The fight raged for quarter of an hour. Snow had begun to fall and the cold temperature beginning to settle. Both Private O'Crem and the Theron Guard were tired, however Skorge seemed to run off limitless amounts of energy. He would surprise O'Crem by focusing on the other Locust before swiping his chainsaw staff in his direction. Throughout the fight between the three combatants, the Theron Guard and O'Crem left each other alone, both in the thought that this new Locust was the bigger threat to them both. Eventually Skorge had an opening. He lashed his staff at Scorm until the latter dropped his Lancer. Scorm slipped on some soft snow, if he hadn't Skorge's chainsaw staff would have severed his head from his shoulders. However Skorge did manage to slice the throat of his opponent, and ended his move to face O'Crem. The COG soldier knew he was in trouble, wishing he had of fled while he had the chance. He glanced at his original opponent on the ground clutching its throat as fresh blood swept over its already dried bloody hands. Skorge hissed, his fork-like tongue lapping in the air to fuel his monstrous hiss. He raised his staff for the killing strike.
The familiar sound of the Hydra's scream resounded above them. Skorge, with his staff raised high stopped to look up. O'Crem closed his eyes, praying that being sawed in half was not as painful as it had looked. After ten seconds of waiting, he opened his eyes to see Skorge gone. All around him was white. White skies, white snow, white fog. O'Crem spun round expecting his opponent to reappear and finish him off. He didn't show. O'Crem jogged towards the direction he last saw the previous Locust and found him on the floor. Scorm's eyes darted around trying to keep busy lest they fall still and he died there. O'Crem discarded his Lancer now confident he wouldn't need it in the case the wounded Theron Guard made an aggressive move. Scorm, now noticing the COG growled angrily, blood bubbled from his throat.
"Nu-uh man, you're not dying yet." O'Crem said finding some strength left to punch the Locust square in the face, knocking it out. Finally, after a dozen deep breaths and enjoying the silence, O'Crem radioed Control.
"Control, this is Private Pete O'Crem from the Lanmouth assault team. All KRs are down, all of the squad is dead, and it's just me. I need extraction."
A grizzled old male voice responded from O'Crem's earpiece.
"Private, I have an op going pear-shaped in Landown, limited resources and men, and you want a pick-up? What the hell happened to your squad?"
"Reavers, and a creature I've never seen before, much bigger than a Reaver. Downed all the King Ravens. I spent twenty minutes fighting solo against two Locust big-shots… One's still alive but unconscious. The Locust were fighting each other, like some civil-war…"
"Oh. Wow. I'm sorry. Here, let me get away from my not-busy desk, call my own not-busy pilot to get your BUSY butt back here for medals, Champaign and cheese on a fucking stick!" The male voice interrupted, his tone full with sarcasm, "Son are you out of you're…" the voice was cut off, some whispering was audible, "You got lucky son, KR Tango-One-Thirteen just volunteered to pick you up. Looks like it's first-class to Jacinto. As soon as you touch down report to me, Colonel…"
Shit, O'Crem thought.
"…Hoffman at control. Expect to be court marshaled if you have anything less than miraculous Intel to share. Hell, I'll get them to tie you to the floor in the Hollow, and send a Grindlift straight down on top of you to mess your innards good. Hoffman out."
O'Crem dwelled on the thought of a Grindlift burrowing down from the ceiling of the Hollow through his chest and wondered if he'd shit his pants before he was crushed. He then scavenged a body bag from his down KR, emptied its contents, hefted the unconscious Scorm into the bag, then moved towards an LZ he vividly remembered on his flight to Lanmouth dragging the Locust behind him.
"There we go, Ugly's all patched up." The squad's medic, Rendell, said as he finished stitching a bolt linen bandage onto the Theron Guard's throat. "That should hold till Ilima."
On the opposite side of the troop bay O'Crem looked puzzled.
"I thought we were on our way to Jacinto."
Tango-One-Thirteen had been in the air for nearing an hour; O'Crem had been very grateful for the lift and took it in turns to thank all the members onboard. Besides the medic Rendell (who was dressed more like a civilian than as COG in his leather jacket and combat trousers), there was Sergeant Giggs, Private Prescott, the pilot know as 'Air Time', and the squad's marksman Private Smith. Despite the teams' pleasantries and the welcoming attitude, O'Crem was in no mood for a change of plan.
"Through this weather?" The sergeant said, chuckling afterwards, "You've said you've been through one aerial engagement today, I'm not risking my squad's safety on a flight through snow, fog and possibly razor hail. What's so important about this Locust anyway? What separates him from all the other shit-faces underground?"
O'Crem had a speech planned; he knew that question was going to crop up, either from these guys or Hoffman. Probably from both.
"I saw him fight another Locust… a type I've never heard about, dreadlocks, chainsaw staff, capes, robes… He scared the shit into me more than any other Locust has. I think he's important, and this," O'Crem indicated to the Theron guard lying unconscious on the floor, still inside the body bag, "This one knows what I'm personally dying to know."
Sergeant Giggs looked from Prescott to Smith to Rendell and back at O'Crem. He reached for his rucksack and pulled out a flask of water and tossed it to O'Crem.
"Sounds like a shit day." He said giving him a wink.
The King Raven entered Ilima City a half hour later. The LZ was clear; it wasn't a helipad, more of a renovated asphalt pitch for some sport. The C.O.G had taken over large and key locations in cities to act as their base for local operations such as evacuating and extracting troops or civilians. This court was small and deserted. The pilot 'Air Time' looked around confused. As he turned his head O'Crem noticed a tattoo saying 'Air Time' in italics across his neck, indicating why people called him Air Time.
"It's empty… But it was packed two days ago on my last run…"
The Sergeant nodded as if it jogged his memory. Private Smith by the side of him hummed.
"He's right sir, it was like Tyro Station during rush hour, and now it's… a ghost town."
"Ilima's command centers move all the time, probably chose one with more shade, put us down AT." Giggs said still eyeing the empty court suspiciously.
Tango-One-Thirteen landed, dust kicked in the air and drifted back down when the rotor blades whined to a halt.
Suddenly a large gate in the middle of the fence wall surrounding the orange court swung open and roughly ten men marched towards them. At first O'Crem thought they were C.O.G personnel, but as the view cleared it turned out they were civilians, badly shaven, ragged clothes, carrying an array of blunt objects, baseball bats, wooden planks, lead pipes. Sergeant Giggs' jaw dropped slightly.
"What the fuck…" he whispered, "Prescott find out what they want, don't get too close."
Private Prescott nodded as he jumped off the KR walking towards the mob, hands raised.
"Woah woah, guys, guys. This is military property now, you can't just bust in here." He said calmly still walking towards the men. One of the civilians was in front of the others, he spoke first.
"You bastards promised us food… water… nine fucking days…"
"The other soldiers said they'd be a day tops," Another of the men began, "We waited with our families right here believing they'd return."
"But you fuckers." The first man to speak took over, taking a few strides towards Prescott, wooden plank in his hands. "You left us for dead. Those best be supplies in that chopper."
Instinctively, overhearing the argument, O'Crem zipped up the body bag covering the Theron Guard's body; he would pass it off as a dead comrade they were bringing back for burial.
However most of the men in the gang heard the zipping up of the bag. Whether they thought it was a ploy to hide supplies from them or something else they wouldn't know. But Private Prescott seeing the mad glint and rage in the men's faces knew he was to close for comfort.
The man at the head of the gang raised his wooden plank, swung it back quickly to gather force preparing to clobber Prescott when a bullet from Private Smith's Longshot struck the centre of the man's skull, his head explode into blood, bone and brain. There was a second of eerie silence as Smith prepared a bullet for another load… he jammed the gun.
"Shit! Come on!" Smith shouted in frustration trying to fix his gun. The gang of men, now nine of them charged.
"Prescott run!" Giggs shouted trying to find his weapon to provide covering fire. All the other soldiers had stashed their weapons in a compartment at the back of the KR, confident they wouldn't need them save for Smith. With the marksman's weapon temporarily out of order, they were screwed.
Prescott ran but some of the men out paced him, one of them tackled him to the ground, screaming as he fell to the floor another man kicked his ribs. A third man brought his baseball bat hard down on his head. Prescott remained still. Air Time had already started the KR's rotors, and the blades struggled to spin at enough speed to lift the aircraft off the ground. The six men who didn't stop to deal with Prescott reached the KR. They tried to dive into the troop bay. Giggs lashed out at one of them with his boot kicking a man square in the face, the crack of the nose splitting under force was sickening and the victim fell off on top of another two attackers. Smith used his Longshot as a club trying to bat away the others who used their own weapons against him. O'Crem and Rendell were quickly trying to open the weapons case at the back of the KR. The case lid opened and as O'Crem's hand brushed against his Lancer Tango-One-Thirteen lifted off the ground but lurched to the left. O'Crem and Rendell were forced off the KR onto the ground, trying to push themselves away with their feet as the KR moved alarmingly fast towards them.
Air Time was panicking, all the training drills of a Stranded rush on his KR left his mind, and he toyed with the controls to see if he could right the helicopter and spin the attackers off. He didn't know two of his comrades were in danger of being crushed by his actions. As the medic and soldier pinned themselves against the chain fence the propeller blades tilted in their direction came closer to their position. All of a sudden one of the mad men jumped on his window and elbowed the glass. The window shattered. Air Time put his hands to his face to protect himself, and the KR lurched to the right, away from the two in peril.
"This bird is ours!" The demented attacker screamed as he wriggled his way into the cockpit hands round Air Time's throat.
Giggs and Smith were getting tired. Now eight men against the two they both individually thought abandoning the aircraft was a sound strategy.
"Air Time! We're getting off this thing! Let them have it!" Giggs said as he backpedaled further into the troop bay, only noticing that O'Crem and Rendell were not onboard. Instinctively thinking about the mission he saw the body bag and rolled it out the KR. O'Crem, who caught his breath back ran to the packaged Locust and dragged it back towards Rendell.
"Air Time!" Giggs shouted desperately looking into the cockpit. The pilot's head was limp in the hands of his strangler. Air Time was dead. Giggs felt the KR tilt over. He grabbed Smith by the collar of his COG armor and tossed himself and the private off the KR. They hit the floor rolled and came out sprinting. The mob had not noticed their escape but tried to scurry away from the helicopter as it fell on top of them. The propellers grinding against the asphalt and finally exploded. Screams and groans of the men under the weight of the wreckage filled the air and the sound of the motors ceased. The KR then proceeded to explode. A fireball flew into the white sky. All of the men in the mob were dead or burning. The four COGs did not wait for the aftermath, Giggs found another gate, kicked it ajar and ushered his team and O'Crem, who carried the body bag with Rendell out of the court.
"But… did Air Time…"
"No Smith he didn't!" Giggs snapped as they ran down the street. "We need to find a truck or a jeep, anything to get us out of here before more Stranded show up."
"Sir? We have no map or weapons besides his Longshot…" Rendell stated, beginning to pant as a result of jogging and carrying his own body weight in the form of a Locust in a black bag.
"Then I suggest we march double-time to find a vehicle, or find a tourist kiosk and teach Smith here how to reload." Giggs said now feeling the pain in his stomach from jogging. He slowed to a walk, wincing in pain, the others slowed for him. Sergeant Giggs put his hands on his knees…
"Kid," He looked at O'Crem, "Welcome to Gamma squad… don't get to comfortable… with your good luck I don't expect the next time we fly out they'll be a Gamma squad… All the god damn KRs crash when you're involved…"