The Brotherhood of Battle

Chapter Twenty Four – All Roads Lead to Demeter

"Regardless of all our preparation, all my carefully considered pieces of the plan, it all came down to a choice. Take a chance and risk it all – every soldier, every ship, every hope – or waste our shot and have it all come crashing down around us. It was an all-or-nothing gamble." – Commander Sarah Briggs, reflecting on the Demeter Offensive

VIIIIIV

Militia Atmo-Aerial Transport: Blackbird Twelve-Two

En-route to MCS Leonidas...

VIIIIIV

"He's... dead?"

It was Jake who'd asked the question. And even as he asked it, he regretted the words leaving his mouth. He didn't really need the answer. He didn't doubt that Ashley was telling the truth. She had no cause to lie, or at least, not about Alan. He could imagine that she was keeping all kinds of secrets from him, but he was thankful she hadn't withheld this news from him, despite how much she had probably wanted to.

"I'm sorry, Jake. It all happened so fast." Ashley apologised, her eyes not meeting his. "There was nothing we could do."

She was sitting on an ammunition crate, leaning against the wall of the transport, staring at the floor. Jake, who knelt before her like a knight before his regent, looked from her to John, who was lying on the blood-bay grating, having his wounds seen to by a medic. He'd been injured badly. By the time Ashley had gotten him out of the bunker and onto Jake's waiting transport, it had nearly been too late. One side of John's ribcage was in pieces, and a bone fragment had pierced his right lung, allowing blood to slowly flood it. His breathing had been shallow and ragged, and he'd lost consciousness almost as soon as he was aboard the craft. The attending after-action medic was doing her best to treat his wounds, but they needed to get him to the Leonidas soon, otherwise he'd drown. Jake refused to let that happen.

He had no intention of losing another friend today.

"What happened down there, Ash?" Jake said, keeping his tone as even as he could manage. He didn't want the facade of being the stalwart leader to show cracks, not before an operation like Demeter.

"Does it matter?" She replied. Her words sounded rude, but her tone was weary and miserable. "Bad shit, Jake. That's all."

"I don't think I could put that into an after-action report, love. Besides, Alan has..." He corrected himself, "...had a family. A daughter. I have to tell her something, at least."

"Tell her that her dad was hero, then. That he gave his life to save another's. Isn't that the classic bullshit we supposed to feed them?" She retorted sharply, this time her tone was harder, but still she refused to make eye-contact.

"Ashley, please." Jake begged her, his tone wavering. He had to stop himself from cracking. "He was my friend."

She was quiet, turning her gaze to look at John's broken body. Jake watched her eyes, then her face. There were welts on her jaw and neck, as well as the beginning of a bad bruise around one of her eye-sockets. He didn't realise he'd moved his hand until he was cupping her cheek, tenderly touching her bruises with gentle strokes of his thumb. She didn't flinch away from his touch, but finally she turned to him and looked him in the eye.

"Okay, Jake. Okay." Ashley said, her tone suddenly resolute and steadfast. "It was going well until we got to the bunker and accessed the command console. We'd gotten a run-in with a spec-ops squad on the way down, but we handled them without any casualties, although Alan took a bullet or two in the crossfire."

Jake nodded. He said nothing, letting her go on. In his mind, he wondered whether injuries like that were what got him in the end. After all, Castillo had been one of the scrappiest fighters he'd ever served beside. He couldn't imagine anyone getting an upper-hand on him, especially in close-combat. But being shot in the arm would throw off any CQC fighter, even Alan.

"We got into the command bunker, and I stole as much IMC data as I could." She shrugged. "Not as much as I wanted, though. And in the end, it was all encrypted anyway. But if there's something in there that helps us at Demeter? I guess it's worth it."

Jake nodded. He understood the objective of her mission now. And it made sense to make use of all the noise that Reaper and the other Pilot squads had made above ground. It was a classic bait-and-switch tactic. It should have been smooth sailing.

"Shit hit the fan when we tried to exfil. We thought we could leave the way we came in, you know? Easy come, easy go." Ashley shrugged. "No such luck. We were ambushed. They hit us hard and fast, shot Alan through the stomach, and John..."

Their eyes both drifted to the man in question, his battered body lying motionless on the grating nearby. His chest rose and fell in short, erratic motions. The attending medics were frantic in their efforts. Ace hoped it would be enough until they reached the Leonidas' med-bay. Jake wasn't sure if it was incredibly lucky, or incredibly unlucky to still be alive after all the punishment he'd endured. Regardless, he set his jaw, exhaling through his nose as he fought down the building feeling that all this was his fault. He was squad leader, after all. Whose fault was it that John and Alan had been down there in the first place, if not his? He could've denied Ashley's request, all those weeks ago. He could've told her 'no' when she'd asked him to donate his men to her clandestine cause. At the time, he hadn't even known details. Back then, for all he'd known, he could've been sending the two on a suicide mission. Why was he only realising that now? Why had he been so short-sighted?

'Great job, you fucking moron,' a voice in the back of his head spoke softly - a voice that he'd gotten more and more familiar with since taking charge of Bandit, 'A pretty girl flashes you a smile and you bend over backwards to impress her? You send two men to their deaths, and for what? You should be ashamed. Alan's dead, and John might join him – and it's your fault.'

His face must've betrayed him, because in the next moment, Ashley leant a little closer, taking his hand in hers. She rubbed her thumb over his gloved hand, and Jake felt his entire body relax a little, felt the facade fade. He tore his gaze from Breaker, the source of his shame, and returned it to Ashley, his... what, girlfriend? Jake bit back a bitter chuckle. No. Not 'girlfriend'. The word didn't fit in his mouth. What was she to him, then? His partner, his lover? Nothing that came to mind fit.

And yet.

Here she was, holding his hand, quelling the doubts that that little voice whispering to his mind caused.

Maybe one day.

"It wasn't anyone's fault, Jake." She said in a quiet voice so only he heard. "Alan and John - they're Pilots. They were all too aware that anytime they set foot onto a battlefield, it could be their last. But they still did it. I can't pretend to know what drives them to keep fighting, or you. Or anyone. I don't think it matters, as long as we keep stepping foot onto new battlefields, keep fighting for what's right."

Jake said nothing for moment, casting his eyes to the floor, to John again and then back to Ashley. He was so tired. Not from the mission, or even from the war that just seemed to drag on and on. He was tired from loss. His entire military career, if one could even call it that, had been defined not by what he'd gained, but what he'd lost. He'd lost everyone in Goblin before he was recruited into the Pilot Training Program. He'd lost the villagers he'd sworn to save from the IMC during their raid on the Odyssey. He'd lost David on the same day. And Roe, and Tapley. Everyone in Hazard, really. It was the only case where death hadn't claimed the people he'd cared about. No. That day, he let them go of his own volition when he defected. Maybe back then, he'd been naive enough to think that things would be better now that he wasn't siding with the Frontier's oppressors. What a stupid thing to assume. The only difference between Jake's time in the IMC and the Militia, besides a pay check, was loss. In the Militia, he'd been spared its wrath.

Not anymore. Alan was dead. John might be next. How many would come after?

"What happened in the ambush? How did you escape?" Jake asked her after a moment.

Ashley shrugged theatrically, a small amount of her typical bravado returning with it. "Honestly? It was a bit of a blur. There wasn't a lot of time to think. One moment we're on our way out of the bunker, the next we're stuck between a rock and a hard place by Blisk and-"

Jake placed his hands on her shoulders suddenly.

"Blisk? Kuben Blisk?" He hissed.

"Yeah." Ashley nodded. "I was as surprised as you. But he treated the whole thing like it was all a game. Like it was..."

"'Just business'?" Jake offered, a sick feeling forming steadily at the bottom of his stomach. She nodded.

"He had a couple of Pilots with him, too. One of them, a mountain of a man, came at me. I don't know how I managed to fight him off for long enough. It's like a haze. I was so focused on staying alive that I couldn't-"

Jake's grip on her shoulders slackened. Instead he just gently rubbed her arm in a reassuring way.

"I'm just glad you're okay." He said. She looked at him with a strange softness to her eyes. Jake smirked. She knew he meant it.

"There was a woman too. Blisk called her a Captain. She fought Alan."

"Was she the one that... you know..." Jake began, not wanting to speak the words. Did she kill him?

"No."Ashley clarified, catching onto his meaning. "Alan got the upper-hand at some point; put her down before she got a chance to do the same to him. And then, Blisk called off the big guy from me, and sicced him on Alan instead. He didn't even get to fight back. It was... horrible."

"Is that when you escaped?" Jake asked.

"Yeah. I suppose I ought to thank him, you know. Blisk, I mean. His personal attack dog was about to beat me to death when he ordered him to switch targets."

"Lucky you." Jake said sarcastically. But she shook her head.

"No, not really. I was too weak to pick myself up, let alone carry John out of there. I would've been next if it hadn't been for her."

Jake turned, following her gaze. At the far end of the transport, closest to the rear of the craft, was an IMC Pilot. Her white-grey armour was bloody and slick with grime. She was bound by her wrists and forced onto her knees. Aleksei and Oliver were guarding her, keeping her at gunpoint. If she moved a muscle in a way they didn't like, they had orders to put her down. Jake knew she wouldn't though. Something deep inside him assured him of her discipline, even now – in the lion's den. He had been surprised, to say the least, when she'd emerged onto the platform where they'd planned to pick up Ashley, John and Alan, carrying Breaker in her arms like a bride, wearing Ashley on her back like an oversized rucksack.

There hadn't been any time to think, so Jake and Oliver had taken John off her hands, transferring him to the waiting transport whilst she helped Ashley on afterwards. Then it had just been her. A single IMC Pilot, standing on the landing platform inches away from her sworn enemies. Or not, seeing as she had asked for permission from Jake to board the evacuation shuttle herself. To his surprise, he had let her, going so far as to offer his hand to help her aboard.

As per protocol when it came to the apprehension of IMC personnel, she was disarmed, bound and placed under guard until they could get her somewhere more secure. The brig on the Leonidas, for example. But Jake didn't have time for all that. They were about to assault Demeter. Attending to prisoners wasn't going to be on the priority list until the world had been taken for the Militia.

Which left him with a choice.

"Hey." He spoke softly as he tenderly nudged Ashley's chin with a gloved knuckle, smiling despite his sombre mood. "Why don't you take it easy for a while? Try to relax. You've been through the wringer."

Ashley smirked back, in a softer way than any smile she'd shown him before. She nodded, and leant back against the wall of the transport once more. Jake stood from his crouch. His aching knees protested the effort, but stood anyway. He turned toward the prisoner, and took a few steps to stand just behind McGowan and Aleksei.

"Is she behaving?" He asked in a low tone. Aleksei grunted something in his native Romanian. If Jake were wearing his Pilot helmet, the software would've translated for him. He briefly considered asking the question again before the Scotsman replied instead.

"So far, mate." He said, weapon aimed at her chest. "Lass hasn't said a peep so far. Been quieter than the moors of Fife in winter, in fact."

Jake nodded. Maybe he needed translation software for Oliver too. He patted Aleksei's shoulder as he came forward, crouching down to one knee in front of the IMC Pilot. His eyes took in every detail of her uniform for any mark that told him her rank or squad affiliation. Then he saw it. A patch, sewn into the fabric of her sleeve close to her shoulder. An IMC logo with a bio-hazard symbol embedded in the centre.

She was from Hazard squad. Just like him. Just like David.

"What made you do it?" Jake asked, tearing his eyes from her insignia. Instead he focused on trying to make eye contact, despite her opaque visor. "What made you betray the IMC?"

The helmet tilted slightly, regarding him. Jake was left staring at his own reflection in the glossy black material of her visor for a long moment.

"I could ask you the same thing." She said.

Some hope that Jake wasn't even aware of was snuffed in the moment she spoke. But now he realised what he'd been hopeful for. Jackie Roe. Something within him still regretted leaving her side. It was the same thing that regretted abandoning David and the rest or Hazard. But this Pilot's voice was gruffer, deeper than Jackie's. He had his suspicions about her identity. There had only been a few women in Hazard whilst Jake had been associated with them. But that was a long time ago. War had a habit of forcing squads like Hazard to require a lot of new blood to replace those who fell in battle. She could easily be a replacement, rather than a veteran.

"I'm going to remove your helmet now, okay?" Jake told her. "Don't do anything you'll make me regret. At this range, my boys would catch me in the crossfire. And I don't know about you, but I don't really want to be turned into mince-meat today."

The woman gave the slightest nod. Jake returned the gesture, clenching his jaw as he slowly worked his fingers to undo the chin-strap. It unclipped with a soft click. Jake withdrew his hands and placed them on the sides of her helmet, pulling it up and off of her head as carefully as he could manage. The face that greeted him was tanned and freckled. Her nose was slightly crooked from one too many breaks, and her lips were thin and frowning. There were two thick black line tattoos on her face, one running horizontally over the bridge of her nose and beneath her eyes, and the other was a vertical strip on her forehead – akin to a 'third eye'. The most striking thing about her appearance was the glowing red cybernetic eye embedded in her right eye socket. Her attention was completely focused on Lincoln, who placed her helmet on the ground between them.

"I remember you." Jake muttered, his face creasing in thought as he tried to recall her name. Eventually, he gave a sheepish grin. "Sorry. I'm good with faces, but not so much with names."

The woman's frown deepened somewhat. "Mantesteva." She clarified. "Katrina Mantesteva. Been a while, Lincoln." Her words carried the slightest hint of a Slavic accent.

"Yeah." Jake murmured. "It has."

"Gonna untie me now?" She asked.

It was like she'd read his mind. He was considering it. After all, why would she help Ashley and John if she didn't intend to defect from, or at the abandon, the IMC. He took a moment to regard it, weighing the idea in his head. After a long moment considering the ramifications of the choice to removing her bindings, Jake shook his head.

"Not yet, Katrina." He said, his tone gentle and reassuring. "I'm sure you understand. Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful that you saved our guys, but I can't just let you cross the border without checking your papers, you know what I mean?"

"Whatever you say." She watched his face closely, the glow of her red eye giving her an eerie look. Eventually, she shrugged and shifted her position to be more comfortable. Jake could have left it there. Mantesteva seemed perfectly happy for the conversation to end there, but Jake's curiosity trumped his manners.

"So..." He began, not sure what to say to her, "...why'd you do it?" She lifted a single eyebrow at him in response. Jake felt himself cringe. Clearly, she wasn't one for words. "I mean... what are you going to do now? You can't go back. They'd court-martial you."

"I know that." Mantesteva shrugged. "As for your questions..." Jake watched her facial expression change and twist slightly as the wheels turned in her brain. Was she coming up with an excuse, or was she trying to figure out how best to tell him the truth? It was a few seconds before she opened her mouth to reply. "I'm Frontier-born, Lincoln. I've had doubts about what the IMC's been doing to my home for years. I've not only allowed them to do it, but I signed up for it too. I had to rationalise it any way I could for so long. But after you left a few months ago? The doubts just started gnawing away at me. So I promised myself that I'd follow your example, and defect just like you."

Jake let her talk. Ever since he'd joined the Militia, he'd come to understand that every person had their own reason to take up a rifle against the IMC. Some wanted revenge, some wanted freedom for future generations, and others just wanted to protect their home. He'd learned that each reason was as important as every other. Mentality mattered, of course, but as long as there were people to stand up to the 'rightful rulers of the Frontier', then there was hope. Thinking back, Jake realised that maybe that was exactly what Vlad had meant before the Angel City operation; 'while there is life, there is hope'.

"I don't hate the IMC, Lincoln. It's just that my daughters are going to grow up one day, and sooner or later, they'll ask me what side of the war I fought on. I want to tell them an answer that I won't regret." Katrina added.

Jake looked at her for a long time, considering her words and weighing her motivations. She seemed honest, her words ringing true. Even her tone, obscured somewhat by her accent, was sincere. He thought about the possible consequences of unbinding her then and there. Jake considered how much help she could grant if she were given a uniform and a weapon when they boarded the Leonidas, rather than a cage. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the shuttle pilot made an announcement, cutting him off.

"We're comin' up on the hangar now, folks. There's a med-team on stand-by for the wounded. Touching down in thirty seconds." She said, her soft Texan drawl granting Jake some nostalgic southern comfort he couldn't quite place. Maybe some old movie he'd seen at some point. "And, as always, thank you for choosing to fly with Blackbird Airlines – taking you to the ass-end of nowhere and back since thirty-two!"

No sooner had she finished humouring herself did the landing gear come to a soft stop within one of the shuttle bays. The sliding doors opened, and the medic seeing to John rushed him out of the transport and over to the waiting trauma team. Jake disembarked, watching them go as they carried the stretcher-bound form of Breaker towards the med-bay. Jake gripped his Pilot helmet at his side until his knuckles turned white and the stitches of his gloves started to come loose. Another casualty suffered under his command. First Golsan with his amputated leg, then Alan's death from his ill-fated duel with an IMC Pilot, and now John was fighting for his life whilst he slowly drowned in his own blood. A hand on his shoulder snapped him out of it, and he looked over to who had cut into his thoughts. Desmond, who returned Jake's stare with a grim expression. Jake realised he was probably thinking something similar.

"At least I've still got you." Lincoln muttered.

"Always, brother." Desmond replied, his voice low and serious. "But we all know what we signed up for. Fact of the matter is that this is war. And, unfortunately, in war; bad shit happens."

"Feels like we've had more than our fair share." Jake countered.

"I know what you mean." Desmond sighed. "But it's not all on you, man. And it's not your fault what happened down there. It's not anyone's. Like I said-"

"'Shit happens'." Jake echoed. A moment passed.

"Yeah." He said.

Jake nodded. He appreciated the sentiment, but his stomach still sank at the idea of dooming more and more good men and women because of his inability to recognise risks. He looked back to the retreating forms of the trauma team. Ashley followed close behind John's stretcher, accompanied by another crew member who supported her weight as she limped onwards.

"I should go see Vlad." Jake announced as he started to walk away from the transport. "Gotta get new orders. Keep an eye on Reaper. I've got a feeling we're not going to get any time to put our feet up."

Desmond chuckled. "You got it, boss. I'll keep 'em all together. We need to restock ammo, so if we're not here when you get back, assume we're on our way back from the armoury."

Jake gave him a thumbs-up as the distance grew between them. He jogged to the ship's interior mono-rail, usually reserved for transporting cargo from one end of the ship to the other without breaking the backs of the crew. This time, he hitched a ride to the front of the ship and was there within a three minutes. Without the mono-rail, it would've taken a little over ten. He jogged the rest of his journey to the bridge, navigating the textbook white-and-grey corridors with practised ease. In the back of his mind, he wondered why they hadn't just slapped a new coat of paint on the walls. He dismissed the wayward consideration when he realised that it wasn't exactly a problem that needed solving.

But boy-oh-boy, was it ugly as hell.

Striding onto the bridge of the Leonidas, Jake wasn't surprised by the hustle and bustle of activity from every work station as the final preparations were made. He was sure that everyone was doing all they could before the ship committed the short-range warp-jump into what could possibly be its ultimate end. It was sure to be a momentous battle, and there was every chance that the jump would be a one-way trip. Deciding not to dwell on it, Jake searched the bridge crew for his old squad leader. He found Vlad's distinctive shape leaning over the shoulder of a technician as they ran a few final checks on his monitor. As Jake approached, he overheard the pair discussing the most effective firing solutions and the types of armaments they should order the weapon crews to load into the missile pods before they arrived in Demeter's orbit. Jake waited politely for them to finish up and caught Vlad's attention as he rose from his leaning position.

"Captain." He said.

"Hello, Jake." Vlad nodded as he began walking back towards his command chair. "How did it go on Sierra?"

Jake fell in step with Vodnik for the few steps it took to reach the raised platform. "Everything went fine on my end. The towers came down, all according to plan." He exhaled. He didn't know how to say this. "As for Rhian's team-"

"I've been informed already." Vlad cut him off as he took a seat in the captain's chair. "Bish told me."

Jake said nothing. He didn't know what to say. Was there anything to be said?

"It's not your fault, Jake." Vlad assured him.

"Then why does it feel like it is?" He asked.

"It's the nature of being in command. The victories are yours, but so are the defeats," Vlad sighed, "and the losses. It's natural to blame yourself for the shortcomings of the team, but you have to accept that loss and move on. We cannot dwell on every mistake."

Jake wasn't satisfied with the answer, but there wasn't any time for a debate now that Demeter was within their sights. "Yes, sir." He said. "I'm here for new orders. What do you want me to do?"

Vlad put a hand to his chin, rubbing the stubble there. "Most of the First Fleet is already engaged at Demeter. Initial reports indicate that the IMC's split the defence, and they've sent about thirty percent of their assets to contain the situation at Sierra. They probably think that they have enough to hold off our fleet with the remaining ships. And maybe they're right. But the Leonidas has stayed behind for the moment, and will be part of a second wave along with the Sparrow, Grendel and Beowulf, as well as at least thirty other ships."

Jake nodded. "So we're the cavalry?"

"Indeed we are. Once we warp in, you're to depart from the hangar with Reaper in tow. The first wave will have already made landfall, and you're going to back them up however you can. You'll get new orders from MacAllan once you reach the planet. He's in command of the ground forces for this mission. Have you got all that?"

"Loud and clear, sir." Jake nodded. His thoughts still lingered on John's condition, but he resisted the urge to ask about it. "In that case, I'll be on my way. Good luck, sir. After all, I don't want to win the biggest battle of the war down there, only to come back to a ship full of holes."

Vlad chuckled. "I'll do what I can, Jake. I don't intend to lose my ship today."

"I'll hold you to that, sir." Jake said, offering a salute before making his way off the bridge.

Vlad watched him go, a wry smile on his face. In truth, he was dreading what could happen today. So many things could so easily go wrong. His ship had been repaired extensively since Leviathan thanks to the shipyards at the Harmony anchorage orbital platforms. Now she was as good as new. They'd even had time to paint her name on the broadsides of her hull in huge white letters. The MCS Leonidas. Vlad supposed that made her induction into the First Fleet official. No time to stand on ceremony though, as she'd been restocked and rearmed with enough ordinance to wipe any IMC colony off of the surface of whatever world they'd laid claim to. Of course, she'd need it if she was going to stand any kind of chance at Demeter.

"Lenin, situation report." Vlad ordered as he collected his thoughts and strode over to his command chair. It wasn't the most comfortable thing he'd ever sat in, he preferred the cockpit of his old Ogre to this, but at least it allowed him an unobstructed view of every technician's console so he could better command his bridge crew. "Are we ready to join the battle?"

"Ship systems running at nominal levels." The A.I. informed him. "However, I have detected several unexpected power fluctuations in the ship's power plant."

"Is it going to be a problem? I don't want to explode halfway through a warp-jump." Vlad asked, putting his hand to his chin in concern.

"An unlikely outcome, Captain. A successful warp-jump only requires thirty percent of the plant's energy levels at its peak. The fluctuations detected lower to output levels to just under eight percent."

"So we have more than enough fuel in the tank to get to Demeter. Good." Vlad fought the urge to allow a sigh of relief. The margin for error in an operation like this was miniscule. "Regardless, send a team to check on the power plant, just to be safe. Instruct them to send me a comms check when they arrive to confirm everything's going well. And I want a full-report from the engineering team when this is all over." Lenin acknowledged the instruction and went to work. Vlad returned his attention to the bridge, and locked eyes with his helmsman. "On your mark, Kylar. Take us to battle."

"Aye, aye, sir." He replied, punching in a few commands to his terminal. Within moments, the Leonidas' engines stirred to life, whirring up and gathering charge to warp the few thousand miles to Demeter's orbit.

"All hands, this is your Captain speaking." Vlad began, his voice being broadcast ship-wide to every member of his crew. "I'll keep it short. You all know what's about to happen, what we're about to attempt. Make no mistake, what we do today will no doubt be the toughest fight of our lives, and there's no assurance I can give or promise I can make that will ease your nerves." Vlad looked around his bridge, every pair of eyes burning into him as he held the tannoy microphone close to his mouth. He saw the doubt in their eyes, but he saw the fire too. "But I would remind you all of the reasons we fight. For the sake of your children! For the sake of your home! For the sake of your freedom! What we do here today will echo across the galaxy, and tell those bastards in the Core that we are not afraid of them! And that we will not sit idly by whilst they drain our Frontier for every last drop of its resources! Today we tell them that we are the ones who decide what happens here! We are the ones who have bled and died for the home we have made! This is the day where we shout out; 'this is our home, and you are not welcome in it any more'!"

The bridge exploded with cheering, whoops and hollers that made Vlad's spirit soar. He could not describe the pride he felt for every man and woman aboard this vessel. And he knew he would die a thousand deaths before he allowed them to lose today.

"Take us, Kylar! Take us to war!"

Suddenly the black void of space turned blue as streaks of light blazed past them, burning their way towards Demeter. Burning their way towards victory, or death.

VIIIIIV

Arriving in the hangar he'd departed only minutes earlier, Jake returned to Blackbird Twelve-Two's landing pad. The other members of Reaper were already assembled and awaiting orders, loading magazines into their weapons or stuffing as much ammo as they could carry into their pouches. He strode over to Desmond, who handed Jake the Flatline rifle that he'd bought on Harmony with Ashley. Jake performed a routine inspection of the weapon and, when he was satisfied, slung it over his back.

"How'd everything go in the armoury?" He asked Desmond, who shrugged.

"No problems whatsoever. A little crowded, but folks moved outta the way when they saw we were Pilots." Desmond knelt down, adjusting the straps on his boots. "Everyone's loaded up with enough bullets to take on a fuckin' army."

"Good." Jake nodded. "We might need to, knowing the shit-storm that awaits us when we get to the surface."

"Did you get any intel from the Captain? What's the situation down there?"

"MacAllan's leading the ground forces as we speak." Jake clarified. "We're going to go down in separate shuttles, just like Sierra, and report to him for our objective. I expect that we'll need to hold territory, so make sure you're prepared to hold hardpoints."

"Roger that, Jake." Desmond nodded, quickly clambering into the waiting shuttle.

Jake barked a few orders to Reaper, telling them to load up onto the transports when they were ready. It took less than a minute for all seven of them to get aboard their respective transports and ready themselves for the drop. Jake was the last to climb onto Blackbird Twelve-Two, along with Desmond – his second-in-command, Sadie – the over-achiever, and Mario – the demolitions expert and hacker. The other held Alejandro – the giant, Aleksei – the quiet one, Oliver – the rowdy Scotsman, and Advik – the snarky prick. Jake silently wondered how many of them would die today. This was Demeter, it was going to be their fight of their lives. Battles like this would only be won by blood.

And Jake had a feeling that today was going to end with him drowning in it.

Unless, of course, it cost him his own life too.

VIIIIIV

Three things were vital for someone in Ashley's niche profession. A few particular traits that every 'undercover operative' needed to have in order to be as effective as possible; subtlety, intuition and nerves of steel. She ruminated on all three as she was looked oer by an attending medic, barely paying any attention to the routine 'how-many-fingers-am-I-holding-up?' questions. There wasn't any problem with her eyesight. It was everything else that she'd suffered on Sierra - the broken bones, the concussion, the welts and bruises that she'd definitely feel in the morning. If she could have it her way, Ashley would've demanded a few painkillers and gotten onto Jake's shuttle to get back in the thick of it. She could still fight, couldn't she? Stand on two feet. Check. Pull a trigger. Check.

She shrugged to no one but herself, forgetting that the nurse was even there for a moment. She fought a smile. Bet that looked odd, huh? Yeah, the first of the three things every spy needed – 'subtlety' – didn't exactly come naturally to her. While she may not have been the most delicate when it came to wetwork, the evidence of such a claim were the trail of bodies of whatever poor bastards had tried to stop her. She knew she could be subtle. Swift and silent when required. She'd learned to be as quiet as the grave and as focused as a razor. She'd slit hundreds of throats and tortured dozens of people for the information she'd been contracted for.

So she could count a strong stomach among her other traits too, Ashley supposed.

She wasn't sure about the second trait; intuition. Otherwise known as 'knowing which way the wind blows'. Knowing who to work for and when. It went hand in hand with loyalty, and she'd never been great at that. She'd drifted from place to place all her life, in both the Frontier and the Core Systems. In that time, she'd done work for just about every kind of client she could think of. System-spanning criminal syndicates, jilted lovers suspecting their partner of being unfaithful, disgruntled corporate whistle-blowers? Been there, done that. They'd all been in it for their own interests. Ashley couldn't blame them. Those kind of jobs always paid the best.

But now, for once Ashley felt like she'd found a more permanent place amongst the Militia. For the first time, her skills seemed to be used for the collective good. No need for incriminating herself in shadowy corporate espionage, or trying to find dirt on politicians. No need to scrounge for contracts or sleep in stranger's beds just to spend the night being warm. No, she was helping here, and that meant she was loyal - as long as she still felt that she was doing good with the faction of freedom-fighters.

As soon as that feeling stopped, she knew she'd leave. She couldn't help it. It was a habit, an old one - and everyone knows they're the kind that die the hardest. She didn't like it when things became static. Ashley had promised herself to always keep moving, to never get bogged down in bullshit. She knew that from experience. As soon as things had settled down on her home colony, she'd been engulfed in tragedy. In memory of that day, Ashley had sworn to the memories of that place that she would never let it happen again. So she never stopped moving or working. She never became static. She was like a stream; pure as long as it kept running. But if a stream is ever stopped, it settles. It becomes stagnant. She wouldn't be stagnant.

Ashley refused to let that happen.

As for having nerves of steel? Well, she doubted she'd encounter many people who could claim to have ridden on the back of a moving Titan into an active war zone. Of course, Pilots didn't count. They weren't people anymore, not really. Many of them were more machine than man nowadays, prosthetic limbs and cloned flesh grafts, and that was without including their freaky connection to sentient death-machines through a glorified USB port in the back of their heads. She'd even heard of Cloak Pilots who had surgically implanted meshes of retro-reflective technology into their skin, resulting in horrible scarring and disfigurement - all just for a more effective active camouflage effect that resulted in something akin to total invisibility.

Not so long ago, she would've scoffed at the thought of what Pilots sacrificed of themselves, just to get an edge. Forfeiting their minds and bodies in order to handle the abuse they had suffered to have the 'pleasure' to be the most valuable infantry unit on the battlefield. What kind of person would do that?

But lately, she'd realised that Pilots were all that bad. In reality, some of them weren't machines, or monsters. Some of them were just broken people, desperate to be whole. And if technology could replace the pieces of themselves that they'd lost – who would turn down an opportunity like that?

Jake, she hoped.

She wanted him to stay human.

She wanted him all to herself.

Reviews:

Mac Gustah:

I gotta say, its been a while since an action scene grabbed my attention in this way. Good job!

Thanks, man. I really wanted to nail how brutal hand-to-hand combat can be wherever Alan is involved. I mean, Pilots in general are ridiculously agile and have incredible reflexes. I'm surprised their brains can keep up with their bodies, you know? Speaking of action scenes, how do you think Jake will react if/when he finds out that David killed Alan, and that Alan killed Jackie? I'm am looking forward to that kind of angst lol

VIIIV

ROGU3Official

I swear, this story gets better and better man. I'm really happy with what happened with Ashley as a character. Can't wait for the cliffhanger to be concluded. As always, great work!

Well, I'm just thankful you submitted her. It's been an interesting interaction between the two, to say the least. I wonder if they'll get their happy ending? Then again, Ashley doesn't seem like one for settling into relationships. Neither does Jake, considering what happened to his ex. But I'm sure that wouldn't happen to Rhian, right? It's not as if being a spy is a dangerous occupation. Pfft.

VIIIV

Starpottergeek

good job keep up the good work

thanks i appreciate your viewership x