"Those kids remind me a lot of myself and the others in our prime," Corr commented from behind his office desk in his modest home. It was quite fortunate that he lived not too far off base. Having the opportunity to walk to work every day did wonders for the body and could have contributed to Corr remaining in somewhat good health in his elderly age. Even so, he knew it was inevitable that sooner or later, his time was to expire, much like any other before him. It was nature, and that was a fight that even a Shadow Striker couldn't win.
The retired Commander keyed in a command on his keyboard, bringing up a communications screen that folded out into view, the Irken Republic symbol gracing it in idle mode.
"Computer, contact Lead Researcher Vard at the Hall of Science and Technology," he requested of it as he leaned back in his seat, drumming his fingers together.
"Processing command…clearance and identification required," the computer responded.
"Retired Armada Infantry Commander Corr, serial number A0789-07566," Corr clearly stated for the machine to pick up on, awaiting its response.
"Processing verification…verification accepted, Commander. Connecting…"
The screen snapped into focus, a short Irken clad in scientific paraphernalia appeared to be very interested in whatever it was he was working on, jotting down notes furiously on a datapad.
"Commander Vard?" Corr beckoned with a smile, hoping to grab his attention.
As intended, the goggle-clad visage turned in surprise, instantly snapping to attention with a salute out of respect. "Commander, Sir!"
"At ease, soldier," Corr chuckled, "it has been quite some time, how have you been?"
"Busy as always," he half-heartily chuckled, "seems with every discovery I make, more is asked of me."
"You did reverse engineer the need for PAKs, genetically altered the genome for natural reproduction once more, and have found the cure for several lethal aliments…I'm sure whatever you're working on now isn't too tough."
"Nothing I can't handle, Sir…If I may, Sir, but that isn't the reason you called me…is it? You normally don't contact any of us unless it is something major happening."
"You were always a sharp one, Vard," he huffed in amusement. "you couldn't be any more correct."
"Is it your health, Sir?"
"What? No, no, not at all. I'm old, Vard, not decrepit. Well…that has got me thinking of some things, but there is at least one thing I want to address with you to spread to the others."
"Anything for you, Commander."
"…Because I'm probably not going to be around much longer, I'd like to get everyone together one last time, catch up, just like we used to do while Rha was still around."
"I see," he nodded, "well, I'm sure I can find time, Aero would be more than happy to come along, the others may take some time to track down though."
"…and I started telling a few of my Cadets about our adventures."
Vard coughed at the idea, almost blown away at that revelation, especially after what they were specifically told by the first Chancellor of the Republic what NOT to do.
"I'm sorry, Sir, but did you just say you were telling someone about our…unit?"
"I didn't stutter, Vard," Corr assured in his usual fashion, a trait he seemed to pick up from Vult rather evidently. "Regardless of classified information or not, someone has to know, someone has to carry on the legacy. Sure, we got our hands dirty from time to time, but without us, the Empire would have long ago collapsed, long before we even set foot on Vort, and our people would be lost and broken in the present."
"…That's the nature of our work though, Sir," Vard respectfully pointed out, "we knew that our accomplishments were going to go unrewarded from the beginning."
"I'm not talking about rewards, Vard, I'm talking about the concept…us…the Shadow Strikers. Ten of the Empire's best soldiers it ever had to offer, ten that put everything on the line without question, without regret…without remorse. What we stood for…the ideals, Vard. If we are simply forgotten with time, no one will ever know how the truth of the formation of the Republic ever coming about, the downfall of the Empire and its Tallest…everything one large cover-up conspiracy."
Vard sighed in content as he listed to his former commanding officer's fervent speech.
"It has been nearly a century since, Sir, it isn't as if words now can change what happened then," he reasoned with a readjustment of his goggles that sat over his eyes. "I hope that the current administration thinks the same if word reaches them about you doing so."
"You plan on informing then?"
"Of course not, Commander," Vard assured, "I'm loyal to the unit, myself, and who we serve, in that order as it has always been."
"Good to know the ideals have remained with you as well," Corr nodded with a slight smirk, "so you think you can start getting in contact with the others then?"
"I'll try my best, Commander, no promises since it has been quite some time since I've spoken with any of them as we all have seemed to drift our separate ways. I'm curious, Sir…how much have you told them thus far?"
"Well…" he sighed, recollecting, "I started from the very beginning and I've just made it to the first run-in with The Specter of Vengeance."
"That means that –"
"Correct," Corr interrupted, slightly perturbed by the thought, "…the incidents with Captain Saro."
Operations had officially began a mere 16 hours ago on Vort, a few days after the Shadow Strikers and a few other Spec Ops units had already been in operation preparing the incoming forces by weakening key points in Vortian defenses and disrupting supplies to make the landing as flawless as possible. Caring more for the well-being of their people, government officials had retracted and evacuated many citizens within contention of what was going to become the frontline of the war to push the Irken invaders from their world. Morale was already somewhat low as news of Praxxus 7's fall to the Empire reached the homeworld, instigating a rush of armament and defensive measures, digging in for what was going to be the fight of their lives. Vortian citizens and soldiers alike prepared and refused to give up what was theirs by right. The Irken had already stabbed them in the back before with the severance of the alliance, taking with them various technologies, and now had the nerve to directly assault them in attempt of a conquest and bend a knee to the Irken Empire. As long as there was still a Vortian banner to unite under, that day would never come.
Drive by commitment to the Empire and command of the Almighty Tallest, its soldiers wouldn't cease until the mission had been seen through. Even this early in, it was becoming evident that resistance was far more prepared and troublesome than predicted.
As long as Captain Saro of the Irken Elite Guard unit Alpha Omega 13 had anything to do with it, he was going to see to it that Supreme Commander Grimm's words were followed to the fullest, one way or another, they would be done.
His unit was part of a forward attachment that managed to break through the Vortian lines and hand the "glamorous" task of searching structures, block by block to ensure there were no unfortunate surprises waiting for them. To him, however…he took far too much enjoyment in it. He simply watched on with his arms crossed behind his back, eyes squinted in pleasure as Vortian civilians were dragged kicking and screaming from their homes into the street, rounded up like animals for questioning as their possessions were rifled through, destroyed, and ransacked. This wasn't the usual manner to proceed with such operations, but Saro found sick pleasure in watching what he considered "inferior races" suffer beneath the might of the Irken.
Of the many comparisons many made to Saro, he was very similar to Grimm…minus the limitations and somewhat respectful demeanor he had towards others, despite his position.
Saro exercised his power over all that he could, commanded his company of 100 soldiers with an iron fist, and severely punished those who stepped out of line even for the smallest of things. He watched as a Vortian male lunged for the Irken soldiers harassing his family, only to have a rifle butt be slammed into his face, knocking him to the ground, his mate and children crying out at his predicament. The screams of terror and agony only intensified as the soldier he attempted to lunge for fired two rounds point blank into his chest. All Saro could do but huff a laugh through a crooked smile at the showing.
"O, what pitiful fools," he chuckled, watching the female attempt to latch onto the fresh corpse of her mate, ripped away by the collar by the soldiers with the rest of the civilians gathered. "They really think they can withstand the might of the Irken Empire? Struggle all they will, the more that do so…the more I can slaughter. Filthy creatures is all they really are, primitives masquerading as a sentient race worthy of admiration. They disgust me."
One of his Lieutenants jogged up, snapping to attention with a salute before he spoke.
"Block is clear, Sir," he informed, "nothing but civilians here."
"They look awfully defiant for just civilians, Lieutenant," Saro smiled sickeningly as he unholstered his pistol. "I think it would be in our…best interest to put them down…permanently."
"You're the boss, Sir," He nodded, leading his commanding officer to the group of Vortians held against their will amidst the street, surrounded by his own soldiers.
"Line 'em up, boys!" He motioned with his empty hand towards the wall running parallel to the street across from their homes.
With violent shoves and forceful commands, the soldiers maneuvered the frightened inhabitants against the wall, cries of fear and terror evident as they knew what was coming. Approximately 2 dozen Vortian citizens, mainly families with Hornlings, stood huddled in fear as Saro's soldiers kept weapons trained on them, backing up to form a firing line.
"Ready…" Saro began, a wicked smile curving about his lips behind his combat mask, "Aim…"
Nearly 30 rifles of his hundred soldier detail came to the ready, leveled off at the civilians. The panic grew in crescendo.
"Fire!" He ordered, their weapons exploding to life as they dashed the innocent Vortians to charred bits in a hail of plasma fire. The fresh, smoldering corpses fell, mates protecting one another and their children as they had fallen, but it was to no avail.
If Saro had a heart in addition to his squeedly spooch, it would be as black as they came.
"…never gets tiring," he commented as he holstered his own sidearm once more, "the smell of charred flesh is so…invigorating."
"Indeed it is, Sir," The Lieutenant responded as he reloaded his plasma rifle, "what's next, Captain? More search and seizure? I'm lookin' forward to getting in a firefight with some regulars, civies don't put up a fight."
Saro grabbed hold of his Comm. Officer's collar, jerking him within inches of his own face.
"You heard anything on that unit we're supposed to be linking up with?"
"N-No, Sir, nothing at all from them, last transmission was several hours ago, calling for assistance, it was cut off."
"Speckies aren't that easily slotted, not like these Vortian vodeto," He pointed out as he released his collar, an interesting reference to Spec. Ops. soldiers, "I'm tired of waiting on them, find out where the Irk they're at and we'll rendezvous somewhere near them. It's getting dark soon, the quicker we find them, the better. That means less grunt work for once."
"Yes, Sir, Captain," he nodded, preparing to contact them, only to have the headset ripped free, throwing him off balance as Saro put it on his own head.
"I'll do it, patch me through to Command."
A series of twists of knobs and switches on his forearm prepared the proper channel for communications, the Comm. Officer giving a thumbs up gesture that it was ready.
"Command, this is Captain Saro of Alpha Omega 13, requesting the location and/or last known coordinates of Special Operations Unit…" he checked his own orders on his cybernetic eye that replaced his missing left one, "Delta Centauri 00. My orders are to link up with them and proceed to a manufacturing facility to shut it down permanently."
"Command here, Captain," a voice responded with the usual static from electronic transmission, "regarding Delta Centauri's 00 last-known coordinates, you do not have proper clearance to that information and I cannot disclose it to you."
"How am I supposed to find them if they're not on the grid and aren't transmitting then, Command?" He unbelievably questioned, "what about their last transmission?"
"Again, you lack the proper clearance for that request, I cannot give you that information."
The Elite Captain was more than upset with the nonchalance of their attitude.
"Put me through to someone that has the information and won't withhold it from me like a ikveda murata!" Saro angrily demanded. "I've got plenty of fight left in me even after putting down Vorts, don't make me make a special trip to take it out on you."
"…standby," the appalled voice responded.
"…Supreme Commander Grimm here, Captain," a dark, yet composed voice responded, surprising even Saro. "I'm informed you're looking for a certain Special Operations unit, correct?"
"Yes, Sir, Commander," Saro straightened up at the superior's voice, "Alpha Centauri 00. It is difficult for me to proceed on-mission to link up with them if I haven't heard of their whereabouts or last known location, Commander. They have failed to respond to any of our hails and by our account, haven't transmitted in hours. I highly doubt they are KIA, Sir."
"Clearly," he responded straightforwardly, "…transmitting last known locale now. They haven't responded to prior attempts of communication and have been silent for approximately…7 hours. In regard to their current location, Captain, given the last known and your abilities, see to it that you formulate a plan to proceed on your own accord."
"Yes, Sir, will do," Saro respectfully obeyed, nodding as he spoke.
"Report once you have re-established contact with them, Captain, Command out."
Saro returned the headset to the bewildered Comm. Officer.
"Alright, boys, saddle up!" He exclaimed to his unit of 100 strong, motioning for them to start following as he studied the information on his implant. "Grimm was kind enough to give us the last known location of those Speckies, let's go see what the Irk is going on, maybe blow some stuff up!"
"You heard him, move it out!" The Lieutenant quickly followed up with a wave of his hand, getting them to jog up into patrol formation. "Eyes peeled and stay alert! We're in Vort territory now, don't let them get the jump on us!"
Various responses came forth in obedience as ammunition was checked and gear situated for what was going to be a grueling hike to Alpha Centauri 00's last-known position.
Alpha Centauri 00 happened to be the legitimate callsign on the open Armada channels for the Shadow Strikers, just another Special Operations unit operating planetside. At a glance, and as intended, that was all that they appeared. If the event arose, it was possible to radio Command for assistance…as they had attempted to do before Vard was unlucky, or lucky, depending on the view, to have nearly been killed by a deadly marksman.
"How's everyone holding up back there?" Vult questioned with a quick glance over his shoulder.
"Just fine, Commander," Aero cheerily managed, Vard still unconscious as she bore his weight with ease on her back, arms dangling over her shoulders, his legs through her arms as she supported his behind on her forearms. "What about you, Sergeant Haxx?"
He looked like he was ready to keel over from exhaustion, panting for air. Even walking seemed to be a chore all in its own at this point. Volx, however, was asleep from the massive dose of painkillers she injected without Sula measuring the correct amount out.
"Just…peachy, never…better," he managed between breaths, straining to keep Volx from plummeting.
"You've been carrying her for a long time, Haxx," Rha began, placing his rifle on its magnetic attachment point on his back, "let me carry her and give you a break for a while."
All he did was shake his head in defiance of the idea.
"It's my…burden to bear." Haxx responded, the last half barely audible through a strained breath.
"What was that?"
"I said…" Haxx continued, gritting his teeth for a moment, "it's my burden…to bear. I caused it to happen…I'm going to try to…make up for it."
Rha was shocked for a moment at the most obnoxious, stubborn, and sometimes idiotic Irken he had ever personally met actually admitted fault to something. The universe didn't come to a chaotic and violent end via explosion, so it might have been a dream. He heard the words, no less though.
"You're going to hurt yourself if you don't take a break for awhile," Sula cautioned as she slowed a bit in the patrol to walk beside him. "You've been carrying her since it happened, that was about 7 hours ago."
"If I stop now…I don't think I can keep going." He laughed to himself. "I'll be fine…first chance we get, a bit of sleep…I'll be just fine."
"Look half-dead to me," Tuu smirked from behind his visor.
"I…feel like it."
"Okay, this is definitely strange," Rha commented uneasily, walking backwards as he faced Tuu, raising a finger as he counted off. "Admitting fault? Punishing himself for said fault? Now not having a comeback or threat to a scathing comment?" The Corporal turned back to Haxx, knocking on his helmet a couple times, "You sure you didn't get a head injury or something? You're starting to really creep me out."
"He's not a machine if you couldn't tell," Rem added in amusement, "he feels bad for getting Volx shot and is trying to make up for it. Even the "mighty" Irken are capable of making mistakes, as well as feeling emotions. As much as you want to believe or allow it to do so, the PAK doesn't completely tune all of that out, merely suppresses it."
"Blah, blah, blah, no one cares about philosophies, Rem," Rha joked with her, realizing the truth in what she said.
"Permission to speak freely, Commander?"
Vult sighed. Time and time again, he told him just to do so. Amongst the unit, there was no need for such formalities, well…most of the time anyway.
"What's on your mind, Corr?"
"We've been on the move all day, the sun has set," he pointed out logically. "We've got wounded with only 8 of us at combat effective level, possibly 7 with Haxx's condition and lack of a primary weapon, and we are still without long range communications."
"I assume you're wanting to propose a solution then, right?" Vult summed up with a glance at his second-in-command.
"Yes, Sir, I do," Corr promptly nodded, "I think it would be in all of our best interest if we find a suitable place to rest for the night. I know that we would benefit from moving under the cover of darkness, but in our current state, we're barely fit to press forward, let alone engage any enemy combatants of any strength. This deep into Vortian-controlled territory, I'm surprised we haven't run into any more resistance since the incident at the fountain."
"…all logically reasoned," Vult nodded as he slowed their pace somewhat. "We're behind schedule as it is though, the last thing we need to do is stop to rest."
"Commander, with all due respect," he began, which seemed to be Vult's least favorite saying from him as it was usually followed with the hard truth of the matter, "there's no way in Irk we can do anything effectively at the moment. No comms, Vard and Volx are out of commission, Haxx is dead on his feet and doesn't have a weapon…if we engage anyone at this point, I'm more than certain we'd have casualties if not lose the entire unit."
"…I hate it when he's right," Vult thought to himself, turning back to Corr, "Very well, Captain, you raise a good point…several, in fact. Find a suitable place and we'll do so."
It didn't take long for Corr to do so. After yet another breaking and entering into an evacuated domicile, this one a little more upscale in appearance than the last, they had the perfect vantage point for keeping watch and giving everyone a chance to rest for a moment. Haxx literally collapsed upon setting Volx down gently, Vard laid next to him by Aero. His small stature made it appear as if she was putting a child to rest. The three of them, all Shadow Strikers, trained killers and hardened veterans of warfare, looked as peaceful as could be.
"I guess that settles who's resting first," Rem stated with a huff of a laugh, setting her rifle against the wall as she kicked back in a chair, propping her boots up on a table. She removed her helmet, pulling her antenna free of the holes atop, and placed it next to her on the floor, by her rifle.
"Don't get too comfortable there," Rha commented, patting her on the shoulder, "you've got first watch with me."
"Hoo-ray," she sarcastically answered with an unamused look about her face. It was a bit difficult to tell what emotion she was expressing with her grafted implants that sat over her eyes.
"Medical Officer," Vult asked of her as his soldiers started unloading some of their gear to lessen the weight and actually rest for a moment.
"Sir?"
"What's the status on these three?" he motioned to the trio laying on the floor.
"Well…" she began, running a claw over her head, then wiping some dirt from her face, "Volx's wound…all I can do is keep it clean for the time being, let the healing take its course since I don't have access to the tools and materials I need to perform reconstructive surgery. She should be up and walking around without incident within a couple days."
"Then why is she unconscious?"
"…she took my syringe from me before I measured out the correct dosage, so she's out like a light for awhile."
"What about Vard? Anything serious?"
"From what I can tell, Commander, no, at the most, a minor concussion from the force of the impact on the helmet before the damage was done. His PAK should be wrapping that up anytime soon, I expect him to come to in a few hours at the most."
"If you can get him to do so sooner, that would be great," Vult pressed, "I need him to fix the comm. array so we can get back on task." He looked at the sprawled-out, snoring form of Haxx. The Heavy Weapons Sergeant rolled over, wrapping an arm around Volx in his sleep. It was going to be…amusing to say the least if either of them became aware of the fact "…I assume he's just tired, correct?"
"Yes, Sir, a wee bit exhausted possibly from carrying Lt. Volx. Aero was lucky enough because Vard is so small and light, but Haxx is smaller and Volx is a little larger than Vard, so that's quite a big change in weight ratio. Considering all the gear he already carries…I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did, Sir."
"Make sure to let Volx know that when she comes around, punishing himself and whatnot. Saves me the trouble of doing so," the Commander pointed out, turning with a wave of the hand, "carry on, Medical Officer."
"Yes, Sir, Commander," she crisply saluted before returning back to her details.
"Captain, a moment of your time," Vult motioned as he walked past towards another room of the domicile "We've got matters to discuss."
"Sir?" He obliged, entering the kitchen and dining area, a balcony with a large bay window overlooking the nighttime scenery of the ghostly cityscape. An area usually alive and teaming with activity was strangely silent and retained an uneasy feeling of emptiness from the evacuation. Far in the distance on the horizon, brief flashes of white-hot light dotted the landscape from time to time, a series of larger ones every so often from a Deathwave Cannon volley. The front lines of this campaign were pushing ever so closely, destroying much in its wake. The Irken were winning, but for how long? At what cost?
"I'm going to be honest with you on this one, Corr," Vult began, almost ashamed in tone, "but I feel responsible for what has happened today. This far behind enemy lines…I should have known better than to be moving in broad daylight out in the open like that."
"There's no way you would have known that would have happened, Commander," Corr reasoned, "like you said yourself, things like this happen, it's part of our job description. I admire the fact you kept it together, unlike other Irken Elite regulars I've witnessed before, under such great pressure, and got all of us out of it alive. I'd take minor wounded over a casualty any day of the week, Sir."
"…I suppose, I put too much faith in our equipment as opposed to training and skills. The Vortians created the cloaking technology, of course they'd have the mode to combat it as well."
The Irken Commander rested against the wall, his forehead against his forearm as he looked out over the city to the raging battle off in the distance. "…I'll just have to be more cautions since we've all been given a second chance for my blunder."
Corr nodded in respect of his commanding officer, one strong enough to keep it together through thick and thin, as well as admit his faults. It seemed to be contagious on this day considering Haxx managed to do the same. "So what is our next move, Sir?"
Vult sighed as he stood up once more, knowing their work was far from over.
"First things first, we need to get our comm. back up and running," he began, pointing to the remnants of the helmet sitting on the kitchen table with Vard's tools. "find out what the Irk has been going on and let Command know we're still alive and on task."
"As well as establishing contact with that Irken Elite Guard company…Alpha Omega 13, something or other." Corr added to their plight.
"That too," Commander Vult nodded with disdain. He could hardly believe that things could have gone so wrong, so fast. It was a blessing and a curse all in the same. Everyone was still alive, not so much vertical at the moment, but breathing. However…the situation with the radio and location behind Vort-held territory. "One thing at a time, Corr…one thing at a time," he finally uttered, setting his own helmet down as he rounded the table, inspecting Vard's helmet once more.
With so much on his mind as the thoughts raged, he finally realized something. His stare snapped to Corr again.
"Who did you say we were linking up with for this assignment?"
"…Alpha Omega 13, Sir, I think," Corr informed, pressing one of the buttons on the side of visor to scroll through the information, "…yes, AO-ten-three." He rattled off in short-hand that Armada regulars had become accustomed to in the field. It was unofficial since Command highly enjoyed the long-winded names or callsigns that units carried because it "sounded cool". Sounding cool was the least of their worries in the field or under fire.
"I need that comm. up and running, ASAP," Vult ordered, looking over his shoulder to Aero, whom was tending to Vard's wounds on his face, "Concussion or not, Sergeant, bring him to, now."
"…Yes, Sir," she hesitantly responded, perplexed at his urgency.
She wasn't the only one.
"Sir, what's wrong?"
"I need to get a hold of Command and call off this rendevouz before it's too late, that's what's wrong."
"I'm not sure I understand, Commander," Corr truthfully answered, "We need all the help we can get at this point, you're wanting to turn away reinforcements when we have wounded?"
"Trust me on this one, Captain," Vult ominously spoke, "…you do not want to work with them."
"Why not, Sir? How do you know of them?" Corr pressed, seeing that his commanding officer, one of the most composed soldiers he had ever met in his life was teeming with frustration, almost pure anger at the mentioning of them.
"…Let's just say that their C.O. and I have a…history," the Irken Commander mentioned, looking at Corr once more, "…a history I thought I'd never have to remember again. Appears I was wrong…" He trailed off.
The Captain straightened up from his leaning posture against the table with a sigh of concern inaudible to Vult.
"What could have possibly happened to cause such ire in the calmest officer I know?" He pondered as he watched in silence with Vard stumbling over finally, rubbing his head, Aero aiding to assure he didn't fall over. The Commander was right however, first things first, the radio needed to be fixed.
It was inevitable, however, that Commander Vult was going to confront a figment of his past, something he wished had remained buried and never reared its ugly, putrid head again. Even in the current environment of the Shadow Striker psyche of relying and trusting one another, including sharing everything…this was something that he never wanted them to know of him.