Ch 3
He hated the Badoon and not just because of his instincts & conscience both screaming at him how the only good Badoon was a dead Badoon. It was hard to find a race more blood thirsty, jingoistic and downright nihilistic in their pragmatism than the Badoon in the whole local group of those four Galaxies he'd sworn to guard and now those smelly lizards were here. How? He didn't know but he was going to find out. Yet the more pressing matter was to find his kits and get them back home safely through this mess.
Rocket stopped at the alley end to put on his helmet from the bag he was carrying and threw the hood of his 'cloak' over it. He scanned the streets with the visor's enhanced vision, but the helmet's tactical display marked only Zom's and citizens. The war-commander of the Badoon battle-group commanding the Zom troops should have been cloaked nearby unless... Yes, there. He was about a hundred yards away, likely wearing that typical golden hued, segmented Badoon combat armor. Only the faintest ripple in the air giving him away. Rocket gritted his teeth in frustration. If only he'd have his usual arsenal. The pair of 'squirt guns' he carried as a sidearm were not even close enough to be powerful enough to penetrate the automated personal force field, which he knew from experience, the commander would have. No, what he'd have needed was at least a 4MW-Gauss riffle or similar with solid tungsten carbide or morbidium alloy slugs, but he had neither. Hell, he'd have settled even with an outdated maser riffle over the two undersized photon pistols he was carrying in his person.
All he could do was to gnash his teeth and mutely watch the Zom's rounding up the small group, the remnants of civilians from a destroyed bus, they hadn't just outright killed. Suddenly the opportunity presented itself, the cloaked Badoon had placed himself next and under to a wall which had a weakened structural integrity... Rocket aimed carefully and emptied a precision barrage from his photon pistols on the cracked second story wall above the Badoon. Predictably the already weakened wall gave way with a groan, flattening the near invisible Badoon which rendered the Zom's immobile for a short period, once their handler perished. Rocket expertly used it to his advantage by dashing out from the alley to shoot down the dozen or so Zoms herding the citizens. The people he'd just saved stared at him almost dumbfound. They had no idea who this sudden savior was, staring uncertainly at him and the recently slain Zom's and their Badoon master flattened under the masonry.
"Well, ye wanna live forever or what? Grab those guns and go get yer families out of the city. Now Move it people!" Rocket lifts the visor to glare at the befuddled group before running away without sparing the time to look back to see if they did what they were told to do.
He had gained maybe two blocks and the sports park was just ahead with not that many Zoms between him and his goal, though even one was enough when you took it's possible handler into account as well. He was about to move out, noticing that the Zom troops were moving away, when he heard muted chatter and rustle of footfalls not too far behind him.
"I'm sure he went this way." A voice argued.
"Ya think so?" A second voice questioned mildly.
"Yah, I'm sure, look if that guy's willing and able to kill these 'things'..." The first one retorted back.
"Yah, come on guys... let's just find this guy." A third voice placated his companions.
Civilians! Rocket froze in his hideout behind the debris from the ruined buildings to wait and see why this gaggle of idiots was following him. He gritted his teeth and reached out with his hand to pull the last one of the bunch towards him by the scruff of the neck when they were about to walk right past him. The man he grabbed yelped in panic, but Rocket subdued it by muzzling the guy with his gauntleted hand. As predicted they stopped and turned around immediately to see where their friend had suddenly vanished.
"The hell ye idiots think yer doing? I thought I told ye to go get yer families and get out." He cursed pushing the guy he'd grabbed back towards his mates and stepped into their view while making a quick scan along the streets to be sure that none of the Badoon had heard or seen them. They looked at him with a kind of awe you usually reserved for rock stars. Star-lord might have loved it but Rocket found it mostly annoying.
"Umm...well ahh -sir, most of us ain't got no family left anymore... So we figures ye could help us to fight dem invaders as ye seemed kinda handy with dem." It was good that Rocket had his helmet on to conceal his facial expressions or his dumbfound and utterly disbelieving look might have demoralized them on the spot.
"That's not... Look I ain't got the time fer this. Just tell me; did ye seen three wee kits and a bunch of older ones heading this way?" Rocket sighs pushing the gun back to the youngster's arms, noticing that this would-be Rambo barely even knew how to hold the standard Badoon assault plasma war riffle properly let alone shoot with it. It was likely that his friends were no better.
"Might have, not sure. We've been too busy with just staying alive." They admitted looking at their each others as if trying to recall whose dumb idea it had originally been to start following Rocket.
Rocket glared at the quintet. He wanted them to get lost but realized that with all the Badoon patrols around they were as good as dead if someone saw them -even with guns to shoot back, and without guns they'd probably get recaptured and sent to slave sorting points in short order.
"I'm Ashen -Ashen Long tree but you can call me Ash. So what do you want to do next?" The self-appointed group leader asks introducing himself. Obviously still not quite realizing what it really meant that the Badoon were conquering their planet or he wouldn't have seemed so cheery, Rocket surmised.
"Well then, they're your boys now Ashen and IF you lot do what I say and obey without stupid questions I'll consider not to leave you for those Flarkin' lizards. Ye getting me?" Rocket consents feeling his time running out. The DIY-poncho, no longer needed, Rocket peeled away, wadding it into a roll before pushing it to one of his new 'underling's' care. The quintet stared mouth open at his EVA combat-suit even though the helmet and gloves should have already given them a few clues of what was concealed underneath the cloak.
Rocket holstered his still smoking pistols feeling his heart skip a beat at the sight of the sports park. The oval concrete sports stadium at the right corner of the mesh fenced park area had partially collapsed under heavy orbital firing and there were clear signs of mortar fire here and there on the left section ballparks as well. The place wouldn't be able to take another hit without crumbling completely. The remains of the three Zoms at his vicinity he mostly ignored.
"Keep yer eyes open Ash. There's no knowing if or when the Badoon are coming back to check on that patrol I just destroyed." Rocket warns his new team leader as they fan out to scout the park for his kits and other survivors. Ash nods in response trying very carefully not to look at the smoldering corpses in passing.
He watched them scurry away in pairs amongst the ruined park before following suit. The stadium felt eerily quiet which was probably for the best as it didn't seem very structurally safe anymore. There were big cracks in the concrete walls and ceilings of the passages leading below the grandstand with chunks missing from here and there.
On places the ruble from collapsed structure had blocked the corridors forcing him to take detours and it was near one such dead end where he though he heard something, it felt almost like a whisper coming from one the locker rooms at the end of the corridor.
"Uno! Duo!, Trey! You in there kits?" he called frantically, daring to raise his voice to a shout and felt his heart leap with elation when a child's voice called back. "We're in here mister, please help us! Our friend's hurt real bad!" It was a familiar voice but not one belonging to any of his kits. It sounded like that older kit he'd seen with his own this morning. It didn't mean he'd even think of leaving them trapped in there. No matter whose kits they might be.
"How many of you are in there. Is anyone else hurt?"
"Six and Just Trey, Mister Rocket!" the kit's voice yells back sounding quite frightened which was understandable.
He considered clearing the smaller debris but gave up, realizing that disturbing the debris pile wasn't safe. It was already partially holding the weight of the roof on this side that was sagging quite precariously and disturbing the piles of rubble might force the ceiling to cave in fully.
"Hey Kit, is there another way in? like a window or something."
"Yeah on the back wall but we can't reach it, it's too high."
"Hang on, I'll be right back." Rocket promises running off to gather his team before mounting a rescue operation.
Once Rocket had located his group, finding the right windows from the outside of the building was easy. They were conveniently at almost ground level and luckily big enough for the adults to squeeze in.
"So how are we going to get in? There's bars on the inside and they're locked too? " Ashen comments pulling and poking at the basement windows which wouldn't budge even a little.
"Leave it to me." Rocket shrugs turning his trusty old plasma knife on with a flash. The men gathering around him stare at it in amazement, having never seen such a thing in their lives except maybe in fiction. Rocket doesn't pay much attention to it, concentrating on cutting one of the windows out by tracing the plasma blade along the gap between the frames and masonry. The window soon gives in with a gentle push.
"Get in! We look mighty suspicious out here in the open, armed and huddled up in a bunch like this." Rocket grumbles ushering his mates to climb in before following suit.
The Inside was dim, dusty and messy as could be expected but despite all the visual obstructions Rocket wouldn't have needed his helmet visor's life sign detector or other enhanced sensor arrays to tell him the number of people in the vicinity. It took an effort in his part to not rush in and scoop his two kits into a bear hug instead of focusing on what was around him. He could easily recognize the kit he'd spoken with earlier as the oldest of the bunch, the two other's he didn't know were probably around the same age as he was. Uno and Duo seemed alright though they were all pretty shaken up. They all looked at him and the other adults if not exactly scared then worriedly and perhaps with a hint of hope that everything could be alright after all.
"You kits all right, none of you got hurt?" He asks fighting to keep his voice level and opens his helmet visor since it seemed to freak the kits out a little that he had 'no face'. That pretty much opens the emotional flood gates as his kits pretty much tackle him over yelling daddy in relief and something pretty much incomprehensible about Trey, before he can say another word in.
"Okay, hush, easy now- what's happened and where's Trey?" He tries again hugging his kits back in earnest and generally trying to get them to calm down. Again, it's the oldest kit who responds a bit timidly. "Over there. Some debris fell over him and his feet got trapped and we were too afraid to move any of it. I- I think he might be dead. He ain't moving no more so I covered him up with me jacket." Rocket bit back an angry retort, taking calming breaths instead. He lowered the visor back down to look through it at the jacket covered heap that was lying next to a big pile of rubble blocking the locker room exit. Something which he hadn't paid immediate attention to when entering.
No Trey wasn't dead, but the visor pointed the life signs as decreasing. "Don't you fret, Trey isn't dead yet. Come on help me get him out." He orders, sounding once again more collected than he actually felt.
Removing the jacket revealed Trey's face to have that pale unhealthy look which Rocket knew from experience to be a sign of major blood loss. Hopefully it wasn't due to internal injuries.
"Is any of you a doctor by any chance?" He asks wadding the jacket under Trey's feet to keep them higher than his head. The kit had barely stirred despite being moved and even slapped a little by Rocket in hopes of evoking a response.
"You wish, none of us ain't even so much as a vet." The self-appointed leader of his group notes ruefully.
Rocket bit his lip in frustration. While his helmet had a medi-scan software installed, it was rudimentary -meant for quick field dressing only. The raw data was helpful in telling what was wrong but not much use for fixing up anything beyond bruises without a trained professional. Currently it pointed both legs as being compose fractured and bleeding though apparently Trey was otherwise only superficially bruised, and the weight of the ruble was compressing the legs, keeping him from bleeding out.
"Put these around his thighs." Rocket says taking a pair of auto-tourniquets from the medical kit he always kept by his side as a part of his suit, before starting to prepare and load an automatic hypodermic syringe with an ampoule of blue liquid taken from a selection of various small ampoules representing all the colors of the rainbow.
"What's that?" Both the adults and kits ask in near unison.
"Kree combat steroids... this stuff can make even dead to rise." Rocket replies flatly, leaving out the fact that he was guessing how much of the full dose, pre-calculated to himself, he could give to a young Kit like Trey without killing him outright.
"We'll dig him out once I've administered the drug. Ready?" Rocket orders knowing that if his miscalculated Trey would die as surely as leaving his legs under the pile would. So, it's not really a choice at all from his part when he plunges the automated hypodermic needle against his sons arm.
It was very hard to keep his emotions in check when Trey began to stir. "Hey bud, how ya feelin'?" He asks trying to sound reassuring.
"It hurts daddy... It hurts." The kit mumbles and whinnies even more loudly when his being dug free, pulled out and transferred to makeshift stretchers Rocket's group had fashioned from the rain poncho and iron bars loosened free from the ruble. "Hush my brave son... I know, I know. We'll get you out. You're going to be alright." Rocket hushes, brushing his son's head gently when he is about to start fidgeting because of pain despite the drugs, while his legs were hastily splinted and bandaged before moving out.
Later in the evening
"What are they doing Chief-Ranger Guardian Rocket?" Ashen whispers laying on his belly with Rocket at the roof a high building, spying on the Badoon activity. Rocket rises his helmet visor to look at Ash in the eyes before replying grimly. "They're turning the city into enclosed perimeter as I predicted and stop calling me that. It's just Rocket!" He hisses already regretting he revelation of his formal titles to his small seed group of guerillas.
"So, like a fence. Why is that such a bad thing Chief-Ranger?" Ashen asks making Rocket groan again inaudibly.
"It means the Badoon are readying a prison enclosure and once they're done... You really don't want to experience what happens after." He mutters baring his teeth in a snarl.
"Ohh, that's bad then isn't it?" Ashen nods, slowly starting to understand.
"To put it mildly. Come on we've more things that needs to be done before they're finished with it." Rocket replies already starting to climb down from their high vantage.