Atlas was falling, and there was nothing he could do.
He watched in horror as the floating city, his home and life, smashed into the ground below. What little of Mantle that wasn't crushed outright was consumed by an expanding cloud of dust and debris, completely obscuring the historic city from sight.
For a moment the world seemed to hold still, the thousands of eyes of the Atlesian fleet glued to the sundered ruins in numbed incomprehension. It was impossible, unthinkable. Atlas was one of, if not the greatest city on Remnant, it couldn't just be gone.
Atlas. Couldn't. Fall.
But his eyes did not deceive him. It had fallen. It had broken. And now here he was, the commodore of a military for a nation that no longer existed.
"Perhaps…" a shaky voice somewhere behind him began, "there are survivors? Maybe we could-"
As if to mock him, the roar of rushing liquid answered. Millions of tons of water, a whole lake's worth poured from the mountains into, onto the ruined city. Within seconds it had blanketed the remains, leaving only the peaks of the tallest skyscrapers visible to indicate the presence of, what was a mere day ago, the most powerful nation on the planet.
He almost laughed. Knocking it to the ground wasn't enough was it? It needed to be flooded, of all things, too? He didn't even know where the flood came from. The closest major body of water was Altum lake, and it was kilometers away!
He wanted to rage, to cry, to wake up from this nightmare. But he wouldn't, couldn't.
This nightmare was real.
After watching the waters settle over the city for several minutes, a beeping sound broke the silence. Turning, he eyed the console the noise was originating from, and the woman before it.
"Commodore Rhyt?" she asked, hesitantly glancing at him, "Sir, the Rear Admiral's hailing us. Fleetwide."
He made to speak, but the words clogged in his throat. Stopping himself, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and forcefully calmed as much as he could. After a moment, his eyes opened again, and he nodded towards the ensign, "Open channel."
"Aye, sir." She responded, quickly tapping away at her console. Seconds later the gruff voice of Rear Admiral Bross echoed through the bridge.
"-to all surviving vessels... I will not lie to you. This… this is a tragedy—one of, if not the worst in all our history. I know many of you are in despair. Many more will want to give up. We've lost. Truly lost. And how could you not? Atlas...this is the end of Atlas. The heart of our kingdom has been torn out, along with many of our own. But though the heart is dead, we, the sword and shield of our nation, still move, and we can grasp our salvation. So long as we draw breath, the kingdom of Atlas still lives, and we can still save it. Our duty, as it stands, is clear. We must protect what remains of our kingdom. The towns, the villages, every hut and hovel that still stand. The people within. We must save them... and Solitas is no longer able to do so. And so issue our last order, our last directive. We must evacuate the continent. Ensuring our people's continued survival is now our primary, our only, goal to fulfill."
Rhyt's breath hitched. He hadn't thought of those beyond Atlas actual since the Grimm's siege began. They'd be panicked and confused, easy pickings for the Grimm. 'Especially,' he realized, 'the massive swarm of them staring us down, right now.
The remnants of the horde that attacked Atlas, and only repelled at great cost. But even diminished as it was, he doubted they'd be able to fend them off a second time. Worse yet, they were only going to get stronger the longer they waited, as more and more Grimm were attracted to the city's grave.
Fortunately, Bross seems to have come to the same conclusion, proving so as he continued his speech.
"Our first step is to address the Grimm tide that, even now, still gathers on the horizon. We are no longer strong enough to take it head-on, but nor can we let it follow us to surviving settlements. As such, I am activating Case Amethyst and issuing command discretion. Our destination will rally point grey."
"Argus?" a voice behind his whispered before being hushed silent by another.
"You all know what to do. Godspeed and good luck. Bross out."
With that the comm fell quiet, silence returning to the bridge.
Rhyt gazed out the viewport, regarding the exhausted and battered fleet with an unreadable expression.
"Sir? Your orders?"
"You heard the Admiral, Lieutenant Malachi."
He turned to face his bridge crew; expression determined, "We have a job to do."
The crew straightened, their determination mirroring their commodores.
"Comms, recall all aerial assets for refueling and rearming." He barked out, "ATC, how many birds did we lose?"
"Almost half sir."
"Then we have plenty of space. Signal any gunships without a carrier to form up, they've been folded into Amber squadron. Comms, inform engineering they've got two hours to patch up what they can before we part with the fleet. Helm, set course for 320 degrees at 4000 thousand meters, departure time 1924."
"Sir, Amber 4's requesting an update."
Glancing out the viewport where the only other surviving vessel of the four that originally comprised Amber Squadron, he was relieved to see it look relatively unharmed. Battered, but operational yet.
"Inform and direct. They're still with us."
A chorus of "aye sir's" answered him, and, utterly and mentally exhausted, he slumped down into an adjacent chair. Taking one last look at his home, he bowed his head, "See you on the other side," he whispered.
'I hope we live to see it'
38 minutes later...
"Sir, commotion in the hangar bay. Security teams are requesting assistance in apprehending a pair of stowaways."
"Stowaways?" Rhyt asked, incredulous, "Atlas has been destroyed, and our goal is to save whoever's left. Unless they're shooting up the place, there's no such thing as stowaways."
"I… Sergeant Rom understands that sir, but it's two of the rogue huntsmen."
"The rogue huntsmen? ...Which ones?"
"Qrow Branwen and Robyn Hill."
Rhyt was silent for a moment.
"Fuck."
"Aye sir."
He sighed, "This day just keeps getting better and better. Alright, send them up. I'll speak to them in my ready room."
"Sir."
"Will having you onboard cause any problems?"
In any other circumstance, that'd be a rhetorical question. They were trained, veteran huntsmen with decades of experience and known anti-authority, and more specifically, anti-atlesian, history who had recently murdered an Ace-op and subsequently been proclaimed enemies of the state. He was, by law, required to do everything in his power to apprehend or neutralize these two individuals. And, a day ago, that's exactly what he would have done.
But today wasn't yesterday. Yesterday was a world away, and today was a nightmare with no end.
And a Huntsman's job was to chase away nightmares.
"Not unless your men start it."
Rhyt eyed Robyn with cautious suspicion.
"So you say," he replied, glazing over at the sullen man beside her, "And what's his problem?"
"What do you think?" she shot back.
He was silent for a moment, before grunting, "You get two bunks in barracks twelve. The rest of the Ace-Ops are already settling in. Sergeant Rom will show you the way. Any 'incidents' and I leave you on the nearest mountaintop. Understood?"
"Yeah, just one question"
Rhyt raised an eyebrow.
"The fleet's leaving." It wasn't a question.
He nodded, "Scattering, to be accurate."
"Why?"
"That horde. We retreat as one, we just lead it to a new meal. We split up, it confuses the beasts, and they end up splitting as well. After that, it's just a matter of spending a few days wandering to lose any tails and we'll be able to regroup safely. That good enough for you?"
She nodded, Qrow still didn't respond.
Rhyt frowned, but jerked his head at the exit.
The moment the two were out the door, Malachi spoke up, "I think this is a mistake, sir. Bringing them on is a dangerous risk."
Rhyt inclined his head at his XO, but moved to refute nevertheless.
"Three points Malachi. First- the surviving Ace-Ops vouch for them, and those three have more reason to hate them than anyone else. If they trust them, that's good enough for me. Second- those two are top-tier huntsmen. Short of the Ace-Ops or having Amber 4 blast us out of the sky, there's not much we could do to stop them if they went hostile. And third... did you look at them?"
"Sir?"
"Really look at them. I don't know about you, but those two did not look like they were all that interested in fighting... Branwen in particular looked like he was a few words of bad news away from shooting himself."
"General Ironwood's orders were to-"
"I'm from Mantle," Rhyt said softly, "did I ever tell you that?"
He turned to his XO, and his eyes were far harder than his tone dared hint at.
Malachi paused, before stepping back and offering a stiff nod.
"Sir."
"...Lieutenant."
Watching the other officer woodenly leave the room, Rhyt sighed.
'Gods damned nightmare'
"All hands report ready, all birds docked, engineering reports adequate repairs completed. Ready to commence on your order, sir."
"Status of the other squadrons?"
"Jade and Ivory squadrons both signal they'll depart within the next hour, and wish us luck."
"Very well."
Rhyt took one last long look at the city that had defined his life, carving every detail to memory. Across the vessel, we knew many others were doing the same. Perhaps, one day, they would return. Reclaim their kingdom's heart and soul.
He had a strong suspicion that, if such an event could ever happen, he would not live to see it. The path ahead of them was dark.
"Initiate course, controlled ascent to planned height, indicated speed, Amber 4's to flank and follow... it's time to leave."
With a slight groan the mighty vessel swung its bulk around, the audible hum of gravity dust building to a muted roar and its engines burning a searing blue as it began gaining in speed, leaving the shattered remains of its parent city behind once and for all.
Over a week later, their fears were validated.
"It's confirmed sir, we got tails."
Rhyt glanced over at the radar officer, quickly reading over to see the data himself.
"What are we looking at?"
"At least six Tempest, and between a hundred fifty to two hundred Teryx."
Rhyt grimaced. Theoretically, they could handle that. Practically, however, even the best-case scenario results in them suffering substantial damage. And with no place to repair or rearm, any damage was damage they couldn't accept.
"Well, slipping away completely undetected was a lot to hope for. It seems losing them is our only option."
He paused, considering.
"Malachi, isn't it storm season in Mistral?
Malachi looked thoughtful for a moment, before giving a slow nod.
"I… believe it is sir. Can't say for certain. What are you thinking?"
Rhyt scratched his chin, a slight frown on his face.
"Perhaps…" he muttered, "Yes, that could work. Helm, set course for the southern coast."
"Found a solution, sir?"
"Possibly. Most storms that form in eastern Anima eventually make their way here before swinging back down towards the Culosum Sea. If we can get into one, those Grimm will never be able to keep up. We'd lose them in days, if not hours."
"I can't say I'm all that enthused about flying into a storm", Malachi remarked dryly, "but if it works…"
"The risk is worth it", Rhyt affirmed. Turning back towards the helmsman, he nodded, "Set us on our way ensign."
"Aye aye, sir. Adjusting course 155, heading southeast at 55 knots."
"It's confirmed sir, we lost them."
Rhyt allowed himself a soft smile at the news. It was quite literally the only bit of truly good news he'd had all day.
Outside, the howling wind buffeted the vessel, mighty rains pelted the silvery-white hull, and every couple minutes a lighting strike would cause minor power fluctuations wherever they hit. But even so, this was objectively the safest the vessel's been since the Battle for Atlas began.
"Amber 4 still on us?"
"Aye, sir. A lucky lightning strike took out their primary radar, so they're stuck following our engine glow, but they're keeping up."
Rhyt frowned, "Radar, make sure you keep an eye on them. I don't want to accidentally leave them behind if they lose sight of us."
"Aye, sir."
"Helm. Match speed and direction of the storm. We'll stay hidden for another day or two to ensure the Grimm won't be able to catch our scent, then make our way to rally point Grey. With luck the rest of the fleet will be waiting for us."
"Understood sir, adjusting speed and heading."
"Sir, incoming communication on fleet frequencies."
Rhyt paused his lunch, sandwich halfway towards his mouth, "Another squadron?"
"I believe so sir. Sending handshake… confirmed. It's Violet squadron."
Putting his lunch away for the time being Rhyt quickly strode over to the comms station, nodding at the ensign manning it.
"They must be close for short-range radio to be working" he muttered, "patch them through."
"Aye, sir."
"-to the northwest quadrant. Amber squadron, if you are receiving, please respond."
Immediately the ensign clicked a few buttons and gave him the transmitter with a nod.
Returning the nod, he wasted no time in speaking into the mic, "Violet squadron, this is Commodore Rhyt, Amber squadron. We're pleased to hear from you."
"Likewise Commodore. This Commodore Anza. It seems we had the same idea."
"It seems we did. What's your status?"
"Not great, but we're surviving. We had tried to zig-zag our way to Argus, but the Grimm were out in force. The storm was pretty much our only option to avoid getting cornered. We've been traveling with it for several days now."
"That's about what I expected Violet. Our story's pretty close, though we only entered the storm yesterday."
"Yesterday? I'd advise sticking in for a few days more then. The Grimm are being damn tenacious, even more so than usual. We've been here almost a week and we think we've only just lost our tails."
"That's the plan," Rhyt responded, mentally increasing their stay another three days, "What about combat effectiveness? How's your squadron looking?"
"About as well as it can be, given the circumstances. All four of my vessels survived the battle, if rather battered. Unfortunately, we had to abandon Violet 3 before we entered the storm, her engines were damaged and wouldn't have been able to take the strain, but the rest of my squadron remains mostly intact. And with the Grimm no longer at our heels, we're hoping to ditch the storm sometime tomorrow and beeline it for Argus. The sooner we rejoin the fleet, the sooner we can begin evacuating Solitas."
"Good to hear. If all goes well we'll be joining you in a few days."
"Looking forward to it. Now, while we still have contact, is there anything we can do for each other? I still have enough Mantas to do a few supply runs."
"Actually, I might take you up on that. One of my vessels has a downed radar, if you got any parts you could spare…"
The day after, both squadrons in somewhat better shape than before, said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Violet squadron moved to exit the storm and make way to Argus, while Amber squadron stayed deep within its heart, eluding the Grimm for days more.
Said following days were thankfully uneventful, but Rhyt was eager to be rid of the storm regardless. He had tried to keep the crew busy with repairs and training, but there was only so much to do. And when those tasks were completed, and idleness begins to set in, the mind inevitably turns inward. To thoughts of the recent past, and the failures within. Those lost, and those to lose.
Morale, already low, began to tank in those few days, and so it was with a sense of hidden relief that Rhyt ordered the fleet out of the storm when the time finally came.
Truthfully, they were fairly lucky. The storm had shifted and was skimming Anima's coast one last time before it again swung up to Solitas. Meaning when they emerged from the tempest they found themselves less than forty kilometers from the city. Less than an hour's journey at top speed.
But as they approached, something caught their eye… er, rather their ear.
"Sir, our Mantas are reporting disturbances, possible explosions."
Rhyt's eyes snapped to the viewport, where their escorting gunships could be seen keeping pace around the two vessels of Amber squardon, "All stop! Isolate and confirm!"
As one the squadron, mighty airships and small gunship both slowed to a halt, the roar of their engines dulling to a mute rumble.
For a moment there was relative silence, until the comms officer scowled "Confirmed, explosions present but far off. Origin to the southeast, baring 162. Sir, that direction is-"
"I know exactly what's in that direction, ensign. Helm, shift heading to 162 and full ahead. Power to main and secondary batteries. Prepare all gunships for heavy combat. Ground contingents are to arm up and report in the hangar, and get our security teams to action stations.
A chorus of "Yes sir," answered him, but he barely acknowledged them as he marched over to ATC.
"Get me two of our escort squadrons to push ahead. We need radio contact with Argus otherwise we'll be heading in blind."
"On it sir!"
Out the viewport six Mantas burst forward at max speed, leaving behind the rest of the fleet in a matter of seconds. Glancing at the sight he tapped his console, opening the intercom to the rest of the ship.
"All hands, red alert, prepare for combat!"
All across the vessel the thumping of thousands of boots reverberated throughout the ship, the constant sound matched only by the shouts of COs and the clanging of automated machinery. Whispers were silenced, weapons were loaded, gunships fueled and armed, armor equipped, AK-200s brought out of storage, and Paladins marched their mechs out of maintenance bays. The last of Atlas prepared for war.
Back at the bridge of the ship, the lights on the bridge had shifted to a deep rudy red, casting an eerie light on the room. Far more soundproof than the rest of the vessel, the only sound present was the whine of the engines as they pushed to full speed. Rhyt sat down, eyes grim and fists clenched.
As the minutes ticked by he grew more and more tense. Argus was the fleet's last and only refuge. If it fell… but how? How did Salem do this? How could she have struck already? Could she have summoned another Grimm horde so quickly? Were they walking into a trap? Or was this a simple strike? A raid? Was she trying to finish them off, or merely hit them while they were down?
He cursed. It hadn't even been two weeks!
'Nightmare, nightmare, nightmare!'
He hated Salem. He utterly, sincerely did.
"Sir, Bravo and Delta have achieved radio contact. There's a wide-band message being transmitted across all fleet channels."
"Let's hear it."
"-len. This is Commodore Celese to all remaining fleet elements in range, Admiral Bross is dead, Argus is under siege by unknown hostiles, icon designate double eagle. We've suffered heavy casualties; enemy force is overwhelming, we... we can't hold. Case Black is now in effect. All forces scatter immediately. Do not come to rally point Grey, it has fallen. Repeat, Argus has fallen. This is Commodore-"
The ensign closed the transmission.
Rhyt was silent, gaze staring blankly at nothing. The crew glanced at eachother.
"Does either Manta squadron have visual contact?" he asked.
The ensign wordless tapped a button on his console. In a blink the viewport screen shifted, the numbers on the screen identifying it as the view of Manta gunship Delta 1-2. Argus wasn't yet visible, still beyond the horizon. But the glow from the flames was, orange and red emanating from the battle like a miniature sunset through the night sky, marred only by the smoke billowing upwards. As they watch streaks of light rained from the heavens, the detonations as they landed echoing for kilometers.
"No…" someone whispered.
Rhyt just stared at the screen, gaze still devoid of any emotion. Finally, he reached down and tapped the monitor, closing the view.
"Recall all gunships, and cancel red alert." he ordered, voice barely a whisper, "Helm, set course for 350, get us back under that storm."
"Aye sir."
He glanced once more over the bridge, taking in his crew, before shakily standing up.
"I'll be in my quarters. Wake me if the situation demands it."
He left the bridge.