Interlude 1: Sleepless Part 2
12 August 2017 a.t.b., 0300 hours
Toshima, Area 11
All it takes is a single imprint to hunt down your digital shadow.
It's a common fear in the modern day. The internet has countless tales of fraud and theft via the digital record.
For the institutions of the government, the threat is not so pressing. Peacetime only draws the bored and the malicious, not the truly motivated. Defacing a web page now and then is the best that most can do.
To hack into a system, be it analog or digital, requires persistence. Talent only gets you so far. Time makes up the difference, what with experience and the prodigious library of bugs, worms, and viruses a hacker can accumulate over his years.
A DDOS and a shell insertion are the most basic tools of the hacker. And yet, they remain the most used.
The true hack is the result of carelessness. A back door is just a snippet of code that neglected to prompt for a password at the right moment. An entire email mailbox can be extracted by chugging out an n permutation solver for the password. Convenience is the best weapon of a hacker, as well as a hacker's downfall.
Just as it takes a single missing line of code to break down a mutating firewall, a hacker's security can be broken by a single oversight.
3:00AM
Kingfish00: Magecraft? Servants? This sounds like one of those visual novels that /a/ keeps bringing up.
Wearenot###: at least there aren't vampires or killers that see death
xXDeadPrincesXx: it does make sense
xXDeadPrincesXx: britannia has built enough training programmes for EU, the federation, and their militaries combined.
xXDeadPrincesXx: i'd think it'd be for some supersoldier thing
xXDeadPrincesXx: why wouldn't they be scared of one scratch-built from the EU with that power?
Wearenot###: Atlantic, you for real? Is this really legit?
DeepAtlantic: It's real.
DeepAtlantic: Uploading clip now.
+ Upload in progress …
+ Upload 100%.
…
…
…
3:10 AM
xXDeadPrincesXx: that was brilliant
Kingfish00: Well, Atlantic, you have my congratulations. You have merchandise of value.
Wearenot###: Fraps and quality are surprisingly good. I agree with fish and Princes. Princes, you have anything from your sources?
xXDeadPrincesXx: Atlantic's first comments on supersoldiers isnt as crazy as it sounds
xXDeadPrincesXx: there doesn't seem to be a pattern at first
xXDeadPrincesXx: but when you hear that Treadstone was involved with a guy named Bourne
xXDeadPrincesXx: it looks like something starts to fit
xXDeadPrincesXx: you see what im getting at?
DeepAtlantic: Are you saying that there's a pattern? Rebirth, Enfantes, Treadstone- Bourne, Immortals?
xXDeadPrincesXx: look at how much shit Britannia went through to get at Treadstone. Darwinian supersoldier? please.
xXDeadPrincesXx: they went from chem and rad to messing with peoples minds.
xXDeadPrincesXx: why do you think they wentfor knightmares? biology didn't work
Wearenot###: smells like horseshit conspiracy theories to me.
Wearenot###: we're connecting dots that are at worst completely coincidental and at best something from a bad scifi novel
xXDeadPrincesXx: try occhams razor the simplest solution is the correct one
Kingfish00: Maybe so. Britannia's been obsessed with the Darwinian imperative to improve the human condition.
Kingfish00: Posthumanism is fairly plausible once you accept that Britannia has already dedicated a vast quantity of its resources towards the goal.
Kingfish00: They've focused at creating "homo superior," and if your info is true, then they've explored all possible routes towards H+. Chemical, irradiative, genetic, psychological, sensory, and vital alterations. All of these so-called augmentations seem to be aimed at increasing operational life and effectiveness of the subjects.
Kingfish00: "Life" seems to be a fitting theme.
DeepAtlantic: Then how do Servants and Masters fit in?
xXDeadPrincesXx: they're EU, right?
xXDeadPrincesXx: so it wouldnt follow brit convention.
3:15 AM
Kingfish00: EU convention never dealt with supersoldiers, though. Why would they be involved with it now, and be more advanced than Britannia's Immortals?
Wearenot###: This is interesting but it's all speculation about the past
Wearenot ###: EVEN IF ITS REAL there's a bigger problem
Wearenot ###: the more important question:
Wearenot###: How would a war with the EU would turn out?
Wearenot###: If they already have Servants in Area 11, then Britannia has to respond by deploying Immortals.
Wearenot###: But Immortals aren't made for stopping WMDs. Then what can Britannia do?
Kingfish00: I would guess that they'd have to follow that girl Tohsaka's advice. Do they have their own Servants?
DeepAtlantic: Yeah, but they only have two.
Wearenot###: Well, they never said what the numbers of Servants were. For all we know, it could be 4 or 400 on the EU side.
Kingfish00: I think it's more that these Servants are undetectable. They're perfect for terrorism.
Wearenot###: Oh, I see..
Wearenot###: Britannia's military isn't suited for hunting down only two people in an entire Area. And if one can take down a next-gen knightmare, then Britannia is in some real deep shit.
Kingfish00: Exactly. All the EU needs is one to destroy Pendragon.
Wearenot###: Then why don't they do it?
Kingfish00: Britannia would crush EU's military. A direct attack on Britannia would result in Britannia cutting off all Area Eleven's sakuradite from the EU and an invasion of an unprecedented scale. The EU would face Britannians from the MEF and across the Atlantic. There's also no guarantee that the Chinese Federation wouldn't attempt to invade as well.
Wearenot###: So they'll just sit tight.
Wearenot###: Atlantic, how are things on your end?
Atlantic: I'm uploading the rest, brb.
xXDeadPrincesXx: are you going for another dive?
xXDeadPrincesXx: take me with you?
DeepAtlantic: Wait your turn, Princes. I don't need a wingman just yet.
DeepAtlantic: ttyl in 5 min.
Her third pen cracked immeasurably between her teeth, but it was enough for her to toss it away. She was going to have to run out for more after going through her supply after this sort of surveillance.
… Yeah, I'll do it when I really need to.
She tossed out the shell. Flexing her fingers, she resumed her digital assault on less-protected mainframes. She scoured the databases for any information about the completely insane discussion between the most powerful people in Area 11.
"smells like horseshit conspiracy theories to me." That much was true.
Code R was one thing. But this?
There's absolutely nothing here to corroborate what that girl Tohsaka said. Nothing on the internet, nothing in their databases. Did she lie?
No, the Prince and the Director of OSI backed her up.
But if this was real, then why do the Purists need to know? If the EU already has the majority of these 'Servants,' why haven't they defended the MEF or invaded Area Eleven?
Why aren't there ANY records of Rin Tohsaka in the Britannian mainframes? For that matter, why is an Eleven so respected?
I can buy Treadstone. It's already an internet legend. Immortals too, with that video clip from the Second Pacific Incident. Servants …
The boys online are clueless too. Already, they're nerdgasming-
Gaaaahhhh. I need to rest. It's been 30 hours already.
She replayed a clip, sliding up her quarter-inch thick glasses before they fell off of her nose.
C:\C\BlackC\08122017
+ camera 1 1:47:00
… "Rider, General of 4th Armored."
+ filter
Nothing happened. There were no layers changed, no digital effects.
+ camera 2 1:47:23
She watched the back of the room.
It's actually as if he appeared out of thin air.
…
This puzzle won't beat me.
Let's say this was all true.
Cornelia dead, two ubermensch- no, they're not men, they're something else- here with a super robot to investigate.
One 'Servant' that did this damage. That's who they suspect.
Who has that Servant? The Japanese? The EU? Both?
But …
Well, whatever. I'm diving back in.
The whirr of the processors in her custom desktops and the taps of her two favorite keyboards soon filled her ears.
Her instructions soon began to fill the command prompts of her three partitioned drives.
It was quite simple, actually.
Her first drive, Pacific, was her cheapest computer, her dump drive that could be tossed anytime. It acted as a shield, a mask that could lead any white hat on a merry chase when the jig was up.
Right below was Atlantic. It did defense lines, synthesizing worms and viruses that required more processing power than DDOS or e-bombs. It performed just as well as a drain, consuming all data that was ready for the taking.
Her last, C, was a 100-core beast. Pricy, but worth it. She built it during her single year at the Imperial Colchester Institute, and there was no other machine or person she was more attached to. It could outthink anything, outpacing OSI's Think Deep Blues by a full second. It was bulky, it wasn't pretty, and it dimmed the room when it ran at half-power. But it was her best, and it was her first supercomputer.
Each computer was outfitted with 32 gigs of RAM, and was serviced by two-score hard drives. They stood in rows, soldiers ready for orders.
And I'm their commander.
Her lieutenants were prepped.
Pacific execute
P+\ understoodrunningsubroutines
Atlantic set performance == 30%
A+\ Understood.
C+ execute defense protocol + prepare data collection routines
C+\ Already done. 30% of OSI infrastructure already infected. Would you like a cup of coffee with that?
C+\ y/n?
C+ y
Hah. I'll need that cup soon enough.
… I'll need to work on C's social protocols.
She was ready. Finding a new PROXY host might be difficult, but all good things had to come to an end.
But she would be ablhe to get one last shot with her current PROXY.
She looked through the dossiers being searched by the agents near WilhelmPDA. The signal was dying, but she still had enough of a connection to look at the dossiers being pulled up.
C:\OSIA11A\NetSEC\Profiles ls
White Hat
Black Hat
Grey Hat
Anon
C:\OSIA11A\NetSEC\Profiles cd Grey Hat
The OSI user paused, those extra seconds allowing C to infiltrate into twenty other computers.
…
C:\OSIA11A\NetSEC\Profiles\Grey Hat cd Oceane Coupe
Oceane Coupe
Shit. Well, that was fast.
"I want all of NetSEC up and on this. Get a team on Toshima's power grid."
"Brant, how are we going to find this hacker? We got lucky with the trace, but-"
"I'm flushing her out. Agent Noble, worry about getting NetSEC ready instead."
"… Yes, sir." All Noble could do was listen to his superior officer. Noble was the lead agent of Brant's team, but he was a proficient network security operator in his own right. Perhaps Brant knew something he didn't, because George Noble didn't see a way to coax the intruder from Toshima. Hell, even her location, 'Toshima', was suspect. The signal was only detected for a few seconds before it vanished.
So Noble could be excused for wondering what his Director was thinking. What could NetSEC, a counter-cyberterrorism task force, do with the Toshima power grid?
Still, orders were orders. Noble left the room, leaving behind the jumbled mishmash of laptops and cables inside the makeshift OPCOM center.
Brant ignored the closing door, and opened Oceane Coupe's file. The screen glowed harshly on his face in the poorly-lit vehicle, but he didn't need to stare into light to know the file he had written a year ago.
Name: Oceane Coupe
Aliases: C, Atlantic, Pacific
DOB: 02/23/1995
M/F: Female
Activities: Hacking, Network Destruction, Cyberterrorism
Attended Imperial Colchester Institute for computer science. Was expelled during her study abroad period in Area 11 per request of Director Brant. Eluded arrest shortly after. Current whereabouts suspected to be in Tokyo Settlement.
Extremely capable with her team of hackers in digital infiltration and sabotage. Confirmed involvement with insurrectionary data trafficking, digital trespass, and aggressive destruction of high-security military networks and databases. Suspected involvement with Refrain cartels and Area Eleven resistance.
Cyber Crimes and Terrorism Unit's Notes:
Recommended course of engagement: Coupe has known ties to several hacktivist groups with severe data distribution capabilities. Hence, a protracted engagement is not recommended. A strike team and a network blackout contain will cripple her ability to dump her data to a public server. Preferred method of neutralization is non-lethal, with an emphasis on tasers and other EM weaponry to disable her electronic warfare capabilities.
FURTHER INFORMATION CLASSIFIED …
PASSWORD: …
PASSWORD ACCEPTED.
Director's Notes:
Nobody knew Oceane Coupe until two years ago. Living on the streets for most of her life, she was Colchester's first student. She spent a year researching network security and computer engineering, before her study-abroad program shipped her to Area Eleven for sakuradite chips.
She appeared on our maps when she discovered Code R. Network security protocols established by Prince Clovis were inadequate for a digital attack of the magnitude Coupe had orchestrated. Despite OSI's best investigative efforts, Coupe's identity remained a mystery until she struck again at the Narita facilities. It took an entire NetSEC group to track down her location and her identity. Before OSI agents were able to arrive on the scene, Coupe had fled. Her assets were terminated, including her enrollment in Colchester, but Coupe remains at large.
So far, her current activity appears to be limited to mere data prods, and she hasn't released any information on Code R. We suspect that she lost the majority of her equipment during our raid, unless she has some sort of strange loyalty to Britannia still reserved in her mind. At most, she's a nuisance, but an incredibly dangerous one if she decides to act on the information she has.
FURTHER INFORMATION CLASSIFIED …
PASSWORD: …
PASSWORD ACCEPTED
Hello, Oceane.
You're at Toshima, aren't you?
Oceane Coupe jerked back involuntarily from the monitor. It wasn't that unexpected, but the delivery was surprising, to say the least.
I don't think there was a way Kayeri Brant could have actually found me, or any of his stooges.
Did they backtrace my proxy? I thought I masked myself. My ID's been spoofed throughout Area Eleven. There's no way they could have found me so quickly.
Nothing's in my computers.
They don't have anything on me.
But it isn't a lucky guess. It can't be. He knows it's me, and he knows where I am. But …
I don't think he knows where I am, though. Britannian stormtroopers haven't burst through the door yet. The biggest threat I face now is a digital one.
She began typing.
+ Pacific: set performance == 100% + firewalls
The comforting whirr of Pacific firing up its defenses gave Oceane a sense of security. She was a social outcast, weak, shunning society as much as it shunned her. Her computers were no longer tools, but her sole companions, assembled with no small pride as she up-spec'd them and networked them. Processing power that rivaled half of OSI's network infrastructure. Hungry beasts that required her to synch up directly to the remaining electric grid of Toshima. Data storage containing the records witness to the three long years she spent as a fugitive, searching for the truth of her persecution in the annals of OSI's-
She hid under the consuming sound, a luxury she enjoyed for exactly three seconds.
She switched to her main computers
+ Atlantic, C: set performance == 80%
The lights flickered. I guess I'll pay the rent early this week-
Wait, there's flickering.
She looked upwards for a brief second, and slapped her forehead.
A+\ OSI has detected Pacific
"And here we go."
Brant leaned back in his chair, overseeing the frantic scurrying of the cranky NetSEC agents around him.
Noble and Barnes's feet were pounding throughout the command vehicle, their voices blasting orders to the technicians and operators.
"Get those power grids up!"
"Yes, I want all of Toshima. No, I don't care about company policy, this is a direct order from an OSI agent. No, I'm not a terrorist, damn you. Do it. Now."
Brant motioned for his second-in-command.
"Noble, how's it going?"
Noble wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Brant, we have a major energy drain in Toshima, 35.73 degrees north, 139.71 degrees west. We'll have a better lock in a few minutes."
"Thought she'd fall for it. Shift NetSEC for offensive duties. She's running on some of the more ridiculous hardware out there, though. I want her pinned down."
"Got it." Noble didn't even need to turn around to the NetSEC team. They had heard Brant. "What now?"
"Tell our Purist friends to hunt her down. I'll prep a data containment team. A bunch of high-schoolers, you know how it is with these typical hacker-types. All you need nowadays is a bunch of youngsters and a few computers."
"… You choose the worst times to pick up your sense of humor, Director."
Kayeri Brant, Director of OSIA11A. The man was tired. It came with the job.
They never truly had pinpointed her when they found an irregularity from Clovis's PDA. The tracing program had jumped all over Area Eleven, and only stopped at Toshima when the intruder's security chased it out.
It would have been a dead end, were it not for Brant's plan. They were waiting for her to make herself visible on the grid, and the only way for her to show up on it was by forcing her hand.
That included the physical grid. It wasn't a coincidence that Toshima's power consumption jumped by megawatts when Brant typed in those two phrases. She was pulling power enough for a city.
And they had her location, server, and IP.
Brant popped in three mints. He earned it.
"… Well played."
Oceane was a practical hacker. She didn't throw her hands up in despair, or slam her keyboard into oblivion.
The only thing that could affect her next course of action was the ETA of OSI's forces.
It took her only a second to peer into the deployment logs of the jury-rigged base.
Two Purist knightmare groups? They're willing to devote that much hardware for me?
She knew that she didn't have time to hack into the entire force. One frame was possible, but twenty?
They're not sending in soldiers? If they're sending in knightmares …
Then I've found something they're willing to kill for?
What's that beeping?
She peered, through her thick, clouded lenses, at the user piggybacking on her hack.
Ahhh.
OSI had the nasty habit of sending in counterhacks with terribly themed naming schemes. Three years ago, she ran into a few called Patriot, October, Bear, and Dragon. In her small community, it was an injoke that OSI's cybersecurity team read too many military fiction stories.
Apparently, OSI caught on to this and began varying the names. It didn't really change much, but Oceane doubted that they liked their literary interests derided on the internet.
P+/ THREATS DETECTED
P+/ 90% OF THREATS ELIMINATED
P+/ ATTMEPTED INFILTRATIONS INCREASING
P+/ WARNING: INTRUDER DETECTED FOLLOWING WORM IN: OSIA11A\NetSEC\Profiles\Grey Hat\Oceane Coupe
P+/ BACKTRACE INITIATED
+ Pacific: Identify Intruders
P+/ SUPERUSER: Justum
P+/ SUPERUSER: Vindictam
P+/ SUPERUSER: Ultio
P+/ SUPERUSER: HOPE
P+/ AFFILIATION: OSI NETWORK SECURITY MOBILE
P+/ CONNECTION ERROR: HOPE OFFLINE
P+/ INTRUDER THREAT RESOLVED. TARGETING REMAINING THREATS.
Justice, Vengeance, and Retribution. Yep, theme naming. But Hope? That's … a little out of place. C's not any better for a username, but … Hope?
Then …
P+/ WARNING: INTRUDER DETECTED
P+/ WARNING: INTRUDER LOCATION: C:\C\BlackC\08122017
P+/ WARNING: DATA LOST: C:\C\BlackC\08122017\localcopy
P+/ BACKTRACE INITIATED
P+/ SUPERUSER: HOPE
Damnit. This 'Hope' is tenacious. She took that four minute clip of 'Rider.' I didn't think someone outside of OSI could tell what I had.
She peered into the trace on 'Hope'. His signatures were different from the OSI- or suspected OSI.
Hope isn't OSI. That's bad. If Hope could beat Pacific's tracking before Pacific got through, then he can find Pacific again.
This was bad. Because of that power surge, she revealed herself to the more savvy side of hackerland, from OSI to Anonymous. Though Anon wasn't the force it was hyped up to be, OSI was. This "Hope" character … If someone could see her, then her worms and proxy were compromised. Once she could be backtraced, Pacific would be detected and vulnerable to a counterattack.
Pacific was smart enough to keep out a NetSEC team for ten minutes, but after those precious minutes, Pacific would be compromised.
Bing.
And true to her fears, warnings began bursting onto her monitor. OSI's NetSEC already began its attack.
Oceane knew she only had a minute to make her decision.
She couldn't run. She wasn't going to surrender all of her equipment and data, not like this.
There was no point in running, anyways. She wasn't exactly an athlete.
So what were her options?
Surrender.
Yeah, that seems fun. Like they'd care for a hacker who nobody knows outside of the net.
Run.
Nope, not gonna give up my children.
Fight.
She could blow OSI wide open.
She could have her compensation for Colchester.
And, if for nothing else …
Why not?
Oceane pulled up her chat window.
3:20 AM
DeepAtlantic: I've been found out. Guys, I'm going for broke.
The screen remained blank, until-
Wearenot###: Firesale?
xXDeadPrincesXx: is it OSI?
Kingfish00: You're fighting?
DeepAtlantic: I'm going to dump everything in OSI into this server live.
They knew what that meant. OSI's secrets, as many as Atlantic could reach, would be streamed directly to the private server they were on. But to stream that much data live would consume roughly 30% of her processing power. And once Atlantic fell, then all that data could be tracked to the server.
In effect, Atlantic was giving up her security, her identity as a hacker, for the members of the chat.
Deep Atlantic, the stingy, selfish hacker who hoarded all of her secrets with an iron grip.
Deep Atlantic, where annals of information vanished into her shadowy depths.
Alright, maybe those descriptions were embellished by kids and grown men with white skin, too many pimples, and not enough of a social life to actually care that they were propagating an internet legend for no other reason than the Rule of Cool.
Even so, this action was uncharacteristic.
xXDeadPrincesXx: you're a boss, Atlantic.
xXDeadPrincesXx: i'll set up chain dump servers.
xXDeadPrincesXx: dont worry, you can show those pigs what a fight is
Wearenot###: I'll help Princes. You can do it.
After that, their names went dark. They were lurking, they were there, but that was all they could do.
Oceane felt something she hadn't felt in a long time.
Heh. I guess I expected that. Kingfish already bailed-
Her monitor blipped.
Kingfish00: Don't be a fool. You're going to need all of the help you can get if you want to escape.
She stared at those words for five seconds.
Open: Private Chat
DeepAtlantic: Kingfish, what do you want?
Kingfish00: To win. To the point you can escape unscathed. Don't you want that?
…
Now, that was surprising. She gave it some thought.
To escape? That was never on my mind. He's right, in a way. I can only win by beating OSI, Brant, Britannia.
Oceane cracked her knuckles and stared at the long white-silver scar on her wrist down her forearm.
She remembered Colchester and the night sitting in her dorm's bathtub.
How do you cut the ocean?
You can't. You just leave it be, and eventually it will cut itself.
And Brant didn't leave me alone.
An ocean of knowledge.
A deluge of data. A denial of service coordinated by 164 cores, mixed with the backdoor spyware in OSI's mainframes.
Brute force wasn't her style, but a DDOS of such magnitude would be a fitting opening salvo. She would test their bulwarks. She would ready herself to destroy the dams.
The ocean was cut, cut so wide it would engulf the one who tried to penetrate it.
She didn't know it, but Oceane would hold all of Area Eleven by the throat that night.
Upload: Begin: 0%
Estimated time to completion: 128 minutes
"Sectors Four, Five are compromised!"
"She's eating through the entire mainframe! Access Controls is out!"
"Data Containment Unit is down! We're completely blind, no connection with Toshima servers!"
Brant rolled his eyes and kicked his feet up onto the table. It went to hell in seconds. What previously was an ordered column of the best network operators in Area Eleven became a mob of distressed brains packed in a command vehicle.
"Director! Director!"
Brant stared blankly at the panicked analyst from NetSEC.
"She took over our bastion host!"
The stare continued.
"She's using us to hack our own mainframe! Damn it, Brant, what are your orders?"
I think I'll be exercising my eyes quite a bit. "That's 'sir,' Agent Brown. Try pulling the plug. I'm going to talk to King. I'll also need a line to the Prince. Get those for me in two minutes."
"But-"
With that, Brant walked out.
"Agent Seo. Or 'DreadPrinces,' whatever you're calling yourself."
Snerk-"A-ah, Mr. Brant! You caught me napping!"
"I just want a favor. Can you see the end of this escapade?"
"Erm, isn't this a bit short on notice?" The Japanese girl- well, lady, but damned if anyone could tell, she looked like she was still in high school with that short haircut- frowned at the director.
"Mm. I'd have thought you'd have predicted I ask."
"It doesn't work like that, Brant-" She blinked. "Oh. I guess it kinda does."
"Good girl. Get that good end ready."
She smiled cheerfully. Her nodding head and bobbing sidetails had to bring a smile to Brant's face. "Yessir!"
The Toshima Police Plaza's emergency line rang. A tired lieutenant responded.
"You'd better have a damned good reason to call this early-"
"All units, hijacked Purist frames inbound. Engage and terminate."
"Whazzat? Damn, hijacked knightmares?"
"Be warned, all IFFs are currently malfunctioning in Toshima. Refer to OSI's Military Action Branch for target acquisition and clearance."
"Now jus' hold on a sec, who's this giving orders? I'm telling you, if this is a joke-"
"Director Brant out."
"Knights Actual, we've received clearance to shut down Sakuradite Disturbers along your warpath, over."
"We could use some close air support, Warhawk. Thanks for responding on such short notice."
"No problem, Colonel. We always look out for one of our own. Gunruns and airstrikes will be available in ten, over."
"Copy your last. Over and out."
Jeremiah rolled his eyes. Colonel King was enjoying herself way too much.
"What is it, Jeremiah?" Her smirk appeared on the closed channel above his HUD.
"I'm all for superior force, but even this seems a little excessive."
"We're about to attempt a contain of an entire ghetto with only twenty knightmares. We're not exactly suited for the job."
Jeremiah's group sped towards the south of the Toshima ghetto, while Mackenzie's was about to break off to enter the west. He saw her point.
There was no way in hell they would be operationally secure in that environment.
At best, knightmares were lacking substitutes for heavy armor. Their high profile and light armor made them unsuitable for open field or standard urban warfare. Ironically, they also needed open fields to use their speed, and urban environments for cover.
And their role was to perform exactly in those two theaters.
They did a damn fine job of it.
They were a rapid strike force, filling the gap between force reconnaissance and interim armored vehicles. Despite their apparent misalignment with this role, there was a reason they won the Second Pacific Incident.
That was why devicers selection numbered 20% of all applicants, and why Purists, for all their misplaced ideologies, were regarded so highly.
The knightmare was akin to a jet on the ground. The human element made the knightmare frame the most devastating weapon in Britannia's arsenal. Tank or APC aces never truly existed. With speed came a greater capacity for a man's mind to explore his weapon's destructive potential.
But verbose verbiage aside, King's point was well-grounded. A ghetto wasn't like a city. It was difficult to take cover behind tents, or maneuver on shattered concrete. A city's skyscrapers and asphalt were far better suited for a knightmare frame. Skill mattered less than luck in the ghetto. Hence, calling air support was a useful comfort.
"Still, you just happened to have an entire wing at your command right now? It's barely morning."
She had to chuckle at that. "1st Group Wing Warhawks won't forget their commander so easily. Besides, they're itching for a fight, what with these Disturbers clipping their wings."
"I see. Still, I don't like acting behind the Prince's back."
Mackenzie grimaced. "Neither do I, but Brant knows what he's doing. Would you want any of the regulars or honoraries to handle this?"
"No. I'm not entirely certain about the information, but if it's leaked to the media, true or not …" Jeremiah sighed. "By the way, what were you talking to Brant about?"
Mackenzie's expression became a curious one. It looked a little nostalgic, almost longing. "Nothing special. Old times."
"…" He was speechless. "Old times."
"Yep."
"Are you serious? Old times- You're barely 22! Unless you played together as babies, I sincerely doubt that you qualify to say you're reminiscing about 'old times. And besides, what would you have in common with him?"
"He's born from a noble line, you know. He could've been the chief of the Federation, but he decided to complete his tour with OSI."
"Watch your words, King. I wouldn't put the Iroquois anywhere near the Purists. Besides, how do you know so much about him? Wait, don't tell me … Are you interested in him?"
"Don't worry about it."
"Don't worry? He's not- The Purists would never approve- I mean, what do you see in him-"
She smirked. "What a response, Margrave Jeremiah. 'What do you see in him' seems to be insinuating something, but I can't quite place it."
Jeremiah's momentary shock had turned into a scowl. "Mackenzie, this isn't a joke. Don't kid me around like that. He may have served with your father, but he is not one of us. The Party is genuinely concerned about your line."
"Which I'm perfectly capable of taking care of."
"I don't doubt that, but you could go a lot further than being a career soldier-"
"Like becoming a Margrave? That's not my calling."
"I'm not saying that, but even in a command position, you-"
Jeremiah's reply was cut short by a burst of chatter from Mackenzie's side.
"Oy, Mack! We're about to break off!"
Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. "Mack?"
"Unit cohesion. Your boys don't call you Jerry?"
"No."
Mackenzie shook her head disapprovingly. "You're so uptight. See you on the far side. Give Kewell my regards."
"Will do. I'll see if I can set up a perimeter, cut off any escape routes. But don't think you're getting away from this. We'll continue this conversation later."
"Copy." Mackenzie moved her hand up to close the channel, but she paused. "Hold up, incoming OSI transmission. Patching through now."
Brant's voice stretched over the comms channel. His face was hidden in a cloud of static interference, and it was difficult to hear him.
"-kzzzhh- King, we have a fairly major situation over here. Clovis's G-1 Base and OSI facilities are under heavy cyber assault."
"Brant, where do you need us?"
A bursting sound overwhelmed Kayeri's initial response. "-repeat, we have her location, get to her ASAP. Screw the contain. Uploading coordinates now."
"Copy, Brant. Who's the HVI?"
"Oceane Coupe, Britannian cyberterrorist. Take her down, leave her alone, doesn't matter too much. Your priority one is on destroying her equipment."
Mackenzie and Jeremiah opened the file that followed.
A pale brunette in her teens stared at them through near-impenetrable glasses. Her hair was short and ragged, just like the shirt she was wearing. To be honest, if Brant didn't say that this target was female, neither one of them would have been able to tell what gender Oceane was. It was hard to believe that this short, scrawny androgynous girl was giving an OSI Director grief.
A frantic scene flickered on over the channel. "Shit, agents down, agents down! Someone get a medic in here! Shut down all computers now! Brant, we need to evacuate now!"
Two frames showed Brant's rolling his eyes and sighing in exasperation. "King, be careful. You're about to lose OSI oversight. Your Purist infrastructure is separate from the Army's, so you should be safe. Find a command channel ASAP- Well, damn. She found this channel-"
The channel was shut.
Jeremiah and Mackenzie stared at each other through their HUDs. Jeremiah was the first to speak.
"I don't suppose that this is a search and destroy?"
"Looks like it. I'll set things up with our own command. If Prince Clovis's communications are compromised, then I don't want him in contact at all. You saw what happened with OSI. Changing command to our own will shield us for now."
"Hm. And we get all the glory. Not bad, Colonel."
"Glad you follow, Margrave. Scrap splitting, everyone on me. ETA five minutes, but let's make that two." King opened the channel to the entire Purist knightmare group.
"Knights, coordinates on grid. This isn't a hot ghetto, but anything that even looks like a bogey gets it. Prep weapons even with friendlies. We have a cyber in the area, so expect increased comms interference. As soon as we're in, sole contact with Purist Command, no outside comms unless you're bingo or you're punching out. I want knights on the field in two minutes! Group B will be providing overwatch. Jeremiah, take point!"
A savage grin grew on her face. "Let's nail this bitch, boys!"
The resounding reply echoed over the channel.
"Yes, my lord!"
Upload: Complete: 10%
Estimated time to completion: 119 minutes
They raced towards the building.
Residents opened their eyes to the rumble of shredded concrete and trampled tents.
The contingent of Jeremiah's fifteen Sutherlands hummed ahead of Mackenzie's unit, their red shoulders distinguishing them as Purist variants of the purple 5th-gen knightmares that were just replacing the Glasgows. They weren't just armed with the Purist normal slash harken, stun tonfa, and assault rifle package. Outfitted with sattel waffens, and three heavy 120 mm cannons, Jeremiah's squad was kitted out for long-range support.
Jeremiah's own Sutherland carried two pairs of sattel waffens, one on his cockpit and the other on his hips. Uncomfortable as he was with missiles armed on the center of his knightmare and next to his cockpit, Jeremiah acknowledged the tactical decision. Admittedly, this deviated from the Purist tradition of close-range combat, but that role was already filled by King's unit.
Glimpses of red intertwined. Crimson Halifaxes led the charge, specially requisitioned by Purist Imperial Command. Officially recognized as the heirs to Captain Owen King's 3rd Squadron.
The fact that Owen King was a disgraced Purist and the members of the force were all mudmutts was never mentioned by Purists. Seven years was enough time for the squadron, developed into a tactical development group, to gain enough accolades and honors to wipe that particular smear off the record. After the Second Pacific Incident, Purist High Command realized that the knightmare tactics Owen King developed were the forefront of modern warfare. The 3rd Squadron only existed in name after the Second Pacific Incident, its members either deceased or drawn to other positions. Because of this, it was ripe for the Purists to take and present to the Imperial Army as the prime development field for the next war's requirements. And everyone knew there would be another war.
Fitting, then, that a King returned to lead "The Wings of the King" in the next war.
True to their nature as tactical development force, Knightmare Group A was given a variety of tools to work with. Not bleeding edge, but cutting edge. Tactical development never involved bleeding a force on tools too experimental to work.
Tactical development encompassed evolving tactics from infantry, cavalry, armor, and air force maneuvers to fit the unique nature of knightmare frames. Especially important was isolating the differentiating aspects of knightmares and building a doctrine upon it. Which meant, for The Wings, an entirely new knightmare line.
Characterized by its angular, pointed chest, sharply geometric armor, and reverse-jointed legs, the Halifax was decidedly distanced from the Sutherland main line frame of the Britannian military. A first glance would have judged it to be underarmed, fitted with only a submachine gun on a leg holster and two slash harkens in its arms. But to underestimate its capabilities would leave an enemy's command little to put in a body bag.
Right now, first glances from Jeremiah's devicers didn't impress them at all. With their reverse-jointed legs and their arms folded up, the five Halifaxes behind Jeremiah looked more like armored fighting vehicles than knightmares. Even then, that parallel failed. For all of their streamlined plating and styling, the Halifaxes were cruising at 60 km/hr, forcing the majority of Jeremiah's Sutherlands to crawl 20 km/hr less than their own cruising speed.
Kewell Soresi stared at the slowly shrinking force behind the five-Sutherland point squad he, Viletta and Jeremiah were leading. He permitted his annoyance to show briefly on the HUD's channel to Jeremiah.
"Lord Jeremiah, I understand your reluctance to follow OSI's commands, but we're fully capable of finishing this ourselves."
Jeremiah nodded, but his next words disappointed Kewell.
"Lord Kewell, this is King's operation. If she wants to test tactics by adding a new model to our forces, that's her prerogative. I know we're not required to follow Brant's orders, but King requested our assistance. We help our own."
"You don't have to tell me about helping our own. Mackenzie is a family friend. My problem is that this is one of the reformed ghettos." Kewell huffed. "What help would she need? The Knight Police cleaned this area up, and they could have captured this girl sooner."
He caught a glimpse of a crippled Eleven falling, blood pooling in his attempt to crawl away from the fast-moving giants. "When we get there, it's just going to be a quiet, short capture of a girl. This isn't worth our time."
Jeremiah only caught Kewell's last lines of his complaint, and swept the area with his factsphere. "Hah, quite so, Kewell. I doubt it's going to be quiet for long."
Officer Gavriel Whitfield of the Knight Police armed his 20-caliber Barrett anti-material rifle. His sergeant had pulled him out of bed, close-cropped black hair, wrinkled uniform, beer belly and all, into his Glasgow at some ungodly hour, and here he was, behind his riot-geared squadmates. Needless to say, he needed coffee, and more coffee.
Except he loathed coffee. How could something that smells so good taste so foul?
He sipped the liquid tar with trepidation. God, he hated that shit. He was spoiled from Area Six's cacao farms, but nobody deserved this cursed black mud.
"Bleh." The taste fouled his attitude, but it got him up and moving. "What the hell is this about, anyways? What's with the hardware?" He lounged back in his cockpit, watching the five other channels of his squad. He had clambered up to the roof of the tallest building in Toshima. Which wasn't saying much, since most of the buildings in Toshima were rubble. This one only had eight stories. The crumbing five above didn't count.
Elizabeth Stabler was the first to reply, a gentle voice floating across the channel. "Brass says that there's twenty Sutherlands on the loose. Elevens performed a grand theft auto, big time."
Santo nearly spat out the coffee he was sipping. "Twenty? They should have the army here for this, not the cops. Man, that must suck for the devicers who lost their frames."
A younger pilot piped up. "Yeah, since they're dead. I thought it was just five. If it's twenty, then the ten of us here won't stand a chance."
"That was the initial report, but they probably split up. Besides, I don't think brass would send us against 5th-gens outnumbered. Bet they got the army up and moving." Stabler pulled up her map on the Glasgow's HUD. "There's ten of us here, and two back at HQ. That's pretty much all the KP's knightmares in this part of Area Eleven. Stop scowling, too. You'll look even more hawkish than you normally do."
Whitfield scowled more, but let up with a bit of a smile as he stroked his nose. It had seen its share of fights, and was distinctly beaked from being broken a few times. "When I'm done here, no overtime pay from hell is going to be enough to keep me from tearing the captain a new one …"
"Some saint you are, Whitfield."
"Damn straight, Stabler. I'm the goddamn Santo Furioso."
Before Elizabeth could retort, a new channel popped up from HQ, drawing the attention of the squad. "Glad you guys are up. It's pretty bad. We've got a report from OSI that almost all of Toshima is compromised. They've ordered us to help secure one of their agents nearby and withdraw."
Stabler nodded. "Captain Vance, what about those captured knightmares? We don't have enough Glasgows or firepower to take them on."
"We've sent some M-30 tanks out. OSI says that all unidentified knightmares are hostile."
Before Stabler could reply, Whitfield's HUD began blinking. "Enemy force coming in, packing serious heat. I see five Suthies, automatic rifles, waffens, the works. I have a solution on three of them."
"Negative, do not-" Captain Vance paused, chatter on the other side of his comms interrupting him. "Yes, sir- No, I understand- Sir, with all due respect, even if we outnumber those frames two-to-one, I don't-"
A rattling sigh echoed across the channel.
"Knight Police, take them down hard. Good luck. I hope to see all of you back at the station."
"Lord Jeremiah, I'm detecting ten Knight Police Glasgows in the next building up the road." Viletta Nu circled in front of Jeremiah's frame, providing cover from any frontal assault.
"Raise them on comms, request their-"
The last words of Jeremiah's order were obliterated by a whipping crack, then the slam and screech of a falling Sutherland.
"Cover!" Jeremiah, Viletta, and Kewell dashed behind the wreckage of a nearby complex, the last member of their point squad caught by the second crack of an anti-material rifle aimed at Viletta's frame. His ejection pod was shredded by the hail of machine pistol fire, skidding on the ground and cartwheeling before the hatch opened. Nobody came out.
"Damn it! Knight Police, this is Margrave Jeremiah of the Purist Faction, Knightmare Group B! Cease fire at once, or we will return fire!" He cancelled the static-filled screens of the two devicers who ejected, widening his field of vision of the building that the Knight Police were occupying. "Viletta, Kewell, report."
"They're not replying. I'm reading a null on the inbound communications registry." Kewell pulled his frame closer to the protection of the concrete wall as a powdered hole was manufactured by a third crack and round. "We need to warn Mackenzie."
"Jeremiah, should we keep trying to communicate with them?" Viletta attempted to raise her factsphere above cover, but withdrew quickly to the sound of peppered snaps. Several fusillades of machine pistol fire kept her down.
"No. We have to assume that these Knight Police are traitors or terrorists. I'll get a line to Mackenzie and Grand Dragon."
"How did this happen? Our IFFs should read as allies." Viletta ratcheted the bolt back on her assault rifle, priming the rails for discharge.
Jeremiah likewise popped the lids off his sattel waffen. "I'm not worried about how, Lady Viletta. To think that Britannians or Elevens would attack the best of their species without consequence, that's what I concern myself with. We need to keep them in their hole before we're reinforced by King. Prepare to suppress those insolent bastards."
"Understood, Lord Jeremiah."
Two streams of railrifle fire chased the white and blue Glasgows.
Hisses turned into screams of ignition, Jeremiah's sattel waffen discharging its payload.
One missile out of ten led the pack, fired by Margrave Jeremiah. The warhead cared little that it was a Britannian missile, or that it was about to kill Britannian Knight Police. It didn't have much concern for the Purist ideals of protecting the bloodlines of the pure and powerful from the corrupting, pitiful filth that the Numbers carried. It had no idea that it was about to die in fire, a chemical reaction of medium-grade sakuradite and high explosive.
But if the missile could think, it would find the situation ironic.
Its life would be far more wondrous than any human's, short though it was. Rocketing through the night sky, glancing for the briefest moment at the stars before turning towards the target. At 90 feet, it would face the building for 0.023 seconds before the building became a blur, the sparkling shards of glass twinkling gently as its exhaust illuminated the sky for its brothers trailing behind. The black surface of the construct would be unveiled as grey concrete, the dust blown in clouds and the steel beams losing their tincture of corroded orange for a single second.
This missile would have the good fortune to travel into the building, locking onto a white and blue Glasgow with several scratches and he could hear the barely audible cry of "No, no" and a riot shield raised with a pistol drawn and the missile saw the shield that had the word Liza painted onto the side with a pair of landspinners desperately gripping the ground pulling it backwards ever backwards from the inevitable embrace-
"Elizabeth-?"
And the explosion blew Gavriel Whitfield's Glasgow to the floor, knocking his rifle aside. His head knocked into the side of the pod, his seatbelt preventing the worst of the impact from being focused on his cranium.
The next explosion was a sympathetic detonation of five missiles in close proximity, shattering the concrete support pillars at the fore of the building and tossing the four Glasgows behind them to the ground. That saved them, because the remaining four missiles slammed into the pillars behind them.
"All KP devicers, drop to the lower level!" Vance shouted his dread into the comm channel, the status of his team uncertain. "Give me a status report!"
"-kzzshhh- Willis, here."
"Norris, lost an arm."
"Cohen, banged up."
"-krsh-krsh-krsh- Creighton, here. Comms array damaged."
"Damon, here."
"Gordon-Levitt, here. Landspinners erratic."
"Bale-"
His transmission was cut off by an anguished cry.
"Liza- Liza, come on, respond-"
Vance spun towards his tactical display. Eight of his devicers were responsive. The only two unaccounted for were-
He grabbed his mike. "Whitfield, check in."
The static felt longer than the seconds it lasted.
"Liza- Elizabeth, talk to me! Liza- Liza!" These were shouts of desperation, from the frame dragging away the wrecked device of his partner. Santo's rifle laid precariously next to the edge of the building, death discarded for a protective gesture.
"Someone check in on Whitfield-"
"Sir, he's pulling Stabler back, requesting permission to assist downed officer."
"Denied, there's too much heat out there-"
Santo finally rejoined the channel, a note of relief in his voice.
"Officer secure. I'm still on the upper level, Captain. I'll provide cover here."
"Negative, get to the lower-"
"Can't do that, Liza's down. Her pod's shredded- Shit!" Bullets pinged against Gavriel's frame, echoing into the comm feed. "Captain, we need to take these fuckfaces out before their reinforcements come if we want to save her." A resounding crack punctuated Whitfield's statement.
"Damn it." The captain opened a direct channel to his officer. "Whitfield, this isn't one of the cartels you took down in Area Six. I can't have a loose cannon on my team."
"You're going to need me. There's fifteen more frames approaching."
Vance glanced at the display. A mass of dots confirmed Gavriel's assessment. He replied reluctantly. "If you're able to suppress them, do it. We're rushing in five M-30s to back you up, and we've just contacted the army. OSI just informed us that their agent needs immediate extraction, so keep them busy."
"Roger. What's ETA on the bus?"
"We can get medical assistance there as soon as the area is clear. There's a Red Wings of Purity center nearby, I'll see if I can send over one of their combat medics."
"Purity- Wait a minute." Gavriel focused in on the Sutherlands behind cover. "Those Suthies are wearing Purist colors."
The squad could almost hear Vance pale. "I thought that was an error on the mission intel. Can you contact them?"
"Negative, Captain. Their channel's closed, and- damn, their IFFs say they've been hijacked."
"Great. Thought as much. Are there any vital signs from the pod?"
"Weak, but she's alive."
"Then you're going to have to hold tight for five minutes. I'm diverting more of our resources towards them. The army likewise committed several of their Sutherlands."
"Got it." El Santo Furioso gritted his teeth. "Come and get it, Tohdoh and fuckface."
"King, this is Gottwald. We've been attacked by Elevens, and I've lost two men."
"Number of contacts, Gottwald?"
"Ten, Soresi and Nu are currently suppressing them. Looks like hijacked KPs with riot gear and a sniper."
"Copy. Grand Dragon, is there confirmation with OSI?"
The deep voice of Dragon joined the comm channel. "Colonel, we have numerous reports that there are twenty rogue knightmares in your proximity. OSI is down, but we are receiving this information secondhand from our sources in there. Priority is placed on your security and testing of the Halifax, with Brant's directive second. Your license for Ad Meritas Justifcatus is fairly open, but don't push it."
"Understood. Dragon, permission to establish a perimeter with Sutherlands and deploy Halifaxes."
"Permission granted, Halifax clearance is active. You are green for live engagement with the HDI-003s."
"Wilco, out. All Sutherlands, contain the enemy. Wings, enact high-profile combat mode. Ten bogeys in the building, weapons free on all."
"Yes, my lord!"
The group of Sutherlands split, surrounding the building. As target-rich the environment was, Gavriel could not obtain solutions for any of the Sutherlands. There were too many bullets flying for that.
It was only a matter of time before they would use their heavier weaponry to batter their cover into dust.
Gavriel may have been a furious saint, but not a foolhardy one. He retreated into the lower level, over tenuously provided by the intact floor of the seventh floor.
"Damon, how's Stabler doing?" He swerved over to the barricade formed by the riot shields that his squad was armed with. The pod of Stabler's frame was opened, and her profile was barely visible in the darkness.
"Stabler's stable. What's the status up there, Gave?"
Whitfield smirked wryly. "Bastards got us surrounded. I counted three cannons, eight missile launchers, fifteen Suthies in all. It's not pretty."
"Well, all we have to do is sit tight and wait for backup, right?"
"I hate to break it to you, but the KP's tanks aren't going to do jack squat, and the army needs ten more minutes to get their asses up and off the ground. We're the only force available that stands a chance against these guys." With that, Gavriel released his rifle and drew his machine pistol and anti-knightmare knife, spinning both once before crossing the knife over the pistol in a tactical CQC stance. "Use your cover. It won't last long, but we're a lot faster than those loaded Suthies."
A few of the pilots looked dissatisfied, and Gavriel knew why. These were Purist variants, and they weren't like the army's knightmares. If they dumped their loadout, a Purist Sutherland would put up a nasty fight in close-quarters with their stun tonfas. The Knight Police specialized in riot and dispersion tactics, with an unparalleled focus on knife fighting. Their anti-knightmare knives were from the Special Operations Group, surplus knives from CQC trials. They were inbuilt into the forearms with titanium edges, sturdy enough to slash into a Sutherland's armor, and with a deep serrated bite in on the backdraw to rip apart the wires and circuitry of their targets. One solid hit to a joint would cripple any knightmare.
Their Glasgows weren't the war machines their Sutherland siblings were, but they were agile enough to have a significant advantage in close-quarters. But the Purists, with their funding and unwieldy, obsolete traditions, afforded its knights stun tonfas and the training to make any sort of approach to knife range a dangerous prospect. The stun tonfas were tactically superior with their longer reach and discharge capacities. Still, one-on-one, a Knight Police officer would best a Purist, but not without significant electronic damage to his control and mobility systems. Even if the Purist Sutherlands were commandeered by Elevens, fifteen-to-ten was going to be close.
And all this disregarded the heat those Sutherlands were packing.
Still, though Gavriel wasn't in charge of the squad, he held a significant amount of respect. He was at top of Area Eleven's Knight Police Special Weapons And Tactics group, among the best shots with an anti-material rifle and consistently placing in the finals of the CQC competitions for both knightmare and personnel combat. His violent, albeit good-natured, temperament, his above qualifications, and his work in Area Six against the cartels gave him the nom de guerre 'El Santo Furioso." It was this that caused the squad to listen to him a minute before the estimated time of engagement.
"Break from procedure, go for cockpit shots. Broadcast a Code-3 over all channels. If you're hit by one of those tonfas, use the mass of your frame to prevent them from drawing a bead on you with their rifles. SOG knives ain't shit against a Suthie's armor, so stick to neck and joint jabs. We work as a team, and we're all getting back to the station."
"I'll say amen to that, Santo."
"Save your prayers for Calvin's selection, Bale. The only god this saint believes in is being Darwin's bitch."
"Break."
On that command, five Purist Sutherlands broke from their line, moving up to the entrance of the complex. Barely a second followed before the strange frames cruised into position. The hulls of the Halifaxes began rising out of their cradles, as their reverse-jointed legs unfolded and their arms extended. What was an ungainly, shark-edged tank became a stocky, unassuming, powerful frame. An angled head rose from its dock, its eyes flickering as it began communicating with its Sutherland allies.
King's HUD flickered, targeting reticules spinning and comm-transferred data appearing in the readouts above her head. "Kewell, transfer all factsphere data to us. I trust you already got the layout of the zone?"
"They're on the sixth floor, grouped in the center. Smart. Our waffens can't reach them."
"I'm not comfortable with this. How much ammo can we expend?"
"We're cleared for two k's of AP and one of HE each, and you're cleared for a k of depleted. Sarah has three k of AP and no HE, so she's lagging behind us."
"Gotcha. Wings, break left. On my mark, ascend to the sixth floor. Drive them towards me."
"Roger, Colonel."
Mackenzie's Halifax remained at the front. Her four squad members swept over to the lee of the building, compressing their legs in preparation for the jump.
She raised the front of her frame. The cannon within her chest nacelle began spooling up, the helix-fed rounds winding down the channel to prepare the feed into the seven barrels.
"Mark."
The pneumatic cracks of the jump shafts rang out in the desolate complex. Fully extended, the reverse-jointed legs launched the four Halifaxes into the air in a cloud of debris.
Aided by the initial burst, their slash harkens flew up from their hands to the floor directly above their target. It took them ten seconds to rise to the sixth floor. Another second passed with their factspheres mapping the zone of engagement.
Officer Damon was astounded. He was facing right at them, hiding behind cover while four enemies just performed a tactical rappel in his line of fire. He pulled the entire channel.
"They're here. Right in front of me, in the open."
"Wait, don't." Gavriel pulled his fellow officer back, somewhat roughly. "Just hold, alright?"
Damon frowned, but remained quiet. He understood.
The eight Knight Police Glasgows took up firing stances to brace their pistols. At this range, their machine pistols would be able to pierce a Sutherland's armor, but just barely. They would have to move in closer to penetrate the cockpit. They could fill the air with lead before a Sutherland would make it halfway across the floor.
But it was prudent to hold their fire and remain in cover. It was better to assure their kills, especially if the enemy made the mistake of probing forward with such a small force of Sutherlands.
However, the maneuvering required for Sutherlands wasn't necessary for these approaching frames. They charged forward in a single burst of speed, blurring the air where they were before. In an instant, they had crossed the threshold.
Gavriel 's factsphere was directed directly at their entry point. He couldn't quite believe his eyes.
"What the hell?"
For each frame's HUD, a pair of lines narrowed the screen to show the available firing arc. It was narrow, but that was natural for a frame such as the Halifax.
"Locks acquired. Angle barrels for full dispersion. Pour it in them, Wings."
The vector switch was almost immediate, each frame travelling laterally across the floor. The forward-travelling group of knightmare frames became a broadside line.
Gouts of flame erupted from their chests.
Four modified ADEN revolver cannons. 2,000 rounds per minute per cannon. 30mm tungsten penetrator rounds. Muzzle velocity of 990 m/s, almost Mach 3. All of this firepower was packed inline with their cockpit, their center of gravity.
A one-second burst would send approximately 250 rounds down the range.
The four Halifaxes blasted a thousand armor-piercing incendiary rounds into the concentration of the enemy force, creating a zone of ten by ten square meters that 70mm of armor would be made into dust.
The sound was like that of a chainsaw rolling with thunder.
Pour it in them, indeed.
The air was made into a haze for a decisecond. The smoke and flames from the autocannon obscured the Halifaxes, their vibrations from the firing giving them an ethereal element.
The first 300 bullets cracked, pulped, and ground 50mm of material from the Glasgows and their scant cover lined up with the Halifaxes' firing arcs, eating into the obsolete armor and decrepit concrete.
The next 700 obliterated the remaining material obstructing their path.
Their cover didn't matter at all. The targets would be destroyed.
The Glasgows danced as their legs dissolved and their arms were shredded. An explosion ripped through two as the incendiaries lit up the ejection fuel of their neighbor, the light adding to the brightness of the tracers from the rounds. Blue armor and red lights fell to the ground, shattered knives testament to a futile resistance.
Save for one intact Glasgow, which was fleeing down the ramp.
Into the arms of Colonel Mackenzie King.
"My men are in a confirmed crisis area! Send the army over now!"
Gavriel had anticipated an attack, but nothing, absolutely nothing like this. He had moved away from the column he was hiding behind when it was … well, vaporized. That saved him.
His captain was barely audible over the panicked frequency. "Whitfield, why are there only three vital signs left of your squad?"
"I don't know, sir. Do you want to come over and- Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Whitfield? Dammit, what is it?"
"They're all outside. I can't eject, I'm on a fucking ramp. I'll launch right into those fuckers behind me."
"Can you exit the hatch?"
"I'm not going to surrender to those squints, Vance. Just make sure the army gets here to extract Stabler." Red blinked in his display. He had to move forward.
"Whitfield, you're better alive than dead. Talk to them, buy some time for the greens to get there. Prince Clovis just broadcast a message all over the command channels to get his forces over to Toshima. I know this a lot to ask, but do whatever you can."
There wasn't much Gavriel Whitfield could say to that, but- "I can't do that. Captain, tell my kids I'm sorry." He diverted right, entering the second floor of the building.
"Whitfield? Come in, Whitfield." Static hissed. The captain limply dropped the phone and sank into his chair.
"He's making a stand."
Kewell took a profile of the dilapidated building. Jeremiah and Viletta had joined up with the main contingent of their force, weapons readied at the egress points of the building. He had split off, meeting up with the force recon team to support King and the Halifaxes.
The orb shimmered at the head of his frame, continuously feeding data to the group. Everything was going well, aside from the loss of two Sutherlands. From those, one Purist had died. It was unfortunate, but a necessary cost for destroying a rogue force ten knightmares strong.
Still, the Knight Police … That, out of this entire mission, bothered him the most. As much as Kewell believed in the simplicity of Purity, he found it highly unlikely that the Knight Police would have simply lost their knightmares to Eleven terrorists. In their role, the KP could even be called comparable to the Purists. Ten Glasgows- that was too suspect, too complete to be a hijacking.
Their behavior, too- Their tactics were perfect for an anti-Sutherland engagement. Elevens didn't have the discipline or experience to fall in perfectly behind those concrete columns. Their spacing protected against sympathetic detonations, and they had complete coverage from the standard firepower the Sutherlands could throw.
His doubts accumulated.
Improvable as the notion was, Kewell made the call. "King. Try to keep him alive. These guys actually might be Knight Police."
"… You sure?"
"It's my gut. These guys are- well, were good. Elevens don't act in packs like this."
"Wilco." She opened the channel. "All forces, return to the perimeter. I'll handle the tango."
Her lieutenant responded. "You sure, Colonel?"
"… No. Cover me, but fire only when fired upon."
"Understood."
"Kewell!"
He looked up. King's Halifax was staring directly at him.
"If possible, get me his name. If I kill him, I want to know who I killed." With that, she jumped into the second floor.
Immediately, Kewell set to work. He placed a call directly to the KP's HQ.
"Captain Vance-"
A different voice answered. Kewell nearly choked on his tongue when he bit it.
"Your- Your Highness?"
Upload: Complete: 30%
Estimated time to completion: 92 minutes
The figure hanging above the G-1 Base let herself down lower to observe the room. Tinted glass at night or not, she heard their profiles and saw their words. Their blue colors gave them away easily.
Stuttering filled the G-1 command from an indignant, blonde, fair man. "Brant did what?"
The static-filled reply did little to appease Prince Clovis's anger. Clovis cut Kewell off mid-sentence. "I don't care if Colonel King approved! This is my Area, Lord Kewell! Pull back now!"
The generals in the room flinched with the next barrage. "You're chasing a- a hacker? With twenty knightmares in a ghetto. Think for a moment on how much sense that makes!"
Clovis let Kewell have a single moment of peace before resuming. "That's right, none!
"Right now, I have a report from Captain Vance of the Knight Police that you Purists are killing his entire uniform division. This is unacceptable!"
The last replies of Kewell were deadened by the prince's almost hysterical retort. "I'm having Brant's head on a platter tonight! Don't add yours as an appetizer, 'Lord' Kewell!"
The observer blinked at that one. This prince was a strange man. She had heard enough.
With a lithe movement, she twisted back up onto the top of the G-1 Base's roof. Continuing with her momentum, she arced back. Her hands were planted on the edge briefly, before propelling herself feet-first onto the nearby knightmare cockpit.
She made no sound, she had no silhouette. She fell with the motion, hugging the surface of the flat metal plating. Her hand reached into a satchel. A block was soon cemented to the side of the cockpit.
She flew in the shadows again, a dart with a quiet sureness in gliding her body to the next target.
Such a quiet sureness, that the patrol directly beneath her continued their vigil uninterrupted, a mere five feet under the tops of the kneeling knightmares.
If a magus had to describe it, her clandestine capabilities were a sort of Presence Concealment. Possibly hereditary, gifted from her lineage. The blood of the Arab would certainly lend a parameter increase.
But what would a magus know of stealth? Of the long hours of dedicated performance, of the training of an inner quietude?
Certainly, a substantial amount, but not enough to be accurate in their assessment. She would know, she was a magus too.
The girl had her art, and the Art, ingrained in her. She embraced the termination of light a long time ago. Like her compatriots following her, she-
You are a victim, robbed of your past by war.
Even if that power can erase your opponent, so long as you remain a captive of hatred, the animosity within you will not abate.
You are different from us.
She dismissed those thoughts with a bound. The next knightmare was ten meters away. Flight of fancy.
She turned to the two shadows following her. Their colors weren't anything she appreciated. Distaste clouded her ears, like the stench seeping out of their shades. They made a mockery of her attempts at concealment, floating as the smoke of sand.
"Not fair." The words were muttered from the side of her mouth in a grimace. She flew in the air too, just like them, if only for the briefest of moments.
Their only acknowledgment came from the nodding flashes of white and their guttural laughter, the rattling of bones.
Krrrk-krrrrrk.
She shuddered. The oily slithering and rattling reeked of musk and snakeskin. 'A servant is a tool' is what he says- said.
Tools. None of the complexities of human relationships. Yes, I like that much better.
Kik-krrk-krrrrk.
She landed once more on top of a cockpit, amidst the contingent of the knightmare force. The hiss and snick of her boots betrayed her.
Kiiki-
They quieted at her glare. She shook her head, more at herself than at them.
With a look of distaste, she tossed the shadows her satchel of blocks. She lost the game this time, and the bobbing, black-shrouded white blotches knew it.
"Here. Go."
A dark moment passes when they left, before she could enjoy the curling wind whispering to her. The darkness before the morning hummed. C sharp. On and off.
The darkness about her eased as she lifted the curse from her existence, allowing her senses to absorb the environment encompassing her skin. Her white-blonde hair fluttered, the loose remnants at her cheeks elevated in the air. She had tied back the rest in a short ponytail with a thin red string, a small luxury she had about her. A mystic cloak enshrouded her still, even with the curse lightened. She lacked any significant indication of her gender, save for a fluid grace-
She donned the curse once again.
Her focus tightened, and like quicksilver, the hazel in her eyes was flooded with red heat.
Dots of blue, burning blue.
That was her initial impulse, to see the colors she was attuned to killing. But she felt the currents on her skin, the sixth sense palpable in her vision.
They- the knights were getting closer. If she delayed any further, she'd lose her predicted opportunity to retrieve a member for her team.
Oceane.
You caught me.
I'd like to meet you.
'Do Britannian girls play cat's-'
"… Cradle." That's all.
She donned the skull-faced mask reluctantly.
This was a different game of string, a separate cradle to be entwined.
If you want to see what the Halifax looks like (excuse the poor art ...)
heavyvalor. deviantart art/Knightmare-Halifax-Annotated-377433188?ga_subm it_new=10%253A1371019615