, ma'am," Lieber answered. "Three enemy ships have been destroyed, and two more are withdrawing to rear positions."
She tried not to let her disappointment show on her face. Sure, the tricky application of Alteration was a long shot, and it certainly had helped some, but... Her vision suddenly doubled and she felt lightheaded. Not... Not going to be able to do that again for a while, Maria thought tiredly. She mopped sweat from her brow. "Well..." Deep breath. "At least we gave them a bloody nose – that ought to slow down their advance." Straightening, Maria nodded. "Resume firing – let's try and press our advantage."
OOO
Indeed, Fayt had a few ideas as to what Schilling was getting at. He rolled onto his back, staring up as Schilling stood over him. Holding one hand out, Schilling seemed to form a sort of red blade around his right fist. "Now, then, if you would just sit still for a moment more—!" He stabbed down with the ethereal blade...
...which Fayt parried with dramatic twirl of his weapon. With the few seconds that gave him, he nimbly got back to his feet, turning as he did and whipping his blade around, trying to bisect Schilling. It was a wild and unfocused attack, which Schilling easily dodged. Using his building frustration, Fayt twisted once more, slamming his foot into Schilling's side. That connected, and Schilling danced back, coughing lightly.
But Fayt wasn't done. Hoisting his sword like a spear, Fayt lunged forward, shouting. Schilling grunted, seemingly surprised by Fayt's ferocity. He attempted to fall back again, but Fayt was faster; Schilling awkwardly blunted and deflected Fayt's blade with his own (just as solid, Fayt was dismayed to find, as if it was forged from steel).
Schilling grinned, then slammed his free arm into the wound in Fayt's side. Fayt grunted, spinning away and favoring the wound, using his sword to try and screen any attacks from Schilling. Schilling, sensing blood (metaphorically speaking) pressed his attack, managing to knock Fayt's sword out of position, drawing his arm back for a fatal stab...
Ignoring the riotous pain in his side, Fayt (grunting in effort) launched into another side kick. Still managed to dodge, but it gave Fayt precious few seconds to catch his breath again. The two awkwardly paced each other, Fayt already breathing hard and Schilling seeming to enjoy himself.
Smug bastard... Fayt grumbled silently, before slashing out with his blade. Schilling parried with his red blade. The two locked into a battle of strength for a moment, Fayt's long practice with swords soon giving him the upper hand; shoving with all his might, he managed to break Schilling's guard. With Schilling wide open, Fayt stabbed forward...
...only narrowly missing Schilling's neck, but still managing to cut into Schilling's right arm Fayt drew his blade back. His face suddenly contorting with anger, Schilling recoiled, bounced on his heels, and struck forward with his left fist, catching the left side of Fayt's face.
Fayt twirled and recoiled, stars seeming to float over his already stinging left eye. If I make it through this, I'm going to have a hell of a shiner to show for it...
Trying to shake his head (and vision) clear, Fayt took another step back, raising his sword defensively. Schilling glanced down to his wounded arm, probing and testing the slash (far shallower than Fayt had been hoping) with two of his fingers. "Well, you've managed to ruin my uniform, but not much else..." Schilling declared sarcastically.
With his red blade held forward, and settling into a martial arts stance Schilling started to grin. "Surely you can do better than that... Come now—you're supposed to be the great hero! Master of destruction!" His tone was mocking, and his smile seemed to suggest he was enjoying every minute.
With a grunt and a battle cry, Fayt charged forward, his blade raised high over his head. Once he had closed with Schilling, Fayt whipped his blade in a downward strike. Schilling twisted away, feinting with his fist before whipping his leg around in a high kick. Fayt ducked below before ramming his right fist (reinforced by his sword's hilt) right into Schilling's temporarily exposed gut.
Coughing, Schilling stumbled back. But it was only a moment before that strange smile stole back onto his face, and he had set himself back into his combat stance. "You know, at the rate this is going," he suddenly said, "this could take a while, and I've got a few—" and here, Schilling looked up, though if he was indicating Moonbase or the Rezerbians (or both) Fayt wasn't sure, "—pressing issues to attend to."
"So," he started, "So, how about we stop all the kid's stuff, hmm?"
Right then, with a howl that bordered on a scream, Schilling sprouted ragged, seemingly flaming wings of energy from his back, an altogether familiar looking orb (save for its crimson color) dancing before his forehead.
OOO
"Ma'am, Harbinger's shields have nearly failed." Lieber's voice was nearly devoid of emotion.
Maria's face was a grim mask. With the losses those mystery ships had wrecked on her right flank, the Harbinger was the last battleship left to hold that section of the line... And if it went down, she had no doubt in her mind that the several explorer class ships it was shielding would shortly follow... Then... Then... Her head pounded with the force of a migraine.
"Captain, we have several inbound ships on our scanners," Marietta reported, distractedly readjusting the bandage encircling her head.
"Friends or foes?" Maria demanded, her tone surprisingly harsh as her eyes never left the master tactical plot on the main screen.
The six red and white unknowns on the plot suddenly turned a surprisingly welcome green. "They're all Federation, ma'am – and they're hailing us."
Maria's stony countenance softened for a moment in surprise. "Put it up," she said flatly. Never thought I'd ever be in a situation where I'd be so happy to see the arrival of more Federation ships... More Federation ships, back in the "simple" days of Quark agitation, usually meant complicating the hell out of matters and increasing the chance of being arrested. The line between a protestor and a criminal always seemed to blur when too many Feddies were around...
Maria shook off the memories, forcing herself back to the moment. The tactical plot was shifted to one of the Diplo's secondary screens, as a handsome woman – dark hair and eyes and tan skin – in a pristine Federation uniform appeared in its place. "I tried hailing one of our ships, but they said we should talk to you," the woman said, a touch of amusement in her voice.
Had it been another time and another place, Maria might have appreciated the levity. As it was, with a fleet being shot to pieces beneath her... "That's right," Maria said evenly.
The Federation captain nodded, almost as in approval. "This is Captain Ivana Beize, GFAS Le Grange, along with what they're jokingly calling a task force these days." She shrugged. "Sorry I'm late," she said breezily, "but a few Rezerb 'allies' tried to backstab me when the shooting started." She smirked. "Looks like you've got a shooting war on your hands. Can you use me?"
Maria nodded. "I think we can find you something..." She paused, checking some information on her personal screen. "Course 171, Mark 236," she said abruptly, "cover Harbinger's withdrawal from the firing line, then hold in its place as long as your command can."
"Roger... Commodore. Beize out." Captain Beize's eyes were definitely twinkling as she signed off, clearly amused at Maria's stunned expression.
OOO
"Can you feel it yet?" Schilling asked, as he and Fayt traded augmented blows. "My science boys and I are calling it 'refined destruction.'
His face suddenly blossomed into a smile. "Of course, I don't dare to suggest that I or my men could ever hope to match the brilliance of Dr. Leingod, but I do think we've managed to make a few improvements on the original. Wouldn't you—" Schilling slammed his power-enveloped fist into Fayt's right shoulder, sending sprawling. "—say?" he finished as he stood over Fayt.
Grunting, Fayt dragged himself up. Whatever the hell they did, it certainly packs a hell of a wallop... For every blow the two exchanged, Fayt seemed to be getting the worst of it. Even so, it wasn't as if Fayt had much of a choice, and...
With a shout, Fayt struck out again, blade and fist both wrapped in unearthly light. Short red bolts fired from Schilling's hands met and were countered by Fayt's whistling weapon. After a moment more of a furious exchange of blows, Schilling again got lucky, landing an energy wrapped fist into Fayt's already wounded side, sending him stumbling back before dropping to a knee.
"Hunh," Schilling started, actually turning his back on Fayt and talking two short steps away. "How disappointing the great 'Leingod boy' turns out to be. Unsurprising, however. After all, you did turn your back on the Federation, to be with your Quark buddies... Is that any way for the son of the late, great Dr. Leingod to act, choosing backstabbing murderers over the cause your father martyred himself for!?"
Fayt was getting the distinct feeling that Schilling was playing hard and fast with the facts, but said nothing, still struggling to regain his breath from wounded knee.
"You know they killed my father?" Schilling asked in an almost relaxed tone as he continued his pacing. He held his hands up as he continued his bizarre confession. "I don't even really understand how they did it... No trace of the ship, no wreckage, no nothing. But, clearly," he continued, a smile cracking his bloody face, "these are not the sort of people with which Destruction, Connection, or Alter—" Schilling froze.
After a moment, his head slowly craned around to Fayt, though Fayt got the distinct feeling Schilling was really looking through him.
"...God. I'm so blind! That's how they did it!?" New anger suddenly danced with the madness in Schilling's eyes. "Alteration..." he said slowly. "That's it, isn't it...? That little Quark bitch was the one, wasn't she!?" Schilling was suddenly fuming. "When I'm done here, I'm going to personally track that whore down and—"
Fayt grunted then rushed forward, his light wings suddenly billowing back behind him as he streaked forward and rammed Schilling in the midsection. "You're not getting anywhere close to Maria!" he snapped.
The two tumbled to the ground. Schilling had managed to deflect Fayt's blade from making a killing blow, but his blade had still stabbed into Schilling's abdomen. Groaning loudly, Schilling shoved Fayt off him—jerking out his weapon with another grunt of pain—before painfully clambering to his feet. He weakly started to march off, apparently intending to put as much distance between himself and Fayt as possible for time being.
Before going too far, however, Schilling's hands dropped to the new wound in his side. Schilling seemed to painfully crouch over, his head bowed, and his fingers delicately probing, as if trying to determine where the torn material of his uniform ended and his bloody gash began. He pulled them back slick with blood, and had a bad feeling.
Fayt, meanwhile, gasped for air, as he rolled to his side, and then to his knees, a hand shakily pressed to his temple. Not going to be able... to keep this up much longer... As Maria had discovered earlier, the free use of their powers took quite the toll on their bodies. Between his wounds and his blinding headache, Fayt was somewhat amazed that he was able to stand again.
Training his attention back on Schilling, he watched as the wounded General straightened and turned; and suddenly, Fayt somehow knew that the next few minutes would decide everything...
OOO
Nearly half a day had passed since the beginning of the battle, and Maria was starting to sag under the strain. Even with the reinforcements Beize had brought with her, the battle had degenerated to a brutal slugfest, with far more casualties on both sides than Maria would have preferred.
But the contours of the battle were shifting, and both sides knew that the decisive moment was fast approaching. To that end...
"Signal the Mercury task group, and the Valiant, and Montenegro," Maria suddenly directed, her fingers suddenly a blur on the keypad inlaid to her command chair. "Have them advance on Course 382, Mark..." a pause, as she rechecked her hasty calculations, "Mark 741." After a moment more of thought, "And have the Le Grange task group advance on Course 943, Mark 406."
"Captain, are you sure?" Steeg asked.
It was another gamble – dividing the fleet in such a manner risked everything. The defensive power of enfilading fire—of one ship cover another's weak points—was no small thing, and meant that space combat generally gravitated to massed ships taking potshots at one another. Closing with the enemy on a ship by ship basis had the potential to inflict the most damage against them... but also put allied ships at the most risk as well.
"Their right center is weak..." Maria stated quietly, almost as if to herself. "We can break them... I know it." Louder, "Relay the commands."
Slowly (as if almost hesitantly) the Mercury task group edged forward from its position, nearly exactly opposite the weakness in the enemy line Maria professed to see. After another moment, the task group, with the mighty Valiant and Montenegro battleships guarding the flanks, picked up speed, and the entire group hurled forward in a vaguely arrowhead shape. As the Mercury battlegroup streamed forward, the bright explosions of energy weapons clashing against shields almost became too much for the eye to bear.
Suddenly... "Captain! The enemy line is reacting! Both modified corsairs are breaking from their engagements on our right flank, and are heading for the Mercury!"
Maria's eyes narrowed. "Damn... Both of them?" She had anticipated drawing at least one of the mysterious ships, but she had apparently underestimated Brooklund's bloodlust. If they break the Mercury's advance, there's no guarantee that my line won't break... Not only would losing the Mercury and its attendant forces leave a massive gap in her line, but the demoralizing effect alone would...
But all wasn't lost yet... The Le Grange, streaking forward on its own course, suddenly opened fire as the two modified corsairs sped past. The closer of the two, identified as the enemy flag, immediately turned to engage the Le Grange task group.
"Finally, something of a break..." Maria muttered, keenly aware of the bitter irony that the Le Grange task force alone wouldn't be able to hold very long against even one of enemy's special ships (much less its flagship!). As if to underscore that point, one of the Le Grange's combat explorers exploded in a bright burst of creation energy.
The other corsair slammed into the flank of the Mercury's battlegroup, instantly engaging at close range with the Montenegro. The Valiant immediately split off to assist its sister battleship, while the speedier ships with the Mercury continued to launch at the enemy line.
"Ma'am, the Mercury's taking a hell of a beating," Steeg advised.
"But it's done its job," she answered back quietly, as the Mercury hobbled forward, shattering through the defenses of an enemy battleship as it went. It was as good as a chance as Maria was liable to get. "All ships, advance!"
The battered Federation line surged forward as if they had all been waiting for just such an order, following the point of the spear that was the Mercury. Even as the Mercury's engines failed and it streamed to a stop (battered and streaming drive plasma, this time for real), other Federation ships were rushing forward into the chink it had made.
Lieber suddenly let out a whoop. "Captain! Look on the secondary screen!"
There, the Montenegro and the Valiant, firing in concert, had just managed to rip through the shields of their modified corsair. In a brilliant eruption of creation energy, the second of the mysterious ships was destroyed.
And then, all at once, the tide of the battle had changed. The destruction of one of their supposedly unstoppable special ships, combined with the audacious drive forward against their line by the Feddies was apparently the last straw for the Rezerb forces: Several smaller corvettes began to bolt, soon followed by heavier class ships.
"That did it!" Lieber shouted, before whooping again in joy. "They're breaking! They're really breaking!" he yelled again, even as next to him Steeg suddenly let out a relieved sigh and sagging back in his chair.
"They're... backing off?" Marietta asked, just barely above a whisper, astonishment in her voice.
Relief welled up in Maria, temporarily taking the edge off her fatigue. It almost didn't seem real, watching the master tactical plot as every ship in the battered Rezerb lines were slowly but surely disengaging from her equally battered fleet... all but one. "The enemy flagship isn't retreating?" she asked, suddenly tense all over again.
Her three lieutenants exchanged confused looks. "Uh... No, it's—" Steeg started. The enemy flag hovered defiantly where it had been dueling with the Le Grange.
"The enemy flagship is opening fire on his own forces!" Lieber suddenly broke in.
"What!?" Maria shouted. She watched as the enemy flagship closed with its own line, only to fire on – and destroy – several of its retreating subordinates.
While it had no doubt been in an effort to keep any more Rezerb ships from fleeing, the sight of the flagship opening fire on its own fleet only caused them to flee faster. As the last ships pulled out of the Rezerb flagship's weapons envelop, it slowly craned back to face the Federation line alone. Several of the Federation ships began to hail the Diplo.
Maria had a feeling she knew what they wanted. "Tell the fleet to hold their fire," Maria commanded as she continued to watch the plot.
As Lieber bent to do so, Steeg stiffened. "Ma'am, we're being hailed by the enemy flagship."
Maria considered for a moment. Finally, she smoothed out her jacket. "Onscreen."
The Diplo's main screen flashed to the interior of the enemy flagship's (wrecked) bridge. Several dead crewmembers were sprawled across their displays, from a variety of wounds. The only one still alive was the ship's captain, an older Rezerb in a battered looking uniform.
"You..." Brooklund declared flatly. He looked nothing less than a malicious ghost between the excess steam and emergency lights on his bridge.
"Me," Maria answered evenly.
"I suppose you think you've won," Brooklund continued threateningly. "You have, after all, broken the back of my fleet."
"Seems a reasonable conclusion," she answered quietly.
"Well, perhaps you are right, then," Brooklund said flatly, "But – and here's the thing you'll need to know about me – I never take defeat lying down!!" he finished in a shout before killing the comm. connection.
"Captain!" Marietta exclaimed hysterically, "the enemy flagship is on a collision course for us!"
The main screen flipped to an image of the incoming flagship. Seconds later, the remaining ships in Maria's fleet all began firing upon it, but, no longer concerned with its own survival, the ship continued hurtling forward, resembling nothing less than a grotesquely large fireball.
Despite the grinding headache, despite the fatigue and the paralyzing sickness of so many dead by her orders... "Brooklund!" Maria shouted, rising to her feet.
In a flash of blue, too bright for any mortal eye, the two ships...
OOO
The two battered men considered each other across the metal platform, with wind whistling in the background the only sound. They were both bleeding, both bruised, and as near as each could tell, they were both barely standing.
"I won't let you stop me!" Schilling suddenly screamed hysterically, wildly flinging bolts towards Fayt as he charged forward.
"That's just it, Schilling!" Fayt called, as he rolled away and drew his arms back. "Sometimes, there are things that are just more important..." Fayt paused, grunting, as held his arms forward, palms out, " than yourself!"
With one last shout of exertion, his bloodied face contorted into a scowl and his teeth gritted, the palms of Fayt's hands erupted in white energy, and a beam hungrily leapt forward for Schilling. Schilling stared at it dumbfounded for a moment (two last red bolts forgotten in his hands) before hastily trying to get into a defensive stance in the last minute before—
Everything exploded in white.
Fayt's ragged breathing sounded abnormally loud in his ears. After a moment more, his arms dropped to his sides, and he fell to one knee, his mind absently noting the ethereal white feathers that seemed to be falling all around him...
"That..." pant, pant, "that has to..." Grabbing his sword again, Fayt struggled to remain more or less on his feet as his vision slowly traveled towards where he had seen Schilling last.
Schilling had apparently some several yards away from where he had been, rolling side over side until he came to a stop near the edge of the platform. For the first few seconds as Fayt watched him, the crazed Marine general did not stir... But then suddenly—incredibly—he began to weakly push himself up.
Fayt tensed, his blade (though wavering ever so slightly at the tip) slowly raised again. Can't... believe... he got up from that...
Schilling, however, no longer seemed to notice Fayt. Wobbling a bit like he was drunk, Schilling slowly turned away, his feet clanging awkwardly on the platform. Schilling's head slowly unsteadily crane towards the sun, now settling in among the blasted mountains in the west.
"That..." he said weakly and deliriously, staggering forward a few steps. "...that's what I was..." His right arm reached out as if to touch the sunset, before he collapsed to his knees. "... fighting... for..." He fell lifelessly to the ground, his arm still stretched ahead. Brigadier General Schilling did not rise again.
Fayt sank to his knees, his blade clanging heavily to the metal deck beside him.
The sunset was beautiful.