AN: Wow, okay, guys, I'm so sorry about how long this took. At first it was just me being kinda lazy, but a month ago my computer died, so I lost the two thousand words that I had already written for this chapter. It was only just recently that I managed to get a new computer and back it up with the files that I had from February of last year. Yeah. You can guess how happy I am about that. Just goes to show that you need to back up your computer frequently, and not lose the power cord to your 1TB external hard drive. *Sigh* Alright, well, I'm kinda jumping the gun writing this (22OCT2012), but hopefully I'll get this chapter done in a few days. See you on the other side.
DEATH'S COLD EMBRACE
Who, Storch? Yeah, of course Storch was there, she wouldn't have it any other way. Everyone knows the story about how she stared down Colonel Reed after demanding that she be a part of the attack. Honestly, I couldn't imagine her not being there for the final battle, even after the Battle of Hill Four-twenty-one. She was exhausted, wounded, and just plain old worn down, but she still pushed herself. I can tell you that it was a pain in the rear keeping her alive…hell, sometimes I wonder…
What's that? Oh, right, you weren't there. If you had been there, if you had known Storch from before we left Earth, you would understand. It's hard to explain really, but after the loss of Captain Burns and First Sergeant Balow, after half the platoon got wiped out at Hill Four-twenty-one, and especially after Platoon Sergeant Tan got hit…Storch was different. She felt like…like a broken doll, maybe. She was still performing to standard, no doubt, but it felt like she was missing a part of herself. She never said anything about it, but I think she felt like a failure, that she had failed her commander, her platoon, and the Earth. She also didn't seem like someone who would commit suicide, but I wouldn't be surprised if she secretly hoped that she would buy the farm on that last mission. She was a little bit too reckless, took a few too many risks. She had lost everything, and had nothing to lose.
I tell you what, that last battle was really something…
Interview for Pandora News Network
Documentary of the Great Interstellar War
Master Sergeant J. Service, speaking of his
days as a Staff Sergeant squad leader.
xxxXXXxxx
The sound of battle was almost continuous now. The RDA still doggedly held on to a small number of perimeter defenses, firing upon EEF and Na'vi forces both, even as the fire that was fired back at the traitors increased steadily, artillery occasionally landing, trying to crack through reinforced bunkers that were designed just for the purpose of resisting artillery attacks. The jets were still refueling and rearming, a process made difficult by mortar attacks and small arms fire from various buildings that surrounded the hangars and tarmac. The EEF and the RDA were massing at both airfields, and the RDA were too thinly stretched to counter them in force, but they had enough to make themselves annoying. Even now, Lieutenant Storch had her soldiers crouching behind a small berm what was supposedly supposed to stop debris from blowing out onto the runway itself. Hundreds of other soldiers were likewise situated, and PFC Willow Claire found herself next to three RDA soldiers, men who were loyal to Earth and not to Major Randall.
To her surprise, they began to talk with her. Well, maybe not too surprising, as the staging area was nearly complete chaos, with unit after unit getting deposited, officers and NCOs trying to rally troops to push into the base that was still largely held by the treacherous RDA.
"So, wait, your platoon sarn't smoked you for an entire night?" one of them asked, incredulous. They had been curious about the Ell-tee, and she had answered their questions as best as she could. "Man, I would'a been pissed if that had been me!"
"That's for damn sure," one of the other two remarked. "That's some, like, basic training bullshit. I would've been more pissed at your Platoon Sergeant and your Platoon Leader than the guys who did the raping."
Claire frowned, more out of curiosity than out of anger. "How do you figure?"
"Getting smoked for that long, because the Ell-tee weren't smart enough to ask for help? Yeah, what happened sucked, but not your fault, not really," the third replied.
Claire shrugged noncommittally. "Honestly, that smoking was nothing compared to some of the shit that we went through in training. I can understand where you guys are coming from, but for us, it wasn't too bad, certainly nothing when compared with what we had to do to get where we are now…honestly, sometimes normal PT is harder than that smoke session. And it was our fault. We should have been more situationally aware. Could've saved a lot of pain for a lot of people if we had paid more attention and not let her walk off alone that night."
The first one who spoke snorted. "Y'all are fuckin' crazy!" he muttered.
Claire smiled at him, though she knew he couldn't see it. He could probably hear it one her voice, though. "I know, that's why we're Special Forces!" she said brightly. "Looks like Sergeant Service is calling, I'll catch you boys later." Barely pausing to acknowledge their farewells, she jogged over to where Sergeant Service was waving her over to the rest of the squad. Maybe things were finally going to get loud, instead just sitting around. As she jogged, she noticed the two Avatar Special Forces soldiers being injected with some sort of chemical by a medic, their massive blue bodies shielded by a concrete barrier. She wondered idly what they were doing, and the thought flitted away before she could truly focus on it. She had more important things to think about and do right now…
xxxXXXxxx
Gregori Senko watched as the syringe was emptied into one of his veins, and braced himself for what was coming. Being medically put to sleep was never very fun. Sure enough, moments later the world seemed to spin and then turn upside down, and he fought the urge to throw up as vertigo seized him, twisting his world around in ways that were impossible and yet all too real to his poor senses. He grit his teeth, trying to ignore the ringing that was growing louder and louder in his ears. When the darkness began to grow in his vision, he tried to fight it, even while the very last shreds of his conscious mind was telling him that he wasn't supposed to fight it, that the sooner he let it happen, the sooner he-
-with a great gasp, he awoke in this Avatar pod, staring up at the roof of the pod, his human body seized by the same vertigo that had been affecting his Avatar. However, his mind quickly realized that this body had none of the chemicals in his blood stream, and short moments after he woke up, he was completely deactivating the pod, pushing the lid up off of him. He sat up with a groan, glad to see Heffel doing the same across from him. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, remembering that his human body had been in the pod continuously for many hours. He grimaced as he quickly detached the catheter that had been helpfully collecting his urine. Their diet before entering the pods had been strictly liquid for a few days so that there would be no worry about fecal matter. He absently removed the IV line that had been feeding his body calories and liquid carbs so that he didn't dehydrate or starve to death while in the pod. Supposedly he could stay in the pod for up to ninety-six hours, but they had never done so in any tests.
As he stretched, he suddenly recognized the atmosphere inside of the Avatar command center. An extension of the main command center, it was in a separate wing, completely isolated from the rest of the complex save for one entry point that was the most secure series of doors on Pandora. No one without the proper clearance was allowed in the heart of the Avatar operations on Pandora, on the pain of being shot on sight. Major Randall was not on the clearance list, and had raised a big stink about it, but to no avail. They had their own power, their own water main, gas main, and atmosphere controls, so unless you could force your way through the heavily defended doors, you couldn't get in. Unfortunately, that was a two-edged sword: they couldn't get out if the command center was held by enemy forces. At least…that was the common perception.
Soldiers were running about in a panic, some of them wounded and all of them armed. One of them spotted the two of them sitting in their pods, and visibly sagged with relief. "Captain, one of the Avatar teams is awake!" he called out, and an officer hustled over, dark skin the color of dark chocolate glistening with sweat.
"Thank God that some of you are up!" the officer said briskly as he reached them. "It's been hell out there, and while we've held them off so far, they've got us stuck in here."
Senko noticed that the man looked exhausted, and realized that he must have been part of the previous night's watch. The officer of the watch, likely. "What's the SITREP?" Senko asked as he hopped out of the pod, wincing slightly as his bare feet hit the cold floor. He strode to his personal locker purposefully, Heffelfinger right next to him, both of them punching in their codes quickly. As the doors popped open, revealing their uniforms and their personal weapons, the Captain began to explain.
"I'm Captain Washington, was the officer of the watch last night. Shortly after the QRF left the base things went downhill, RDA personnel trying to seize the entire base. They tried to storm our position, and we took some casualties but held them off. After three attempts to get through, they stopped trying, and now are just keeping us in here. We're starting to run out of ammo and medical supplies, however."
Senko pulled out his compact assault rifle from his locker, checked to make sure it was still working properly and that he had ammo for it. Once he was satisfied, he focused all attention on Captain Washington. "Casualties?"
The Captain gestured towards a row of supine figures, two of them completely covered by blankets. Considering that there were only eight security personnel, the two dead and two others being seen to by the on duty nurse was a significant portion of the fighting capabilities of the Avatar Command Post. However, now they had two more fighting men who were ready and raring to go. "Roger, sir. My partner and I are going to break this siege and see what we can do about the rest of the enemies in the complex. You should all stay here and guard my comrades still in their Avatar bodies."
There was a snort of derision, and Senko looked over to see the nurse, a middle-aged and just barely overweight woman with serious grey eyes, glaring at him, daggers in her eyes. "How do you propose breaking this siege?" she asked, voice bitter. "Try going through the front door? You'll just get killed, and then I'll have to see to your bodies! You soldiers and your desire for war, it's stupid. Randall and his little group of fanatics, you EEF, and the loyal RDA, all dancing the same stupid dance, trying to get your fool selves killed!"
Senko shrugged. "They did not start the fight," he said, tone almost bored. "I plan on finishing it." Without another word, he strode over to one of the walls, stepping up onto a few crates filled with repair parts for the pods. Deftly, his fingers found the nearly invisible edges of the hatch, and he opened it. "You learn many interesting things as Special Forces. This command center is linked to the rest of the base through a few ventilation shafts. However, we do have our own air units, and several sensors along these shafts, so that our atmosphere has a higher pressure than everywhere else. People hear that, and think that we can only go through the doors. False. We just keep positive pressure so that no outside contaminants can entering this center. Only time the ventilation system locks down is if there's exposure to the outside atmosphere." He smirked down at the nurse and the captain and all the soldiers watching them with shock clear on their faces. "Come, Heffel, it is time to hunt," he sneered, one lip curling over his one remaining incisor. Their enemies were just about to have a very bad day. Without a word, Heffel climbed up into the ventilation shaft with him, and the staff of the command center watched as they disappeared into the darkness…
xxxXXXxxx
Storch cursed to herself under her breath as she took her bearings. The sound of battle had increased exponentially since all of the attacking force had landed an hour ago. Once some semblance of order had been found, they had all began to push into the base. She impatiently checked her watch. They had two hours until they expected the missiles to fly, and everyone would suffer. Definitely not good. A series of pops and crackles had her reflexively crouching down, her eyes briefly flitting over to the burning husk of one of the EEF tanks. Once the RDA Separatists had discovered that their outer defenses were doomed to attack by a variety of artillery, air strikes, vehicle attacks, and small arms attacks, they had begun to pull back. Now the interior of the base was turned into a running battle, and at the beginning the tanks had tried their hardest to follow after and support the EEF and RDA Loyalist infantry, but the MOUT terrain had proved to be a nightmare. She wasn't sure how many tanks and IFVs had fallen to shoulder fired anti-tank rockets and missiles, but she knew that the number was far more than it should have been.
"Right," she said, nodding towards Service and the others who had joined her, as well as the handful of EEF and Loyalist infantry who had joined up with her. "Let's move." They did so, constantly scanning, unable to know what was around the next corner without someone actually sticking their head around the corner. A highly dangerous proposition, given that friendly and enemy forces were mixed in with each other, and taking the time to see exactly who that was could prove to be lethal…
The point man, one of the RDA troopers, stuck his head around the corner of the DFAC that they were moving alongside. He yelped and jerked his head back as there was a roar of gunfire, chips of concrete blasting into the air as bullets hit the building. "Those were EEF!" he snarled, and Storch frowned, running up to his position.
"Were you sure?" she asked, hands gripping her rifle tightly. At the soldier's terse nod, she grit her teeth angrily. As if they didn't have enough to worry about…. "Oi!" she shouted out when the gunfire lightened up. "We're EEF and Loyalists! Who're you?!"
There was an audible pause. "Lef-tenant Griswold of Third Section, A Company. Who are you chaps?!" came the hollered response. Bloody Brits Battalion.
"Lieutenant Storch, Delta Company, Second Battalion! You almost killed one of my soldiers, Lieutenant!" She waved her men and women forward with an impatient jerk of her arm. As she rounded the corner herself, she could see that her British counterpart was doing the same.
"Terribly sorry about that," he grumbled as he came within easy speaking distance. "But your bloke looked like an RDA regular. You're bloody well lucky that we decided to fire some warning shots first."
She shook her head impatiently. "Never mind about that," she snapped as she pulled out her holopad, dropping to a knee, pleased to see the all the noncoms in the group were setting out security. "I've got us only six hundred meters from one of the entrances of the Command Complex," she said as she pulled up her map. "Working together, we should be able to get there with no trouble. How's that sound to you, Lieute-?"
"Enemy infantry, one hundred meters, seven o'clock!" one of the soldiers lying in security screamed out, and suddenly the air was full of snaps and hisses, tracers streaking past her like malignant bees. Cursing wildly, she spun, dropped, brought her rifle to her shoulder, and began to return fire, aiming at muzzle flashes through thick smoke. She was pleased to see that Lieutenant Griswold was doing the same thing. The group of Separatists was small, so far as she could see, but no less deadly. Bullets snapped into flesh on both sides, and she grit her teeth, ignoring the screams from the wounded and dying as she did the only thing she could do…fight back.
xxxXXXxxx
Major Sigona couldn't do anything. This was the most frustrating part of the battle for a pilot. He had gladly refueled and rearmed, but now that he was in the air again, he wasn't able to do anything. All the major targets had been either destroyed or abandoned, and he could see groups of soldiers running towards the massive command center in the middle of the base. But from his altitude he couldn't see which units were on which side. And even if he DID know, the groups were terribly intermingled, with gun fights occurring at ranges of no more than one hundred meters. None of his ordnance was safe to drop that close to friendly forces, and even a gun run could result in a friendly casualty. What made it worse was the almost constant call for close air support, which he couldn't provide for anyone on the ground. He growled softly with frustration as he continued his orbit around the base. He had already been targeted twice by shoulder launched SAMs, and was beginning to run low on flares and chaff. "Control, this is Viper Wun, I'm useless up here, more of a target than anything else. Please advise, over."
"That's a solid copy, Viper Wun. All flights, all flights, proceed to an altitude of ten thousand feet and wait for further orders. How copy, over?"
A volley of 'rogers' and 'solid copy's answered him, and once Sigona voiced his acknowledgement he snarled a curse off the air as he pounded his fist against the thick plastic of his canopy, not knowing that the same curse was snapped in Russian by Colonel Sarkov as he watched all his jets climbing up into the sky, out of the range of any shoulder fired SAMs held by the enemy, but also out of the airspace where they could actively support the ground forces. Now the fight was in the hands of the infantry currently engaging in bloody close quarters combat. Now all they could do was wait…
xxxXXXxxx
Senko and Heffelfinger moved slowly, carefully, quietly, their speed measured in inches, not feet. Now was the most dangerous part of their journey. They were now over the heads of the RDA who were keeping their comrades inside the Avatar Command Center. The two of them could hear them talking, moving around, fiddling with their weapons. If they made any sound, they would die before they could respond to any attack the RDA would make upon them. Further ahead and to the left the ventilation system entered into a store room that shouldn't have many RDA, if any at all. But now they had to crawl agonizingly slowly over the heads of those who would be perfectly happy to riddle them full of bullet holes. And it was agonizing…Senko carefully lifted his leg from the shaft, bringing it forward before gently laying it down, muscles burning from the slow, deliberate movements. He lifted himself up on his palms, and slid forward, making sure that nothing was dragging against the bottom of the ventilation shaft. Gently lay down, repeat the process, over and over and over, ignoring the burning of his muscles, ignoring the sweat that ran into his eyes and dampened his palms.
But then, finally, they were past the RDA, moving slightly faster, taking the left arm of the cramped shaft when it branched off. Reaching the grate that led into the store room, Senko waited patiently as Heffel peered into the room. A moment later, Heffel turned around and shook his head. No one in the room. As carefully as they had been this entire situation, they pried open the grate, pulling it back into the shaft. Senko lowered Heffel into the room, and then scooted out of the shaft, Heffel guiding his feet to crates and then to the floor. Once they both had boots on the ground, Senko winced at Heffel as he stretched his cramped and burning muscles. Heffel merely smirked back as he did the same. They both needed to be loose for this next part. Wordlessly, they both drew their pistols before fitting suppressors on the end of the barrels. Thank God that the Avatar Command Center was stocked with Special Operatives in mind. Doing this without suppressors would be quite difficult…
They stacked on the door, Senko leading. Better to do this with four men, but they had to make do. Gently, carefully, Senko opened up the door, waiting for any sound or any tension on the door itself that might mean it had been trapped, but there was nothing. Breathing a little easier, he opened it fully before darting into the corridor, facing away from the direction that would lead to the Avatar Command Center, knowing that Heffel would face that way a split second after he cleared the door frame. There was no one facing his way. Heffel patted his arm. Clear his way, too. However, all they had to do was take the right hand turn that Heffel was facing, and they would be facing the group that was keeping their fellow soldiers pinned in. Unacceptable.
Senko turned around, and they both moved at a quiet jog towards the 'T' intersection. Once again, they stacked up, Heffel leading this time. Senko took in a deep breath, steeling himself for the next thirty seconds. Heffel leaned back, and Senko pushed forward slightly, his world sharpening as his body dumped adrenaline into his blood stream. Both of them darting forward, pistol already coming up even before clearing the corner. The RDA traitors huddled behind cover, more intent on staying safe than trying to force their way into the Avatar Command Center. Two of them facing Senko and Heffel, shock clear to see on their faces as one of them began to shout a warning, the other reaching for a weapon. Heffel put two rounds into the one reaching for the weapon, while Senko ignored the one shouting. He was to the left of Heffel, and therefore was expected to work from the left to the right.
Years of training in the 'Quick House' saved his life. He was fast and utterly confident in his pistol skills, and did not rush, instead remaining smooth and in control as his sights centered on one, blurred with recoil, shifted right, centered, blurred, shifted right…though distantly aware that these men would kill him if he was too slow, he didn't allow that to effect his work. After all, slow is smooth, smooth is fast, as the mantra went. Heffel preformed just as well, both their pistols blurs as they engaged the eleven RDA who were manning the barricade. Several of them managed to turn around. Three of them managed to get their weapons to their shoulders. Only one managed to get a sight picture before both Senko and Heffel put a total of five shots into him. Less than ten seconds, and two managed to surprise and neutralize eleven. They both reloaded and then quickly put bullets into the heads of those who still moved. No prisoners. No mercy.
Once the last bullet smacked into bone and flesh, Senko let out a shuddering breath. Even after all the years of training, after fighting in several battles, there was something to be said about taking on a group where if a single mistake was made, they would die. A moment slower, a little less sure in both himself and in his partner, and the RDA would have had time to return fire. That or radio for help, which would have been worse. He licked suddenly dry lips as he lifted his own radio to his mouth. "Enemies neutralized. Keep in the center, it's safe. We're going hunting." He released the PTT button and turned the radio off. Last thing they would need would be someone trying to talk to them at the wrong time. "Let's go." Even if they died, they would cause one HELL of a ruckus. The two hunters set off at a low jog, pistols holstered, assault rifles carried at the high ready. They were prepared. Only one question remained: was the enemy?
xxxXXXxxx
Storch nodded her thanks to the medic even as she winced as he tied the newest bandage to go on her body tight. If he noticed her gesture, he didn't acknowledge it, already busy with the next casualty. Far too many of those, just as there were far too many still bodies covered up with ponchos, tarps, blankets raided from a nearby barracks. And they still hadn't forced their way into the Command Facility! She got up, wincing again as the skin around the bandaged wound on her upper arm pulled tight around the wound. This one was probably going to scar. The damn bullet hadn't entered fully, instead cutting a trough into her skin as neatly as any knife. Wouldn't stop her from fighting though…
"Are those rockets up here yet?!" someone snarled, and she looked over to see the Major in charge of this particular entrance pace back and forth, radio held to his ear.
"What's up with him?" a familiar voice asked, and she shrugged at Sergeant Service.
"You know the situation," she responded quietly, only just loud enough to be heard over the near continuous gunfire. Ah yes, the 'situation.' The RDA Seperatists were buttoned up tight in the complex. They evidently had enough machine guns, spare barrels, and ammo to last through an apocalypse. There must have been at least four machine guns at this entrance alone, not to mention assault rifles, submachine guns, and pistols. It had been like walking into a wall of lead. So many attempts to assault the position, all of them failures, with heavy casualties. She had been unlucky enough to be wounded in the wave before last, but lucky enough that the wound wasn't a bad one.
"But why rockets?" Service asked as he stepped out of the way for two soldiers limping their way into the aid station.
"So we can crack open the nut." It was Harrison, a frighteningly large rifle slung behind his back, hands casually in his pockets. Despite the fact that there was a full scale battle raging over the entire base, he looked like he didn't have a care in the world. "Shock and awe, fire a volley of rockets, bust this bad boy wide open."
As if in answer to what he was saying, an ATV with a trailer attached to it roared by, careful to stop before it exposed itself to the fire of the Seperatists. Noticing that the trailer was full of anti-tank rockets, Storch started to make her way over to the Major. The Seperatists were damn lucky that the situation was as it was. Units had been separated during the chaotic landing, and there just hadn't been time to regroup with parent units. The chain of command was almost completely broken, officers without their units, units without their officers. Storch had her troops and Harrison only because they had been in the same Samson. Units too large for one Samson? Forget it. As it was, their current position had the Major, her, and Lieutenant Griswold, who was currently at the aid station, tibia shattered from a bullet. Plenty of sergeants, but barely any officers. Just made things a bit hairier, that was all.
"Sir?" she called out, aware of SSG Service at her back, and some of the other NCOs gravitating in. "The plan?"
The Major (one of the Brits? Too tired and hurt to care at this point, really) snorted. "Hit them with a volley of rockets," he replied, accent definitely not from any Commonwealth nation she knew of. "While they're still reeling from the attack, charge in, grab them by the throat, and kill the bastards. Storch, you've got point, don't fail us." He nodded towards the rockets. "The other two entrances are doing the same thing, but I think that we got our rockets first. Orders are to go the moment we get them."
She glanced over at the trailer, now being swarmed by soldiers picking up rockets. Things were about to get very loud very quick. Moments later, she was proven right. A smoke grenade was deployed, and riflemen fired blindly into the tunnel, suppressing the enemy as five soldiers equipped with rockets darted out. A chorus of 'back blast area clear!'s were called out, and then the rockets fired with booms. Even as the rockets themselves cracked and thudded inside of the complex, another five soldiers were repeating the process. The moment they stepped out of the way, Storch waved her arm forward.
"Follow me!" Sprinting forward, through the remaining tatters of smoke from the smoke grenade, into the hazy gloom of the complex, rifle at the high port, breath burning in her lungs as she sprinted as hard and as fast as she could. She vaulted over the wrecked remains of one of the barriers, rifle tucking into her shoulder, barrel snapping from one body to the next. Movement caught her eye, an RDA trooper weakly crawling away from her, bloodied hand reaching for something she couldn't see. She shot him, twice, and then again when he didn't stop moving. Then she was surrounded by soldiers who continued to push into the building, securing the room beyond the shattered airlock. She sagged for a moment, grateful that the plan had worked, that the Seperatists hadn't managed to get a QRF force in yet, that she was still alive.
She closed her eyes, and leaned back against the ruined barrier. Her many wounds burned, pulsing with her hammering heartbeat. The world tilted as her adrenaline rush faded, and she realized that she couldn't remember being quite this tired in a very long time. Her joints ached, her legs and arms felt like they were made of jelly, and she would have given nearly anything to go to sleep for the next month. But then the faces of Tan, Treleaven, Burns, and Balow flashed through her memory. She wasn't done working, not yet. She could go on for an eternity, just to get the mission done. Through will alone, she shoved her discomfort, her fatigue, and her weariness into a far off place. Her eyes opened, and those soldiers who had accompanied her were watching her, silent, waiting, even Harrison waiting, slightly separate from the group, but a member nonetheless. She nodded, and Service offered his hand. Briskly, she swung her arm forward, hand confidently clasping his forearm as his hand did the same to hers. He pulled her up, quickly grasping her shoulder, showing his steady support, the eternal job of the NCO.
"Right, let's go get the bastard." She checked the clock in the lower corner of her mask's HUD. Fifty minutes left. Hopefully enough time. They stepped off, aware of the dozens around them. No chain of command they had, but they all knew what had to be done. Secure the other entrances, and move in to the CIC, where Randall was likely working feverishly to beat the clock. They couldn't let him succeed.
The next twenty minutes were a blur. They had enough soldiers to breach and clear every room that they passed, and they did so, the fresher soldiers generally taking point. Bullets sought her flesh and the flesh of those around her, but by some miracle she was not wounded again, nor were any of those under her command. She didn't even have to fire her weapon during the sweeping and clearing. The only surprising moments came when two of the Avatar drivers, Senko and Heffelfinger linked up with them, after evidently being quite busy killing anyone they thought they could take out. She remembered Senko from the DFAC and how he came to her aid and possibly saving her life. She was glad he had made it this far.
She was surrounded by the best, she realized dimly as they secured one of the entrances with gusto, reuniting with Colonel Reed. Harrison, Senko and Heffelfinger, SSG Service, SGT Snyder, SPC Lizyness, SPC Oltara, SPC Poindexter, PFC Vasquez, PFC Claire, PFC Hartmann, and PVT Washington, all professionals, all extremely good at what they did. Not to mention the hundreds now inside of the Command Center and the hundreds outside of it. Despite all that had happened, all the things that went so terribly wrong, she was proud to be here, glad to call those around her comrades-in-arms, willing to do what was necessary to secure peace and save Earth. And now they only had one more target.
It was reminiscent of the situation at the entrances. EEF and RDA Loyalists were grouped, ready to storm the final obstacle, but those few Seperatists left alive were keeping down almost continuous fire, trying to eat up time. Half-an-hour to go, and they likely had ammo and weapons to spare. Maybe they would run out before the time did, but they couldn't take that chance. Officers, dozens of them, meeting, planning, who would do what. Storch found it hard to concentrate, attention being drawn time and time again towards the corner that led into the CIC, where Randall waited. She watched as Harrison took a split second glance around the corner, steeled himself, swept his sniper rifle around the corner, fired, and spun back away from the return fire that tore chunks out of the concrete wall. His thumbs up to those around him hopefully meant that he got one. She saw a soldier ask him something, and Harrison shook his head, and then flashed two fingers, followed by a clenched fist. 2-0. Twenty enemy holding the position.
"Storch!"
She started, looking to Colonel Reed. "Sorry, ma'am."
"Don't apologize. You're sitting this one out, you're obviously exhausted mentally and physically. No need for you to take part in the attack, you and your soldiers have done enough already."
Storch blinked, a tidal wave of shock sweeping over her. She should be relieved, glad that she wouldn't have to risk her life anymore. She had survived the unsurvivable. Instead she felt like she had been betrayed, that she was being coddled. But she had already pressed her luck with Colonel Reed. She took a deep breath. "Yes, ma'am. That's a solid copy." She listened dumbly to the rest of the plan. More rockets, followed by suppressive fire from snipers and the automatic riflemen and machine gunners before one of the platoons from the Brits Battalion would seize the objective. Her part in the war was done. She had to fight with all her willpower not to pass out, not to scream, not to rage.
Twenty minutes, briefing over. "Sergeant Service, take the squad and get them back, clear the way for the assault team," she heard herself order, as though she were an observer, not a participant. There was the blast from two rockets, and then a solid wall of sound as the sniper rifles, automatic rifles, and GPMGs opened up at once behind her as she watched Service do as she had ordered.
It was at that moment that she realized she couldn't let it end like this. She turned around, and began to stride calmly forward, ignoring the worried call from Service. The machine gunners were finally finishing up their belts of ammo, and some grenadiers fired multiple grenades down the corridor, the blasts shaking dust from the ceiling. Even as that was going on, the assault teams were staking up, ready to go. She was peripherally aware of some of them turning their heads to look at her, but that didn't matter right now. All that mattered was that this was her chance to claim revenge for Treleaven, for Tan, for her company that Randall had so callously betrayed and sacrificed for his own twisted purposes. It was her chance to kill the man who knowingly protected a rapist, her chance to kill a sick, twisted, and evil freak.
"Storch, HOLD YOUR GROUND!" Reed, sounding truly pissed, but Storch didn't stop, didn't turn around, merely turned around the corner, and sprinted forward once more, only this time alone. To her surprise, no bullet met her, no one rose up to kill her. The security station just outside the entrance was destroyed, both by the rockets and by the suppressive fire, and blood coated the floor, spreading out still further, leaking from the shattered bodies of those brave but insane enough to still support Randall. She paid them no heed, instead focusing on the door that led to the CIC, still ajar, at least two separate blood trails leading into it. Too tired and too emotionally charged to ponder why the door hadn't been secured behind the wounded, she merely turned, presented her shoulder, and slammed into the door.
It bounced open, and she noticed the medic tending three wounded. None of them were Randall. There! Two people at computers, feverishly working. Her rifle came up, and she fired as quickly as she could, killing the two of them but also shattering computers. Even if she didn't find and kill Randall, she'd end his mad vision to see Pandora burn, the crazy-!
She stared dumbly at the floor from where she was, lying facedown. The impact that had caught her in the left shoulder blade quickly turned into excruciating pain. She had been shot, she numbly realized as she felt her armor begin to automatically put pressure onto the wound. In only a few seconds, it would administer the pain medication, and she could shoot the stupid bastard who had shot her! Shockily, she turned around to face whoever it was who had shot her in the back. Her left arm dangled, useless, likely because of bone damage…her shoulder blade? Didn't matter, had to defend herself. She drew her pistol as she finally faced the way that she came. The door was shut and bolted secure, not good. What was worse was Randall holding a revolver, rage and insanity twisting his visage into one befitting a devil.
She tried to bring up her gun, but shock and the medicine administered directly into her bloodstream slowed her down, and she saw the muzzle flash a split second before she was down again, this time because of a shot to her mid right torso. Removed from the situation because of the pain meds, she recited to herself what she had learned in first aid classes. Too high to hit any vital organs, the shot likely pierced her right lung, the larger of the two. Oh. That's why it was getting hard to breath, no matter how hard she tried. Tension pneumo-thorax. Her armor could help with that if a medic could activate the proper command. Even she could do it, but she didn't have the time. She was too busy being murdered by a psychopath.
"You know, I believe that you are the bane of my existence, girl," Randall snarled. "The old man? Fuck, he was annoying, but you? You are positively infuriating! You tortured my nephew before finally killing him, you survived despite how many times I tried to arrange otherwise, and you stormed my stronghold. I am going to enjoy this far more than I should." Again he fired, and Storch could feel the bones of her left hip shatter under the force of the bullet.
The pain medications weren't enough. She screamed as the pain overtook her. The world swam and she only barely avoided vomiting. Blood loss, pain, the meds, all these things combined, and she realized that she was going to die here. And she didn't care. Her only regret was that it was him who was going to kill her, and that she hadn't had the chance to end his miserable life. She was dimly aware of him striding over to her, flanked by the two unwounded RDA Seperatists still left alive. A hand grabbed her uniform lapels and pulled her up, all of her wounds screaming in protest, and she almost, ALMOST passed out. She clung to the very last threads of consciousness only because she wouldn't give him the pleasure. "Do you have anything you wanna say before you die?!"
"If I didn't have my exopack on, I'd spit in your face, fucker!" she slurred. If he wanted her to beg, he had another thing coming. At her words, his face went blank, and he brought the pistol up, pressing it square against her sternum. She didn't flinch, didn't react. She realized that she was almost looking forward to it, to the end of pain. Her body hurt, her heart hurt, her mind hurt…so much pain, so soon about to go awa-
There was a cracking boom that slammed into her with concussive force before the air was filled with the sound of gunfire. Was that her being spun around, or was it the blood loss taking still more of an effect? No, she had been swung around, a muscular arm wrapped around her neck, holding her up so that she acted as a bullet shield. The door had been blown open, she noticed, and the room was now full of EEF soldiers, all shouting at her and Randall, weapons up and pointing. But the way she was being held made it hard, if not impossible, for Randall to be taken down safely. Well, she'd just have to do something about that, wouldn't she?
Her left vambrace. A small throwing knife, little more than a solid bar of steel four inches long, milled down to have a handle and a blade. She had carried it on her person ever since Anderson. When she had been facing Randall, she couldn't grab it without him noticing, but with his attention taken up by the EEF…numbly, distantly, she reached, trying to keep everything together so that she could do this one last thing, always aware of the growing difficulty to breath, always aware of the blood pouring hot and wet from her many wounds, always aware that oblivion was mere seconds away. If she faltered, she'd fail, and failure wasn't an option!
Her hand found her forearm, reached down it, her thumb and pointer finger reaching under her armor's vambrace. Found the knife, started to draw it out even as the world began to grow darker and darker, sound reduced to a ringing that encompassed everything. No! She couldn't fail now! Her hand clenched around the knife, the blade pointing down. The world around her no longer discernible, she smiled as she swung her arm as fast as she could. There was a moment's resistance, then that gave away, and warm blood coated her hand as someone howled behind her. The world tilted dangerously, and she was suddenly falling, falling, falling as gunfire exploded around her. Just before she slipped away into nothingness, she heard the shout that the room was clear, area secure. Even as she slipped under, a fierce glow of joy blossomed through her…the war was over, the fighting was finally done! Thus assuaged, she relaxed, and let the blackness overcome her.