Tycho- The Last Stand



"Goodbye, the future's sold out
There's no use screaming
Who'd thought we'd ever get this far?"
-Our Lady Peace



Prologue
Rigel VII
03.8.43
2200 Hours

His ribs were broken, he was sure of that. He could feel them pressing against his lungs, sending a crippling pain throughout his chest every time he drew a breath. He was moving as fast as he could, but it was no use. They were just too strong. He tried to remember how this had happened, how things could have gone so horribly wrong so fast, but the blows to his head were making it hard to think.

He had lost contact with the rest of his team, but it didn't matter. He wouldn't have been able to communicate with them anyway. A kick to the neck made sure of that. With his vocal cords mangled, he wasn't even able to scream in pain. All he could do was try and survive, but even that was not likely to happen.

Below him another battle raged, just as terrible and just as painful as his. He was able to catch glimpses of the scene under him as he tried in vain to dodge the series of punches and kicks thrown at him. Tracers were lighting up the night, crisscrossing and shredding the black with their brilliant reds and blues.

Massive explosions from detonating artillery and HE grenades turned night into day, shaking the earth with a fury and intensity that only war could bring. Fightercraft added their share of noise and death to the fray, shredding the blackness with roaring afterburners and rocking the ground with cluster bombs and fusion warheads. He could feel the close air support tearing past him at incredible speeds, flying with precision to their designated targets. But they were still losing.

He was sure now that most of his team was dead. He could no longer sense their energy. Another set of bone-shattering blows returned his attention to the matter at hand. Desperately, he launched a clumsy counterattack of his own that was easily deflected by the creature. It knew no fear. Once it had finished with this distraction it would return to its primary mission. It was nearly done.

He found it nearly impossible to breath now, fragments of his ribs and sternum had punctured his lungs and he was coughing up blood. He was prepared to embrace his death when he saw her. She was in worse shape than he, not even attempting to dodge the assault that was destroying her body. He saw her golden hair was stained with her own blood, and her right arm hung limply from her body. Her energy was fading fast, her consciousness was not far behind.

He could not let her die, not while he was still alive. With a sudden influx of power derived from his rage, he managed to evade his attacker and fly to her aid. He delivered a kick square to the side of the head of the alien, taking it by surprise and knocking it back a few feet. He turned to her and looked into her eyes. They knew this was the end. They fell into each other's arms, their golden and white auras meshing.

The two aliens did not care what these creatures were doing. They wouldn't understand it even if they did. They reacquired their targets and continued the assault. The broken creatures were torn from each other's arms and dealt with. The female stared at her attacker, her body no longer registering the pain, and swallowed. The alien moved so fast she didn't even have time to register its movement. When its open palm smashed directly into her face, her world turned black.

He saw her golden aura disappear, and watched her fall to the exploding earth. The alien moved in. It punched the soft creature directly in the gut, doubling him over in agony. Just before his consciousness slipped away, he took note of the brilliant scene below him. He could make out individual soldiers of his own side fighting their own losing battles. All he could think about was how sorry he was he couldn't save them. He never felt the final blow that shattered his white aura and drove him to the ground. The aliens, now sure that these hindrances could cause no further problems, returned to their primary objective.

The sergeant saw the two warriors fall from the sky. He knew who they were, and knew they were the last. He also knew the battle was lost. There were just too many of them. The sergeant took note of where the warriors fell and turned back to his men. They too knew the end was near. But the sergeant had no intention of dying. Not today.

"All right you sorry bastards, give me some cover fire!" he ordered. "Higgens, Yasta, Trina, Wervin, Thoth!"

"Yes sir!" the marines turned to their leader.

"We are not going to die here today, do you understand me?"

"Yes sir!"

"We're going to save two lives and get the hell out of dodge, do you understand me? Now, we're gonna get our asses to grid C-321 where we're gonna call for an immediate extract. There are two people over there we owe a whole hell of a lot to. We're bringing them home."

"Yes sir!" the marines shouted, their hearts filling with hope once again.

"Okay, Yasta, Trina, cover our flank! The rest of you, we're gonna move in formation Tango-3! We will move on my mark! 3...2...1...MARK!"

The marines rose from their position and began their move. Yasta and Trina laid down suppressing fire as the squad moved on. Their powered combat suits made moving much easier, allowing them to cover ground at amazing speeds. Their HUDs tracked the action around them, alerting them to dangers and targets. Their rifles were spitting fire and eliminating red blips from their screen. They could feel the ground rocking beneath them. When they reached their destination they beheld their objective.

The two battered figures lay half dead about twenty meters from each other. The sergeant wasted no time in calling for the extract.

"Actual Three Nine Bravo, this is Echo Eight Two Five, were are at grid C-231 and request immediate extract. We have Seraphim One and Three in immediate need of evac, over."

"Say again Echo Eight Two Five, you have Seraphim One and Three, over?"

"Affirmative Actual Three Nine Bravo, we need to get the hell outta here, over."

"We read you. Evac en route. Hang in there, Echo Eight Two Five, over."

"Roger."

The Sergeant gathered the two bodies, one in each hand, and laid them down behind him. He ordered his squad to form a staggered defensive perimeter around them, and to keep them alive at all costs. So the battle raged, both sides taking horrendous losses, turning the surface of the planet into an artificial hell. The aliens, however, clearly had the upper hand.

For every one that fell, ten more were able to takes its place. The only thing preventing the invaders from a quick victory was the defender's fanatical zeal. For them, there was no tomorrow, and that made them dangerous. The sergeant and his squad were among the last survivors, having to rely on their superior training and tactics to stave off the invaders.

Just as he was popping in his last clip, the sergeant heard the unmistakable sound of a dropship approaching. Its thunderous engines could be heard for a mile around. The few remaining strike craft were directed to give suppressing fire around the LZ, causing the aliens to pause in their advance. Exploding munitions were rocking the ground so heavily that it was becoming difficult to stand, but the sergeant held his ground anyway.

Once the dropship touched down and its ramp fell, he ordered his men aboard. He gave the two broken bodies to Thoth and turned to lay down some more cover fire. Just as Thoth turned to tell his Sergeant that it was time to get on board, he saw his leader's helmet get punctured by a few well-placed rounds. He fell to the ground as blood flowed freely from what was left of his head. Thoth had no time to mourn the loss of his mentor, and ordered the pilot to take off. The ramp retracted and shut, leaving the image of his dead leader permanently etched into his mind.

Just before the sergeant saw the incoming rounds, he got the feeling that he was not going to leave this planet, but he didn't care. He had just given them a second chance at victory; his death meant little. Before his life was extinguished, his last thoughts turned to his wife and daughter, to whom he had given one last chance at survival. Now the future rested in the hands of Seraphim One and Three, and on their shoulders lay the hope of thirty billion souls.