Darkness in the Twilight
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
By Psycho Ferret and LunarCrystal
Fall of the Fortress
The general was dead, and so was the second in command - but the troops were already marching in a coup de main. The allies had no warning, Palas had no defenses left, and Angelina still bled heavily upon the floor of the bridge. It was Riden who finally broke through his stupor, long enough to wrench himself free of the soldier who held him and go to the little girl's bloodied frame.
He would be the one to tell Allen that she still lived, and as they were taken back to their cell, he tried to reassure Allen in between choked sobs. One soldier had Allen's hands firmly behind his back, arms twisted and gripped strongly as he shoved the knight before him, uncaring if he stumbled. Finally he gave one last push into their cell. Another soldier had carried Angelina and lay her upon the floor, leaving quickly before he was rushed by the angry prisoners.
Hans was shoved into a separate cell, across the hall. Hans stumbled when he'd been shoved into the cell, slumping to the ground. His hands were bound tightly, his arm burned... but oh the satisfaction. He'd laughed. He'd laughed so hard on the way back, the eerie sound ringing down the halls. The soldiers not on the bridge stared as Hans, still bloodied, was brought down the hall and shoved into the little cubicle. A small chuckle lingered on his lips, staring at the wall. He'd been victorious. He'd been so very successful... finally, he had defeated his father.
Allen looked worriedly at his daughter, unable to hold her with his hands still bound, sliding over to her side. His voice was soft, trembling... he could only wish she could hear him. "Princess...?"
No answer came from the helpless, bleeding little girl. Her wound seemed to be at her side, and there wasn't much blood in a five year old. Most of it was probably seeped into her pretty blue dress, now stained a horrifying, deep crimson. Riden cried, his hands not bound as his left arm was still in a sling. He placed a hand on Allen's shoulder, before quickly reaching down to his captain's bound hands and trying to loosen the knots.
"She can't be dead," whispered Riden to his commander, his good hand fumbling as it worked, "She's can't be . . ."
"P-princess, please," he whispered, his voice trembling. He couldn't lose her. Not like this, not ever. Fathers... weren't supposed to bury their children. "Oh God, please..." He would take all her pain unto himself if he could. He would suffer her injury, he would die in her place if only she would live. She was the only thing left of Celena, and her life sign was fading fast. She did not move, hardly breathed, and very soon, she would lose too much blood to recover from the wound at her side. Spraining his fingers, Riden finally managed to get a good hold of a knot on Allen's bonds, yanking as best as he could one handed and let out a satisfied whimper as the bonds fell away.
Allen moved closer to her side, rolling her gently to him. He was no physician... but he understood that they had to stop the bleeding as soon as they could. He pressed his hands to the wound, frowning. "Come on... please, for me... wake up..."
Riden couldn't do much with one working hand, but he could sacrifice something. His sling was made of cotton, and with the sudden realization, he quickly removed the knotted cloth from around his neck and splinted arm, handing it to Allen.
"Stop the bleeding with this." he said, shoving the sling into Allen's hands, "Boss, we can't *do* anything else for her. We can't lose her like this, not here. Why did he have to shoot her, boss?"
Allen shook his head, biting down on his bottom lip, pressing the cloth to the wound. "I... he understood," he answered softly, trembling. "You saw it... when she was shot... Hans snapped. It just... he fell apart. He's been keeping everything bottled up... and she was the only one that made him feel the least bit welcome anywhere. Without her... without her there, he would have been jailed, he would have been executed by now. She saved him... I think... I think he realized that to break Hans... h-he'd have to destroy his resolve."
The cell door opened, tentatively at first, before it opened all the way and in stumbled a young looking man, in soiled white robes. He tripped with the shove that landed him inside the jail cell, the basin and bag he'd been carrying scattering upon the floor. The door shut again, and left the young man to scramble to his knees and pick up the fallen medical supplies.
"My name is Gunter," said the man hastily, picking up his bag and moving toward them awkwardly, "Uh - medicine?" Apparently he didn't speak very much Asturian.
Allen nodded sharply, motioning to the little girl. He didn't know their language, but hopefully, the point would get across well enough. The knight pursed his lips, drawing away the cloth after a moment. Wait... were those soldiers frightened of them? Was that why they were hesitant?
Faintly, he could hear the soft chuckle from Hans' cell, catching the young man eyeing the soldiers calmly.
Quickly, Gunter set to work on the girl - so small and now so terribly pale. He saw the blood that stained her, practically drenched her, and took thick linen cloths from his bag to press them to the wound at her right side after ripping her little dress open enough to work. The wound was so large on her tiny little body - it was so tragic to see a girl so young bleeding to death from Basram's weapons.
He muttered a curse in Basramese, saying in his language, "She's lost too much blood. She will need a blood transfusion before her heart has nothing left to pump!"
Allen bit down on his bottom lip lightly, not understanding him. He should have studied the language more, but damn it... it was too late now. If Hans had been in his right mind, he would have been able to translate... but Allen wouldn't risk having him near, not right now.
Gunter was frustrated, and there's nothing worse than a healer who can't do a damn thing about healing someone - especially such a pretty and very young little girl. Her silver curls were matted together with her own lifeblood, and Gunter was frantic to save her. There would be nothing he could do here in this dank, blood ridden cell. . .
So much blood. . . everywhere, there was blood. Everyone was bleeding, dying - and soon, so would this little angel.
"Blood," struggled the Basram healer, looking deeply into Allen's eyes and forcing what little Asturian he knew, "Need - blood. Now!"
Allen blinked a little, pausing, then held out his arm, motioning to himself. "I'm her father," he said, shaking his head. Hopefully it would be good enough. Hopefully... he just wanted to save her. He didn't care what happened to him, just so long as he saved her. She had to live...
"Father," repeated Gunter, bright vivid blue eyes wide and frantic. He nodded, trying for a smile, "Father, ja, father... good." And he called out to the guards, keeping his hands firmly upon the little girl's wound. The cell door opened tentatively again, and after brief explanation from Gunter in their language, the guard reluctantly nodded and whistled for another to help carry the little girl out.
~
It was a great risk they were taking, these Basram soldiers, to let the healer into their cell in the first place. But it was even greater that they took Angelina and her father from their cell to bring them to the medical facilities that were on board the Reichmann's Flame. Instead of the reclining chairs like on the Zaibach air hospital, they were simply put onto plane wrought iron frame beds.
Angelina's lips were turning pale, and Gunter worried over some more, young as he was. He couldn't help but feel the desperate need to save the girl. The beds were side by side, and he lay Angelina down gently upon it. Nurses in the medical facility were asking what was going on, but they were quickly given orders to shut up and start a blood transfusion between the pale little girl and her father.
Allen was silent, worriedly looking over at his daughter. She didn't look good, not at all... but if he could do anything to help her, then he would. He followed the men's orders, pursing his lips a little when they started the transfusion. He was silent, lying his head back, staring at the ceiling. If only... if only this would work. He could only hope.
From the corner of the room, not very far from where the doctors in this small medical bay fussed over Angelina and Allen to make sure the needles were placed correctly, the machine pumping blood from Allen's arm and into his daughter, a groan was emitted from a dry throat. Gaddes had been taken here earlier, his wheelchair rescued from the cell after Gunter, who was the only fully certified healer on board the Reichmann's Flame at the moment, noticed the man did not wince from any pain in his legs.
Gaddes' wounds were easy enough to staunch, stitch and heal. His thighs were dressed in bandages that were stained with blood but at least not drenched with it. He lay in a white wrought iron bed, noticing the activity as his vision started coming into a focus. His shirt was stained red, dirty and soiled from sweat and dust. He saw his chair beside the bed, struggled to sit up, and haphazardly transferred into it.
With the movement, he groaned again, his head swimming and he bent over. Tiredly, he managed to get his legs upon the foot plates of his chair and fix them straight before he wheeled over to Allen's bedside, somewhat slumped in his seat as he glided along.
"Allen . . ." he breathed tiredly, his trembling hand reaching and touching Allen's shoulder.
Allen had his yes closed, the transfer of blood making him tired. But he didn't care... if it saved Angelina, it didn't matter. But at the touch on his shoulder, the blonde flickered his eyes open, looking at Gaddes. He paused, then smiled slowly.
"I think... we should leave Hans alone for awhile," he said softly, long hair falling about him softly. Tearfully, Gaddes bent down, having seen Angelina's pale face and not wanting to see such a painful sight anymore. So he nuzzled Allen's neck. She was - their daughter. Her lips growing so pale was just too much for Gaddes, even as he himself was dizzy from his blood loss and recent transfusion. They were all feeling miserable, were all bleeding and shot, wounded. A whimper came from the sergeant's constricted throat, which was unusual for the common rough tough soldier.
He was no longer a soldier, however, and had been ready to settle himself into the quiet role of uncle for their little girl. But now, even that didn't seem like it would happen. His hand found Allen's face as he nuzzled his nose into his lover's flesh. Meanwhile, a nurse was clumsily trying to stitch Allen's wounded side, cleaning the clot before jabbing the needle into the aggravated flesh of the bullet wound.
Allen winced slightly, hissing a little. The wound was far from being numb. The knight closed his eyes again and would have hugged Gaddes close had he not been so tired. "She'll be okay," he managed softly, "I know she will... she's strong."
The blonde bit down on his bottom lip at the feeling of the woman stitching the wound together. It was... far from being comfortable.
Gaddes could only try to comfort Allen with what little energy he had left, the whirring of the machine that pumped blood into pale little Angelina droning in his ears. He screwed his eyes shut - his little girl . . . *their* daughter was about to die, it seemed. Too much blood. Basram weapons shed more blood than swords and knives, and it was just so awful, so horrible to witness.
"Gods," cried Gaddes softly, burying his face further into Allen's hair, his hand stroking the golden hair beneath his fingertips, "I love her too much to let her die. . . she's too young . . too young . . ."
"She won't die," he whispered. He wouldn't believe it. "Hans won't let her," he said, just the smallest smile curling onto his lips. He trusted the young man more now, far more, after realizing how close he was to Angelina... it was beautiful, really. Perfect. She would have someone to take care of her even after Allen and Gaddes were gone.
Gaddes nodded, his cheek rubbing against the side of Allen's head and his arm holding him by the shoulder in a sort of half embrace. The nurse finished her work with the needle and thread, placing a square of sterile gauze upon the wound and sealing it around the edges with self-adhesive tape. There had been no bullet to fish out, as it had passed through the side of Allen's flesh, very nearly grazing the skin but punctured it instead.
She checked the machine, and the tubes that had the dark red blood flowing through them into Angelina. Gunter came back in and asked something in Basramese, where the nurse replied affirmatively in the same language. The healer seemed pleased with her answer, dismissed her and waited a few more moments before he stopped the machine and tended to his new patients.
Leaning down the Allen, he removed the needle that had been taped to the knight's arm and said in a soft voice, "Angel . . . alive."
Allen smiled slightly, looking at the healer tiredly, nodding. Angel... she most certainly was an angel. She was as beautiful, as perfect as one, so kind, so accepting. She didn't judge, she didn't need to. She simply... knew. And was even more beautiful because of it. "Thank you," he said, though he wasn't sure he could understand it or not. But his tone was thinking, albeit weary.
~
After Gunter had seen to his patients, having to struggle with his little knowledge of Asturian to communicate to them what their wounds had done to them and that he would do everything he could to help them and care for them, he came back to the holding cells of the Reichmann's flame. He was a friend of Hans, since before the young man had joined the army, before Gunter had decided to leave his home to become a healer. The guards he'd managed to convince of the dire need to care for these people's various wounds, and thus the guards became sympathetic.
Gunter was just so glad for that, that he could save his friend from the tyranny and evil of his late father, to save these poor people from suffering too much pain. The ones down below in the pens were more or less left alone by the soldiers. Due to Hans' close ties with the Knight Caeli and his soldiers and family, Reichmann just seemed to hold a grudge, and took out his anger on them.
He came to Hans' cell, timidly asking the guard to open the door so that he could go in and look over Hans' injuries. "Hans," said Gunter, coming to the dazed and hysterical man's side, the door to the cell closing quietly, "My friend . . ."
Hans had been given no water to wash the blood from his clothes and skin, no one had done anything but toss him inside, too frightened of his earlier display to do much of anything but stay away. He had slaughtered his father and Fritz both... and gods had it felt so good to do.
His arm, useless at his side, had been torn by the gunshot, the muscles ripped. It hurt... but he was so numb right now.
For a long moment, no recognition lingered in his eyes before he leaned forward slightly, peering at the healer. "You don't have to worry about father anymore," he said softly, as if someone else might hear. "I've taken care of him, you know..."
A slow grin curled on his lips, a flash of white against crimson stained flesh.
Gunter tried to steel himself, taking a deep breath and pursing his lips. He was a horrible sight, bloodied, the flesh and muscles of his arm showing through grotesquely from the ripped sleeve of his crimson stained shirt. The healer's jaw worked, knowing that he would have to remove the arm - it was totally mangled and useless beyond any kind of repair. Gunter was surprised that even Hans, with his current adrenaline didn't feel such pain.
"Can you stand, my friend?" asked the healer softly, touching the soldier's good arm in a gesture of sympathy.
The working hand moved, clasping the healer's arm tightly, drawing him nearer as he stood with his aid. "He shot her... I promised her that I would protect her and he shot her. So... so I had to kill him. And Fritz... do you see this?" He touched the crimson on his clothing, leaning in closely to whisper to him. "It's theirs. Their blood. All theirs..." Hans laughed, bracing himself against the wall.
Gunter swallowed nervously. He'd never seen such a delirium before, such hysteria, and especially not in his compassionate friend. So long had they both been repressed by Hans' father, the general. The news of the man's death was hardly mournful to Gunter, and it didn't surprise the healer that the general was murdered by his own son. Now was not to think of such things, however. Though Hans' might not have felt the pain in his useless and shredded arm, he would soon if something wasn't done - or worse.
With a beckoning call to the guard, the door to the cell opened again, and Gunter led his friend down the hall and up a lift to the medical bay. The whole time, the ex-soldier needed to lean on him, and still he laughed and mused and chuckled within his dementia. As quick as he could, he administered a syringe to Hans' wounded arm after setting him down near the wall on the floor. They hadn't quite made it to a bed. The syringe was filled with a potent local anesthetic.
"There. Hans, you must listen to me," said Gunter, crouching down to where Hans sat, "I need to tell you what I must do to help you. . ."
"What more is there to do?" he asked, smiling. "Father is dead... Heidi is safe, that's all, my part is over, ja?" The smile grew a little. "What help then, my friend? Or... are you my friend? Who knows now. I am Asturian now, you know." He nodded sagely, looking at him. "So we are enemies."
"My loyalty lies with those who are good in their hearts. I only served for your father with the chance that he might find you - so that I might save you," said Gunter compassionately. The blood around Hans' arm had long since dried and was beginning crackle into a scab around mangled flesh. The healer tried not to flinch, but he needed to say his prognosis. Nurses worked around them, with muttered orders from Gunter to prepare knives and a saw.
"Hans," strained Gunter, again lifting Hans to his feet and leading him to a table, "Please, lay here. We - we need to remove your arm, my friend. I'm sorry."
"My arm? Ach, what do I need that for?" He laughed, an eerily hollow sound, getting led to the bed with the other's aid. "Take it. I don't need it, not now. I'm sure you can find some better use for it."
Gunter had half a mind to argue, about to say something to his delirious friend. In the end he shook his head to himself, taking a breath and nodding to the nurses. Gently, they eased Hans back onto the table. Gunter did not want to be the one to do such a gruesome act. It would handicap his friend. But it came to no surprise... their weapons killed effectively enough, maimed even better, it seemed.
The localized anesthetic seemed to work, and Gunter tied a mask over his nose and mouth, looking nervously at the nurses who awaited his orders, before setting to his work on his poor friend.
~
Gun shots. Cannon fire. It was deep, rumbling, some of it shrill, but all of it muffled through the walls of the Reichmann's flame. Battles waged on through the night, the Basram fortress seemingly untouchable - not one of the allies seemed able to jar it's course as it hovered in a precarious position before the city of Palas. The sounds were not loud enough to wake a sleeping man, but Gaddes awoke nonetheless.
He had fallen asleep, his lower half still sitting in his chair while the rest of him was bent down beside Allen, leaning his head upon the pillow. They were prisoners, he realized, paling. No way to escape such fortress, not injured as they were. He looked up over to Angelina, and was thankful that she didn't look as pale as she had before. There was some color back in her cheeks and lips.
"Allen," he whispered, thinking it must have been morning already, as Basram had attacked near evening of the night before, "Allen, are you awake?"
"Hn...," he man stirred slightly, flickering his eyes open. After the transfusion, after he'd eaten a little something, he'd fallen asleep quickly, easily. He woke at the other's urging, turning his gaze to Gaddes.
It took a moment for him to recognize the sounds of cannon fire outside.
And another moment to recognize the slumbering figure in the bed on the other side of Gaddes. The blankets were drawn up over the still form of Hans, effectively hiding the severed limb from view. Or what was left. It was something to thank the Basram's friend for, really. The young man was silent, slumbering, only the soft movement of his chest in breathing the sign he was even living. The blood had been cleaned from his flesh finally, a pair of trousers lent to him from another soldier. He would wake later to a pain that would not wane, though who was to tell if he'd be mentally conscious, stable enough to realize it.
Gaddes sat up, feeling a protesting creak in his back and groaning painfully. Carefully stretching, he reached behind him to rub at the tender muscles. A quick look around told Gaddes that there was no one here, no nurses, no doctors - not even the young Healer by the name of Gunter. He looked behind him, moving his chair backwards a little so that he can see Hans'. Poor kid, thought Gaddes sympathetically, before looking back to Allen.
"Allen," he said again, "What should we do? I have no idea what to do now. Angelina's alive, barely. We're barely alive. Hans . . . gods, Allen - everyone's fucking dying!"
"Hans... is alright, isn't he?" Allen winced a little as he sat up, running a hand through his hair. He peered over the other's shoulder at the sleeping form, standing. He moved to the boy's side, looking at him. But where there should have been curves, bumps in the sheets... there were none. The knight frowned a little, glancing at Gaddes, then hesitantly, slowly began to draw back the sheet.
Where there should have been an arm, there was nothing, the stump of what had not been sawed off was bandaged, covered. Allen suddenly felt ill. This boy had been so young... and already to fall beneath such horrors. Not even twenty and already to lose a limb. The knight looked at Gaddes, horrified. To think that it had been that bad... he'd never noticed.
Gaddes wheeled over to Angelina's side, fussing over quietly without so much as a look in Hans' direction. His heart, his worry, lay with their daughter, who's life hung in the balance so delicately that Gaddes couldn't help but fear for losing her still. Even with her father's own blood flowing through her veins. He couldn't bear to see his angel die.
"I wouldn't worry so much over Hans," said Gaddes in a clipped tone, petting Angelina's blood matted curls gently, "when you have a daughter who needs you."
"You didn't see it Gaddes," he said softly, looking sadly at Hans. "He... the general is dead. He shot Angelina... and Hans... Hans is the one that killed him for it. It was a complete change in him. He saw her there, after she'd been shot, and... I've never seen him so angry. His father... and then the man that shot you both. He just... he cracked, Gaddes. It was like she was the only thing keeping him steady through all this." He looked at Hans for a moment longer, then pulled the sheets up close to him again, turning to walk to his daughter's bedside.
The little girl's wound was near identical to Allen's, Gaddes noticed, and was stitched neatly with thick black thread. Her pretty blue dress was ruined, ripped and torn where the bullet had entered, stained heavily in crimson. Just then, the entire fortress lurched, causing Gaddes' chair to collide with Angelina's bed, his knees hitting the side of the bed frame. Heavy gun shots and cannon fire could be heard, local - coming from the Reichmann's Flame, Gaddes realized.
The attack upon the fortress caused the floor to tilt slightly, Gaddes needing to brace himself in his own chair so that he wouldn't fall out of it. "They're attacking. Allen, we've got to get out of here."
Allen blinked a bit, frowning. "And go where? Do you know the way out? Hans isn't awake to lead us and who knows if he would be able to tell us anyway. We don't know how to get out of here. And what if we ran into fighting on the way there? We're injured and unarmed and who's to say that they won't fire first before making sure we're not enemies?"
The fortress lurched and tilted more, slowly sinking to the ground. The rumble and quaking of the massive ship told them there was heavy fire upon them. Suddenly, the ship crashed to the ground, creating a massive jump and shake of the very ship. Angelina was nearly knocked out of bed, but Gaddes caught her in time, though he was barely able to stay in his own chair as the everything around them seemed to quake furiously.
"I don't know! I'm out of ideas!" argued the sergeant, holding on to the little girl carefully, "You tell me what we're supposed to do."
Allen frowned, turning his head towards the entrance. He pursed his lips, then nodded to Gaddes. "Come on..." He snatched up Hans in his arms, bracing his weight with his own as best he could. He managed to wiggle the door open slipping outside and into the hallway. "We have to get to Riden and Kio," he said softly, standing where he was a few moment and somehow managing not to lose his footing, then turned, heading off in what he hoped was the right direction.
Gaddes pursed his lips, taking Angelina into his arms and somehow securing her unconscious form onto his lap. The angle of the floor didn't help matters at all, and awkwardly, he managed to roll down the incline towards the hall where Allen had disappeared. He had to bend over Angelina to keep her from falling forward, her back leaning against his chest.
Gods, how could he do this without killing them both, thought Gaddes, barely having enough strength to push himself around, much less up another incline with his niece in his lap. He could have cried from the frustration he felt, wanting to save their lives, or at the very least his sweet angel's life - and being unable to do so, unable to walk on his own two feet just made things harder.
"Allen!" He called, gripped the wall and trying desperately to keep at an angle where they wouldn't roll backwards and out of control.
Allen turned his head towards the other, frowning slightly. "We wont' get very far this way," he said softly, padding back over to him. "Here... you take him," he said, motioning for the sergeant to move Angelina out of the way. "I'll take her and push you from behind." Hopefully that way they could get somewhere. Hopefully that way they might be able to save themselves.
The weight of the Basram soldier was barely noticeable on Gaddes, as they had awkwardly yet successfully exchanged their charge. Angelina was so small that she was able to be cradled with one arm, unconscious Hans leaning back against Gaddes' chest and situated precariously on his lap while Allen pushed Gaddes' chair. It was an uphill struggle, slow and straining. The Reichmann's Flame kept lurching every so often, shifting Hans and making the man nearly fall before Gaddes caught him. It was frustrating, and Gaddes would bitterly curse under his breath, thinking how much easier it would be if he could only walk.
The electricity began to groan and wane, making the lights in the metallic hallways of the fortress flicker. Another lurch, and steam ruptured into the corridor. The lights went out, for a moment, Gaddes nearly panicked. Then everything, he, Allen, the steam, was bathed in a dark red light. Scuffles could be heard, boot steps, a struggle – but he couldn't see through the steam. They were nearly there, that much he knew.
The sound was followed by a body falling to the cold floor with a grunt, then the shrill rattling of keys. Through the din of the steam, the gunfire outside, and the calls of Kio and Riden from the jail cell, Chris' voice spoke.
"Somebody call for a rescue?" he asked cheekily.
"Hurry up," whispered Ethan, pursing his lips a bit, "I can't see much of anything."
Allen paused, frowning a little. "Ethan," he called out in inquiry, cocking his head to the side. "Chris?" Hans, meanwhile, stirred slightly, but did not wake, groaning quietly. He'd be aching when he awoke, that much was for sure. And he'd be horrified if he was stable enough to realize that he had... only one arm left.
Chris' hands trembled and fumbled with the keys, shoving and scraping against the cell lock he couldn't seem to find. This was, after all, his very first rescue. "I'm trying," he argued to his brother, hearing Allen's voice above the hiss of steam. He stopped, looking around for a second before shoving the keys to his brother, "You work on this." He stalked off into the steam, calling out for Allen and eventually finding him not too far from the jail cells.
"Oh, Jesus! Allen! Gaddes. Are you guys okay . . . I . . .," But he stopped, frozen with dread and feeling his heart skip as he saw Angelina. It was too loud, too hectic for her to be asleep, but she couldn't be . . . could she? "Angelina! No, oh, god," He went to Allen to take the little girl from his hold, unable to see the blood that stained her dress as it was drowned by the red light of the hall.
Ethan blinked, grabbing the keys and working at the lock. His own hands were trembling. He bit down on his bottom lip lightly, peering at the lock, finally getting it to swing open. He sighed, relieved, turning his head towards where his brother went.
Allen shook his head slightly but didn't relinquish his hold on his daughter. He couldn't. Not now. "She's alright," he said softly, looking at him. "Where's Pyle? Did he come with both of you?"
"In the Crusade - docked near the bridge." explained Chris, looking down at Gaddes and Hans and barely registering the soldier's missing appendage before taking over the sergeant's wheelchair to push it towards the stairs. "We have to hurry! Daedalus is attacking this ship. It'll fall, and we'll go down with it if we don't get out soon. Ethan! Take care of Riden!" He bent down to Gaddes, "I'll say with you guys. Allen, you go on ahead."
Allen frowned slightly, not much liking the idea of splitting up, but knowing it would be best. They would be moving in a larger group... and he and Angelina could get out easier with just the two of them. The knight nodded, turning and padding off down the hall.
Ethan showed up with Riden and Kio, the young man helping Riden gently. Kio took a look at Hans, swept him up in his big arms to make it easier for them, then looked at Gaddes. "Where next, Sarge?" Out, of course. But which way, he wasn't exactly sure.
"Ethan, you take the lead with Riden," said Gaddes tiredly, his arms failing him in his fatigue. He was still dazed from blood loss and transfusion - again, "Chris, you'll have to push me. I can't make it by myself." It was a rare thing indeed when Gaddes admitted his weakness, much like Allen. Even Chris looked a little worried for the sergeant, but they didn't have time to worry. Too much was happening and they needed to escape.
Chris looked to Kio, standing beside Ethan and Riden. Then he nodded, "You heard the Sarge. Ethan knows the way back. Follow him." Pulling resolution and resolve from somewhere deep within him, Chris began to push Gaddes up the inclining floor. The lifts still worked in backup power, thank the gods. Otherwise, they would have never been able to get Gaddes up six flights of stairs in time.
Ethan led them as quickly as he could while helping Riden. It was all a blur really, his heart racing. He winced at just about every creak, every sound of gunfire. Gah... he wasn't made for war. He didn't like it one bit.
But they managed to make it, the Crusade right in view, even with Kio's slightly startled pause at finally noticing Hans' lack of a second arm. He felt bad for him, really... he'd helped them out. They'd laughed together, if only a little. They'd gotten drunk together on a few accounts... and he was so young...
The catwalks from the hull of the Crusade were still extended, allowing for an easy and smooth passage aboard the ship. Chris was running with Gaddes in front of him, pushing the sergeant in his chair just behind the others. The moment they crossed safely into the hull of the Crusade, the destroyed docking station of Reichmann's Flame thankfully behind them, the catwalks were pulled back and the propellers hummed with activity.
Kio and Riden ran to their stations, to help start the leviship into an ascent. Chris panted heavily, keeping Gaddes at a safe distance from the edge of the hull while he bent over the man's shoulder. Weakly, Gaddes lifted his hand to pat Chris on the back.
"You did good, Chris," he said tiredly, "Thanks." At that, Chris managed a fatigued smile, smirking.
"No problem . . ."