Gdańsk, Yellow Zone 1

[14/5/2056]

The chatter of automatic rifles filled the air, accompanied by the irregular thunder of explosives, and the screams of the wounded. The ambush had caught the GDI convoy off guard, but they were quick to react. Unmanned Orca drones had been dispatched from the Stratospheric Transport over the port as soon as the bombs went off. They buzzed over the rooftops like hornets, stinging anyone out in the open with mounted chainguns and missiles.

The rest of their company had formed up in streets to the north, surrounding the square and preventing the Brotherhood's militia from gaining any ground. Unfortunately, Second Squad was pinned down in the open, with only the wreck of the fallen Titan Walker for cover.

The second walker had persevered a little longer. It kept the enemy at bay with a steady stream of railgun shells, pelting the cobblestone streets to the south until they were a field of craters. The enemy armour had ground to a halt, and the troops within were forced to advance on foot. Eventually, their guardian had succumbed to a well-placed RPG. The walker toppled, and militia swarmed over its charred husk like ants.

Through the flames, Adam saw a hellish apparition. A group of some twenty armoured giants were advancing, long crimson rifles in hand. The figures were armoured in glossy black composites that gave them the aspect of bipedal insects, and their heads were no less alien, covered by helmets with many gleaming red lenses. Red capes billowed behind them, emblazoned in black with an outstretched hand.

"Black Hand!" Sergeant Neumann called from his perch on Second Squad's APC, which was jammed up against the improvised barricade. "Squad, focus fire on the leader." At his command, a chaingun mounted ahead of the APC's hatch thundered into life.

Following their Sergeant's lead, Second Squad fired over the barricade. Their shots sparked off the armoured figures, who strode forward, undeterred by the withering fire directed their way. A round from the turret struck one of the enemy, and his head snapped back from the impact of the high calibre round. Adam was sure the approaching menace had been felled, but when he turned his gaze forward again, the death mask of the helmet bore only a silver streak across the temple to show the shot had even made contact.

The trooper who had been shot returned fire. A beam of ruby light leaped from the weapon in their hands, and flashed across the vehicle's turret. A strip of molten metal marked where the laser had struck, and the barrel of the weapon was slagged from the intense heat. There were a series of cracking sounds and a flash of light. The gunner doubled over, clutching his stomach. Adam realised the radiated heat had caused the weapon's magazine to cook off, sending the rounds tearing through the APC. Sergeant Neumann clapped a hand to his arm, where a patch of blood was blooming across the tan uniform sleeve.

"Heavy infantry inbound! Black Hand with laser weapons, two hundred feet south of my position. I need fire support, now!" Neumann called into the radio. The man's respirator hung around his neck as he screamed into the hand-held device.

"RAID Units have been deployed from orbit," Captain Collin's voice crackled in their ears. "ETA five minutes."

"We haven't got five minutes! The enemy is impervious to ballistic weapons, we need heavy artillery!" Neumann shouted as another laser seared past his head.

"Negative, Sergeant; you're deep in the city. We can't risk civilian casualties." Captain Collins' voice crackled in their ears.

"What civilians? The whole damn city is enemy territory!" Neumann snapped back at his superior. The radio dropped from the numb fingers of his injured arm, and clattered down the side of the APC . "Shit," he cursed. He was fumbling for the fallen device, when a beam of crimson light pierced him through the torso. The Sergeant cried out, and folded at the waist. Adam watched in horror as the man's torso slid free from his hips, and tumbled onto the street in a pool of cauterised entrails.

"Oh shit, the Sarge!" Becca cried out. She jerked to her feet, as if about to rush to his aid, when a second beam sizzled through the air a foot from her head. She threw herself back against the barricade.

The fusillade of laser beams turned the air above their heads into an inferno. Adam felt sweat beading on his forehead, and dripping down his back. The visor of his helmet grew foggy.

"We can't stay here!" he shouted over the din of battle. "They're gonna cook us alive!" He cast his gaze around for a way out, a patch of cover; anything. There was a house, maybe twenty feet away, which seemed sufficiently sturdy. There was no cover between here and the front door though.

A beam pierced the armour of the fallen walker, barely a foot from Raleigh's thigh. He felt the leg tingle in anticipation of the next shot. I'm not gonna be around here to find out, he told himself. Adam took his helmet off, and held up the mirrored visor at an angle, just over the edge of the barricade. He caught a glimpse of the advancing enemy, before the faceplate was vaporised. Adam dropped the helmet as it burned his hand. There was a strong acrid smell of melted plastic in the air.

"Make a break for that house on my mark!" The squad nodded their assent, though some of them exchanged nervous looks. He breathed deeply, bouncing on his haunches as he built up his courage for what he was about to do. With a sharp exhale, he hurled his ruined helmet over the top of the barricade. A dozen laser beams instantly targeted it, igniting what little was left.

"Go!" Adam shouted. Second squad dashed from cover, heads tucked low. Becca shouldered Neumann's bisected body, and followed the others. Raleigh unclipped a grenade from his belt, and flung it in the direction the laser barrage had originated. The sharp sounds of discharge ceased, and were followed by a clatter of footsteps and thuds as his foes dived for cover. Then, the deep thoom of an explosion. Adam followed his squad, sprinting across the cobblestones. A rain of rock shards fell across his back. He was nearly at the door, when the enemy fire resumed.

Ahead of him, a beam of light sliced across the street, just above the cobblestones. Becca stumbled as it pierced her ankle. Neumann tumbled from her shoulders onto the ground. Raleigh rushed ahead, grabbed Becca around the shoulders. Together they hobbled to cover in the shattered building. Becca slumped against the wall as soon as they were inside, and cradled her ankle.

The front room of the house was crowded. In addition to Second Squad, a local family was cowering in the corner. A stringy man with silver hair stood between the GDI soldiers and the civilians, shouting at them in a language Raleigh didn't understand. He pulled the respirator from his face, and held out his gloved hands.

"Woah, hey, hey!" he shouted. Maybe not the best tact. "We're not gonna hurt you; we're just trying to stay safe." The man quieted, and Adam turned to the members of his squad that were still standing. "Coop, take a position at that window, cover me."

The lower storey had tall but narrow windows, and a thick wall of brick, which let the surviving members of the squad take up firing positions with a certain level of protection. One point against the enemy's high-tech laser weapons was that while they penetrated most materials with ease, they didn't throw out shrapnel like conventional munitions.

Coop elbowed out one of the window panes and fed the barrel of his rifle through it. The elder man in the corner let out a squeak of indignation, but cowered as the automatic weapon discharged.

"What are you doing, Adam?" Becca hissed through gritted teeth. Within the enclosed space, the stench of burnt flesh was overwhelming.

"The Sarge is still out there," Adam replied as he sprinted back out into the melee.

—

Veselko Lazic had given up struggling against the superhumanly strong figure. The Black Hand hauled him through the streets, past a row of burning transport trucks. Lazic had expected the chatter of automatic weapons to be quieter this far from the front lines, but if anything, it was getting louder. The narrow streets granted them cover from incoming fire, but even so he flinched at every gunshot.

"Where are you - ah!" His protest was silenced as his captor's gloved hand tightened around his wrist. The bones scraped together, and he was certain they were about to snap. The pressure eased off.

"Silence, infidel," a deep, artificially modulated voice came from inside the black helmet. "You're lucky you're alive. The Prelate still has need of you."

"Infidel?" Lazic pleaded. "Does it look like I'm here by choice? I'm loyal to the Brotherhood, to Kane!" A missile screamed from above, tearing into the cobblestones a few scant feet from them. Veselko's captor stepped calmly in front of him. The stone shrapnel pelted harmlessly off their armour. Even with his human shield, the pressure wave knocked Lazic off his feet. He sprawled in a rubble-strewn gutter, aching and covered in a thousand tiny scrapes.

The Black Hand grabbed the metal chain of the scientist's cuffs and roughly pulled him to his feet. Lazic worked his jaw silently as his ears rang. They're never going to recover from this, he thought bitterly.

"I created you, you know," he said darkly to the implacable giant. If the statement had any effect on the titan, they gave no indication. Their head snapped to the side, tracking something his battered ears couldn't detect.

"Stay here," they said - though Veselko felt the low rumble more than heard it - and shoved him into the shadow of a ruined wall. The religious enforcer raised their crimson-cased laser rifle, and set off at a jog before Lazic could do anything to stop him.

It's all well and good to breed an attack dog, he thought. But God save you if you ever let go of the leash.

—

The downed convoy was wedged in a narrow side street adjacent to a wide, paved square. It was penned in by advancing soldiers at one end, and a roiling mass of fire at the other. One of the trucks had tipped over onto its side, and its rear doors had been torn off. A handful of figures in grey fatigues were sheltering behind its wheel well. They rattled off bursts of fire over their heads, as if a stream of bullets could fend off the inevitable. The sensor suite in Vega's helmet highlighted their weapons in white squares, and identified them as M16 Mk2 assault rifles.

The combatants sure looked like Brotherhood paramilitaries, but they were guarding the mission target, so he dismissed them. Their weapons had a better chance of shooting pure gold than penetrating his armour anyway. It was a whole lot easier when you didn't pretend to trust the enemy, he thought.

Vega's armour picked up dozens of other sources of sound it identified as weapons fire. Most were concealed in the upper levels of the nearby structures, but a handful were out in the open, advancing towards the pinned "friendlies". He aligned his helmet's sights with the furthest of them, taking his time to line up a killing shot. He squeezed the trigger, and a burst of railgun-accelerated bullets shredded the man's head. His compatriots scattered, and Vega lazily walked his aim down as they fled through his line of fire.

The last was making a dive for an open doorway. Vega was about to end the man's dash for safety when something impacted the side of his helmet. His world spun, and stars flashed behind his eyes. He pulsed his backpack thrusters, and stabilised the chaotic motion.

A giant in black armour was charging him. Vega barely had time to raise his weapon before the figure was right in front of him. A gauntleted hand batted the barrel aside. A burst of bullets shot wide, into the grey sky. The metal fist arced in and caught his head in a brutal left hook. Vega turned with the blow, and leapt out of his opponent's reach.

"Infidel dog," a deep, robotic voice taunted him.

He pulsed his thrusters again, and careened backward the cinderblock wall of an apartment building. He barely felt the impact through the layers of reactive armour. It said something that his foe was able to harm him at all. They can't be just human, a voice that might have been his wounded pride said.

Vega leaped to his feet. His visor adjusted automatically to the gloom inside the dilapidated room. Grey dust rained from the hole he'd smashed through the wall. He took a moment to catch his breath…

…A dark shape soared through the shattered wall.

Snarling, Vega flicked the toggle of his MMDS. The drum magazine of micro-missiles clicked into place. Without waiting for a firing solution, he pulled the trigger. All six burst forward at point blank range. The Black Hand dodged with surprising speed for a figure of their size. Only two of the darts impacted. They lodged in a crevice where the shoulder pauldron overlapped the chest plate, and detonated. Vega's vision was temporarily overwhelmed by a brilliant white glow, before his visor adjusted again. Liquid fire poured over the suit of armour. Their cloak was a brilliant banner of flame, streaking out behind them.

Still the Black Hand fought on. Coated in white phosphorus, the giant was like an image straight from hell. A powerful kick sent Vega tumbling to the ground and knocked the wind out of him. The gauntleted hands reached for his neck, but they were sluggish. He rolled out of the way, and aimed a kick at the back of his opponent's knee. They tumbled, and didn't rise again.

A howl of pain was issuing from within the black helmet. The modulation turned it into an inhuman roar. Vega shivered as a primal part of his brain fought the instinct to flee. He lined up another tank-buster railgun round with the figure's head, and pulled the trigger. The unearthly sound ceased.

Vega's heart was pounding in his chest. He knew he was cresting the wave of adrenaline he'd ridden from orbit, and if he stopped now, he would collapse. Fighting through the urge to rest, he ran to the nearest window. A carpet of glass tinkled under his boots. He cast his gaze around for any other foes. His suit didn't report anything in the immediate vicinity, so he leapt through the shattered window, and out into the square.

The crashed truck was some thirty feet from him. Even from here, he could see the vehicle was in bad shape. The whole rear half was crumpled, doors were twisted off their hinges, leaving a jagged hole. As he approached, the grey-clad figures next to it trembled, and brandished their outdated weapons. Vega ignored them, and inspected the vehicle.

Inside was a figure in grey fatigues, slumped over a metal bench. His neck was bent at an unnatural angle. The man's face was mottled blue and grey, so his features were hard to distinguish, but his hair was a light brown, not the brilliant blonde of their target.

"Target is not in the transport ," Vega reported. He cast around for a sign of where the scientist could have been dragged off to. Behind him, the fire from the Black Hand's corpse had caught in the timbers of the old structure. Flames leaped through shattered windows, and blackened the plaster facade.

"I've got Lazic," Gallagher responded. "You focus on relieving the friendlies on the north side of the square. Eagle 4, back him up."

"You got it, Captain," the British soldier replied. Vega heard the sound of jets being fired before the transmission ceased.

Ping.

A projectile winged off his shoulder. His suit's hazard detection system registered a series of impacts on the right pauldron, and displayed a set of calculated trajectories. Vega followed the phantom paths of the bullets back to their source.

Thermal imaging showed a cluster of bright blobs in a bombed-out lower floor. A handful of insurgents were hunkered down behind it, aiming their rifles through the window frames of the ruined structure. Vega flicked the toggle on his weapon. It hummed with power. He chuckled, and pulled the trigger.

The streamlined shell hit the brick wall, pulverising it into so much brown powder. Before the shrapnel even touched the combatants, the shockwave had liquefied their internal organs. Then the shell pierced their rudimentary barricade, and caught one man through the midsection. Most of his body abruptly ceased to be, as he was aerosolised. His extremities were flung across the room with such force the kinetic energy would have killed anyone they struck.

The patter of metal hail against Vega's armour ceased. He took a moment to catch his breath. It didn't last long.

The last remnants of the ambushing force were advancing north through the square. A small group of ill-equipped militia and another armoured behemoth were bearing down on a fallen infantryman, and a lone survivor who was shielding the casualty with his own body.

Vega fired without waiting for a targeting solution. His shots went wide, but got the enemy's attention. They turned to face him, weapons bristling.

He wasn't expecting a surrender, and they didn't disappoint. These Black Hand fanatics are tenacious to the last, he thought. Caught between two arms of a pincer, they unleashed a barrage of laser fire on him as they fled into a side street. Amon dropped down on a rooftop above them, and kept the pressure on with an answering volley of suppressing fire. While the enemy retreated, Vega dashed through the square to the toppled wreckage of a mechanised walker.

A blood-streaked man with a corporal's chevrons was hunched over a fallen figure. He was helmetless, his light brown hair slicked against his forehead by sweat. The body on the ground was barely more than a torso, but the corporal was busy fashioning a tourniquet out of a backpack strap to wrap around the man's ruined waist. Vega would have sworn he was dead, but he saw the man's chest move in fits and starts as he took ragged breaths.

"Eagle Leader, this is Eagle 3," he said over his squad channel. "I've got friendly casualties here, I need MedEvac, over."

When the confirmation came, he lay a gloved hand on the corporal's shoulder. "Hey, we got you, it's over." The man shook his head.

"No, my squad's inside. We have wounded."

Vega had to admire the young man's commitment to his comrades.

"We'll take care of them, son."

—

What was left of Sergeant Neumann was loaded onto a Hammerhead VTOL, attended to by a medical team nearly as kitted out as the RAID commandos. The twin-rotor driven craft ascended from the square in a flurry of dust towards the GST Madrid. The colossal aerospace carrier was crawling through the sky above them like a high-tech brick. It looked for all the world as if part of the cityscape had been torn up, and inverted over their heads.

Despite the raging fire to his back, Vega saw the young Corporal shiver as the MedEvac chopper took off. A team of local volunteers had already mobilised to douse the conflagration, but there was no hope of saving the building, only mitigating the fire before it spread to the nearby structures.

The rest of Eagle Squad had assembled in the square, towering over the rank and file infantry in their all-encompassing armour. They were keeping an eye on Lazic, who was cuffed in the back of Second Squad's APC, as well as a handful of Black Hand prisoners who knelt on the rough cobblestones. Even stripped of their armour, the fanatics cut intimidating figures.

Captain Collins, the commander of the Madrid, had descended from his lofty perch on the command deck to survey the ground-level aftermath of the battle. The man was tall, slight of build, and carried only a sidearm. He had eschewed a respirator and helmet for a simple cloth cap, as if he was on a parade ground, and not in an active warzone. Lieutenant James, the commander of the Madrid's ground contingent, stood beside him. She was a stocky black woman, and armoured similarly to the troops she commanded.

A low whining sound rose over the crackling of the fire. It grew louder, and shifted higher. Vega's weapon was in his hand before his conscious mind had even registered that it was a motor revving. The other commandos had heard it too, and were fanning out around the square, weapons raised. Captain Collins waved their weapons down, and strode to the front of the formation. Vega had an instant rush of dislike for the desk jockey. He was glad the mirrored visor obscured his expression.

A buggy rattled over the cobblestones and into their line of sight. It was little more than a roll cage on wheels. A souped up engine block in the front of the vehicle accounted for most of its mass, leaving little room for the driver, and a passenger who clung to the metal bars.

A young man with light brown skin and a halo of dark curls dismounted. He was dressed in a pilfered GDI flak jacket, over something that looked remarkably like an old Soviet afghanka uniform. As far as Vega or his sensor suite could see, the man bore no weapons, and he spread his empty hands as he approached to reinforce that point.

"These prisoners are traitors to the Brotherhood," he announced, and Vega was surprised to hear another Central American accent this deep into Eastern Europe. "We'll take them back to Riga, to face Colonel Radić's justice."

Vega would have spat, had he not been wearing his helmet. He wasn't about to breathe in corrupted Yellow Zone air just to prove a point though. "Like hell you will," he replied. "These men are our prisoners, and they'll face our justice."

"At ease, soldier," Lieutenant James reprimanded him. "He does have a point, though; it won't go over smoothly with my troops if we let the folks who killed their friends go free."

The negotiator gritted his teeth, and weighed his next words carefully.

"Trust me, they will not be going free. Remanding them into our hands would be a gesture of good faith, to show that GDI still trusts us to handle affairs in our own backyard. It would go a long way to convincing my people that you're not here as an invading army, especially with the collateral damage that's ensued…"

The officer nodded towards the blackened building behind them, and the clouds of steam rising from its frame. He shrugged. "You can still have Lazic. You get what you came for, and we all leave here friends."

Collins sighed, and strode towards the man, stopping when he was toe to toe with him. The well-nourished first-worlder was taller than the Nod officer by a good six inches, but his opposing number stared him down with a bemused half smile.

"The terms are fair. They're all yours." He extended his hand. The other man grasped it, and smiled.

"What the hell," Vega hissed privately over his squad's channel.

"It's not our operation, Vega," Gallagher reminded him. "Let's not piss the ground-pounders off; we still need them to give us a ride home."

Vega turned on his heel in disgust, and walked away from the negotiators as the logistics of the prisoner exchange were ironed out. His foot hit something soft and pliable. He realised he'd walked into the corpse of a man he'd slain earlier that day.

He turned over the fallen fanatic with the tip of his boot. The high-velocity rounds had torn through the man's spine, leaving only tatters of red-stained cloth and viscera. Clutched in his hands was a well-worn Kalashnikov.

Amon let out a bark of laughter as he joined Vega. "Savages may as well be throwing rocks, man."

Vega felt a pang of regret for the enemy combatant. Killing a man holding a century-old weapon with supersonic tank-busting shells was like … well, killing an ant with supersonic tank-busting shells.

"Yeah," he replied numbly. "Savages."

—

Raleigh clung to a handhold on the side of the APC as it rumbled over the rolling hills south of the city. Riding the running boards of the squad's transport wasn't his idea of safety; it would be less than ideal to survive the slugfest of urban warfare, then die tumbling under its rugged wheels. The troop compartment in the back of the APC was laden with their wounded, so this was the only alternative to walking the rest of the way.

Beside him, the white-armoured form of a RAID Commando held onto the vehicle with one hand. The figure's helmeted head slowly turned as they surveyed the landscape, forever on alert. I wonder if there's even a human under there. Cybernetics were verboten in the civilised world, but that didn't stop the enlisted ranks from rumour mongering. There were always new whispers spreading about off-the-books projects HighCom had supposedly authorised to gain the upper hand against the Brotherhood's fanatical scientist priests.

The Commando abruptly turned to face him, and Raleigh gulped. He steeled himself, and tightened his grip on the vehicle, determined not to look chickenshit in front of the elite soldiers of GDI.

The APC bounced, its suspension absorbing a particularly gnarly bump. Adam fought back a yelp. He could swear he heard a muffled chuckle from the figure behind him. Human after all. Their ride crested the hill, and the mothership came into view at the bottom of a valley. Recon patrols were establishing a perimeter around the colossal spacecraft. Adam saw flickers of blue light as Reclamation Squads cleared the area of contamination with sonic bombardment.

The Global Stratospheric Transport looked like someone had welded colossal turbofans to a city block. It had touched down thirty miles south of the city, in the only field wide and flat enough to accommodate it. The cargo ramp that unfolded from its side was as wide as a multi-lane freeway. Their vehicle thundered up it, and skidded to a halt inside the cavernous cargo bay.

A medical team was already waiting for them, stretchers at the ready. The squad dismounted, and gave the medics a wide berth. Private Williams was lifted gingerly onto a gurney while an attendant applied pressure to her wounded leg. The medical team whisked her out of the cargo bay and into a lift. Adam made to follow, but a square jawed man with short black hair blocked his path and held out a hand.

"Woah, where do you think you're going?" the medic asked him casually, in an accent Raleigh couldn't quite place.

"Becca - Private Williams - is she going to be alright?"

"She'll be fine mate. Right now I'm more concerned about you." The medic gently but firmly pushed him back. Adam relented, and let the dark-haired man guide him to a crate in the corner of the cargo bay.

"How long were you out there without a helmet?" He asked as he shone a pen light into Adam's eyes. Adam found it hard to think with the bright light in his face.

"Uh, two hours, maybe three?"

"Hm. Lift," he instructed Adam as he tapped an elbow. Adam raised his arms and tried not to squirm as the man prodded around in his armpit.

"Well, you don't seem to be experiencing any Tiberium toxaemia, but I'm putting you down for a course of prophylactics anyway. Take this" - he slapped a piece of paper onto Adam's chest - "to the quartermaster."

The medic patted Adam on the shoulder, and moved on to his next patient, one of the RAID team members.

"I'm gonna need you to take the helmet off now, man," he instructed the towering armoured figure.

Vega seemed reluctant to remove the protective item, even in the heart of this heavily armoured vessel, but he eventually caved to the medic's persistent cajoling.

Adam had been expecting the face of a grizzled veteran, but the man who'd saved him was remarkably young for the position he occupied. He was handsome, with a narrow face and rich olive skin. A blue bruise was already blooming around his right eye, which was stained red from a burst vessel.

"You did well out there today, kid." Adam bristled at the diminutive, but the prickle of annoyance was washed away by a wave of admiration towards the elite soldier.

"Would have been toast if you hadn't pulled my ass out of the fire, sir," he replied, humbly.

The armoured man shrugged. "We've gotta have each other's backs. But you already know that." He leaned in, to the medic's chagrin. "That was some ballsy stuff you pulled out there, throwing your body on the line. Have you considered applying to join RAID?"

Adam almost laughed, but Vega's gaze was serious, almost sombre.

Raleigh had joined the armed forces for the Dependant Support Benefits Bill in '49, right as the war with the alien Visitors was reaching its conclusion. He had no dreams of surviving ambushes and executing daring raids; he was more preoccupied with providing reliable housing and rations for his family than defending humanity on the front lines.

"I dunno if I'm cut out for it, sir," he eventually replied.

"Don't sell yourself short. You got the spirit kid, the drive to do what needs to be done. Just think it over." Vega winked, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I will, sir."

"Alright, you need to stop moving around and let me treat you, otherwise none of you are gonna live to see another firefight," the medic snapped at them both.