The Brotherhood of Battle
Chapter Twenty Five – Veni, Vidi, Perdidi
"It's Latin. Dead language – don't ask. Means 'we came, we saw, we got our asses kicked'. Same as Caesar. Well, eventually. I heard he had a pretty severe experience with back pain. And a lotta knives. Wait... what were we talkin' about?" - Barker
VIIIIIV
There was a thunderous boom as the Leonidas suddenly dropped out of its warp jump and arrived in Demeter's orbit. Closely followed by several other ships; the Sparrow, Grendel, and Beowulf. Just to name a few. The flotilla of warships were less than forty kilometres from the closest IMC forces. Vlad had no doubt that they'd have shown up as new contacts on every enemy radar in orbit by now. It was up to them to strike first, and strike hard.
"All hands to battle stations. This is a high alert." Lenin's modulated voice echoed around the length and breadth of the ship.
In the hangar, the Blackbird transports holding the Pilot teams lifted off and departed, making a mad dash for the surface of the planet. Captain Zuyev was there, standing in the middle of the room while everyone around him ran back and forth doing everything in their power to make sure they'd live through the day. He had a hand on his chair and in the other, a glass filled with a vintage whiskey. If he was going to die today, he'd go out enjoying his last moments in his own way. It wasn't so much to affect his mental faculties. Only enough to savour the taste.
A large holographic screen materialised in front of the captain's chair, a tactical holo-map that Lenin could feed live information and updates to so that Vlad could dictate the strategies. The screen was mostly black, which was to be expected, since the cameras were pointing at space. It wasn't completely black however. Demeter's northern hemisphere dominated the bottom of the screen, and even now Vlad could make out distant shapes in the large screen. Shapes that were enclosed by circles, each with various data read-outs next to those circles. Red for foes, blue for friends. Each represented a single ship, exchanging fire or circling for better angles.
There were far more red circles than Vlad would've liked. Outnumbering the blues by a wide ratio, approaching almost double the amount.
"Get me battle overviews. Now." He ordered.
"Right away, sir," Lenin's monotonous voice droned from nowhere. A few seconds later, the screen changed to something more akin to a strategy game.
"Give me a firing solution on the closest IMC cruiser. Open up with rail-cannon shot, followed by a volley of guided missiles. Then finish with another rail-cannon shot if it's needed."
"Yes, sir." One of the bridge crew commented.
"Wickett, redirect all non essential power to the rail-cannon as soon as the first two shots are fired. We're going to need that gun today. Someone give me the status of the fighter squadrons."
"The fighters are already prepared, they can launch any time you say, sir." Someone else reported.
"Lenin?"
"Already done, Captain."
"Thank you. What's the estimated time until the first shot is fired?" He asked.
"Cannon's just spinning up now, sir. It'll be just under a minute."
It was one of the longest minutes in his life. In all honesty, he'd preferred being a Pilot. Back then, he wouldn't have had to worry about the ship-to-ship combat or its details. He was usually too busy fighting for his life planet-side. Sometimes, he wasn't sure if Sarah and MacAllan had made the right call to make him the captain of the Leonidas, but there was something about being on the bridge, directing the efforts of an entire crew that commanded his attention. Every order, every decree could end the lives of so many.
That was real power.
The entire ship shook when the Rail Accelerator Cannon fired a depleted uranium slug at slightly less than half the speed of light. Vlad grimaced. He wouldn't have enjoyed being on the receiving end of that hunk of metal. Less than a second later, the report came in.
"Solid contact, Captain." Wickett stated. "I've called off the missiles. We got a lucky hit to the reactor."
"Good, switch targets to the next highest threat. Start recharging the rail-cannon. Fire from pods A-1 to C-1 in the meantime."
Vlad managed to make out the hissing noise that the missiles made when they left their pods, but it was nothing compared to the rail-cannon, which by itself had managed to rock the entire ship whenever it fired.
"Is the cannon ready?"
"Seventy-eight percent, Captain." Someone said.
"Enemy fast movers!" A voice called out. "Multiple fighter squadrons closing in on our starboard hull! Nine hundred metres and closing."
"Lenin, activate point-defence systems. Keep their missiles away from us. Someone task the wing that just launched from our tube to intercept enemy fighters."
"Of course, Captain." The AI said as it connected with the heavy machine guns that protected the ship from fighter craft and boarding parties. The ship's hull vibrated with the thuds that the PDG's made whenever they fired into the enemy fighters.
"Torpedoes inbound! Port side, high!" A voice called out.
"Evasive manoeuvres!" Vlad commanded. "If any get too close, Lenin, fire off some chaff to take the blow." Captain Zuyev ordered.
Instantly, Vlad felt the ship lurch slightly. The seconds ticked by until one of the console technicians received a ping from a hull sensor.
"Manoeuvre was successful, Captain. The torpedoes did not make contact."
"Good, now track their origin trajectories and give me a firing solution on whatever fired them. I don't want to be dodging torpedoes for the rest of the battle."
And so it went. The Leonidas was hit a few times by turrets and bombs, but nothing too serious. Glancing blows, more often than not. In the ten minutes since the ship's arrival, the Leonidas had managed to destroy or disable three IMC ships, and take out several fighters pickets before it Vlad called for the crew to focus on defending friendly ships. The majority of the Militia's fleet weren't meant for slug-fest combat. Many of them were civvie freighters, outfitted with clamped-on weaponry. Glass cannons, in layman's terms. But the Leonidas could get between engagements. Take the flak meant for others. Its hull could withstand a veritable barrage before being breached.
He smiled as he recalled a conversation he'd had with a crew chief after taking the ship from the IMC. He'd been rather severe in his appraisal of the ship, especially of the strength of the hull and the contents within.
"To be honest," he'd said, "I was pretty concerned about the abundance of ordinance aboard, sir. One good penetrating round through the hull and we'd blow apart like a string of fire-crackers. The Argonaut really doesn't have a lot of wasted space when it comes to armour either, you know. It's packed tight with honeycomb pattern titanium plates, not to mention all the hydraulic bulkheads that can compartmentalise any sustained damage within moments of getting shot. All said and done, she can take one hell of a beating, sir."
Vlad smiled grimly, his mind snapping back to the present as another warning beeped and new information was sent to his screen. "Let's just hope we won't have to test that anytime soon." He muttered.
"Sir!" Someone called out.
"Yes, yes, Wickett. I see it. Lenin, focus fire on-"
"No, sir. Something's wrong. It's the power plant! Something's wrong in-"
Then the entire ship shook so violently that Vlad thought it would literally shake itself apart. Every electronic on the bridge shut off. Every screen, every monitor, even the strip lights. All suddenly without power. The rumbling ceased, and Vlad looked around, checking that his bridge crew were all unharmed. In the next moment, red emergency lights bathed the bridge in a crimson glow.
"Status report!" Vodnik demanded. "Is everyone alright? What the hell was that?"
"I don't know, sir." Wickett reported. "All systems have gone dark. I can't get any response from the controls."
Vlad scowled. This was bad. They had to get back online, otherwise they'd be an easy target. "Lenin, report. Give me a sit-rep."
There was no response.
"Lenin?" Other eyes lingered on Vlad now, as he looked around the room waiting for an answer from his A.I. companion. "Oh, no..."
"Sir?" Someone said. Vlad looked over. Kylar, his helmsman, had a worried look on his face. "There's no response from our guidance systems or engines." He took a quick reading from his data-pad before it too flickered and died in his hands. "Shit. Auxiliary power is only barely enough for life support, and grav generators will give out in less than two minutes." The young man turned to face him. "We're drifting, sir. We're..."
Vlad's face went pale. "Oh, God. We're defenceless. We're a sitting duck."
VIIIIIV
"Pilot Lincoln, something is wrong."
Jake was briefly surprised to hear anything from Spades on their way down towards Demeter. As soon as the Leonidas had dropped out of warp, every Blackbird transport in the hangar had spun up and left the safety of their bays, only to nosedive towards Demeter. It was a one-way ticket towards Hell, each one speeding towards the surface of the planet at somewhere approaching three hundred miles per hour in hopes of slipping past the planet's anti-orbital defences. Jake checked his HUD for the approximate time until they broke atmosphere; thirty-six seconds. Once they did, the transports would decelerate and adjust course to link up with Militia forces on the ground. Once they made landfall, it was going to be a long and difficult battle. He was worried about a million and one things that could happen down there. Spades speaking his concerns now weren't a good sign.
"What's wrong, mate? I didn't think robots could get cold feet." He smirked.
"Pilot," Spades said, "I have detected fluctuation coming from the Leonidas. She has suffered enormous damage."
"Spades. This is a battle. She's gonna take a few lumps."
"Negative, Lincoln. Scans conclude that the damage came from within the ship, not from an outside source. Furthermore, it appears that she has lost power. Engine output shows no sign of re-activation. Weapons are also offline."
Jake rushed to a window, drawing the attention of his squad. Desmond joined him at the pane. They looked at the carnage outside. Missiles flew from ship to ship, railguns and tracer rounds lighting up the atmosphere. Shipwrecks floated lifelessly in the void, lost with all hands. It seemed to be utter chaos from what Jake could see.
"What's the hypothesis, Spades?" Jake asked.
"There are several plausible scenarios that could result in such an issue, but the most likely is catastrophic damage to the ships reactor, or power plant."
Jake swore. "Well, considering she hasn't gone nuclear, I'm going to go with door number two."
"What do we do, Jake?" Desmond asked. "We're already pledged to Demeter."
Lincoln thought for a moment. He didn't want to go down and fight without knowing the ship would be okay. If it were online and fighting, he'd be less concerned. Vlad was a good captain, and the Leonidas was a great ship. It could take a beating, and dish it out too. But without power, drifting on the fringes of a battle like this? That was a death sentence. If they couldn't defend themselves, they'd be caught like a fish in a barrel. And it wasn't just Vlad at risk. It was everyone else aboard too. Golsan and Breaker, and Ashley. Not to mention all the crew.
"Okay." Jake sighed. "Spades, connect a comm to the rest of Reaper on the other shuttle, broadcast to the whole squad."
"Affirmative, Jake." Spades droned. A moment later, he continued. "Request complete. Connection established."
"Reaper, this is Jake; the Leonidas has suffered unexpected catastrophic damage. You all know the importance of what's going on planet-side, but it's just as important that we have a ship to come back home to after everything's said and done." Jake said in a calm voice, trying to hide the worry he felt that mounted higher with every passing second. "So here's what's gonna happen. My shuttle will re-route and control the situation on board the ship. The rest of you are going through with Demeter. They need every gun they can get down there. As soon as the Leonidas is handled, we'll join you on the ground. McGowan, assume temporary command of until I get back. Report to MacAllan as soon as you make landfall. Assist any way you can. Understood?"
The chorus of affirmation was unanimous. Jake cut the connection. He struggled towards the cockpit. They would break into the atmosphere soon. Already, Demeter's gravity was starting to affect his movement.
"Pilot!" Jake shouted to be heard above the noise of the engines. "Turn this bird around! Get back to the ship, that's an order!"
VIIIIIV
Some time earlier...
Finally. His patience was finally being rewarded. At last, his enduring dedication to his cause would bring this ship to ruin. He'd been grinning hideously for the last few minutes, anticipating what was to come. No one paid any attention to him, wandering the Argonaut's corridors and hallways. There were too pre-occupied with the invasion. Too caught up in the sweeping spike in morale that came with the assault on Demeter.
Good, he thought, I'll make them regret not seeing me. I'll make them regret ever setting foot on this ship.
His first stop was at the armoury. It was bustling, and a busy centre of attention for the soldiers aboard the ship. Dozens of terrorists – Pilots and Grunts, alike – crowded around every available rack, selecting their weapons and loading up on as much ammo as they could carry. Gregor felt his blood boil, imagining how many IMC personnel might meet their end from those stolen weapons. Gregor's bloodshot eyes scanned the room, and he wandered over to a weapon rack that was less crowded than the others. He took his time, selecting a weapon that would accomplish what he desired. It didn't need to be anything big or flashy. It just needed to help him get the job done. He felt a few eyes on him, likely questioning what a technician like him was doing selecting a firearm. He ignored them. He knew they were questioning his clothing, not his face. If he was gone soon, they'd forget all about him. Besides, they had bigger things to be concerned about than one wayward engineer.
"You'll do." Gregor muttered, pulling a Wingman revolver from one of the dispensers. He claimed a single box of ammo alongside it. Twenty-four rounds. More than enough. He stuffed the weapon in a pouch of his engineer utility belt, like an impromptu holster. It didn't fit the weapon well. After all, it was designed to carry tools – ion-cutters and wrenches, not a six-shooter.
He left the armoury, careful not to bump into any marines on his way out. He had to stop himself from speeding up into a jog. He could barely contain the cocktail of nerves and excitement racing through his body. He had worked so hard for so long. This was the home stretch, the final quarter-mile. If things went to shit now...
Gregor set his jaw. No. He wouldn't let that happen. He'd finish his mission, by any means necessary. He was so focused on staying calm that he arrived at the engineer barracks before he even knew it. Standing over his bunk, he knelt down and pulled out a footlocker from beneath the bed. He resisted the urge to open it now, despite his fingertips running along the surface of the latches. The cold steel felt so inviting, so tempting. It would be all too simple to flick it open and claim the contents within. It would be easy, but he couldn't risk being rumbled. Despite the mood of the terrorists aboard this ship, the way they easily brushed aside unusual behaviour thanks to their own excitement to get planet-side, they'd certainly notice a technician carrying a bomb.
Gregor took a deep breath. Forcing his fingers away from the latches, he grasped the footlocker's handle, and heaved it up. Heavier than he thought it would be, but he wouldn't have to carry it far. When he returned to the corridor outside the barracks, everything seemed calmer. There were nowhere near as many people around now. He supposed it was because of the insertion methods they'd use to get down there. Many would be deployed via drop-pods onto the planet below. Transports would be making dozens of journeys, back and forth from the ship to the planet below, over and over again.
Gregor shrugged. He didn't care. It just made his life that much simpler in the grand scheme of things. Fewer people, fewer problems. He marched down corridors for almost ten minutes, pushing past anyone he found in his path. Many of them swore at him beneath their breath, or shouting some abuse his way as he proceeded further down the hallways. In earlier days, he wouldn't think twice about rounding on anyone who got riled up at him. But his Pilot armour had done most of the talking for him back then, when this ship was still the Argonaut, before it had been stolen. But nowadays he'd chosen a path that required temperance and restraint. Instead of swinging fists in retribution for their barbed words, he simply ignored them. He had grander designs in mind. And now he was standing outside the power plant, the footlocker at his feet, knocking on the bulkhead. An intercom beside the door crackled to life.
"What is it?"
Gregor forced himself to breathe, to speak evenly, convincingly. "Delivery service. Got some parts and tools here that you requested."
There was a long moment of silence. For a second, Gregor panicked. What was he going to do if didn't let him in? Could he force his way inside without raising some kind of alarm? Then again, if he detonated the bomb out here, there was a good chance it would still fuck up the ship, but it wouldn't do as much damage as it could. It hadn't been designed to be a big boom, just big enough to do some damage if he put it in the right place. He'd wanted to bomb the bridge originally, but it was too well-guarded. And the ships A.I. would probably raise an alert on someone like Gregor roaming around that part of the ship. Too closely monitored. But by focusing their attention on keeping the bridge safe, they exposed themselves in other places.
Like here.
"We didn't ask for any tools. Who are you?"
Gregor could feel his heart in his mouth. "Look, man. My boss told me to bring this stuff up to you. If you don't want it, fine. But will you at least take a look before you make me carry it all the way back to the depot?"
To his surprise, the bulkhead hissed open, a young man in grease-streaked overalls stepping forward to greet him. The saboteur didn't even let him open his mouth. He'd had enough of this fucking ship, and of the cockroaches infesting it and calling theirs. He wouldn't stand for one more minute of its ongoing infestation if he could help it. And now, thanks to this moron, he finally had a chance. The fate of this warship was sealed, all because of this idiot not asking for credentials. Gregor's muscles were already moving before the kid managed to speak a word. His arm shot forward like a piston, his hand wrapping itself around the engineer's neck like a steel clamp. The young man gagged in agony, his hands flying to try and get some purchase on Gregor's iron grip, to relieve the pressure in any way. But the huge man didn't allow him the chance, and with a powerful grunt of effort, crushed his trachea. He let the body fall backwards, slamming onto the metal grating within. The loud crash as the dying man hit the ground attracted the attention of every operator in the room.
"Hey, what the fu- oh, my God; Archie!" A woman screamed as she saw the twitching corpse on the ground before Gregor.
His dark eyes scanned the room in quick, practised analysis. Five in total. Like clockwork, Gregor's hand grasped the revolver in his utility belt. It sat in his palm like an old friend; familiar and welcome. He pulled it up and out into the open, levelling the barrel with the head of the woman who had screamed. Twenty metres or so. Easy shot. He pulled back the hammer with his thumb and squeezed the trigger. Her body crumpled as her brain matter scattered across her console. The remaining four targets panicked. Some dove for cover. One was brave enough to charge Gregor head on. He was next to die, as the second gunshot rang out. But in less than a minute, Gregor was done. Just him, alone in a room with six fresh bodies - most with holes in their heads.
After reclaiming the footlocker from outside, Gregor closed the bulkhead from the inside and approached the power plant. It was a loud thing, whirring and humming away, distributing power produced by the reactor, sending it out to the whole ship. Designed similarly to a turbine, it spun endlessly on an axis, far faster than his eyes could see. Numerous vents managed the plant's heat levels, and other intake systems kept it cool. The process was mostly automated, and Gregor wondered why so many had been here, in that case. He shrugged after a moment. He didn't care. It didn't matter, they would've died anyway. He took a moment to reload the revolver before replacing it in the impromptu holster around his waist, just in case. Then he went over to his footlocker, setting it down and unlocking the latches. He pulled open the lid and withdrew the contents. It was about the size of a football, with wires and different pieces coming out of it every which way. It looked almost harmless, like an engineering student's first attempt at creating a grav-ball. Gregor carried the device over to the turbine, pressing a few buttons on its surface as he starting the arming process.
There was a loud bang on the bulkhead.
Gregor's head snapped around to look. He was right to have been worried about this. No doubt they were here thanks to the ship's artificial intelligence. After all, his small massacre wouldn't have gone unnoticed by something so competent. But it didn't matter, he thought, as he returned his attention to his bomb. It just meant he had to be quick. Ten seconds later, and the device beeped, signalling that it had been successfully armed. Simultaneously, the bulkhead was hacked and forced open. A squad of marines poured in, rifles raised at Gregor. He was a big guy, it wouldn't be hard to hit him. Gregor kept his back to them as they shouted and gave orders for him to surrender.
"It's far too late for that." He said, clutching his bomb close to his chest. They were still shouting, and they wouldn't hear him. It didn't matter. He didn't care. "You're all dead; you just don't know it yet. And I don't take orders from dead men."
Gregor stepped towards the safety railing. Before his footfall could make contact with the grating, he felt the first impact in the small of his back. It was followed by a dozen more as the soldiers shot him in the back. He coughed blood and his step faltered as he tumbled over the railing, straight into the turbine below. In an instant, Gregor was sucked beneath the spinning metal and was crushed before he could even process what was happening. At the same time, his bomb was swallowed into an intake, right into the heart of the power plant. The marines who had killed him had unknowingly doomed themselves. As the device detonated and blew the turbine to pieces, chunks of metal scattered across the room, and several explosions set off one after another, utterly obliterating everything in the power plant.
Emergency fail-safe protocols ensured that the blast didn't feed back into the main reactor, but it was already too late for the Leonidas. In an instant, the ship was powered down, drifting without intent as the engines suddenly cut off. Weapons were suddenly cut off from their power source, and the gravity generator began to slow down and come to a stop. Only the life support was left operational, thanks to Lenin's last command before being shut down. A command to feed off of the auxiliary generators that didn't rely on the power plant. But they wouldn't last forever. Very soon, the air would run out, and the crew of the Leonidas would asphyxiate. Unless, of course, the ship was blown apart by opportunistic IMC ships before that could happen. Either way, Gregor had gotten what he wanted. His patience had been rewarded. He had completed his mission.
The Leonidas was doomed.
VIIIIIV
"Coming up on the hangar now, Pilot." The Blackbird pilot informed Jake over the comm. His hand went to his helmet, lying just over his ear. He'd been pacing around the bay of the transport, which had visibly unnerved Desmond. There'd been a few close calls on the way back to the ship, but the pilot knew her stuff. At every turn, she'd been good enough to avoid certain death by increasingly unbelievably near-misses. Jake would have to remember to buy her a drink if he got the chance.
"How does it look?" He asked. The worry in his voice was obvious.
"Honestly, not good." She said. "Seems like there was a sudden catastrophic loss of pressure in the hangar. It ain't pretty."
Jake went to the window, only to wish he hadn't. Dozens of bodies floated in a disorganised mess, spinning around just outside of the hangar's exit. The hangar itself was kept pressurised by a basic pressure shield. Anything with enough mass - like a transport - could pass through it without issue. But it kept everything within, separated from the void outside. Even air. But without power? The shield would have failed and the air would've rushed out, taking everything that wasn't nailed down with it. Including people. Soldiers and aircraft crews were scattered just outside the ship, their pale blue bodies also frozen over. Jake only hoped that it had been a quick death. The Blackbird approached an available dock and extended its landing gear.
"Clamping in three, two, one." The Pilot said. After her countdown, the transport came to a shuddering stop, magnetically locked to the landing bay. "We're locked in, Pilots. Give me a second to pressurise the cockpit, and I'll open the hatch for you."
Jake watched from behind his helmet visor as the woman pulled out a rebreather, connected to an oxygen tank behind her chair by a tube. After securing it to her face, she punched a few buttons on a panel and a small metal bulkhead blocked the gap between her cockpit and the bay. Jake heard a hiss of air as it locked in place and sealed the pilot on her side. He gave a quick glance to the three others with him in the shuttle and made sure their suits were air-tight. Seconds later, the side-door of the craft unsealed and slid away, exposing the Pilots within to the Leonidas' hangar. As they disembarked, Jake noted that what Spades had said was true. The ship's gravity generators were offline.
"Alright, everyone. Hold for a moment, let me get an idea of the situation."
The other three nodded, keeping their weapons slung behind their backs as they held onto the transport by railing on its hull. No one wanted to float away into the black beyond.
"Spades, can you raise Vlad?"
"Negative, Pilot. I have attempted thirty outbound communications. None of which have been received. It is likely that the ship's communication array took damage from the battle, or has been rendered useless by the power outages affecting the ship."
"Shit. Is anything online? Anything at all?"
"Negative. Scans indicate a ship-wide blackout of all systems. Critical systems are running on auxiliary generators, but they will not last indefinitely."
"Okay. Which systems? How long will they last?"
"Life support systems are still running, but oxygen scrubbers are no longer operating. In other words; no new breathable air is being created. Estimations predict that reserve power will run out in; forty-four minutes and eighteen seconds. However, more concerning to the crew is the air consumption rate. I calculate that air will be depleted within seventeen minutes."
"Nothing like an ominous countdown, huh? How many life signs aboard?"
"Thanks to emergency fail-safes, over half of the crew remains alive. However, it is concerning that evacuation orders have not been issued. I would recommend going to the bridge and ordering an immediate ship-wide evacuation via the escape pods."
"What about the med-bay? We've got people in there."
"They will also receive the evacuation notice, though they may require assistance."
"Okay, got it. Thanks, Spades. Keep running diagnostics. Alert me if anything requires attention." He turned to the others, all looking at him expectantly.
"How bad is it?" Sadie asked.
"It's not great. Seems like we've only got one option - we have to scuttle the Leonidas." Jake replied.
"Sei sicuro. Maybe not. Do you know anything about the power plant, or the reactor?" Mario asked. "We might be able to fix it. The damage might not be as bad as we think."
"Maybe, are you volunteering?" Jake asked.
"Perchè no? Sure." Mario nodded, as he pushed off the hull of the transport. "I'll keep my radio on, boss. I'll let you know how it looks."
Jake watched him float, then flicked his eyes to the countdown that Spades had transferred to his HUD. Just over fifteen minutes left. They didn't have long.
"I'm going to the bridge. I have to sound a general evacuation. We're a sitting duck for any IMC ships that want to wipe us out."
"I'll go with you." Desmond said assertively. Behind his visor, Jake could see the barely contained mixture of anger and worry. This was kind of like a home for them. "Vlad might be hurt. If he's anywhere, he'll be on the bridge."
"No." Jake told him firmly. He inwardly winced at the small look of betrayal that flashed across Desmond's face. "I need both of you to go to the med-bay. There's not much air left on the ship, and not everyone's got oxygen tanks like we do. The medics will need all the help they can get to make sure all our wounded get onto the escape pods."
Sadie nodded and pushed off the shuttle too, headed for the same bulkhead that Ashley and John had gone through less than an hour before. Desmond hesitated, but said nothing. Moments later, he pushed off the hull and followed Odaesha's trajectory. Jake watched him go for a moment, before refocusing and looking around the hangar.
"Spades, what's the best route to the bridge?"
"Calculating..." A pause. "Route calculated, waypoint added to your Heads-Up Display. I advise you hurry, Jake. Short range scans indicate IMC boarding craft en-route to the ship. They will be onboard within three minutes."
"Jesus fuckin' Christ." Jake spat as he pushed off the transport, heading for the first waypoint. "Alert the others; we're about to have some unwelcome company. They probably want their property back."
"Affirmative, Pilot."
"How could this bloody day get any worse?" He muttered.
VIIIIIV
Meanwhile, on Demeter...
Private Ronald Simmons panted hard as his legs slammed into the ground with every stride. His gun felt heavy in his hands, and his dead man's sprint seemed to last forever as he ran for the waist-high cover of a damaged concrete bollard, meant to block one of the several industrious roads running through this part of Demeter. Whatever purpose it used to have, Ronnie just hoped it would still be intact enough to block a few bullets whilst he recovered his breath back. His radio was a blaring mess of distress calls, target call-outs and sit-reps. The deafening thunder of combat seemed to be everywhere at once, and the thunderous sonic booms of allied and enemy Titanfalls echoed across the battle every few minutes.
The cover seemed so far, but couldn't have been more than twenty steps away. He'd nearly made it when an IMC soldier dropped into his path, thrown by a nearby explosion from a Titan munition. He didn't have time to hop over the corpse, and tripped when his boot collided with the Grunt's bloody combat jacket. He hit the ground, hard. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs, and Ronnie spluttered and gasped as he picked himself back up.
He accidentally made eye-contact with the corpse of the soldier who'd fallen before him. Those eyes haunted him. Glossed over marbles that had already lost their shine. Eyes that stared into nothing, into an endless abyss. If he'd had more time, and there hadn't been so much gunfire, he might've closed those eyes for him.
But there wasn't a moment to lose. He didn't want to get shot too.
So he threw himself back into a sprint and crashed into the crumbling bollard barely a moment later. He checked the ammo feed on his carbine. Half a clip; and only two magazines left after that. Damn. He'd have to keep count soon. Suddenly, another Militia marine slammed into his bollard. His face was caked in mud and blood. Hopefully, it wasn't his.
"Got room for one more?" The soldier asked, panting.
Ronnie nodded, blowing out a breath as he peeked over the rim of the bollard. There was a squad of IMC marines on the other side of the courtyard, and he could hear the thumping footsteps of a nearby Titan. Ronnie could only hope it was on the right side of the conflict.
"This is a shit-show, huh?" The other man said, stating the obvious. "Ground fire's so thick I could probably walk from here to the blood-bay of an evac shuttle on the shrapnel alone."
Ronnie chuckled at the joke. Gallows humour. Never fails.
"Yeah, I'm shittin' diamonds, too." Ronnie replied. "Let's find a building to hole up in."
The other soldier nodded. "Alright, cover me. I'm moving up."
Ronnie nodded, poking up from the concrete cover to rest his weapon on the bollard, firing off a few rounds at the IMC squad opposite, some sixty metres away. He killed one, and caught another in the shoulder before they retreated into cover, dragging the corpse with them by his jacket straps, probably thinking he was wounded rather than dead.
"Go." Ronnie instructed.
The other man didn't need telling twice. He stood and vaulted over the bollard, breaking into a sprint as soon as his feet hit the ground on the other side. He probably made it ten steps before a sniper round punched through his helmet and blew his brains out the side of his head.
"Shit." Ronnie hissed as he hurriedly dove back into the 'safety' of his rudimentary cover. "New plan, new plan, new plan."
He could try to run somewhere else, but the sniper had probably seen where the other guy had popped out from. And that squad of IMC grunts weren't going to stay spooked for long. Ronnie had to do something. A stray bullet would catch him sooner or later.
Thinking fast, he unclipped the strap of his helmet, and held it up just above the top of the bollard. Within barely a second, a sniper round pierced clean through it, knocking it from Ronnie's grip as he flinched in surprise. He took a brief moment to see the vector of the bullet's path, then peeked to the third floor of a nearby bombed-out ruin.
He levelled his weapon and fired into the window he could've sworn he'd seen a muzzle flash come from. He emptied the rest of his clip into the window, and reloaded, not wasting a moment as he watched a body fall forwards from the vantage point, crumpling onto the ground below.
Scratch one sniper.
Ronnie grinned to himself with grim satisfaction. Who needed Pilots anyway?
VIIIIIV
It was an odd experience, floating through the Leonidas' corridors and hallways, pushing off the walls and ceilings as they ship constantly spun on its slow gradual axis. Without power, the stability propulsion systems couldn't keep the ship straight, prompting a glacially slow spin, as though the ship were an enormous, bulky ballerina. It had been five or so minutes since he'd departed the hangar. Every second that ticked by stacked more and more worry onto the mountain of anxiety he already had in mind. Anxieties that often became questions, with only hopeless answers in his mind. How many IMC boarders were on the ship? What would they prioritise first? How well armed were they and would there be Pilots in their ranks? And the medical wing; what happened if there was a hull breach, and all of them were sucked out into space – doomed to a cold and lonely death? What if John and Ashley were already dead? Asphyxiated by quickly depleting levels of oxygen left onboard? What if John and Sadie were ambushed by the IMC on their way to the lifeboats with all of the medical personnel and patients? How long could two Pilots really protect all those people for?
Questions, questions. Only ever more and more questions.
His worry was compounded further when he started finding more bodies, many of which were unarmed Militia crewmen. Hull breaches were few and far between for now, so Jake was forced to attribute their demises to the bullet holes perforating many of their chests and heads. Globules of crimson blood floated in the zero-g environment, staining Jake's clothes and armour as he was forced to push past the corpses that hung creepily in mid-air. Many of the bodies were people he might've vaguely recognised. He'd never spent too much time around the crew if they weren't related to Bandit or their missions in some way. Maybe some of them had turned up to watch his boxing match. Maybe some of them had served him food in the ship's canteen, or handed him a weapon from the armoury. Others had probably played a game of cards against him. But almost all of them still had their eyes open, last expressions of shock or fear on their faces, etched there forever. Clearly, the IMC boarding parties weren't interested in mercy.
"I'm so sick of not being able to save people."
Spades did not respond. Jake found it harder and harder to focus on the task, to push away all the nagging thoughts and guilt. He wished he was like Spades sometimes, able to simply lock away information to focus processing power on where he needed it. What was it called; 'compartmentalisation'?
"Try saying that three times, fast..." Jake muttered mirthlessly, as he closed in on the one of the last waypoints on his route to the bridge.
"Pilot, you are close enough now that I can detect several life signs within the ship's main bridge."
"Good. Any losses?" He asked.
"Unknown, but likely. Crew manifests state there were twelve personnel operating on the bridge at the time of our jump to Demeter's orbit. I am only picking up seven life signs."
"Shit." Jake said. "Is Vlad still... you know..."
"Unknown. I.F.F. signatures are currently offline as a result of the power outage. Visual confirmation will be required to ascertain Captain Zuyev's condition."
Jake felt something like dread knot at the bottom of his stomach. Tendrils of worry that extended to every part of his being. Vlad held a special place in his heart. He was the first person to actually give him a chance after his defection, to actually believe that Jake could actually offer something to the cause other than target practice. And clearly the trust went both ways. Why else would he trust Jake with the diabolical information about Sarah and her involvement with the Romulos massacre? If he was dead, floating on his own bridge as a lifeless corpse? Jake didn't know how he'd be able to handle that. But as he rounded the last corner, his eyes finally seeing the bulkhead to the bridge, he saw something he had been hadn't even considered. A trio of IMC soldiers kitted out in exo-atmospheric equipment, holding carbines and keeping guard of the entrance.
He caught himself on a corner wall, pulling himself out of sight. He had been that the three IMC hadn't been looking in his direction. There had to be more inside the bridge. And he was alone.
Shit. Maybe he should've let Desmond tag along after all.
His eyes reflexively checked the oxygen timer in the corner of his HUD again. Ten minutes, now. He didn't have time for this. Jake took out his Flatline from behind his back and swung out from behind cover, allowing Newton's first law of motion to carry him towards the trio of guards further down the hallway. He didn't even give them time to raise their weapons, instead pulling his trigger and letting loose a few controlled bursts. The bullets made contact with harsh 'thunks'. Momentum took over as the three bodies gently drifted away from the door, pushed slightly by the impact of the rounds. A blood trail followed the corpses, but Jake paid it no mind as he twisted his body to launch himself into the bridge. His eyes quickly identified the two white-clad outliers in the room. An IMC officer and another Grunt waited within, similarly wearing Extra-Vehicular Activity gear like the others outside. Jake made quick work of them, being careful not to shoot out any bridge windows. He doubted that small-arms fire would be able to break the glass, which was most likely bullet-resistant, but he was cautious regardless.
"Jake!" Vlad cried out, his voice more than a little happy. His hands were bound, and he was flanked by four other crew members. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"No 'thanks for saving my ass'? Just straight to the questions." Lincoln said as he reloaded his rifle and put it away so that he could unsheathe his knife and get to work on the cuffs that held Vlad's wrists together.
"Wise-ass." Vlad retorted. "Thanks for saving what's left of my bridge crew. Now, what the hell are you doing on my ship? You're meant to be on Demeter!"
Jake finished cutting through Vlad's restraints and went to work on the next crew member. "And I would be, if Spades hadn't alerted me to the situation here. Now, where's the evacuation alarm? I don't know how much of your crew is left after whatever the IMC boarding parties did, but anyone who's still alive has to leave this ship. Air's going to get real scarce in about eight minutes."
Vlad sighed, clearly still reluctant to abandon ship. But he soon set his jaw and looked over at a young man Jake didn't recognise. "Wickett, sound the alert. Get everyone to the life-boats."
The man didn't stand on ceremony, instead pushing off of a wall to fulfil his orders. Jake looked back over to his captain as he began sawing off another woman's bindings. "What happened?"
"I don't know, Jake." Vlad told him, fiddling at the captain's chair, lifting panels from the arm-rest and removing plating to get to where Lenin's A.I. chip would be housed. "We got some strange reading from the power plant, and then suddenly we were shaking. Sabotage, maybe. Or a lucky hit from an IMC cruiser. Either way, we were floating and without power. I sent a few of my people to go and check the damage before deciding whether or not to scuttle the Leonidas. But we were attacked by that IMC boarding party you so elegantly took out."
"What did they want?"
"They kept asking for the restart codes. I'd guess they wanted to get the ship back online and take it for themselves."
"We did steal it." Jake smirked as he finished cutting through the final prisoner's restraints.
"Liberated." Vlad corrected. As he said it, a klaxon started up, echoing around the room and from outside in the corridor. Wickett had clearly sounded the alarm. Any Militia left alive on the ship would take that as a sign to evacuate as soon as possible. "Can we talk about this later?"
Jake nodded. Vlad pulled Lenin's chip from its socket in his captain's chair, pocketing it in his breast pocket. Now freed, the remaining men and women of the bridge crew loitered by the bridge's doorframe, waiting for their captain or their bodyguard, Jake wasn't sure. He led them out, floating down hallways and corridors to the closest life-boats, gun always at the ready. Oddly, they didn't encounter any more IMC boarding parties on their journey. Hopefully, they'd taken the klaxon at face-value and had also decided to evacuate from the way they'd come. Jake considered whether or not he should return to the hangar to board the Blackbird again, but decided against it. After all, the IMC must've come from somewhere to get onto the ship. The hangar was the most straightforward means of ingress. If the shuttle pilot was smart, she would've made off before the boarders could arrive.
"Jake, I am connected to a Militia communication buoy in Demeter's orbit. Would you like me to contact an allied ship to rescue the Leonidas' escape pods?"
"Yeah, good idea. Who's closest?"
"The closest Militia ship suited to search-and-rescue operations is the Beowulf, however I believe that the Sparrow would be a better option. It is more agile and will able to operate faster than the former. The choice is yours, Pilot."
"Contact the Sparrow. The fleet needs the firepower of the Beowulf in the fight; it can't afford to start collecting life-boats if it's more suited to battle."
VIIIIIV
Meanwhile, on Demeter...
Over the next twenty minutes, Ronnie fought tooth and nail for every inch of ground he could. Eventually, he and a few other marines from the 21st Grenadiers Battalion, found themselves brought together as they fought to a rooftop of a bombed-out armoury. They were hoping to reach a viewpoint high enough to see which way they could fight to reach a new objective. Ronnie had even found a bundle of fresh magazines in a spare room of the armoury, and now had plenty of ammunition for the rest of this battle – even if it went on for another six hours.
Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet seemed to quake and rumble. He and the three other soldiers he'd found along the way were thrown off their feet together. There was a ringing in Ronnie's ears, the kind you'd get from standing too close to an explosion.
What the hell was happening?
"What the fuck was that?" One of the other marines asked the obvious question that Ronnie had managed to keep to himself.
"All ships, the core is going critical! Lock in your jump co-ordinates and prepare the evac crews!" Commander Briggs' voice sounded on the general comm channel.
Ronnie looked around at the other Militia, fear gripping him. What? How the hell was this happening? This wasn't the plan that Sergeant Garrick had told them about when they were leaving the MCS Hopeful. The Militia were meant to force a global shutdown, and then destabilise the planet.
Not anymore, apparently.
"Negative." MacAllan suddenly crackled onto their universal frequency, coughing as if he'd been smoking twenty cigarettes a day. "Fleet; this is MacAllan. I've triggered the reactor core overload manually. Clear out as fast as you can. Do not wait for ground forces. Repeat; there is no time for evac."
Ronnie couldn't believe what he was hearing. He looked up into the twilight sky, and saw the blue streaks of light tearing across the atmosphere as the Militia Fleets warped away to minimum safe distance.
He dropped his gun.
The rumbling intensified.
His world was quite literally ending.
Ronnie walked over the edge of the roof and sat down on the lip of the rooftop. In the distance, he could make out several enormous explosions as fuel cells ruptured and blasted the contents into sky as the horizon caught fire. He suddenly felt strangely calm about it. He was going to die. It was a fact now, not just a risk that he had to accept as part of his life with the Militia.
He watched the world burn with bitter eyes as he took out a carton of cigarettes from his breast pocket flipping open the top and slipping one out, placing it between his lips with a surprisingly steady hand
"Mind if I join you?" A voice said to his right. Ronnie looked over reluctantly, not wanting to tear his eyes away from the haunting beauty of the world collapsing around him.
Standing there, not two feet away from Ronnie, in dirty grey and white combat gear, was an IMC soldier. Ronnie just shrugged, and the man sat down next to him. There was no fight left in either of them. There wasn't any point.
They'd be dead in less than a minute anyway.
The rumbling got worse, and Ronnie could feel himself offering a cigarette to the IMC soldier. He wasn't even consciously aware of it, but he couldn't help it either. It didn't seem right to refuse this one last luxury.
"I don't smoke." He said.
Ronnie smiled wryly. "You'll be a dead soon, son. Live a little, while you've still got a life worth living."
There was hesitation, but the kid took one from the packet, putting it between his lips. Ronnie lit both cigarettes with his worn lighter, then replaced the packet and lighter back into his breast pocket. He inhaled a long drag and looked back up into the sky as the last Militia ship fled the impending doom of Demeter.
"Hell of a day." Ronnie stated.
"Yeah." The kid said. "Sorry."
Ronnie looked over at him. "For what?"
He shrugged. "Everything."
"Yeah." Ronnie sighed. "Me too."
"Mind you," he took another drag and exhaled the smoke, watching it drift away on the warm wind, "it's a hell of a way to go though, don't you think?"
The kid chuckled, sputtering on his cigarette. "Yeah. Never thought I'd be disintegrated on my way out."
"I think it's more like instant atomisation." Ronnie countered.
"Maybe."
"I don't think it matters though."
"Yeah. Dead's dead."
"Dead's dead." Ronnie echoed, nodding. Then he sighed. "Hell of a day."
Then their world turned white, and everything on Demeter was completely disintegrated. Or atomised. It didn't matter. After all, dead's dead. And that day, everything on Demeter was most certainly that.
VIIIIIV
MCS Sparrow, in orbit above Demeter...
VIIIIIV
"Alert! Analysis indicates catastrophic tectonic shifts on the planet below! Core de-stabilisation in progress, recommended safe distance is two-hundred and eighty-thousand miles! Warp jump required to reach minimum safe distance."
Jake ran to viewport of the Sparrow, gazing down at Demeter. What he saw was difficult to describe. Disastrous summed it up pretty well. The planet seemed to be literally shaking itself apart. Even from orbit, Jake could see bright spots erupting from giant fissures, like cracks on the surface of an eggshell.
"No!" Jake shouted to no one in particular. "We have people down there! We have to save them. There must be time!"
"Negative." Spades countered. "The planet will calamitously destabilise in approximately seventeen seconds. There is no time, Jake. I am sorry."
From within the ship, Jake could see the flickers of blue light swirling around the ship as it prepared for an emergency warp, along with what remained with the rest of the Militia's First Fleet. Others were there with him, staring out at the doom of an entire planet, and every soul on it. They all watched in silent horrified awe as the IMC's fortress world burst. In the next moment, they were engulfed in blue light and were streaking away inside of the Sparrow's warp tunnel.
Some wept. Jake couldn't blame them. But most were silent. The kind of stunned silence that was only ever brought on by seeing the absolute worst thing you could ever imagine. Jake looked around, and was more than a little surprised to see Vlad standing next to him, eyes still glued to the window, as if he was still watching the molten core of Demeter detonate into a supernova.
"Captain." Jake muttered, his horror rapidly turning into hate. "I won't wait any more."
Vlad didn't look away, but blinked as his face regained some of its colour. "What do you mean?"
"The Commander." Jake clarified. "Briggs. It's time. I've got a lot of questions, about Romulus, about all of her clandestine bullshit – and now Demeter. And she'd better have the answers I want..."
Vlad looked at him, his eyes laying everything on the table. All Jake saw was agonized concern. "Or what, Jake? What will you do?"
"I don't know yet." He muttered as he started to walk away from the viewport. "Depends how satisfied I am with her answers."
VIIIIIV
Reviews:
Incapacitated Ichthyoid
The downtime between battle is always the most stressful. It oftentimes easier to think like Rhian "just put me back in the fight."
Here's to Jake's angst over Roe and David!
Believe me, mate, things seem to have a habit of getting worse before they get better. I'm glad Jake wasn't let too near the fight. He would've been melted too.
VIIIIIV
AnonymousDragonfly
Now this? This was well worth the wait. Even though this was a short chapter, it's still filled with so much character development. Also, I and hopefully many others, appreciate the character development for Ashley. I honestly thought she was gonna be another character to use as an excuse to throw in a s*x moment in the story, but thankfully, that didn't happen. Also, can we get our Vlad a nice chair? His back must have ached from trying to look tall.
Yeah, my chapter lengths aren't always the most consistent, but I try to shoot for at least 8,000 words minimum for each. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, Dragonfly. And, no, I'm not a fan of shallow characters. There should always be a little depth. No one's a cardboard cut-out if they matter. Maybe Vlad can get a nicer chair if he gets a new ship.
Who knows?
VIIIIIV
ServerMeta
tbh i do like how you said that he isnt the one that wants to have a relationship even though you just made a chapter that makes it really seem like you do accually want to get them in relationship also please write more of this most of the fics on titanfall are dead and now im sad
I think I just changed my mind at some point, I don't know. I'm allowed to do that, after all. It's not a huge deal, either way. I'm sorry if this chapter was a little late. My computer refused to charge for some reason, but I took it to a cousin who managed to sort it out. Plenty of ideas for the next chapter though! So I'll make up for it.
VIIIIIV
Next chapter; Jake confronts Sarah about the Romulos incident? There'll be a reckoning. The truth will come out and choices will need to be made.