Author's notes: Started this story over a year ago. Figured I'd go ahead and post this first chapter. My love of Battlefield Bad Company should be relatively well-known. But this throws, I think, a nice mix into one of the most epic animes out there. Enjoy!
General Braidwood held up his ID card and snapped off a salute to the guards before entering the Pentagon. The blinding lights of flashing cameras and dozens of news vans cast his shadow on the floor. Inside were several more guards, all decked out in full Kevlar body armor just like the outside guards. No one knew what was what but everyone knew it was big. Not every day a nuke goes off on American soil!
The halls of the one-time medical facility turned-military HQ were a storm of frantic humanity. Everyone rushing from one room to anther in worn, sweaty class-A uniforms. Braidwood kept composure as best he could manage. Only one thing was sure to him, it wasn't the Russians. All news networks were reporting Russia's plead of innocence with various degrees of belief or disbelief. But after the trouncing his boys had given them in Europe, South America, and Alaska, Braidwood knew they wouldn't be that stupid. At least he prayed they wouldn't be.
Eventually the General found his way to Briefing Room A-51, used exclusively for situations pertaining to a not-so-secret desert facility in the Southwest. A facility that was no longer there, recently replaced by a massive crater! Braidwood entered to professional nods of several other uniformed soldiers, all with at least one star on their uniforms.
"Alright, gentlemen," an older General with five stars on his collar called out. "Take a seat and we'll get down to business." Braidwood and the others obeyed, shuffling into seats at a large round table. "Needless to say, every word from here on out is classified to the point of joining some of our fine VIPs in GITMO. I should also warn you to brace yourselves for what you're about to see and hear. This is not a prank, it's not a joke. We've already lost a few thousand men today and I'll be damned if I'm going to hear a single laugh!" he snapped. After a moment of confused grimaces and polite nods, the five-star sighed. Braidwood didn't blame him, the job's pressure drove him mad even with only four stars. "The only good news I have to offer is that for once the Russians are on the level with us. It wasn't them." More confused looks and hushed murmurs followed.
With a gesture to an MP by double doors the lights went out and a projector lit up the screen behind the five-star. Whose face darkened and didn't turn to see what he had already seen. Braidwood and the others looked on in confusion. It was security camera footage taken from the tower of the airstrip at Area 51. For a moment it merely panned left and right across the facility. Then came a zipping beam of light, like a meteorite entering the atmosphere. A blinding flash and several voices gasped in shock. Braidwood squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head to no effect. There on the runway stood a large robot, about ten meters tall and made of some almost ceramic looking material. Its armor was dark blue (almost black) and a shining, reddish crystal protruded from the upper left chest area, about where the heart would be on a human body. Its head almost looked like the helmet of a medieval suit of armor. The metallic goliath was made all the more surreal by the massive red cap dangling from it's back. It definitely looked like giant knight!
More gasps rounded the table as the ceramic giant drew a sword with one hand and what looked like a pistol with the other. Soldiers and airmen all across the compound began to vaporize as the robot blasted away at its puny victims. The robot paused to bring its sword down hard on parked jet fighters. It kicked a Humvee off into the horizon like a football. An attack chopper zoomed in to fire point blank at the colossal invader. It shrugged the bullets and missiles off like rain drops and swatted the chopper like a fly. Soon armored cars and tanks arrived, blasting the robot with everything they got. Even a shell from an Abrams tank barely dented its armor! The tanks and armored cars were soon stomped like roaches or skewered onto the giant sword like kabobs! The robot turned to the camera on the tower, raised its pistol and fired.
A flicker of static and the video resumed from the camera feed of an AC-130 gunship. Even the flying artillery battery was useless against the ceramic colossus, now stomping through the desert, having laid wasted to the entire facility. The AC-130 kept its distance, watching as A-10 Warthogs and F-22s made missile and strafing runs at the robot. It didn't so much as break its stride! Then the camera feed cut to a view from miles away, the malignant robot a mere speck on the horizon until the camera zoomed in on it. Then a blinding flash and the unmistakable pillar of smoke and fire billowing upward to take the shape of a mushroom! Braidwood joined in with choir of horrified gasps rounding the table. Another moment and Braidwood found himself panting for breath. "So it really wasn't the Russians! It was us!" he blurted out amid deep breaths.
The footage ended and lights snapped back on instantly. "The nuke did the trick though," the five-star grunted. "Thankfully it was low-yield, so we won't have to worry too much about radiation poisoning in the area. Some civilians were caught in the blast though," he paused for a painful moment of silence.
"Mary mother of God!" one general gasped to Braidwood's right. "Was that an alien robot?" he asked, clearly knowing the answer but needing to hear it from someone else.
"A Mech, actually," the five-star corrected. "Examination of the wreck revealed it to be a manned vehicle on two legs. And what's more, inside we found the remains of a human pilot!"
"So it's not alien?" someone asked.
"No it's definitely not from around here," the five-star answered. "But it's definitely human or something very close to it. That's all we've been able to deduce from the remains because it is quite understandably charred black."
"But the nuke hit it at ground zero! How the hell didn't it vaporize?"
"Hell if I know, but we're working on finding out. Getting back to the pilot, we have no idea who he is, but we do know where he came from." As if on cue, the projector lit up again to show a photograph of space. After a moment a ripple of shock and awe rounded the table as the generals all realized the translucent void in the middle of the photo was not a smudge on the lens nor the result of a damaged negative. "This was taken from the Hummel Space Telescope. NASA has traced the trajectory of our attacker to this point." The projector clicked to show several more photos, of what seemed to be a tear in the reality itself. Like a film ripping open on a movie screen. Braidwood noticed each picture had a different background of stars. "As you can see, the anomaly is moving. Orbiting the Earth in a wide arch.
"Well it sure isn't a black hole!" one general grunted.
"Could it be a rupture in some kind of cloaking device? Masking a space craft of some kind?" asked another.
"In prevailing theory, yes that's the most likely explanation," the five-star answered.
"A Klingon Bird of Prey now?" Braidwood groaned with a roll of his eyes. "This just keeps getting better and better!" He kicked himself as all eyes fell on him. He hadn't wanted to say anything that could be taken as a joke, but couldn't keep silent anymore. To his relief, there were no laughs.
"Oh the best is yet to come, General Braidwood. In fact that's why you're here."
"Not sure how helpful I could be, sir," Braidwood shrugged after a moment of thought. "Space warfare isn't my expertise any more than the next general."
"No, but good men for hopeless missions are. More specifically, Charlie Squad, 1st platoon, Bravo Company of the 222nd Battalion." Braidwood's eyes narrowed. Last he'd heard, Bravo-One-Charlie, was still on line duty up in Alaska with the rest of Bad Company. "Space Force and NASA have devised an ambitious plan to send a manned space shuttle into the anomaly. Whatever the hell it is, it's where our extraterrestrial attacker came from. And frankly, there's no telling if, when, or where the next attack will come! Our satellites have been watching the void like a hawk for the past twelve hours. Nothing has yet come in or out. But we can only cross our fingers for so long." The five-star paused a moment to take a deep breath. Braidwood saw exactly where this was going, and liked it no better than his superior.
"Needless to say, this whole thing caught us with our pants down. Not only have we discovered we are not alone in this galaxy but that we are ridiculously outgunned! The only effective resistance we've found against this technology is a nuclear blast. And we can't very well drop a nuke EVERY time these damn things show up! Furthermore, while we've kept the whole thing under wraps, saying it was a terrorist attack, we're not the only ones who watch the skies. Which means we're not the only ones who saw the Mech come down and we're not the only ones who can see the anomaly. And we're definitely not the only ones who put two and two together. As we speak Intel, NSA, and CIA are turning over every rock in the dirt for leads. Hell! We've even got our paranormal researchers pulling some theories out their asses. Apparently some have a theory about tarot cards and have reportedly zeroed in on a VIP somewhere in Asia! Probably a wild goose chase like those ghost chasers usually do," the five-star grumbled.
"Yeah, because space aliens are all just fairy tales too, right?" A younger, cockier one-star general snorted to a mild huff of laughter that circled the table, even found its way to the five-star. Braidwood only sighed. It all told him just how desperate things had become. A global conflict with an old rival had just ended and now alien invaders had shown up. Out of the boiling pot and into the fire! Now intelligence agencies were consulting fortune tellers and mediums!
"Tarots and horoscopes?" another general huffed. "What is this the Reagan administration?" another round of short laughs.
"The point is," the five-star snapped, Braidwood figured he was a republican. "There's not a moment to lose. Normally, if you can even use that word here, we'd start throwing probe satellites at it. But resources are low so we're killing multiple birds with one stone. We're sending a shuttle directly into the anomaly. Before entering, the shuttle will eject communication beacons to relay transmissions from whatever lies beyond that cloaking device, in theory anyway."
"And what astronauts would be crazy enough for that mission?" Braidwood asked, already knowing the answer.
"None. The shuttle Atlantis has been outfitted with the most advanced AI on or off the books and a revolutionary new automated system. According to some, Drones are the way of the future. The shuttle will essentially pilot itself and coms beacons will be ejected automatically on route to the anomaly as well as before entry. But of course once it's through, we all know there's no substitute for real soldiers. That's where your boys of Bad Company come in, General." Braidwood cringed. "In one of your own reports, you claimed that Bravo-One-Charlie, has one thing that even the best of our spec ops boys don't. Luck by the bucket-load. And that's exactly what we need right now. And, pardon my callous morbidity, but they ARE Bad Company."
"Yes, sir," Braidwood tried hard not to growl. "Cannon fodder, disposable assets, expendable! A quartet of misfits who are in fact only the mildest and least bad of Bad Company. One of them has been due for retirement for months, a retirement he volunteered for the unit to get early so he can retire and go fishing! An unlucky nerd from Jersey who accidentally uploaded a virus to our secured network. A Texas country bumpkin/pyromaniac who blew up an officer's latrine out of boredom. And one army brat with a clean record save for taking a chopper on a joyride and getting caught! In peace-times all four of them would just have been processed out of the service but with a war on we sent them into the meat-grinder, not only do they survive but they break the damn machine and practically gift-wrapped victory on three fronts for us! Each time we've promised them tickets home and each time we used those tickets to wipe our asses! And now that the war is over and a scary new enemy has reared its ugly face we're doing it again! Only not into a meat grinder this time but a blast-oven! We've sent them on suicide missions before, but this is way beyond the worst of them, General! We're giving them a death sentence!" Braidwood finished with a sigh.
Silence echoed off every wall. They were all generals, all knew the score and had all made peace with it a long time ago. Sending soldiers to die was part of the job, it was how nations survived. How they always had! But this was different! They had no idea who the enemy was, what their intentions were, or even if the Mech attack was intentional. For all they knew it could have been some nightmarish fluke, or a tragic coincidence. But even Braidwood understood they couldn't depend on that possibility. It was cold, calculating, and even callous. But sending his boys in was the best of the worst options. Years as an officer had taught him there's often only two choices; bad and worse. Bad Company was the Bad choice.
"I understand your frustration, General Braidwood," the five-star said after almost a minute of silence. "But it must be done. POTUS and the rest of the joint-chiefs have approved and endorsed this plan and unless you have a better idea, it's the one we're going with."
Braidwood sighed again. "Alright, General. I'll get special actions division on the horn and have them down a Cape Canaveral ASAP."
"Good man!" the five-star nodded.
"I do have one request though," the five-star raised an eyebrow. "I'd like full access to all intel pertaining to the mission. If I'm going to send my boys up there, I'd like to see the whole picture, and I'd like them to see it too. They deserve at least that."
"Very well, then. I'll have Intel send you all their files so far and keep you posted. Further details will be waiting for you and your men at Cape Canaveral. And in the meantime, there is one more piece of info that may be useful if your boys are…uncooperative." Now it was Braidwood's turn to raise an eyebrow. The five-star slide a small file across the table to Braidwood, who flipped it open and almost dropped it in surprise. Bravo-One-Charlie never ceased to amaze him.
…
Allen Schezar gazed across the desolate landscape that was once the capitol of Fanelia. The tattered, decaying remains of destroyed houses and buildings were still visible, but trees and shrubberies were quickly growing and reclaiming the land. Some houses were being rebuilt, scattered refugees of neighboring nations flocking to King Van's domain to rebuild their lives. The young king welcomed them with open arms. Allen figured Van was eager for the company. He had even recruited some of the refugees as guards and soldiers, though he made little effort to arm them with guymelefs. The time for fighting was over, or so Van insisted. Allen sighed at this thought, he knew better. Dornkirk was gone, but the remnants of Zaibach remained and were still persisting in their fallen Emperor's delusions. Hence the reason for his visit.
The guards at the wooden gate to the reviving city had told Allen he might find him among the builders. The proud swordsman merely followed the signs and sounds of construction. Some Guymelefs had been repurposed for building, their weapons and armor removed. Allen caught sight of them immediately, towering over the young trees. There at the foot of the towering behemoths stood King Van of Fanelia. Surrounded by workers and women and children gazing up at the Guymelefs in awe, Van was looking as rugged as ever. A sleeveless red shirt, working slacks, and not so much as a circlet crown atop his head. Allen smirked, Van never was one for ceremony. But other monarchs of Gaia who didn't know him personally might not be as understanding.
Allen cleared his throat. "Good afternoon, your majesty," he said with a deep, slow bow. He looked back up to see Van's friendly smirk.
"Hello, Allen," the young man said.
"As informal as ever, are we? A true king of the people."
"Fancy titles and elegant words aren't much use when there's work to be done."
"Indeed, oh king. Might I have a moment of your time?"
"Of course," Van turned to the workers, all of whom nodded and went about their business, preparing logs and lumber for the Guymelefs to move into position. The wooden structures were up to five stories high and housed dozens, possibly hundreds of people. Not the best lodgings on Gaia, but the best Van could manage with his kingdom's very limited resources. The princesses of Asturia had offered assistance over the past three years, but Van was hardly one to accept favors when all kingdoms were still hurting from the war.
"I must congratulate you, old friend!" Allen said when they had walked some distance off into the trees. "You have managed to turn things around for your kingdom very nicely these past few years."
"Thanks," replied Van. "It hasn't been easy, but these…apartments have been helpful." Van nodded back towards the building under construction. One of several Allen had seen since entering the city.
"Oh yes! Hitomi spoke of such structures on the Mystic Moon didn't she?" Van's eyes fell, his face dimmed with melancholy. But he forced a smile and nodded. Allen kicked himself from bringing her up so early. It had been three years since she returned home. Her deep connection to Van had gifted them with visions of each other and sensations of each other's well-being. A year ago in his last visit he was startled to learn that Van's visions and sensations had been growing fewer and further between. He wasn't sure why. His feelings for her hadn't changed, but Allen knew time had a way with hearts and minds. Van was losing her and he knew it. Allen trembled to think of such things, Hitomi had once been dear to his own heart and in a way still was. But the thought of Van losing her somehow seemed even more painful.
"You could always go to her, Van," Allen said. "It worked before, and surly there are plenty of Energists in storage you could use to power up Escaflowne. Just go to the Mystic Moon, tell her how you feel and if she'll have you, bring her back to be your queen."
Van's eyes brightened for a moment and a smile spread his lips. Both quickly vanished. "You know I cannot do that. Escaflowne's time is over. The time of war is over. I can't go back to the ugliness I was before, I'd be unworthy of her. Maybe that's why she's forgetting about me. Maybe she doesn't want to remember the man I once was. If so I don't blame her," his voice trailed off in sorrow.
Allen sighed. Van was still beating himself up over his past anger and bloodlust. He probably still had nightmares of the men he killed. It was good that he took no please in killing, as no one ever should. But his over-reactive pacifism would do his kingdom no good in the long run. Precisely what he had come to tell him. Allen knew his prospects of reasoning with Van were slim.
"You were no monster, Van," said Allen. "If you were she never would have loved you, and she did. And still does, I can feel it as sure as I did when she returned for you." Van smiled but said nothing. "That isn't why I'm here, though. I'm here to ask your help."
"Of course, Allen! Anything!" Allen wasn't convinced.
"Zaibach is becoming a problem. A bigger problem than Asturia can handle alone."
"The remnant? They're a rag-tag handful of hold outs. You said yourself they'd run out of steam eventually."
"That was two years ago! Not only have they not run out of steam, they've rebuilt much of their industry and are turning out more Guymelefs! They're still not nearly the force they once were but they're growing more powerful. Their attacks are becoming more frequent and bolder! A week ago I engaged a squad of Zaibach Guymelefs in the Mystic Valley. They were digging. My men and I ambushed them, taking out all but one. Some kind of green gem had been unearthed. A crystal the size of a Guymelef! I moved in to attack the last one but he struck the crystal and shouted something, I guess in ancient Draconian, and the Guymelef vanished in a blinding flash of light!"
"Vanished?"
"Or so I thought until I we returned to base. A flash of light was spotted, trailing off into the sky towards the Mystic Moon! Like the light we all saw the day Hitomi left."
"You think it was sent to the Mystic Moon?"
"Possibly. No one has seen or heard from it since." Van stared off in silence. Allen knew what he was thinking, it had occurred to him as well. From what Hitomi told them of the humans on the Mystic
Moon, none of their weapons or technology were as advanced as Guymelefs. There was no limit to what even a single Guymelef could do there.
"I don't know what this means for us, or Hitomi, or the people of the Mystic Moon," Allen sighed. "But it does mean Zaibach is still after the technology of Atlantis. And they are still determined to conquer Gaia. The truth is, we need you Van. And we need Escaflowne!" Van looked thoughtfully at Allen but soon hung his head with a painful wince.
"Please, give me some time to decide. I'll have an answer for you within the week," Van said and turned to stride back towards the construction site.
"Thank you, Van," Allen said and turned towards the city gate.
"Oh, and how's Celena doing?" Van stopped to ask.
"Much better now," Allen answered. "Oh and that reminds me! Do you watch the stars much?" Van shrugged. "Celena has taken to astronomy as a hobby and for the past five days she has noticed something in the sky between us and the Mystic Moon."
"Oh?"
"At first she thought it was a meteor or a comet, but now she's convinced it's a ship of some kind. She says it appears to be made of metal! Didn't Hitomi say something about her people being capable of space flight?"
"I think so, but nothing like I did with Escaflowne. You think it could mean trouble?"
"I don't know. But Celena is keeping an eye on it. For all we know it could just be a problem with her telescope," Allen and Van laughed and went their separate ways.
After the sun set Van and the workers retired for the night. Merle had dinner ready for Van at the smaller but beautiful palace. She had gotten better at the culinary arts over the past few years. But she was jumpy and clingy as ever. At times Van could tell she still wanted him, though she wasn't as pushy or jealous about it anymore. He knew she missed Hitomi too, though her pride wouldn't let her say so. After dinner Van went out to his balcony and looked up at the Mystic Moon. His nightly ritual for the past three years. He gazed up longingly towards the home of his beloved. Why couldn't he see her anymore? Had she forgotten him after all? Had she found someone else?
Then something caught his eyes. He squinted then held his hands over his eyes like binoculars. Something was up there. Too far out for him to see without a telescope but from its shine it could have been metal. One thing was for certain. It was coming from the Mystic Moon and it was headed for Gaia.
…
Private Preston Marlowe blinked awake, unaware of how long he had slept. Another day in Bad Company. Another day in a weightless environment an increasing number of light-years away from home. In a pressurized, air-tight spacecraft, hurdling towards their likely demise at the speed of sound. For a while Preston didn't think his squad's luck could get much worse. Then they got that call from Braidwood. The overnight flight to Cape Canaveral, the viewing of footage that confirmed an alien invasion with tech ripped straight from a 1990s anime! Then the news that they had been selected to man an automated space shuttle on a week-long trip to what appeared to be an alien space ship with a slightly ruptured cloaking device. Even for expendable assets like them it was kind of hard to accept.
Sarge had been the most outspoken in his objections. Sweetwater was caught between his general nervousness and the thrill of space exploration. Haggard wasn't thrilled about it, but that alien Mech and its explosive capabilities had intrigued him. He smelled a new way to blow stuff up! Preston was beside himself. He'd been looking forward to going home. Seeing his mom and little brother again. Tell them all about his adventures, or misadventures, and eventually wow them with a shiny surprise.
"Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow… No tomorrow… No tomorrow-o-o," Preston slapped his hand over his face as Private Clarence Sweetwater's voice softly echoed through the bunk room. "And I find it kinda funny and I find it kinda sad… The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I ever had…"
"WILL YA SHUT UP? SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" Private George Haggard's shrill voice wailed from his bunk. After a moment of shocked silence Sweetwater grunted and apology. "The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I ever HAD?" Haggard repeated the verse in disgust. "What does that mean?" he muttered to himself before repeating the question aloud. Sweetwater was beginning to explain when Haggard cut him off to ask if he was familiar with an old commercial song. It happened Sweetwater did know the song. Seconds later Sergeant Redford ripped the curtain of his bunk opened.
"How about this song, morons?" he snapped. "I've got a fist… And I will clobber you… If you don't stop with this singing… No jury will CONVICT ME!" He finished the ensemble with a strong operatic baritone. Preston shoved his bunk curtain aside to see Sarge's fist jutting out from the top bunk. "Now both you assholes shut your asses and go back to bed! And let's us just try and relax for the last damn nap of our lives!"
"So you really think we're done for on this one Sarge?" Haggard asked after a moment of careful silence.
"Look around you Hags!" Sarge snapped. "We're in a spaceship pointed at some flickering hole in space, for all we know some kind of mobile black hole."
"Actually no, Sarge," Sweetwater cut him off. "Black holes don't move, they're voids of antimatter left behind when a white dwarf star explodes in a supernova and basically just become a vacuum of gravity and all other matter."
"Sweetwater… JUST SHUT UP!" Sarge roared. "The war was finally over! The Russians were finally finished! I was FINALLY going to go fishing and now THIS! We don't even have our damn nest egg anymore!" Preston and the others all sighed at the memory.
Sarge raised such a stink with Braidwood the general eventually snapped on him! Told them all to sit down and shut up. That it wasn't his call and the situation has changed. Went on a tangent about how in the Army we do things by the numbers, and our new enemy had more. Once they all cooled down Braidwood gave the "good news". We wouldn't be paid as regular soldiers, but there'd be a bonus involved. Tax free. He handed us aerial photographs of the Haggard family estate in Texas. The family's "end of the world" bunker was highlighted with the word "Treasure Trove" stamped on it. All four of them went cold in an instant.
"How did you find out?" Redford had asked.
"I didn't," Braidwood had replied. "Intel found you out a few short months later. Knowing where the gold was had shifted their priorities back to combat. If you had kept on playing nice they intended to send a team in to retrieve it a week or so from now. But our alien friends changed all that! But this simplifies things. If you pull this off and come back in one piece, the gold is yours." Redford was silent, but nodded along with the rest of them. It was a sad and beaten-down squad that put on space suits and boarded the space shuttle Atlantis and took off into that great vacuum of deadly uncertainty.
"So you don't think they'll keep their word even if we do get home, somehow?" Sweetwater asked.
"What they hell do you think?" Sarge snapped. "Our chances here are way worse than they ever were! And even IF we don't get blown to bits going into that thing! And IF we can board whatever the hell it is! And IF we can fight are way out and figure out how to navigate the damned thing home, and those are some big IFS there… Ain't no way they're gonna let us just walk away with all that gold! They'll need it to pour funds into R&D! Try and catch up with ET out there! They'll probably just let us all go! IF they don't decide to lock our asses up! Another big IF!"
A sullen silence echoed through the shuttle. "What about the aliens?" Preston asked. "Aren't you a little curious about them, Sarge?"
"Oh you damn right I am. Curious of how to strangle their asses best!"
"Now that's more like it there, Sarge!" Haggard cheered. "Hell, we're gonna go on in there and kill em all to tinny little pieces!"
"Well, if we survive the impact with that force-field," Sweetwater sighed.
"Oh force-field, shmorce-field!" Haggard huffed in his usual nonchalant attitude.
"All we can do is hope the AI knows what to do once we enter," Preston said.
"And that's another thing!" Sarge snapped. "How the hell can your ass be so damned calm about this?" he sneered at Preston, who shrugged.
"I don't like it any better, Sarge. I just don't see how complaining will help now. Guess I've been in Bad Company too long." Now it was Sarge's turn to sigh.
"We all have. Now try to go back to sleep, we'll play cards or something later," he grumbled before pulling his curtain shut. Preston and the others did the same. The rift they were heading towards was about twice as far from Earth as the moon. They had spent the past week fighting boredom with tooth and nail. Preston would have been happier to have been sniping Russians! Nothing to do but listen to music, play card games, and try to ignore Sweetwater and Haggard's arguments...and hope Sarge didn't strangle them! Hopefully tomorrow would be the red-letter day. Hopefully they'd enter the rift and NOT die.