With Georgia;

I numbly climbed into Scooter, who dipped low to allow my entry. I looked back at the Cruiser, still half-submerged in the rice paddy I'd fought her in. I'd pulled her up against the earthworks so she wouldn't drown, at least.

Full disclosure, taking her in, kinda wish I had.

I'd ripped the top half of the ship's head off. The clam-like helmet apparently just as much a part of her as the rest of her flesh. I could see into her compartments from above, the twisted metal interspersed with a black, muscle-like tissue I could only assume attached to her shell-plate. Oil slowly pooled inside, the emergency cutoffs keeping the spilled black gold to a minimum, thankfully.

She didn't move, which was not all that surprising. While her boilers were still operating, there was no way she could be conscious with that kind of damage.

I shuddered, looking away. It was stupid, I'd seen worse, hell, DONE worse. It shouldn't bother me.

It was the fact I hadn't meant to that shook me. I'd just wanted to take her stupid friggen hat off...

Scooter began to float away, thankfully taking me out of sight of the enemy vessels. I sat back in my seat, letting out a long sigh as I did. With the Abyssals taken care of, I'd be able to link up with the others and see if we could punch our way out of this left-4-dead Esque clustercluck-

I leaned to the side, before leaning into something pokey, digging into the side of my leg. I looked down.

Oh, right.

I hadn't let go of the Cruiser's bridge.

I held it aloft, looking at the gap-toothed shell. It honestly reminded me of a muscle, if you made it bigger than your head, poured oil all over it, and glued a giant set of dentures to its underside. The teeth were askew, the front two front incisors bent forward in their gums from where I'd used them as a lever point to rip the top of her head off. There were no eyes to speak of, how did she see? Unless those were components underneath that I'd mulched accidentally...

I silently stared into the empty shell. Closing my eye tightly, I let out a slow and steady breath-

I was startled out of my short reprieve when my radio practically thundered in my ears. *BOOM!* the sound of an explosion cracked through the radio waves, distantly, now that I was paying attention, I could hear it distantly echo from the East as well, "GEORGIA YOU PRE-SUNK PIECE OF CRAP! ANSWER ME RIGHT THFUCKNOWORISWEARTOGO-" That was Lao, she seemed a bit distressed.

I was still a bit startled as I answered her call, interrupting a no-doubt blistering string of curses, "HEY!" I barked, cutting her off, "W-Watch your mouth, there's children present." I stuttered slightly.

Lao didn't sound very impressed, "Are you kidding me?" I could picture her facepalming at my lame reply, which made my mouth curl slightly in a faint grin, "Listen, Chitose got hit bad in the bridge, I think she's got a concussion or something, we are under heavy assault, pinned down, and need some damn support!" *BOOM!* Once again an explosion rang out, while gunfire could be heard over the radio.

The grin slid off my face. My mind going blank for a second.

My breaths, unnecessary as they were, started to come quicker and quicker.

Chitose was hurt? I'd sent her with the fleet to go after the Abyssal ships -alone- to avoid that! And she'd gone and gotten herself injured anyway?! Were theseFucking Abyssal a̵͠ͅssholes tryingto piss me off!??! My thoughts continued like this in a frantic spiral, growing faster and filled with more and more vitriol as my face twisted in anger, until I suddenly... stopped. My mind blanking briefly, before one thought replaced all of the insults and threats in my mind. It was a simple, calm statement, as if I was looking at myself in third-person and saying- no, ordering my body in an overly enunciated, far too calm voice.

I'm/you're going to kill them.

You're going to kill them all.

...

The rain, as heavy as it had gotten, somehow grew colder as it pattered on my hull.

...

I got on the horn, taking a moment to close my eye and control my breath, lowering my voice so I didn't scream my reply into Lao's ears.

"I'm on my way, give me coordinates."

Meanwhile sixty miles South of Da-Nang:

"The cursed ones aren't even kilometers behind us! Are you crazy!?" The truck driver, a practically crazed man in his sixties, thumbed behind him frantically, where the convoy of refugees were held up at the PAVN checkpoint, a long line of commercial trucks packed with people in their metal compartments, rather than pallets of goods.

The soldier he was arguing with, a young man in his twenties, shook his head, a practically ancient SKS rifle slung behind him as he made calming gestures, clipboard in-hand "We have to mark everyone coming through, we won't be long. You just have to be patient-" He tried to explain.

"PATIENT!?" The old man interrupted, having to be forced back by another driver before he did something stupid, "The fucking hungry souls of the forgotten dead are behind us and you want us to patiently wait for them to tear our fucking guts out!?"

Even as he spoke, another truck, this one a covered military transport, came out of the winding road out of the jungle, coming to a stop at the tail-end of the held-up convoy.

It was, alarmingly, covered in fresh-looking bullet-holes in the cabin, the passenger-side window shattered.

The congestion was getting worse, and already there was a situation forming, as several guards tried to contain a group of frantic people trying to get out of their vehicle, to continue their flight on foot.
The soldier winced, looking behind him at the reassuring sight of the pair of tanks behind him, set on an overlooking position on a nearby rise. One was a standard T-54M, one of the old Chinese tanks that had been modernized with the help of Isreal back in the early twenties. The second was an old soviet tank, a T-34 training vehicle quickly rearmed when it was made apparent by the militia that old weapons had a greater chance of affecting the new foe.

The eight-spoked wheel of dharma had been hastily spray-painted onto its front by the increasingly superstitious men in muted greens and browns, to mark it as useful equipment. It said something for the situation that none of the higher-ups had discouraged the religiously-charged graffiti.

The civilians were eventually forced back into the transport, though a few of the guards and civvies now sported fresh bruises from the attempt.

A pair of the guards, one of them nursing a bruised cheek, walked quickly down the line, coming up to the freshly arrived vehicle as they spoke.

"I don't like the sounds of that artillery, it's getting closer every day." The first one remarked, as the distant crack of booming artillery sounded off in the west. It had really stepped up since yesterday, the distant artillery cracking off so fast it bled together into one long drone of thunderous noise.

God, buddha, anything help the poor souls that were on the receiving end of such a fearsome salvo.

"Yeah, sounds like a whole damn fleet of those bitch-boats are out there shooting at something..." The other man replied, as the first one peered up at the cabin, stepping onto the running board and pounding on the side of the door, "Alright, how many do you have in back?" He asked.

The driver, a rather pale man wearing large shades, turned to look at the guards slowly. Reaching out, he lowered the window.

...

"I said, how many do you have back there?" the guard repeated, patience having worn thin after the scuffle earlier.

The driver said nothing, simply shrugging as he stared at the pair wordlessly.

"Alright, we'll just have to count them out then," the guard turned to his compatriot, nodding towards the back of the truck. The pair walked over to the rear doors.

"I hope they don't have any more kids in there, I've been hearing nothing but crying babies all fucking day," The second one said, nursing his head.

"Would you rather they didn't escape?"

"I'd rather they don't try to cave my fucking skull-in trying to flee like rats on a sinking ship!"

The first guard spit off to the side before responding, "If a babe did that I'd laugh my ass off at your corpse."

The second guard rolled his eyes as he went to open the door, "You know what I meant-"

The door wouldn't budge, he tried it again.

Nothing.

He leaned out around the corner of the truck, "Hey! your doors are locked!"

The driver looked at them through the rearview mirror, before simply shrugging, both gloved hands resting on the wheel in front of him patiently.

The guard frowned, "Don't just shrug at me!" he muttered under his breath, "asshole," He turned to his compatriot, "Go get his keys."

The other man nodded, and started walking toward the cabin, unslinging his M14, just in case-

*ssssssssssiiiiiiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIIhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOAAAAAARRRRR*

The guard's eyes widened as the world seemingly froze at the dreaded sound. The arguing drivers, soldiers, EVERYONE looking into the sky as the roaring engine of an Abyssal jet fighter screamed out to the west.

The sound grew louder, before, slowly, it began to taper off,

*RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwww...*

...

...

The guard next to the door let out the breath he'd been holding-

*BOOM!*

The T-54, sitting on the ridge nearby, exploded.