The storm hit with only a single warning, the crash of thunder overhead that sounded more like an explosion than anything. It was of such volume and frequency that the sound itself was oppressive, everyone who heard it crouched just a little closer to the ground. Lightning slashed across the sky, and before its echo had faded from the blinded retinas of the clones, the drizzle turned into a downpour. A second saber of lightning cut a path down from the sky and touched the top of a nearby tree.
Conflagration was instantaneous. From top to root, the tree seemed to burst out with brightness. Rivers of blue-white flame coursed down the tree, then tempered to a yellow-orange. Whatever chemicals made up this particular tree, they were highly flammable, the fire burned hot enough at the start to singe the armor of anyone standing too close. The smoke that billowed forth was very nearly clear, but it was choking. If not for the protection of their helmets, the clones would likely have suffocated before they could get out of it.
The air filtration in their helmets was the only good news.
Deafened by repeated bursts of thunder, disoriented by lightning flash and fire and deadly smoke, blinded by the torrential down-pouring of all the rain the skies had to offer, loss of unit cohesion was almost inevitable. Coupled with the loss of sensors in the tank, and the two creatures not protected by helmets, reestablishing control over the situation was not immediately possible.
The Mammoth Slug issued a deep, rumbling cry, rearing back onto her tail and hind legs, tossing her head side to side. She swung her massive bulk directly away from the flaming tree and plunged into a lumbering gallop, sending her directly towards where a stunned Onoff crouched on the ground, shaking his head and trying to regain his hearing.
On the other side of the tank, a panicked Theran squealed and lunged from the cover of the brush and towards the tank where Caden was, eyes wild and mouth open widely as he leaped from the ground to the top of the tank, claws scraping against the armor as he tried to avoid sliding over the side. His thick tail slapped out sideways, clipping Caden and knocking him into Phisher. Both clones plummeted to the muddy ground, dangerously close to the stomping feet of the tank.
Rafe got to his feet, bringing his rifle around as the big predator turned towards him with a roar, Theran raised himself to his fullest height on his hind legs, the claws of his forelimbs up and at the ready, seemingly unaware of having been responsible for knocking Caden and Phisher off the tank, instead turning on Rafe as though he were the culprit. The tank lurched dangerously, and Theran slid closer to Rafe as the clone was knocked from his feet. The blaster rifle shot off and Rafe tumbled over the side as Theran's roar challenged the storm.
Doc and Damyu were roughly alright until the wind came rushing through. When the wind started, its force enough to bend trees almost double, and knock any clones left standing from their feet, catching hold of anything and anyone not nailed down and dragging them away. They braced themselves, but in moments the wind hit them hard, knocking both down and driving them into the mud.
Volk, well ahead of the rest, saw what happened, but could do nothing but watch helplessly as his squad was thrown, crushed, trampled and scattered.
With a kind of dull recognition, Volk felt himself torn from his perch and thrown down upon the ground, then rolled over twice before the wind took to just shoving him along.
This was not the first time forces of nature had conspired to tear apart his squad. Of all the things that alarmed, angered and confused him, nature was not one of those things. Catching a jutting root with one hand, Volk hung on for dear life. There was nothing else that he could do.
When she reared up, Lady had thrown Garm back in the saddle. A buck, and lurching into a gallop had knocked him almost entirely out of it. But one of his legs was caught in the saddle, so he couldn't slide clear of the slug's body. For the duration of the most severe part of the storm, he hung upside down off the left side of the slug, battered on all sides by tree branches, brush and large boulders. All attempts to right himself or regain control of his mount failed, but Lady seemed oblivious to him, showing no inclination to try and crush him against any of the brush she plunged through.
And then she found what she was looking for. The shelter of deep water. With a mournful lowing sound, Lady leaped into the water, the chill of which Garm felt immediately.
He had heretofore not attempted to free himself, knowing that to fall from the saddle would be to seal his own doom. If he didn't break his neck on landing, Lady would be sure to trample him. But now he had a new problem. His armor was not waterproof, especially not now that his helmet had been knocked loose by one of the rocks Lady had smacked him into. The helmet was on, but not correctly. Water immediately began to seep in. Now Garm was really in trouble.
Like most clones, Garm had an extreme dislike for being in the water. But he found being stuck upside down while his helmet filled with water especially abhorrent, for the obvious reasons.
Already winded and battered, without having been able to take a breath before going under, Garm knew he was going to drown, or at least black out. Water rushed into the gaps of his armor, and the blood roared in his ears as he fought in vain to free himself.
It was cold and murky, an icy sludge seeping across his skin. Garm thrashed, staring through his visor up at the unattainable surface. A shadow flickered across the water and he thought he was losing his vision, but then something... someone, hit against him. He felt a shoulder strike against his chest, and instinctively he tried to push this new threat away, but he hadn't the strength left. Just when Garm thought he was going to black out for sure, he felt a jerk against his left leg and realized his assailant was a clone like himself, had cut him free of Lady's saddle, and was now grabbing his right elbow and hauling him towards the surface. Another clone caught his left elbow and added their support. Garm surfaced, his helmet full of water. The second clone yanked off his helmet and he gasped, coughing and choking as he was towed ashore.
Garm stumbled at the bank of the water, sinking to his knees in mud. He nearly toppled over, but his two rescuers helped him stay upright until he'd found his balance. His head was still spinning as he made it onto relatively solid ground, where he was allowed to sit down and his helmet was returned to him. But it wasn't any of that which left him almost speechless. It was that the two clones had removed their helmets to let the water out. And... he knew them... knew both of them. He couldn't believe his eyes, and his throat went dry, but he still managed an astonished whisper.
"I... why... how... what are you... Tavis, is it really you?"
"Yes, Garm. It's going to be alright now. I've come home."
Sergeant Nattan did not panic when he was pitched forward. Cursing the name of the spotter who had failed to adequately do his job, Nattan manipulated the controls to better balance the AT-TE. He then contacted Sgt. Rafe outside. He knew there was nothing he could do from the inside, except possibly damage his beloved tank, which one of the gunners had taken to calling 'Beauty', a name that had soon spread throughout the tank crew. They often said that, when other tanks failed, Beauty would come through, and do it in style too. Calmly, Nattan explained that he was stuck, and also sinking. The only tank present for this mission, Nattan knew that Beauty was irreplaceable, as was her specially trained crew of pilot, spotter, radio operater/gunner and four other gunners.
Supplied with air and rations, the clones could survive in the tank for weeks, even if she sank completely beneath the surface. However, their time was not unlimited. If they went under, there was very little chance of them ever being pulled out. Nattan knew this, and accepted the reality as mildly as he typically took instruction from the spotter, who had the hardest job of all, locating targets for gunners to swing around and aim at, as well as telling Nattan if there was something in front of him that he ought to be worrying about. All Nattan had to do was get all six legs moving in perfect harmony, which was easy by comparison.
Outside, things were not so calm as they were in the tank. Ground troopers are accustomed to taking swift, decisive action. That they were not yet doing anything about the problem had them all tied up in knots. While the tank crew settled, knowing they had time (even if they didn't, they couldn't do anything about it anyway. Sort of like when a rocket comes at an AT-TE. The tank can't get out of the way. Maybe the heavy cannon gunner can shoot it out of the air, but the rest of them just have to wait for the inevitable and keep working in a calm, efficient manner until the end), the handful of troopers milled around and gazed at the stuck AT-TE in fascinated horror, wondering just what they were expected to do about it.
The worst of the storm had lasted only minutes, maybe half an hour at most. But the damage it had done was extensive. The trees and bushes of Morassis were adapted to their environment, and bent rather than breaking, their deep and complex root systems kept them from being ripped out of the ground. Any clone who'd found a way to grab hold of these had not gone far and, when the wind died down, they were quick to return to the point where they'd last seen the others.
But, doing a quick headcount, Rafe knew some of them were missing.
Most obvious was Lady and her rider. The panicked slug had taken off for parts unknown, and Garm had clearly been helpless to stop her. Theran was growling somewhere in the bushes out of view, and Onoff was unaccounted for.
But by far the worst news was that, in struggling to right itself, one of the tank's legs had clipped a clone who couldn't roll out of the way fast enough. Caden was down, his condition unknown. Doc crouched beside him, bruised but largely unharmed. Phisher stood just behind him, shaking. It was unclear whether or not Phisher had been hurt, it seemed like the man himself didn't know.
Volk and Damyu silently circled the tank, two of whose legs were now caught in the mire, which was slowly but inexorably pulling it in. They paused at the edge of the unstable ground as though they could see it, changed directions and circled back the way they'd come. To Rafe, they looked like nothing so much as scavengers he'd seen waiting for a dying animal to expire.
"Well, what the hell do we do now?" Doc demanded, looking up from his patient.
It was telling that he did not look to Rafe for an answer, but to Volk. In crisis, the squad's distrust of their new leader became more pronounced. By all evidence, they were ignoring Rafe entirely now. But Volk, though he stopped pacing and had all that remained of the squad looking to him for an answer, said nothing. He had no solution. The silence was deafening, broken only by the feral snarl of Theran.
If Garm had been shocked speechless, Bean was at least twice as astonished.
He and Tavis had weathered the storm in their meager shelter, but long before it had calmed down, Tavis had suddenly become antsy, nervous. It was the sound of something crashing through the bushes, bellowing out in terror, that had made him break. Instead of fleeing however, he went right for the sound. It was fully impossible for him to have known Garm -or any other clone for that matter- was attached to the terrified slug creature until he made it to the clearing surrounding the deep pond.
Bean and Tavis had seen the creature and its hapless rider plunge into the water. Bean had hesitated, but Tavis had gone right into the water and, without pausing for breath, dived under it. By the time Bean got out into the water, Tavis had pulled Garm free and dragged him to the surface.
Even allowing that the pacing had just been storm related nerves, there was no way for Tavis to have known there was a clone attached to the creature bulling its way through the swamp. Bean had heard only the slug thing bellowing, there had been no sound from the clone at all.
"Tavis," Bean said after his brain had stewed in its own juices for long enough that he determined he didn't like the vacuum of knowledge, "just how in the hell could you possibly have known? About Garm, I mean."
Tavis tilted his head, and Bean could feel the piercing gaze alight on him, like a knife's blade against skin. But it was in a quizzical tone of voice that Tavis responded.
"Didn't you hear him? He cried out," Tavis sounded genuinely puzzled.
"I didn't," Bean turned to Garm, "Did you?"
Garm shrugged, and when he spoke his voice was rough, "Hell if I know. I could have been doing anything at one time or another," he didn't quite say in words that he'd panicked, but such was the implication.
Bean didn't feel that it was likely Tavis had heard something he himself hadn't, but he did know that Tavis was accustomed to the sounds of this planet, and might therefore be able to filter out the background noises more effectively. Additionally, Garm was one of his men, and a soldier knows the voices of his men even when no one else could possibly recognize them.
The explanation didn't set right with him, yet he didn't suspect either Tavis or Garm of lying to him. That left him no alternative but to believe them, at least for now. Maybe he just hadn't been as alert as he ought to have been. He would be among the first to admit that his mind was preoccupied, and that Tavis was the one who had been standing watch.
Still it made him uneasy. It made him feel like he was standing in the presence of something... not quite a clone. GAR soldier and yet not, rather like being in the presence of Phisher, except a hundred times more intense. Bean could not adequately explain it to himself, and was immensely grateful that nobody else was going to ask him to explain it to them because he plainly couldn't.
Leaving that for the moment, Bean turned to Garm.
"What are you doing out here anyway?"
"Looking for you," Garm answered, sounding surprised, "Fortune and a tank squad were sent out to meet up with you. We're supposed to escort you to your destination. Didn't you know?"
Tavis looked to Bean, who merely shrugged.
"Far as I knew, Tavis was my only escort."
"Probably communication issues," Tavis said after a moment's thought, "The storms can make radio use a little sketchy," he looked at Garm, "Maybe your base got the message, tried to acknowledge but it didn't get through, so Lt. Oscar on our end didn't tell us about it. Anyway, you're here. Where's the rest of Fortune?"
Garm was silent, looking around. He shook his head helplessly.
"I don't know. Lady went crazy when the lightning hit, and I'm afraid I couldn't keep track of which way she was going all the time," Garm sounded ashamed, and hung his head.
"Lady? Your slug creature?" Tavis guessed, looking back towards the water.
There was nothing to see, for the slug remained fully submerged.
"Do you think you can get your slug back?" Tavis asked of Garm, "Feels like we've lost enough equipment for one day. After that, we might as well keep going as planned. If Fortune was told to rendezvous with us, it'd be somewhere along the route."
Garm seemed not to hear anything past the question. He stared at the pond intently, and Bean was surprised by how easy it was to see the shift in his demeanor even now he had his helmet back on. He knew he'd felt at ease with Fortune, but that was on a ship. He'd found them easy to read then, but he'd forgotten how differently they behaved from other clones. It was amazing how fast memory could fade.
"She's still half wild," Garm sighed after a bit, "If she wants to come, then she will, but I can't make her do anything. Not out here in her element."
"Then we go on without her," Tavis said decisively, "I'm sorry, Garm."
"Eh, she was an experiment anyway," Garm admitted, "Nobody thought it would work. Nobody but Caden and me anyway."
It was as if the name had sparked off a trigger. The sound of Theran's roar cut through the trees, carrying across the swamp, a sound which could be heard for miles. A sound which would undoubtedly lead them straight to Caden and, ideally, the rest of Fortune Actual.
Tavis hadn't seen or heard Theran since the creature was very small, small enough to be fairly easily carried in one's arms. But Tavis had been on Onithera, the home planet of Theran, and he had heard the adult Onitherans call. He knew that voice was woefully out of place on this world.
"That's Theran," Garm said unnecessarily.
"No, Garm," Tavis replied, a hint of a smile in his voice, "That's a homing beacon."