Lions in Blue and Silver

The story of a clusterfuck in command, and of brave 'patriots' defending 'freedom.'

Ahern clicked off the radio with a grimace of distaste on his features.

It had taken a good hour to fix the antenna, mostly because they didn't have any specialized tools to work with. While each shuttle had a toolkit, it was intended more for patch jobs than fine electronics work, and Chu's hacked together soldering iron wasn't very precise. After that, they discovered the power leads from the engines were down, and thus waited another hour for two of the engineers from Shepard's team, working with Chu, to make sure the shuttle engines would work a bit longer and power the actual comm-link.

Kahlee and Kyle had used the other shuttle – which could be sealed – to do some more in-depth first aid on Richards and Leng outside of their armor. Florez and Saracino huddled near the main shuttle, tediously going through their supplies and organizing things, and salvaging what they could from everyone's various kits.

Ahern, Anderson, and Shepard tried to decide on a game plan with little results, since they were unsure of what was going on. Ahern's gut was telling him to see if a run to the northeast, past Waycross and completely out of radiated territories, might be the best option – find some place not overrun with fucking slug-cats and wait for pick-up.

Anderson, on the other hand, wanted to look for more Marines, while Shepard, still angry about the loss of one of his people, wanted to hit EAGL they caught out roaming, using the shuttle to snipe from a distance. Finally, darkness had fallen, and without enough light to continue working, everyone decided to settle in.

Ahern set two-hour watches – he wanted everyone rested – of two people, and snatched himself five hours of nightmare-ridden sleep, full of trees, dying Marines, and explosions, along with memories of his childhood back in Germany, hauling copper power lines with bleeding hands and listening for the sound of the Höllenhund, mutated canines that liked to burst from the eldritch wreck of the Black Forest to savage travelers.

He'd been awoken twice, once when Kahlee and Leng put down some hellishly warped version of a mountain lion, with slimy black fur and blind, pale white eyes. Later on, Saracino had fired several times, finally dropping a fairly large alligator trying to approach the shuttles.

Sunlight had finally allowed work to continue, as everyone's wounds were bandaged, suits were sealed inside and out as best as possible, and they'd managed to run the shuttle's water purifier and get refills. Food would start becoming a concern, but they still had extra rations taken from the slaughtered Marine team the shuttle originally belonged to, so it wasn't time to start rationing yet.

When the radio had been repaired, Ahern had first gotten an exact GPS fix, and then contacted Command for an update.

"Command, this is Captain Ahern, 5th Solguard. With me is Lt. Anderson, 2nd Thanas, and Lt. Shepard, 1st Europa. We are currently in possession of a semi-functional shuttle, but some of the members of Shepard's team are dead and everyone is wounded. Current force strength is fourteen. We have water, but only three days' food left, and are running very low on medical supplies. Request tasking and ETA to recovery."

It had taken a good two minutes for someone to reply, and the voice that answered was unexpected. "Captain Ahern, this is Admiral Grissom. What is the exact status of your teams?"

Ahern winced. He knew why the man was asking that question. "Neither my team nor Lieutenant Anderson's team has any fatalities. Anderson, Richards, Leng, Pellham, Kyle, and Florez are lightly wounded. I have a couple of grazes. Sergeant Sanders is unhurt, as is Chief Saracino. Lieutenant Shepard's team has two dead, one seriously wounded, and the rest lightly wounded."

The Admiral gave a very short, relieved sigh. "And what's your exposure look like, son? And you're anti-rads?"

Ahern checked his film badge. "Edging into Yellow-7, sir. We've popped all the anti-rad pills we have. As far as further exposure goes, it's not good, sir. Most of us have suit breaches; we've patched with saran wrap and field adhesive or duct tape where possible."

Grissom gave a bark of hard laughter. "Saran wrap? Someone's a clever bastard." A pause, muted voices in the background. "Alright, Captain, here's the situation. We found a pack of Unity Now activists who transmitted the location and flight paths of the training shuttles to EAGL. We've executed them, and now comms channels are being manned by Commissars. So comms, at least, are secure."

His voice turned grim. "But for right now, we – that is, you and your people – have two much bigger problems. The first is we sent in five hundred teams. Based on what we can see from satellite imagery and teams that managed to report in, sixty-two teams were killed by the EMP blast or on crash-landing. We had contact with another fifty-four teams that have ceased contact, and our estimates are, between exposure, damage from crashes, wildlife, and EAGL, less than two hundred teams are still active. Most of those – about a hundred and ten teams – are in bad shape, some hundred and ten kilometers east-southeast of Atlanta, almost into the Jacksonville Exclusion Zone."

Ahern winced. "That means they're taking kappa or theta bands of rads, sir."

"Correct. On top of that, they're reporting heavy numbers of ABC war robots advancing on their positions, pushing them further into the Zone. They're holding their own, but…" The Admiral's voice trailed off, then he cleared his throat. "There's not much time for them.

"Our primary concern at this point is moving as fast as we can to rescue those teams before radiation or war robots end up killing them all. An overland column from Jacksonville and what limited shuttle capacity we still have are focusing on them. For very obvious reasons, I'd love to send a shuttle to pick your teams up – especially as you managed to complete the damned exercise despite this clusterfuck of a complication – but you're going to have to wait on that."

Anderson spoke up. "Admiral, this is Lieutenant Anderson. Ahern's team and mine are at Yellow-7 or in some cases Yellow-8, but all of Lieutenant Shepard's team is already at Orange-4. I'm not sure how much longer we ourselves can 'wait' given our situation."

Grissom's voice was quieter. "I know, David. There's probably sixty teams between the bulk of the Marines crashed near the berm and the edges of the swamp, and EAGL is out in force. Until the gunships get here, I can't risk sending unarmed shuttles deep into the swamp without cover. A lot of good Marines are going to die in the next twenty-four hours before we can do a full evac, but those teams near the Exclusion Zone are already at Red-9 or worse."

Ahern glanced at Anderson, and the black man merely shook his head. If Grissom wouldn't bend, even for his own daughter, then the situation was probably not under his control any longer. "Understood, Admiral. We are making repairs to our working shuttle. If we can get it moving far enough to get to Jacksonville, we'll try to make our own way out."

There was a quiet, muffled conversation, and then Grissom's voice came back. "Son, if you can get my daughter out of there alive I'll make you a goddamned hero. My hands are tied, but I've had frigates bombarding the hell out of what EAGL positions we can see and hit. There's a group of three downed shuttles and six teams about sixteen klicks south of your position, reporting sporadic contact with EAGL and an influx of hostile wildlife. If you can get there and help them reinforce, it will be a lot easier for me to make the case that we need a rescue effort at that location."

Ahern nodded. "We'll do our best, sir. Anything else?"

Grissom's voice hardened. "Yes, and it's not good news. Like I said, two problems. Weather sats at Bahama Memorial Point just picked up a wailing wind. Looks like, based on the modeling we're getting from Alliance Meteorology, that an armada storm is building up a cell. I don't have good timing on this, but we're pretty sure it will be class five, possibly class six – winds up to two hundred and ninety kilometers per hour, carrying pollutants and theta or even sierra bands of radiation.

"If it forms, it will hit the Okefenokee in eighteen to thirty hours – if it's active… well, nothing can get through one of those, and if you're on the ground, you'll have to find solid cover."

Ahern closed his eyes. "Understood sir. We'll remain in contact. Ahern out."

Michael Shepard shook his head. "Well, if that storm comes in, we're dead. Nothing out here can take a big armada storm very well, even without the rads it'll whip up."

Ahern nodded, pulling out his map. "So we need hard cover… there's some ruined towns and whatnot, southwest of here. That's moving away from anything in terms of civilization – pretty much from here to the Gulf is blasted to hell – but getting out of the path of that thing and into some kind of buildings might be our only shot."

Anderson frowned. "What about moving to the Marine units the Admiral mentioned?"

Ahern nodded as he continued to peruse the map. "That's gambling. Even assuming the shuttle could make it, he said eighteen to thirty hours. If we're lucky, then yeah – but it's a big fucking mess if we come up unlucky. My thinking is that if we head somewhere and hole up, maybe he can cut some shuttles and an escort to come get us after he's cleared the Zone."

He tapped the map. "The Gainesville Exclusion Zone runs all the way to old highway 10. We're… here." He pointed to a spot on the map. "There used to be a town called Fargo just west of here…"

Shepard nodded. "We saw that on the way in. It's a mess, most of it sunk into the swamp when the ocean levels came up during the Wash. No real cover there."

Ahern grimaced. "South… Lake City. Huh. If the topography part of this map is right, there's some pretty substantial hills to the west of there a bit. And we pass right by the Marines the Admiral mentioned."

With a sigh, he rolled the map up. "Alright, so this is my thinking. Basically, we can fly the shuttle northwest toward the Jacksonville Exclusion Zone as far as we can until the engines give out and see where that puts us, and try to hike it in time to be part of the relief column pick-up. Don't like that idea, because EAGL is probably headed in that direction too, and we'd be going into really bad radiation bands and ugly wildlife."

He tapped the map. "We could head south, see if the Marines the Admiral said were there are still alive, and then try to make it to Lake City. If there're some old fallout shelters or something, we can hole up and wait out the storm. If not, we can try to anchor the shuttle on the far side of a hill and fucking pray."

He looked at the two other officers. "Either of you got any other bright ideas?"

Shepard was eyeing the map, but shook his head. "Not really, Captain. Even if the shuttle was working at a hundred percent, with my people on board along with two full teams we're overloading it. Given the condition it's in, we might get a few hundred kilometers out of it, but not enough to reach the main Marine body. We might make it all the way to the ruins of Gainesville, but that's some hard rads to take even if it would protect us from the storm."

Anderson folded his arms. "As much as I hate to say it, maybe we should head west to Valdosta after all, after the Alliance does its orbital bombardment. They've got to have some kind of rad-safe shelter there if they've been out here all this time."

Shepard shook his head. "No, EAGL mostly operates out of the collapsed arcology at Tallahassee. I doubt Valdosta is anything but a strongpoint. And if they kinetically bombard the place, even if there is a rad-safe location, it might be breached after such an attack – or full of dug in EAGL. Too risky."

Anderson's mouth tightened into a grim line. "If we move south, and link up with these Marines, we'll be out in the open with an A-storm on the way. That's more risky."

Ahern smiled. "So all of our choices are shit, basically. Jesus fuck, this is a mess. What in the hell is the Alliance doing?"

Anderson stood up from his crouch. "I don't know, but if Admiral Grissom can't even detail off a pair of shuttles to come pick up his own daughter… he may not be in charge of this evolution any more. The Commissariat – not to mention Command – must be furious at having the best of the Marines wrecked by a band of hooligans, and all the sovereign citizen bands and rebels will be eating this up and starting trouble elsewhere."

Ahern's eyes narrowed, and he went back to the radio. "VI, link to Alliance Tac Channel SA-6."

There was some hissing, then the automated system clicked over. "—advisory remains in effect until 0200 hours. All secondary combat units in Areas Nineteen and Twenty are to report to stations. Commissariat units have declared martial law in Area Twelve. There is a combat advisory in position in Area Thirty-Five. All forces in southern France are to go to Condition Bravo immediately, riots reported in several locations. Commissariat forces have locked down the Bangalore Arcology due to riots. All secondary forces in Areas Fifty-Five, Sixty-Two, and Sixty-Eight are to go to full combat alert. Riots reported in—"

Ahern cut the radio off. "Monkey-fucking sons of bitches! Every rebel fuck from here to goddamned Africa must be up in arms."

Shepard looked at radio and sighed. "Sounds like the Alliance has its hands full. Again."

Anderson gave a short laugh at that, and Ahern squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. "Let's see what we can do with the Marines down south – at the very least we need to make sure they don't get shot to pieces or fucking eaten by slug-cats."

Shepard blinked. "Slug-cats?"

Anderson headed for the hatch door. "Don't ask, Lieutenant, trust me. Just… stay away from the trees."

It took another twenty minutes to pack everything away and get ready to move. The shuttle of Shepard's team had been fieldstripped of as much as possible, and the engines of their own shuttle were now in slightly better condition. The VI reported flight control was operational and, more importantly, the filtration and climate seals were functional.

That allowed everyone to at least take off their helmets and recharge air from the shuttle's filtered air draw system, as Pel ran through the flight checklist. With fourteen people on board a shuttle designed for ten, there was not much space left, but everyone held on to what they could as Pel lifted off.

"We're… ha. In the pipe, guidance operative, seven by five. Power levels are low, but in the green. Gyros are actually working. Based on engine temps we have about… a hundred fifty kilometers range. Give or take a goddamned random failure or two. RADAR is clear, so what's the happ'n, Cap'n?"

Ahern gave a lopsided smile. "South, mark one seven two. Keep us low, and if you get a hit of anything on the horizon call out and drop us to the ground. We'll keep the hatch closed for now, but be ready to button up and go hot, people."

Pel tapped several controls in a row, then wrapped his meaty hands around the flight stick. "And here we go."

Flying at very slow speeds to avoid over-stressing the engines any further, the shuttle crawled nine meters above the treetops, moving south. Out the cockpit windows, Ahern could already see the sky to the west, filled with heavy clouds of a bruised purple color, and dozens of streamers of smoke rising to the sky – probably shuttle crashes or fires from combat, he figured.

Twice they passed scars of torn open earth, and shuttle impacts. One shuttle had literally come apart, the badly burned corpses visible even from a distance. The other shuttle was burning, riddled with bullet holes and blood seeping from the open hatch that more black smoke poured out of. Two corpses, that of women, were outside, stripped naked, beheaded and, from their twisted positions on the ground, likely violated.

Ahern's fist tightened. "EAGL bastards."

Kahlee nodded tiredly. "…My sister was a Marine scout attached to some of the localization cleanup crews working on the edge of the Jacksonville Exclusion Zone. They were just working on getting rid of contaminants and EAGL came out of nowhere, killed them all and… did things with the bodies." She closed her eyes and swallowed. "My father had a group of ships bombard Tallahassee for days, then they dropped waste eezo and every explosive they could on the place."

She gave a grim smile. "EAGL claimed we killed hundreds of 'innocent' women and children. My dad got on the radio, took responsibility, and then used the EAGL radio transmissions to find another group and firebomb them. Since then they've tried several times to sneak into the arcologies nearby and kill anyone from our family they can get their hands on."

Leng nodded grimly. "Someone in Dispatch has a loose mouth – it is possible they know she's out here."

Ahern shrugged. "Not to be a dick about it, but I think they'll try to kill us no matter who we are."

Kahlee nodded. "I know. Wasn't really my point. But… just remember. EAGL won't show anyone any mercy. They think the Alliance is full of race-traitors and 'criminals,' that the whole Fall was set up by the Illuminati or some such crap, that Ardiente was secretly working for Lord Manswell and all this other made-up garbage. They're not sane and… not going to bother with decency."

Saracino's mouth twitched. "Decency is in short enough supply nowadays that I suspect their rations of it have gone quite out-of-date. But is there a point to this?"

Kahlee nodded. "They get recruits from some of the poorer types in the nearest arcologies, or people who can't afford hab fees. So they want publicity. They're probably going to try to go after any large gatherings of Marines they can catch. The more they… kill, well, the more they can brag about it. That means they probably won't find us if we keep moving south… assuming they can't home in on the radio."

Ahern nodded. "Good thinking. Chu, can you build a drone into a repeater? Doesn't have to be fancy dancy, just enough to bounce a signal? If we can fake them out as to where we're transmitting from, that might buy us more time. The last thing we need on top of a fucking armada storm is a pile of ABC war robots."

The combat engineer, curled into a chair between the massive forms of Richards and Kyle, nodded. "When we touch down at this group of Marines, I can see if we can salvage from the other shuttles they came down in. I should be able to jury-rig something up."

Ahern leaned back. "That'll have to do."

He glanced out the tiny port at the swamp moving by outside, seeing the slimy green water thrash about as a python as long as the shuttle erupted to bite deeply into some kind of mutated bird, only to jerk in surprise as two smaller, but still lengthy, alligators emerged and bit into its flank.

"…Pel, if the shuttle looks like the engines are going to fail, don't fucking put us in the water."