I can't exactly tell how many levels above it is, but another one our stay-behinds goes off with a dull, explosive thud. It's a different sensation than the larger explosions that have been rocking the base for the past hour-ish of our downwards stairway trip, both comparatively inconsequential and an urgent reminder all at once.
"Mikey - hold up," I say, and he stops in front of me, bringing the stack to a halt.
We had brought along a small assortment of devices to rig up for our pursuers - nothing too fancy, but enough to really fuck someone's day up. They weren't meant to kill crazy amounts of the enemy, just to buy us enough time.
"Sounds like four levels above," says Chris. "They're gaining." He's still at the back of our train, covering our trail with his machine gun. In the event any of those JSDF dudes managed to catch up, they'd be in for a very loud and painful surprise.
"Yeah, that tracks," I reply. "And we're only two levels from the Cage. Chris, leave a claymore this time - Mikey, once he's done let's pick up the pace."
Even with a blurred-out focus through my night vision, I reach forward and pat Mikey's armor backpanel, searching for a claymore by feel. I unzip a pouch lower on his back and retrieve the dull green device, pausing to reseal the pouch before handing the mine over my shoulder to be passed down the line. I hear quiet fumbling noises to our rear as Chris sets the device, then Ryo says plainly into my ear:
"You have the team."
I squeeze Mikey's elbow and our #1 takes us out. We're moving quickly - faster than we had been previously, but still slow enough to properly shoot anyone if the opportunity presents itself.
Managing stairs is tedious work - at the Unit, we had a small team dedicated to mastering the ins and outs of stairway fighting in a three-dimensional battlefield. We lost a lot of good dudes in stairways back in the days, fighting in the burnt-out ruins of cities ravaged by the Second Impact; those losses taught us the importance of caution and setting the right security when fighting in these places.
At present, though, I'm playing the age-old trump card to justify the increased pace: speed is security.
We blow past the next two landings, only covering the exit doors with our guns long enough to move in front of them, and we arrive at our destination: Central Dogma Level B-20. The doorway leading into the stairwell is already open, and rightfully so - two very dead bodies are sprawled out in the threshold, dressed in the same tan uniforms as we are.
"Fuck," mutters Mikey, as he stops just short of our fallen colleagues, his weapon still trained on the open door, "Two canaries down hard. Looks like SciDiv."
The smaller of the bodies is a young woman, her eyes shut tight - it's a little difficult to tell through the blurry green image of my NODs, but she seems vaguely familiar enough, a face I've seen in the crowd at the rec room or cafeteria. The other body, a man, stares into the ceiling, never to see anything again. His arms are wrapped tight around the woman… with a dozen exit wounds in his chest for his trouble.
They had been shot while running away.
There's no time to mourn them, not even enough time to close the dead man's eyelids, or drag the fallen scientists off to the side - somehow, the enemy was already here. Likely a special unit sent ahead of the main JSDF force, and with good intel on a route down that was faster than ours.
We have to go now. I look over my shoulder to see that the team is ready, squeeze Mikey's elbow once again and we make entry through the door.
He steps over the dead bodies and digs hard left, clearing a very short corner, and I follow after him, going opposite to the right to find the same. We're in a hallway, still bathed in the eerie dim glow of the emergency lighting, and it's littered with even more tan-clad bodies of NERV personnel. Each and every one of them is riddled with bullets, with most lying in pools of bright red blood.
They're all unarmed.
This is no raid, no base seizure - it's a fucking massacre. The JSDF is out for blood and for God knows what reason… and we'd have to be the same if we are going to walk out of this.
Mikey and I bump forward, making room for the rest of the team, and we fall into standard hallway formation with four guns up. Whoever is behind me squeezes my elbow, and I slightly elevate my rifle to signal that I am ready.
A quick glance to my left and I see Mikey also has his rifle tilted up. We make "eye contact" and nod at each other.
One-thousand one, one-thousand two and our rifles are back to the low ready as we begin to move forward.
We try our best to give our fallen the respect they deserve, but there's only so much floor space with much of it taken up by bodies and blood. If we're going to return the favor for them, we can't concern ourselves with manners until the fight is over. A part of me wishes we had been here sooner - maybe some of these people would have made it out.
None of them deserved to die like this. But whatever JSDF dudes we run into, on the other hand… they were gonna get exactly what was coming to them.
At the end of the hall is a T-intersection, adorned by a sign: an arrow points to the right, indicating that the Command Center and other facilities are in that direction. The arrow pointing to the left tells us that Cages 1-7 are there. Jackpot.
Mikey and I punch out as far as we can, clearing as much of the T as possible without exposing ourselves, before coming to a halt.
"Block right, clear left."
Once again: a squeeze on my elbow, and two tilted rifles to show that we're ready.
I count to two in my head and swing out, taking a wide step to the right of the T and blocking the intersection with my body. The rest of the team flows behind me, heading now in the opposite direction.
A hand claps my shoulder, "Last man," somebody whispers, and I turn to follow the rest of the boys. I fall in to the rear of the stack, covering our backside as we go.
A quiet few minutes pass as we make our way down the long corridor, passing the sealed doors of the other Eva cages. Shell casings clink together as our feet brush them aside; we leave red bootprints in our wake, stepping into and out of cold puddles of what used to be the life of our colleagues.
It's been a minute since I've had to deal with this kind of ambiance. At least it's not as bad as the shit we saw in the Impact Wars - for starters, there aren't any kids among the dead. There was a lot of that going around back in the days.
Speaking of kids, I wonder how those pilots are doing. I had seen them once or twice around the base during the past year - usually the redheaded girl yelling in German at the commander's son - and I'm glad I haven't seen their faces in the piles of bodies that we've passed.
If Major Katsuragi doesn't already have a plan to get them into the fight, I hope she comes up with one and fast. The sooner we can get those giant robots swatting planes and stomping troop carriers, the better.
I feel the team's movement slow, then come to a halt at about the same time I hear unfamiliar voices shouting in Japanese as they do whatever the fuck they came down here to do. We've reached the Cage, and it sounds like we have company inside waiting for us. I push my thoughts of the pilots out of my head and enter The Zone.
I don't need to issue orders, or tell the guys exactly what needs to be done, or even see what's going on- at this point, Ryo is now the #2 man and everything is in his hands. I simply bring my right heel to rest against Masa's foot in front of me, and continue to pull security to our rear. Waiting.
One-thousand one.
One-thousand two.
One-thousand three -
The Japanese shouting changes from issuing commands to screaming and cursing as suppressed gunshots go off, and a half second passes before I feel Masa's foot depart the space it had just occupied.
That's my cue - I turn on my heel and follow them through the door.