Hello again, everyone! Regular readers, new readers, those who haven't reviewed in a long time—welcome back!
This chapter is stuffed full of references to The Miner's Destiny—and they're not really subtle. They're pretty much up front and in your face—so FMF, if you read this, enjoy all the random references to TMD. You know how much I love it :3
So, if you haven't read a oneshot by the name of "Wither King" by our own beloved Mellifluousness, go read it. NOW. NOW -_-
It's quite amazing. Our friend's detail is spectacular, and the story is nothing short of…terrifying. Not the most terrifying thing ever (Amnesia: TDD anyone?), but it will certainly give you chills. And, of course, it's written by Flu. Did I already mention that's the number one reason to read it?
Alright, enough about shout-outs and community love. Here's your answers, as always.
HPE24: Does this remind you of the Ministry using Harry Potter as propaganda in the sixth book? I just kind of thought of that…it wasn't really my inspiration, but re-reading the Half-Blood Prince gave me that thought. The Ministry tries to use him as propaganda to fool people into thinking they're winning…
Oh, and I want to say it now, that I can't thank you enough for contributing so much time and effort into a cover for me. The day that it is made will be a very happy one, indeed, and I cannot thank you enough for sacrificing your own time for me.
Razz64: Indeed. This is for Chapter 1, but I felt like answering it anyway :3
TerrarianCreeper: Yeah, the temple's important. If you haven't read "Wither King" yet, go read it—it's one reason why you really want something to keep those Withers chillin'.
I am guessing that you play TF2? Since you mentioned the Diamondback—something I never use, since I don't use revolvers at all really as spy—I figured you did. But yeah, I believe they based it off of the Anaconda, with its own unique perks.
I have been reading HP, but I'm unclear as to what you're referring to. I'm probably just missing it.
Dagsar12: Adorable awkward ending. I liked it :3
PigeonFligher: Yes, the end draws closer, quite unfortunately. War does not favor the Secessionists, but they'll make it through. Not without some bloodshed, though.
And yeah, I was hoping that ending part was equal parts awkward and cute. It was one of those things that was hard to nail—awkwardly adorable, you could say. I'm still not sure if it flew or if it fell flat.
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"Alright, suit up and ready up for deployment in one!"
We were soldiers; it was difficult for me to grasp the concept that I was in a real army now, assigned to a platoon that resembled a mixed bag of jellybeans. Some of them were farmers and country bums armed with hunting shotguns and old black powder muskets. Others were hardcore elite marines trained to fight in any combat situation, armed with the most advanced assault rifles and light machine guns. It was pretty much a bag of jellybeans; I could even equate a few of the men to licorice-flavored beans.
"Ready to drop in thirty seconds, get your gear!"
The pilot called through the intercom often, giving us updates on our arrival time as well as conditions at our landing zone. Right now, it was pretty quiet; however, according to some of the more hardened veterans, conditions in Adelina tended to change really fast.
"Well, this must be a first for both of us, eh?"
Commander Carstone, dressed in his finest command outfit, was sitting across from us on the other bench inside the helicopter, squashed between two burly men in homemade battle armor.
"In…command?"
"Of forces in Adelina. I've been in command many times before, but this is the first time I've visited this happy little burg. It'll be interesting to see how warfare plays out here—"
"What do you mean, 'plays out'?" Miguel asked. He had been outfitted with all new gear, given the task of provided heavy fire with an LMG.
"Combat in Adelina is different from combat anywhere else," Carstone spoke as the bird hovered over a landing zone, and crew members threw rappelling ropes down. "It's intense for short periods of time, ground is gained and lost in minutes, and when the Withers come it's a chaotic scramble to hunker down and secure your territory. It's the Withers that make it different—they affect the battlefield more than anything else…"
Carstone rose up, smacking his head on the metal beam above him. Cursing, he scrambled with his gear towards one of the ropes, and rappelled gracefully down. One by one, everyone followed him out, taking their own rope and sliding down to the tarmac below. All four of us proceeded down one after the other, assembling on the helipad.
Adelina was a peculiar town, different from most communities that dotted the old lands. Every single housing unit was made out of adobe brick, sunbaked mud that had hardened into a material almost as strong as rock. It appeared that, despite their old-timey dwelling architecture, they were outfitted with modern implements, including insulation, wiring, plumbing and gas—a peculiar layout, indeed. At the center of the town, where every single pavement street came together, was a large plaza that seemed to house only trees, tall oaks that didn't fit in with the desert environment.
"That's it, ladies. Adelina Central, the temple within the trees…you can only see the tower poking out from it…"
Carstone was right; only one tiny turret peeked out from the foliage, and it rose above every other building in Adelina. Whoever held that post would be able to see the entire village, and see everyone's movements…
"Hold that tower, and you hold Adelina," Carstone muttered as the troops dispersed, all except for us. We were told to await his orders before running out to take charge of our platoon.
"Our orders, sir?"
"What—ah, yes. I'm sorry about that," Carstone sputtered as gunfire rippled through the relatively silent air. The helicopter pulled away and rose up high, leaving us alone in the middle of a makeshift base. "You'll definitely need to acquaint yourself with a map of the area. Come have a look."
He led us to the main command center, which was like the tent at Omega-245 only larger and more permanent. Like most command posts belonging to the Secession, this one had a massive, detailed topographical map at the center, with several lesser captains and officers surrounding it, making marks and talking amongst themselves.
"The entire town is relatively small, but fighting usually concerns tiny areas, sometimes smaller than a block. I can't tell you how much blood has tainted this land."
He pointed to a small area of housing and a bank, on the corner of 38th and Lockhart streets. It was less than a block from the temple area, and on the Wither side of town.
"Ninety or so men all dug into these dwellings. It's one of our more dangerous sectors, since it's on the southern side of town, the one closest to the Withers…but, uh, we can't put you anywhere else. Inazawa definitely wanted to challenge you…"
"Challenge us? This is like walking us to our deaths," Miguel spat angrily.
"It's a position we need to hold—closest one to the temple we've got, that bank makes an excellent defensive position as well. It's vital."
Carstone made his point as clear as he could; Miguel was still not convinced.
"It's not like we'd lose the town if we lost that damn bank…"
"No, but it might cause us to lose more sectors, and that will lead us to lose Adelina," Carstone argued impatiently. "Look, it's your orders—you have to follow them, come hell or high water. Is that clear?"
"Not at—"
"Perfectly clear, sir," I spoke loudly, avoiding a fight between Carstone and Miguel. The matter was settled, at least publicly; Miguel didn't push the argument any further, and Celine and Lance were both quiet.
"Good. Head off to your posts, and take command of your troops. They're waiting."
Our reception was mixed; some of the men cheered our arrival, and others were silent, sitting in their foxholes and pillboxes, watching the four of us darkly. We were their replacements; some hailed us as messiahs come to end the bloodshed, and yet others believed that I was "incapable of leading in such a chaotic situation". There was no open mutiny; the punishment would be too terrible for that. However, I knew that some of the men were speaking behind my back.
"They'll follow your orders. They don't have to like you, though," Lance said when I mentioned it to him. He was the only one of us with any type of leadership skills; his previous training had given him some instruction on leadership.
"I'd rather they do…"
"Well, if you can't make them accept you, don't try. We won't be here for too long, I reckon—if victory is quick—"
"I can't see victory being quick, Lance," I warned him. I was busy setting up my temporary quarters; devoid of any luxuries, it was easy setting up a couple chests, my toiletries, and throwing blankets on the bed. Lance and Miguel would be sharing quarters with the regular soldiers; Celine and I would be sleeping together in our own commandant's room.
"I'm being optimistic, I know. But it's better than being pessimistic," he shrugged, unloading his assault rifle idly.
"I don't know why they had to put us all the way out here," I grumbled, looking out of the window of the residential home. All I could see was the other side of the street, the other houses; but inside of the windows, I could see the raspers wandering idly, pacified by whatever the hell lay within that temple.
"The only command spot, Carstone said—"
"And the most difficult to deal with. Unhappy soldiers, Withers, the temple…I hope we get some backup if we get into a bad spot."
"It's an important zone for them. If we get into a tight spot, we can rely on backup to dig us out," Lance reassured me. "I have to keep watch tonight, so rest easy."
"Look alive out there," I called back to him as he left, admitting Celine into the house.
"You sound tired, Leon," she spoke softly as she shut the door behind Lance. Somewhere outside, jets roared overhead, coming up from the south.
"Long day…just a long day, that's all," I groaned, lying back in bed. I had decided that hygiene was second to rest tonight, and that I could shower down in the early morning. We didn't have hot water here; it would be a rough wake-up call to wash under a wave of freezing liquid.
"They'll be longer, baby. We're in the fight now…"
"Thanks for reassuring me," I sneered sarcastically, pulling the rough blanket up and over us as she slipped in with me, having showered and gotten ready earlier.
"I know it's not great to think about, but we've got to stand together. You, me, Miguel, Lance…it's just us for now, everyone else is left behind…"
"But at least they're safe," I said.
"Yeah…they're safe. Something to be thankful for."
I was just glad that we were still able to sleep together; it was another small comfort, something I cherished warmly as she cuddled up to me and we fell asleep, safe beneath the warm blankets.
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"They've managed to hole up in that top tower; we're safe from fire, since we're so close, but they've got a good mark for several blocks."
It was the last thing I wanted at six in the morning; having woken up, showered, dressed and inspected the garrison, I was given some unpleasant news from one of the Rangers, the elite scouts who kept tabs on every single one of our enemies. He looked like some badass commando from an old macho combat movie; balaclava, shades, camo dress, a large backpack and an automatic shotgun to boot.
"Loyalists?"
"No, sir, not Loyalists—some of Nameer's fighters, got themselves up in the temple tower with a sniper. It's a fantastic vantage point—I don't see how they got inside, the temple's closed…"
"Closed? As in inaccessible from the entrance?" I asked, surveying the stand of trees right across the street from us. We stood at the edge of the plaza, beside burned out cars and fallen masonry, surveying the temple hidden in the mighty oaks.
"Locked, or something like that," the ranger answered, shaking his head. "We've tried heavy munitions, explosives, even a tank; but nothing that wouldn't damage the entire temple could get through that main door."
I grumbled unhappily, tapping the butt of the assault rifle slung from my shoulder.
"They must've dug their way in," I said.
"Or they might've airdropped?" Lance suggested. He was standing beside me, on my right; the ranger was standing on the left, cradling his weapon.
"Possibly…"
"It would've been too visible," the ranger corrected. "We would've seen them, from either air or land. Captain Walker's probably right; they most likely dug in beneath. Must have been a hell of an operation."
"Is there any way we can get them out of there?" I asked the ranger, figuring that he knew no better than I did.
"Not without harming the temple. And that's something Carstone is unwilling to do—he won't even bomb near the damn thing, for fear of damaging the superstructure. The only way to take them out is to get inside…"
"Thanks for reporting…er…"
"Officer Realds. Call me Shadow."
"Yeah…thanks, Shadow. Is that your…Ranger's name?"
"Supposed to be…most people just call me 'Officer', since it's my rank. But my callsign is 'Shadow', so most people just refer to me by that."
And, like a shadow, Shadow disappeared into the darkness, heading back to base. After a few more moments, Lance and I both backed into the alley that led back to our main encampment, which was a square of four adjacent backyards emptied and converted into a base camp.
"Well, we should report this to Carstone as soon as possible. He needs to know about this…"
Carstone had been here even earlier this morning, telling us that Miguel and Celine were to be in charge of logistics and security, and that Lance and I would be in charge of operations; it was some screwed up form of joint command, one that Miguel and Celine were not happy to take.
"I'm like a secretary now…I thought I was going to be a combat leader," Celine hissed when she learned of her assignment. She hadn't complained at all to Carstone—he was her superior commandant, after all—but she let out her vexations with me.
"Well, we do need logistics captains—supplies, defense, communications—"
"It's a trivial job," she spat unhappily. "A pussy job—"
"Don't say things like that," I scolded her. "It's important—"
"I came here for combat operations, not managing supplies! The last thing I want to do is be in the reserve, while the rest of you are up front putting yourselves at risk…without me…"
There was no convincing her that her assignment was important; Celine had always had a fighting spirit, and now she was stuck in the back with Miguel, parted from Lance and myself. It was hard for her, I was sure; if I died up front, or was badly injured, she wouldn't know for a few hours, and she would be devastated. But Carstone needed her in charge of the reserve; and if all else failed, she might see action defending our sector—something that she desperately wanted.
The morning was relatively quiet; the men were becoming used to me as captain, although they weren't completely accepting of it. Several of us sat up in the open-air attic of one of the modular homes, watching the other side of the street as the raspers struggled and stumbled about, bleary-eyed and confused. Their clothing and hair was disheveled; their skin was peeling and deprived of any life, and at times it was falling off, completely gray and rotted in some areas. Even the houses looked strange; they had an old, abandoned quality to them, felt as if they hadn't been touched in decades. They had only been abandoned in the past two weeks.
"Anyone wanna pop one of those zombies?" One of the green soldiers asked, raising his hunting rifle eagerly.
"Don't shoot at them. It wastes ammo—and remember, they're still human beings," I warned, and the man lowered his rifle unwillingly.
"Come on, captain…just one? No one's gonna miss 'em—"
"Officer Hart let us pop them like it was a firing range…"
"They're still human—you'd be committing murder if you shot one of them," I warned again, more steadfast this time.
"Does that look human to you, Captain? Does it?" the greenhorn asked defiantly, and one of his comrades supported him.
"They're still a person, an innocent human being…they pose no harm to you over here, not this close—"
"And what if it wanders away from the temple, hunh? What if it goes all mad again, and starts killing everyone? Is it still a person then, eh? Is it?"
"They will never cease to be people—"
"Look at it and tell me? Does it look like a man to you? That shambling, living corpse? It's the enemy, and you shoot the enemy!"
"Lower your rifle, soldier," I warned grimly, as he raised it to his shoulder and took aim at the nearest rasper, which was unaware of the mortal danger he was in. The soldier didn't stop; rather, he steadied his aim.
"These are the enemy, captain…if you ain't got the balls to kill the enemy, you don't need to be captain."
"Don't speak those words to me—"
"You're no leader, you're pathetic—"
The gunshot rang out clearly. He had fired; he had disobeyed my direct orders…
No, no…he hadn't fired…the shot was too distant, too far away. He hadn't pulled the trigger yet; he was waiting, waiting for something. Everyone was waiting as the ring dissipated slowly in the air…
Then another came, and then an outburst of machine gun fire, and more single shots in the distance.
"Contact, contact, East Lockhart St! Loyalist forces, moving in!" My CB radio squawked, and then went silent with static. Our sector, and the northern adjacent, were both under attack.
"East Lockhart, let's gear up and look alive!"
All problems and arguments were forgotten in the face of combat; everyone filed out after me, abandoning their watch—even the belligerent yokel had lowered his rifle and was now sprinting behind me, eager for combat.
"Form up along Lockhart, they'll come to us!" I ordered them. We didn't have far to run; as we sprinted through the base, everyone else was assuming their positions. I could see Lance leading a squad of his own men into position along nearby West Main St, and Celine was lining up the reserve to defend the southern perimeter. Miguel was nowhere to be seen.
"Take up arms, keep your heads down, stay under the watch of that temple tower, they may still have a sniper up there—"
"TANK!"
Everyone was already in their positions when the radio squawked again. I came to a screeching halt at the word; I flung myself behind a wall to take cover in case we came under attack.
"Tank? Tank…where the hell—"
"Coming down East Main, heading for Lockhart, it's one of the Paladins—"
The radio went silent once more.
Paladins…the heaviest tanks that the government has, used for taking entire towns if necessary…they're sending a Paladin against us?
The men couldn't hear it—they were deep in their makeshift trench alongside Lockhart St. I needed to get anti-armor ready, and fast.
"Get anti-armor, we've got a Paladin incoming—"
Fear spread like a shockwave through the assembly; at once, the calm, focused unit became disarrayed at the very mentioning of the name. Some of the greener troops began to panic; the elite soldiers were steadfast, but I could tell that they would break quickly if faced with an armored assault.
"It's coming around the plaza now, right towards West Main—"
The radio wasn't helping me; I had to get anti-armor up, and fast…
"We don't have any Silverdarts, captain—"
Silverdarts were pieces of anti-armor artillery that would pierce almost any kind of metal shell that the enemy could throw at us. Unfortunately, we had none in our arsenal. That left us pretty much screwed.
"We have anything?" I asked one of the men, who seemed to know his way around the local armory.
"Just some stickies, that's it—"
"Alright, all of you, pull back to the nearest rear sector, except for you four—"
I pointed to four men, all handpicked randomly. The man who was speaking to me, as well as the belligerent militiaman, were among the chosen.
"Pull back?"
"Pull back, take everyone with you, get to a safe location—we won't stand a chance against armor—"
"Sir, we can't—"
"GO! That's an order!"
The men rushed out of the trench as my four hit the armory, each of us taking a grenade coated in some kind of sticky tarlike substance. These were rudimentary sticky bombs; they would attach themselves to any surface and detonate with a fuse—crude, but effective, especially against heavy armor. Taking out the Paladin would be relatively easy with them; attaching the devices, much harder.
The base was emptying; Celine had apparently understood the message, and was pulling back the reserves. I took my squad across 39th Street, to the Wither controlled side of town, just as the Paladin rounded the temple and fired a round at the gunworks that I had abandoned. The entire trench exploded in a massive cloud of dust and mud, spraying the nearby houses with dirt and leaving a gigantic crater in the street and sidewalk.
"Nice call getting us out of there, cap…"
One of the point men, armed with a hybrid sniper/assault rifle, was rather pleased to have escaped death. However, my orders had not yet been made clear.
"No offense, sir, but…what the hell are we doing?"
"We'll get around to the temple, behind that tank…plant charges, detonate them, and hope it works…"
"That's a long shot," one of the men whispered as we took cover in an alleyway. There were two raspers behind us, but they had been pacified; their heads were slumped against a wall, and they gurgled idly.
"It is, but we don't have anything else. Bullets won't do anything to that armor…"
We watched the Paladin roll around the curb of the temple plaza. It was like a regular tank, but it had extra armor plating, and massive shield-like obstructions all around the sides and back. The front was armed with a bulldozer contraption, and it had two main guns—both parallel to one another. One HMG acted as a sentry on top, controlled by a single soldier.
"It's a mobile demolitions platform," the sniper remarked sarcastically, as the Paladin brought down an entire house with a single shot from each cannon.
"We're wasting time…let's move…"
We snuck and slid past raspers, all of whom were oblivious to our presence. We couldn't stray too far, else they would start to notice us; there was only a certain, small distance from the temple we could go before they became aggressive once more.
"Goddamn things give me the creeps," the militiaman grunted as we circled around the block and came to the southern edge of the temple, from which the massive double doors were visible.
"Don't shoot them unless they attack. We've already had this conversation—"
The tank was now rounding the sector, heading down 39th. The crew had realized that the base was abandoned; the Paladin began to turn around, having difficulty doing a 360 in the tight space that the residential street provided.
"Now's our best chance, let's smack these on," I ordered.
One by one the men silently moved in a line parallel to one of the houses, to avoid detection. We snuck up to the tank, unseen by the gunner, who was shouting something to someone else. As I looked back at the temple, I realized who that was—an entire squad of Loyalist soldiers, headed for our sector.
They're trying to annex it…they have three times as many people as we do…
There had to be fifteen soldiers in that group, against our five; I couldn't call back the ones who had retreated, even though that would make us outnumber them…we were alone against a tank and an entire platoon of heavily armed Loyalist troopers.
"We've got ours attached, captain…"
The tank was now firmly wedged between a fence and the side of a house; the beast was so massive, it had gotten itself stuck. I knew that it would be able to break the fence and begin turning around; the gunner would certainly see us…
I slapped my sticky bomb onto the rigid exterior of the tank, making sure that it was inside the shield protrusions, and then ran for cover.
I was too late, though; the front end of the tank smashed through the wooden fence with ease, and it came around to the point that the gunner could see me. As I ran away, and heard the bullets ring out, and felt the small shard of metal strike me in my ankle, the first fuse went off.
The tank was damaged, but it was not until the others went off that anything happened. One after another, the stickies exploded, knocking off several of the shields, killing the gunner, and disabling the vehicle. The armor platform was now completely immobile, on fire at several points, and smoking profusely, thick black smog that rose up in the air and spread out into the houses.
"Wait for the crew to come out," I ordered as the men started to back away, thinking their job was done.
The hatch of the tank opened, and two operators stumbled out, coughing and retching. Every single gun lit up, bringing them down as they showered the hapless crewmen with lead. The third man met the same fate, and he fell over the broken exterior of the tank, hitting the scorched pavement hard.
As I led them around the burning hulk of the tank, I realized that we were now cut off. There was combat in the next sector, the one farther west; but our sector was lost, being overtaken by Loyalist soldiers. I killed two with the rifle before they realized that they were being flanked, and we rushed to the nearest house across 39th Street, taking heavy fire from positions within our base.
"Watch our flanks, we're surrounded!" I called out as we dived inside one of the houses.
"Use the windows, be careful—"
Glass shattered, wallpaper ripped, bullets bounced off of metal objects. We were taking more than just small arms fire; somewhere there was a heavy machine gun, raining down lead on our position to try to suppress us.
"If you can get a bead…on that goddamn machine gunner…that would be nice!" one of the soldiers shouted, as glass and bits of drywall rained down on him. He was speaking to our sniper; as the sniper rose up, trying to find the source of the shooter, three bullets struck him in the head, and he was instantly killed.
"Agh…you've got to be kidding me!"
I tried to dash out of the house, back along Lockhart Street. There were no Loyalist soldiers behind us; the plaza was empty, although gunfire roared from the sector north of us. I took cover in the bank, where the windows were shattered and one of the gas mains was leaking.
I had a clear sight on the machine gunner; they were set up in our command center, the house that Celine and I lived in…
I used the optics to sight into my target, and popped each gunner twice. Each fell over, onto the floor, their blood sprays visible in the window. There were other Loyalists in each house, firing on my men; I popped as many as I could, firing until my clip was empty, and my ammunition reserve was emptied.
By that time, we had gained the upper hand. Two Loyalist soldiers came out of one of the sheds, holding their hands up high.
"Hold your fire, hold your fire!" I called, restraining my troops—only two of them exited their defenses, both shaken and splattered with blood. It was one of the regular soldiers and the militiaman. The other man, whose name I did not know, was not present.
"They got Smithers, caught him in the shoulder…he bled to death, Captain," the militiaman spoke hoarsely, his rifle still pointed at our prisoners.
"Shall we shoot?"
"No, no…they're more useful alive than dead. At least we got two," I ordered, and the two men lowered their rifles slightly.
Celine, Miguel and the rest of our sector came back in a few minutes. I delivered the prisoners to them—Celine said that her logistics group would take care of them—and we burned the bodies in a large pyre. The wreckage of the Paladin still sat in the street—too heavy to move, but far enough from anything important to pose a problem. We could use it as cover in the future—it was still good enough to block bullets.
Our Ranger squad—Shadow, Tala, Full Moon and Pierce—would gather more intel in the future, going deep behind enemy lines to try to warn us of future attacks. They were my most valuable asset—it would be something I would use to my huge advantage later on.
That day had been full of blood, smoke and fire; it could've been far worse, many more casualties. But I had proven myself to my squad as a competent leader—one who not only averted a slaughter, but threw back some of the best Loyalist forces they had. Granted, their numbers were small, but our odds had been way against us, and the victory was nothing short of impressive. It was the day I became a true commander, and it was the first of many days that would test the mettle of our defenses and our troopers.
References, references, references.
War is hell, everyone. These next few chapters will be more focused on Miguel, Celine and Lance—poor Lance has barely had any screen time, and it's about time he got into the fight.
All reviews are, of course, welcome! The next chapter will be written soon—definitely by the end of the week!
Regards,
Exb