A/N: Is nice being able to get this back into full swing now that I actually know where I'm going with this after over a year of hiatus. Will try to get at least a chapter a month in going forward, assuming Planetside addiction doesn't wreck me. Loyalty Until Death. Or FF14 addiction if I decide to re-sub. Strength in Unity. Shameless plug here, but don't be afraid to check out my recent Devoid or Five Days at Naggiar (Once I get around to writing that again) - They're both on the same continuity as EH and have a reasonable degree of interlocking in their stories - Even if said interlocks are not strong enough to warrant being direct chapters of EH in themselves.
Act 1/Chapter 11 – Bleedout
"Worthless. All of them worthless." Hildr spoke with disappointment. I poked my rifle around at the Jerithian corpses littered around, looking to see if there was anyone to finish off and see if they at least were worthwhile. Chi Tu looked around at the distance with suspicion as me and Hildr finished our inspection of the scene. "This has been quite the string of bad luck. Over thirty years since I last came across anyone worth sending, and even then it was questionable." She tapped her finger against her head and added an extra finger to the tapping each time. On the return she subtracted after every tap – and then repeated the pattern.
"...Is he here?" Chi Tu whispered to herself as she looked down one of the passageways. She held her stare a good five or so seconds and then turned back towards me and our benefactor. "Hmm. I suppose- No, can't be. Forty-Nine is Infirmary-bound." She said, and gave off a faux laugh about it all. "Must have just been the wind."
"Should have just slit his throat as he lay on the stretcher, Chi Tu." I deadpanned back at her. "He goes into a bit of a gray area if he dies on a hospital bed from infection rather than violently in the field – We're behind our expectations for 'recruitment' this past century, but rules are rules, and you know Hildr can only bend them so much."
"Especially after that thing with that one Darcsen girl back during that last war." Hildr reminisced. She continued her temple-tapping pattern, even more intense with that morsel brought up. Hmm. Marberry didn't feel all that long ago. Then again, neither did any of the battles in the war before that. Meh. Marberry was nothing of note- Other than the part where Hildr thought that there was nothing wrong with letting a Darcsen into our little club. Things got a bit awkward after we extended invitations to some of the various Imperials who got to attend Welkin Gunther's five-day massacre at Naggiar- Well, things still are a bit awkward, but some of them got over having a Darcsen in their presence, even if Hildr's father is still fuming to this day over it.
"...We should probably move on- Would be rude to keep Reno and Fallon waiting." I stated. The sound of pursuit came to a halt out in the distance, signalling something had happened. The twenty-or-so shots that rang out only confirmed it. Hildr stopped for a moment to figure where exactly they were at. Reasonably, their five minutes of running would be a five second warp for us. Just as long as nothing interfered, at least.
"Hmm... It was Hel that petitioned for Reno's presence, right?" Hildr asked, dumbfounded. I sighed back and squinted for a few moments. The surviving remnants of Mai Linh's psyche were playing tricks with Hildr. Again. Honestly I'd expected the goddess governing over death in battle would be above being fooled by her own method-acting. "Oh of course. Hmm, while I'm in a questioning mood... Kaufman, why do you still dress like a man? You don't need to pretend to be a man anymore, why keep dressing like that?" She asked, referencing the copper field-jacket over white shirt and white cargo-pants typical of Imperial spec-ops units I was wearing.
"You mean 'Why do I not dress in ways that the first person to look at me from the right angle will see my panties' – Or in your case, occassionally lack thereof? Don't you?" Hildr looked down slightly and sniffed in shame at that last part. "Or, 'Why do I dress in clothing that has utility in combat?" I scolded her in response. "Besides – You realize that it hasn't been considered cross-dressing in any first-world nation in at least twenty-five years, right?"
"Drop the weapon Durante, you're d-d-damn cornered now!" Aaron yelled out, stuttering in the process. The past five minutes of solid chasing through a favela had taken its toll on him. Aaron had enlisted for the war, not this brand of slum-tourism. "Take the corners" Aaron ordered Sherman and Dion, pointing to the two walls at the edge of the dead-end alleyway Reno was stuck in. Aaron himself took his choice of cover behind a car parked by the alleyway, of which Reno had attempted to hotwire moments before, ignorant of the keys hidden on top of the visor.
"Screw you, Federation pisskop! I'm not laying down arms to one of you freaks!" Reno yelled at the top of his lungs, emptying a KFM Mk18 carbine into Aaron's cover. Gunther gagged and hit the deck. The shockwaves were more than palpable as the 5.56 rounds flew over his body.
"Where the hell'd he get that thing from?" Aaron whined. He could have sworn Durante was unarmed when he first made a break for it. The sound of the receiver locking up from the magazine running dry cued Aaron to ditch his cover and charge Reno. One last round flew, this time a Sabot-slug from the underbarrel shotgun installed on Durante's carbine. Aaron collapsed in pain, holding on to his pecs where the slug had penetrated. For everything that had happened, Aaron should have been beyond dead at this point. That said, I'd seen Gallian soldiers having a strange track record of shrugging off the kind of wounds that sent many a Fhiraldian or Kerekhstani conscript to their graves during the invasion of Gallia thirty years ago.
"Won't you just lay down and take a rest for a moment, boy-scout?" Durante taunted. He cocked back the bolt on his Mk18 and aimed for Aaron's head, reading to kill Aaron then and there.
"Die you motherfu-!" Fallon Dion yelled out, turning out of cover to claim the kill on Reno Durante. Instead, Dion was greeted with nothing more than getting shot through center-mass, killing him instantly. Reno winced for a moment, disappointed by his intended kill being blocked and waited for Fallon's corpse to fall out of the way so he could take aim on Aaron again.
"Gah!" Aaron gasped, hearing the round shot through Fallon hit the car door, centimeters from his ear. He pulled out his sidearm and responded with sending his own six-shots through Fallon's still standing corpse. Reno stopped in his tracks, feeling a full volley of a revolver slam into him. A horror gripped his mind as he realized what had just happened. As his vision darkened and the numbness spread around his body he began to notice a woman clad in what appeared to be the traditional depiction of a Valkyrie's armor standing a few meters behind Aaron, staring at him from her helmet which held three feathers in a plume on both sides of the helmet beside her ears. And yet...
"Stupid idea. Damn stupid idea, Kellhezen. Just gonna get yourself killed. For what? For what?!" The gas-masked trooper repeated to himself. He gritted his teeth and grasped the handle of his AR-44 to filter out the pain that still gripped his body from his last time in the field. A few centimeters to the side and he'd have been down a lung from that MAGS round he recieved through the back. Not that the bullet passing a few micrometers from his spine provided any condolences. "Fallon... Twenty-One, you probably don't even know what you've gotten yourself into. Goddamn Reno Durante..." He began panting for breaths after a solid twenty kilometers of sprinting from the third-rate field hospital he had been placed in from his "Work-Related Injury". The only plus he'd gotten out of that place was being able to slip himself out of his barcode-and-inmate-ID uniform and into clothes that blended in better with civilians.
Here he was – 'Forty-Nine' no longer – The Bidonville at the northern edge of the Avietanese capital of New Falkdon. He was amazed at how the differences between Avietan and Jerithia were most visible here in Avietan's heart. From the south, at the Harbor district, the streets the streets were lined with palm trees and well-landscaped shrubbery – Everyone lived in high-rent five-star condominiums, free from the worries faced elsewhere from the Jerithian invasion. This, however, was about as far as possible one could get from that reality – The only sign of such a way of life was the skyline at the opposite end of the city. Kellhezen sighed back at the view of where he had been only about an hour ago – At the very least he could sympathize with the motivations that were driving peasants to enlist with the ALF in droves. He slammed his head into a wall to get the thoughts out of his head – Life was unfair, everything was – The ALF just decided to deal with it by being whiny little bitches who resorted to murder to get their ways because they didn't make the decisions in their life that would lead to a prosperous one. He halted at the sight of the uniformed corpse present in this alleyway – Jerithian Army, not ALF. Looked like someone, probably Fallon given his MO for ending melee encounters with massive blood spatters, had torn this Jerithian a new one before limping off covered in blood.
Kellhezen's adrenaline began to pump. This wouldn't be a simple case of getting Fallon to abandon mission and evacuate Avietan with him before it got real. Assuming Fallon hadn't gotten himself killed covering for Sherman and that Marine 'ace' put in charge of them after the last op, that was. He gave one last look back at the Harbor District's skyline, lamenting that its time was running short. The war had already begun back in Fhirald, if his line of information back in Randgriz wasn't giving him bollocks. It would only be a matter of time before Jerithia got some official support from the Imperial Senate back in Kutska – Perhaps a day or two at best, knowing that the Imperial Army was always mobilized and could be airdropped anywhere bordering the Empire within 72 hours. The presence of Jerithian Army troopers this far south into Avietan was startling news enough. The warning signs were there a month ago – Now it seems the Empire was coming to collect once more, for the first time in thirty years.
"What'ya civvies do'n here?" Sherman asked in shock towards the three of us as we approached following Reno's demise. Aaron turned around towards Hildr, who was still in her, as Haas felt fit to call it, 'schoolgirl outfit' and blinked. His face turned from pain to a certain kind of horror. It couldn't have been her armor, I was certain, since that only appeared visible to people in their death knells, of which Sherman clearly was not – And she certainly wasn't wearing that gaudy armor to be plainly visible for everyone right now.
"Corpsman, what the hell are you doing?" Aaron demanded. He looked at the newest layer of his own blood that had dried on his trigger-hand. Adrenaline had been enough to keep him moving through him getting his intestines sliced up by a JNPA scout– Now, it was the only thing stopping him from dosing himself with toxic quantities of Ragnaid. He pulled himself up, making use of the car door he was leaning on as a grip, and flipped open the cylinders of his revolver. His face cringed as he felt the hot shells roll off the beater's hood and tapped against his arm on the way down. At the very least the pain hit his definition of 'still alive', now that his other injuries had began to numb out from bloodloss.
"Back off, this be no pla'ce for civvies!" The 'auxiliary' corpsman insisted to us. Hildr rolled her eyes and stared back at the soldier with indignation. Aaron looked at us from his position and glared into Hildr's eyes with fear. And perhaps he was right to be afraid, we'd spent the past several ages being bad news to whoever saw us. "You not listenin', Native?!" Sherman rose. I had no idea why he was in his not-penal unit, and I doubted I would ever know, but his eagerness to wrap his hand around the stun-rod on his belt spoke volumes. "Hmm?!" He exclaimed, and looked towards Chi Tu as he gritted his teeth back and forth. "Four. I won't question why ya' hah – Bu'do me a bestie and... Arrest dis' incompetents – Under the Mil'ary Jur'sdiction Act o' 1955!". Chi Tu merely groaned back and looked down in response.
"Chi Tu doesn't answer to any living man. Nor do I." I stated – Hildr nodded in agreement, placing her hand firmly on her hips with no particular bias towards her black microskirt or charcoal buttonshirt. Chi Tu averted her attention from us, looking off elsewhere in what seemed to be shame over Sherman recognizing her from her official post. She snapped up in alarm for a few moments, whispering about someone being on to them, and then calming down again. Sherman shot spit at her and inched his hand back onto the stun rod once more.
"Fo'kkin Nehtives." He said one last time. Sparks and arcs flew off the rod with the motion of it being stripped from his belt – Even more when he spat on it for that extra jolt. Hildr smiled and closed her eyes, preparing for the Gallian to make his last mistake. The rod came down, but never quite made the target- Sherman's heart had stopped with the lightspeed stabbing motion of the Ragnite-blade Hildr had forged into existence from her pool of energy. Just as quickly the blade faded from existence and back into Hildr's extradimensional cache of mass and energy. Gunther hadn't even begun to reload his pistol when Sherman's corpse hit the ground.
"Well, this has been an interesting day." The Shieldmaiden stated, eyeing Aaron for a few moments as he pissed himself and struggled to manually load his next six rounds into his revolver. "Kill him – I go to see what Lykos wants so badly this time." Aaron cocked his hammer and fired, yet hit only a nearby brick wall as Hildr dissapated into nothingness without hesitation. I hated when she did that. As usual, leaving the damn fighting to us, without bothering to summon backup. Given the kinds of things Aaron Gunther had gone through and survived for the past seven or so years, I doubted this would particularly be an easy fight, if not for the injuries he had already sustained in the present.
"Scheisse!" He yelled, and this time reached for his last remaining speed loader. I put a round in his trigger hand, forcing the revolver from his grip before his thumb could even lift to reach the hammer. Not much blood, but the bone fragments that shot out from his left-hand were not a pretty sight, even for the countless beheadings and machine-gun firing squads I have seen in my time. "Wer vom Teufel bist Sie?!" He screeched at me in pain-induced rage. He lunged at me now, and clicked out the dirk he had taken as a trophy minutes earlier.
"Care to- Say something I can understand?" I asked, parrying the blade with my rifle's frame. The carbon-fiber wasn't nearly the right tool for the job, not much more than something decorative for vain Imperial officers in my opinion. Nonetheless, this weapon was going to need a new layer of platinum coating. Maybe I'd make Aaron pay it off. I shoved back, pushing Aaron to the ground with a nice thud from his arse as it slammed to the gravel.
"Verpiss dich Arschloch!" Aaron grunted. His right hand reached across at his revolver to no avail. I almost felt pity at his struggle, but at the very least it would be over soon. Or maybe it wouldn't be, if Hildr decided to come back. I sighed and centered the sighting of my rifle at him without thought. Nothing personal. Just orders. Hmm, that's what we all tell ourselves when we do questionable things. It wasn't like Aaron mattered. Just another parasite in the abyss of time who I'd forget before the year was out.
Click.
That was all I heard when I pulled the trigger. Damn rookie mistake. I gave the locked-open slide a good look and saw that the gun had been emptied this time around, not the jam I had last time. I suppose this was inevitable after not bothering to reload for the past ten days. I slid the ZM-7.62DX, sighing, and removed the Spatha concealed under my coat. I doubted Hildr would care between the distinction of me shooting him or stabbing him.
"Freeze! Drop the weapon!" A threatening voice rang out from my flank. I ignored the haughty bastard, whomever he was, and lunged down at Aaron's chest with the blade. Gunther stared back in awe at the sight before him – Barely halfway through my movement I felt my kneecap explode open and heard my blade clang against gravel. "What are you waiting for?! Run!" The interloper yelled out at Gunther. Another burst rang out, this time striking Chi Tu at center mass, giving the poor bullet-magnet a displeasured look on her face before she crumpled up from the wound for the... Well, I'd lost count at this point. The Countlessth time – There we go. By the time I stood myself up from the minor setback experienced in my knee, Gunther and our uninvited guest were both gone without a trail.
"You ah- You are?" Aaron asked, panting. The running had made his bleeding start again, if not worse now from the compounding exhaustion taking its toll on him. "Scheisse..." Gunther began to feel a limp coming on to him, and his handling-arm was beginning to feel utterly useless from his broken hand and smashed shoulder.
"Gesundheit, Herr Gunther." Kellhezen responded in a muffled voice through his gasmask. Aaron gritted his teeth at the mystery-man's failure to refer to him by rank. "Don't really matter worth jack who I am- But I'm curious." He continued. "What was with that one woman... With the, you know, that little vanishing act? And the other one dressed like some Imperial spec-ops spook? And Four? The hell was Four doing with those two?"
"Who's Four?" Aaron asked with a hint of forgetfulness. "...Mir leid, I just..." Aaron gave himself a moment to breath. "Sorry... Just... Too much going on. First we have Jerithians this far south... Then... Then, then we have those... Uh..." He shook his head rapidly and with intent. "Just feeling a bit lightheaded- Must have lost more than a good few liters of blood in the past ten minutes than I'm used to. And, well... Well let's just say writing up the casualty report for today is going to be a real bitch... And you were, again?"
"Ahem... You can call me 'Nott Tente', middle name 'Imporre' if you're into saying full names." Kellhezen sneered. "Seems you're more concerned about having merit for a promotion than the pressing issue of Jerithian troopers already making landfall in the capital." Kellhezen pointed out. He looked up at the skyline with paranoia. No Imperials, or worse, Jerithians flooding in from cargo plane yet. Getting out of the country and back to Europa by land was going to be a bitch, especially with dead weight like Aaron around. For all he knew, Aaron was the reason he saw Fourteen and Twenty-One laying around as corpses instead of standing troopers.
"Don't be an ass, 'Not Important'. Besides, with that rifle and gas-mask, those civvie clothes aren't a very effective diguise... And... An... Well, I... I can't say I'm... Feeling so. So hot. Haha. Hot..."
"Enunciate, man." Kellhezen panned back. He leaned around the nearest corner to check for any other Jerithians around. So far so good. "You alright?" He asked Aaron. All he heard behind his back was a tired groan and a loud thud, which grabbed his attention hard enough to force him to turn around. "Holy crap, you really aren't looking that great." Aaron's conciousness began to fade, and Kellhezen's voice not much more than a muffled noise. "Hold on, I'm going to..." Was the last thing he heard that day. It might as well have all been over now.
All things considered however, Aaron had worse ways he could end a day – A little blood loss had nothing on the Great Booze Binge and Subsequent Month-Long Hangover of 1956.