Hey guys, sorry this chapter is a week late. I think I bit off (a lot) more than I could chew with this one, and I had my first GCSE on Wednesday. I decided to delay it by a week just so I could get the bloody thing finished. Hope it's worth the wait.
"The best weapon against an enemy is another enemy"
Friedrich Nietzsche
Chapter Sixteen—Fight
Over the next three days Jaune led Beta section closer and closer to the coordinated given over the transmitter. During the spare time they'd had (mostly during the night) Jaune and Phil had continued to train. Without enough time to work on building Jaune's raw strength and endurance, Jaune's dark-haired, red-armoured sensei/torturer had prioritised teaching him every dirty trick in the book: nerve points, natural weaknesses, some simple manoeuvres to floor or disarm an opponent. All of them graciously demonstrated by Phil (on Jaune). Jaune could only pray that if it ever came down to it, his measly training would be enough to make a difference.
The last few hours of their journey had been the most harrowing, primarily down to the realisation that they were no longer alone. They'd had to dive for cover when an Atlas patrol had come sauntering past more than once. Fortunately, the undergrowth had been thick, and visibility had been reduced to a few meters at most, allowing Beta section to avoid most encounters.
At least, it had been, until the forest had suddenly ended right as they reached their destination.
Jaune crouched among a thin line of shrubbery, watching their target zone. He'd left the majority of Beta section within the forest to reduce the risk of them being spotted, but he'd taken Naomi, Terry and Phil with him to scout the change in landscape ahead. They currently hugged the ground among the low-lying bushes and tall grasses, snatching any and all cover the sparse land would give them. The thick treeline started behind them, but the land in front was void of any and all of the precious trees Beta section so desperately needed for cover. Instead they were left with nothing but waist-high bushes and tuffs of sturdy grasses, forming a sort of savanna-like terrain.
Jaune risked raising his head to study their surroundings. They were at the top of a piece of raised land, allowing Jaune a sweeping view of rolling hills and tree cloaked valleys around him. To Jaune's right the land suddenly dipped downwards, before reappearing a little further away, a jagged gash slicing through the ground and dividing the land into two, continental slabs. A gorge. Far, far below, Jaune could hear the tinkling chiming of the river at the bottom as it flowed past, and faintly he thought he could even make out the crash and spit of a waterfall further away, the perpetrator of the gaping scar in the land as it had retreated backwards, slowly eating away at the rock behind it over a time frame that made Jaune's entire existence seem like the beat of a butterfly's wings.
On their side of the divider, set right against the drop that plummeted down into the gorge, perched a large slab of weathered stone, as if dropped by a bored god. The stone was covered in moss and lichen, and even a few sturdier plants managed to find cracks for their roots within the unforgiving rock. It was far from an ideal landing pad, but as Naomi had correctly deduced, flat enough for a medium sized airship to land on.
And utterly crawling with Atlesian soldiers.
At least six of them stationed at systematic intervals around the rock, and several more patrolling the surrounding shrub strewn area. Jaune could only guess how many more were watching from within the trees.
Jaune ducked his head back down before he could be spotted and commando crawled his way to the others. "What do you guys think?" he asked them.
Naomi took a moment to scan the landing zone, before turning back to Jaune and shaking her head. "It doesn't look favourable. They've picked the location well. We can't sneak behind them because of the relief of the land, and the odds of us sneaking up on them unnoticed is infinitesimal. That's extremely small, by the way," she clarified when Terry opened his mouth to ask.
"What's the standard military procedure in a situation like this?" Jaune asked Terry. He knew the young man had had a father in the military and had watched him read the weapon's manual first hand. If anyone knew the military the best in Beta section, it was Terry.
"Standard military procedure is to get a three-to-one man advantage before attacking," Terry deadpanned.
"And if we can't get that?"
Terry chewed his lip, the lanky lad pushing himself up to glance at their target briefly before ducking back down, his blond curtains, grown longer during their time detached from civilization, bobbing with his movements. "Then we use a distraction," he decided. "Try to draw the guards away whilst we sneak past."
"Any suggestions how we do that?" enquired Jaune. "What about your bazooka, Naomi?"
"We're trying to steal the ship, not blow it to hell."
"Maybe I can use this," suggested Phil, pulling out Aeron Wasp. The dandelion yellow, oblong weapon, with its handle on one end, muzzle on the other, and ammunition drum and hand crank enclosed within a cross in the centre still looked strangely alien to Jaune. But he recognized its value in a situation like this. For reasons that still eluded Jaune, the forearm-length weapon was somehow not only able to fly like a drone, but also fire on its own through whatever semblance Phil possessed. With something like that, Phil could direct it to attack from the front, luring the Atlesian soldiers away whilst Beta section snuck around the back. It was perfect.
"It won't work," muttered Naomi, shattering Jaune's moment of elation. "This isn't some mediocre action blockbuster; no military would be so foolish as to send an entire guarding force after a single disturbance. The best for which we could hope would be a small force to examine the disturbance whilst the rest remain behind. It's probable they'd even leave at minimum one soldier to watch their six. We won't be able to sneak past across all that open terrain."
"Back to square one," muttered Terry.
"It could still work," argued Phil, as if offended that his weapon's usefulness was being questioned. "We just need to find a way to get past the guards they leave behind."
"How? Invisibility?" countered Naomi.
"Come on, guys," Jaune intervened before they were overheard. "Let's head back to the others. We'll figure out a way there."
The group quickly crawled back to the rest of Beta section, who were waiting for them in the denser cover of the forest further back. Jaune quickly explained what they'd seen, then asked if anyone had any suggestions.
"We could always take out the guards," suggested Bounty. "If we've got the element of surprise with us, we could lay an ambush."
"There's too many of them," refuted Naomi. "We can't take down twenty at the same time without being shot. We're not Spruce Willis."
"Speak for yourself," boasted Bounty.
"Forget stealth," said Cat. "Why don't we just make a run for it the moment the airship lands?"
"Unless you want to take a backload of lead with you, that won't work," said Finn.
"Scared, Flea?" Finn pursed his lips, a retort already forming on his tongue.
Jaune noticed that Aiden wasn't contributing to the conversation. Instead, he was quietly watching the proceedings, his silver wolf tail flicking in a way that Jaune had begun to attribute to meaning Aiden was thinking. "What do you think, Aiden?" he asked quickly before Finn and Cat could bring down the forest with their squabbling.
"I think," began Aiden, "that we have neglected to consider using the gorge to our advantage." The others paused their bickering to consider what Aiden had said. Aiden continued. "From your descriptions, it seems that the Atlas soldiers consider it impassable, and have neglected to watch it. That might be the case of a large assault force, but for a small group of lightly armed troops, the gully's walls could be scaled."
"It's going to be pretty steep," pointed out Terry, "and probably also wet and slippery."
"A small group could make the climb first and find a suitable route, then lead the other group up."
"How small a group?" asked Jaune.
"Climbers tend to work in pairs," mentioned Naomi. "Any more than that and you risk extra members being more deadweight than aid. Not to mention the increased risk of detection."
"How long do we have before Black Bishop arrives?"
"A couple of hours yet," said Naomi.
Jaune considered the plan that was slowly melding itself together in his head. It could work. It relied on a lot of factors going right, but it could succeed. And to be perfectly honest, they had nothing else anyway. It was either attempting this or giving up and kissing their ticket home goodbye.
"Ok then, here's the plan: Aiden and I are going to get into the gorge and try to find a way up. The rest of you stay here and lie low. When we know it's safe, we'll come back and get the rest of you. We'll wait in position until the airship lands and whoever this Black Bishop is gets out. Then Phil, you'll cause a distraction with your weapon, and when there are fewer guards watching the airship, that's when we'll sneak on."
"And then haul ass out of the ensuing firefight," finished Cat. "Sounds stupidly dangerous and completely unfeasible. I say we do it."
Satisfied with the plan, the group split up; Aiden and Jaune following the downwardly sloping land to find a place where they could enter the gorge, and the rest slinking into the undergrowth to wait.
Aiden led Jaune away from the landing zone, walking parallel to the canyon. Eventually, the impassable rock walls of the gorge gave way to dirt slopes, which, though still steep, were low enough to scramble down without too much difficulty. Jaune went first, slipping and sliding on loose dirt and rock fragments, brining an avalanche of soil with him as he let gravity do its work. Next came Aiden, somehow much more graceful, lithely leaping from point to point in a zigzagging fashion, his keen eyes somehow picking out the sturdier bits of dirt to land on. Soon, he stood next to Jaune at the bottom of the gorge.
Jaune was about to continue into the gorge when something twanged a warning in his gut. Be it instincts, aura, a sixth sense or something else entirely, something had the presence of mind to freeze Jaune where he stood. It was only then that he realised how quiet the surroundings had become. Even the stream in the middle of the gorge seemed subdued, as if the entire forest were holding its breath.
He glanced to Aiden, only to see the wolf Faunus standing as stiff as a rod next to him, his silver tail utterly still and rigid. He'd clearly picked up on the same sense of unease Jaune had. He raised a hand to cut off the question Jaune was about to ask, then slowly inched his way forward, still as taunt as a bowstring. Jaune warily followed, wincing as his foot made a small splash in the stream.
Eventually, Aiden rounded a corner and Jaune realised what had caught both their senses. It was a cave, snaking away into the stone wall of the gorge, a gaping blackhole maliciously hiding away from the outside world. Jaune noticed a number of scratches on the rock arch of the entrance and several deep furrows gouged in the ground around the entrance, as if something very large had tried to force its way into the cave. But anything beyond the first few feet of sunlit rock was lost in shadows and mystery.
A memory surfaced to the front of Jaune's mind then about a similar cave. A very, very unpleasant memory. "Is there something in there?" he dared to whisper to Aiden.
"Yes." Jaune shivered.
"Let's move on. There's no reason to disturb… it." Aiden thankfully nodded, and soon the duo had left the yawning darkness far behind.
The further they travelled down the gorge, the deeper and wider the stream became, until the two men were wading in waist high water, their rifles held high above their heads. After half an hour of journeying down the canyon, just as Jaune began to discern the hiss and spit of the waterfall, Aiden found a narrow trail that led them out of the water and up the near vertical cliff sides.
Finally, after ten minutes of scrambling up dirt slopes and hoisting themselves onto precarious perches, Jaune and Aiden reached a slight hollow in the cliff wall just below the top where eight men could just about squeeze onto. Jaune, satisfied that they could get everyone up to this point and wait for the bullhead to land, turned to head back to the others, but he was stopped by the look on Aiden's face. He had his eyes scrunched shut and his head cocked, as if… listening. Although Aiden didn't have any extra ears, Jaune knew his hearing was unmatched in Beta section. Jaune tensed up, hand at his sword hilt, ready to leap into action if an Atlas guard was approaching. But that wasn't what Aiden was hearing.
Aiden's eyes snapped open, the red of his irises burning with worry, and Jaune felt his stomach drop out of his body as Aiden said simply, "They're in trouble."
Phil was pretty sure of one thing as he knelt on the unforgiving rock platform with his hands behind his head and surrounded by at least eight Atlas guards. Jaune was going to be pissed.
The Atlas patrol had come out of the woods, catching them unaware. Phil and the others had been so busy watching out for troops from the landing zone they hadn't thought to watch the forest behind them. Big mistake. Within seconds they'd found themselves surrounded by a wall of rifles, and utterly helpless to resist.
Not that Cat wouldn't have tried, had it not been for Finn noticing the look in her eye and hissing at her to not resist. Cat had shot a look of pure loathing Finn's way, but by then the Atlas soldiers had identified her as a problem and had levelled at least three rifles her way. With little other option, Cat had relented, dropping her weapon.
The members of Beta section had been brought towards the other guards on the landing zone, which was where they now knelt. The soldiers immediately did a pat down of each of them, removing their ammo, rat packs, equipment and whatever else they could find in their numerous pockets and dumped them all in a pile away from them. Phil almost dared to resist when they tried to take away Aeron Wasp, and only a quick demand from Finn had stopped him from getting pounded with bullets.
"Let it go," Finn hissed at him.
"Quiet!" ordered the nearest guard, levelling his rifle at Finn.
The group fell into an uneasy silence, each one realising how screwed things were looking. Finn's eyes were downcast in an attempt to make him as unnoticeable as possible. Naomi's were darting about frantically, perhaps looking for something to help them. Cat was staring daggers at anyone in white, a look that promised a long and drawn out death at her hands. Judging by the way the Atlas soldiers kept a healthy distance and at least three rifles levelled at her at all times, it was working.
Phil desperately racked his brain for something to get them out of this mess. This was bad. Really, really bad. They'd messed up the plan and were now at the mercy of the Atlesian soldiers. Why they hadn't already been killed, Phil didn't know. Were they waiting for something? Someone? Did they intend to interrogate them? Did they plan to throw them in a prisoner of war camp? Did Atlas even have POW camps?
One thing was clear: whatever they had in store for them, Phil didn't want to find out. They needed to escape. But how? Thankfully it looked like Jaune and Aiden were still free. But what could two men do, against the eight guards watching over them? How would they even know that they had been captured? They might still be in the gorge or heading back to the team's last position. He doubted they'd risk sticking their heads above to have a look, so they might not even realise the rest of Beta section had been captured. How then, to get a message to them?
"Why have you captured us?" Finn suddenly demanded loudly, raising his eyes to stare at the closest guard.
"Shut up," the guard replied.
"Why have you captured us and are now forcing us to kneel on this rock platform?" Finn asked again, even louder than the first time.
"I said, shut up, or I'll shut you up myself," the soldier threatened.
"Why have you taken us prisoners and are holding us at gunpoint?" Finn practically shouted. What the hell was Finn playing at? Did he want to annoy the people who held their existence in their hands? What kind of questions were those even?
"Oi, you little shit," snapped the guard, stalking up to the kneeling Finn. "You think you're being funny?"
Finn took a deep breath. "WHY ARE W—Ooof!" Phil gasped as a rifle butt was slammed into Finn's face, spinning the man straight to the floor. Then, for good measure, the soldier smashed a boot into Finn's stomach, doubling him over where he lay.
"Anyone else want to talk back to me?" Five baleful stares were his only response. "That's what I thought. If I hear any of you talking again, I'll put a bullet through your foot."
The man stomped back to where he'd been previously standing, and Finn was left to pick himself up unaided. The man had a large bruise forming on his cheek, his breathing seemed strained, and when he spat, the globule of saliva was stained red. But despite all that, Phil noticed for the shortest moment a triumphant smirk splayed across Finn's face, before it was wiped away and replaced with a dour, beaten look.
Now what did he have to smile about?
"Crap. Crap," hissed Jaune once Aiden had finished explaining what he had heard. Aiden could not help but agree with the sentiment. Jaune dared a peek over the top to confirm Aiden's story, and the string of curses that followed was all Aiden needed to know that Finnegan had been deadly serious in what he had shouted. And judging by the way his voice had cut off suddenly, Aiden shuddered to think what that move had cost Finnegan.
"What do we do, Sarge?" asked Aiden.
"We rescue them," he immediately decided, readying his rifle.
"I would not advise that," Aiden hastily said, realising his leader would gladly throw himself at the enemy if he thought it might save the others. "There are too many, and they have the others at gunpoint. An assault will achieve nothing but their deaths."
"Then what do we do?" Jaune demanded, his words carrying more of a bite than he probably realised. "Let them get shot when the guards get bored?"
"Of course not," said Aiden. "But let us not be rash. We need a plan."
"Like that's ever helped before," Jaune muttered.
Aiden let the bitter comment go. He realised Jaune's snappiness was stemming from his worry for the others. Aiden knew how he was feeling, he really did, but with practised ease, he forced his features into neutrality and in a steady and measured tone he said, "Do not take my caution for pacifism. We need to save them, of that we are in agreement, but we cannot help them if we get ourselves killed or captured." Jaune fell silent, deep in thought. When Aiden was confident Jaune was not about to throw himself into the line of fire, he suggested, "A diversion might draw at least some of the guards away. It might be enough to give us the edge. But if Phillip is unable to provide the one we planned, we need to find an alternative."
Jaune closed his eyes for a short while, thinking. When his eyes snapped open again, gone was the indecision, and Aiden saw that they now blazed with the fire of determination.
"Do you have an idea?"
"Yes," answered Jaune.
"Are you going to tell me?"
"You wouldn't like it if I did." Aiden had the distinct feeling that was probably true.
"Then I wish you luck, Jaune. I will stay here and watch over the others as best I can." Jaune nodded once, then eased himself off the little shelf they'd been sitting on, beginning the long descent back into the gorge.
Aiden turned away from the dizzying drop below and slid his rifle over the lip of the gorge wall, bracing his weapon on the ground above him as he sighted down the barrel to where the guards were watching his teammates. Aiden, despite the calm demeanour he had presented to Jaune, was deeply perturbed. He felt the worm of worry wriggling in his gut, and with that came a trickle of concentrated anger that he struggled to bottle up.
For Aiden's entire life he had been subjected to racism and discrimination. He had been bullied at school for it. He had been unable to keep a job because of it. Racism had had him mugged and mindlessly beaten more times than he cared to keep track of, his assaulters taking his refusal to fight back as proof that he wanted more. It had been such a common part of his life that he had come to expect it everywhere he went. Worse, he had come to see himself as being the problem. As being… broken. He had to have been, if so many people hated him before they even met him.
But when he had joined the army, when he had met the people of Beta section, when they had looked at him and seen more than the wolf tail… it had changed his life. Never before had he just been instantly accepted. Not just because they were all good people, though Aiden knew that they were, but because maybe, deep down, they each knew that a part of them was broken as well, at least by society's standards. Be it Cat's stubborn defiance of everyone's expectations of her, or Terry's desperate desire to impress a father who had done nothing for him, or even Naomi's eccentric blue hair that screamed different, something had pushed them to seek out one of the most dangerous occupations on Remnant.
Maybe they were all unwanted by society. But that in turn had given Aiden the closest he had ever come to a family, as fragmented and dysfunctional as that was. And now that family was being threatened. Forced to kneel and subjected to goodness knew what, and Aiden wasn't even close enough to hear what was going on unless they raised their voices.
That was why he knew he was one wrong move away from losing control over himself and killing every bastard in sight, consequences be damned. So he made a promise to himself: a small concession to retain his wits for a little longer. Aiden didn't care what reason dictated, if they tried to hurt his friends…
He'd drop them like an electrocuted gnat.
The eight remaining soldiers made Beta section kneel like that for more than half an hour. Throughout that entire time, not one explanation was given to them for why they were waiting. The guards barely even spoke at all except to occasionally tell them to pipe down if they dared to try to speak.
Phil used the time to assess their situation. Their guns had been taken away, but he had one trick up his sleeve that they didn't realise: Phil could still control his weapon. His semblance allowed him to interface with electronical devices, and he was so familiar with the circuitry of Aeron Wasp—he'd built the thing himself for heaven's sake—that he could still use it even from several meters away. If he got the chance, he might be able to shoot at the guards and escape. But only if they were distracted enough to not shoot him the moment they realised what he was doing. His aura might be able to tank a few hits, but from such a close range and with so many guards, it wouldn't last long. Plus, he couldn't risk the others getting hit in the crossfire. So for now at least, it looked like he'd be going along with whatever plan the guards had for them.
Whatever that was.
Finally, after an eon of waiting, the deep thrum of an engine began to rise in pitch. For a horrifying second, Phil was flashed back to that disastrous day when they'd first been attacked by a bullhead, but then the airship came into view and he dispelled the awful memory with a shake of his head.
This airship was not a usual bullhead like the one that Beacon used to send their students on missions, or even the passenger airships that were often used as air ambulances. No, this was a hulking beast of an airship; large, armoured and bristling with weapons. A metal bird of prey, designed for speed and attack capabilities and little thought for aesthetics. The centre was vaguely ovoid in shape with a glass cockpit at the front and black metal ridges sticking up along its spine like a dinosaur's back plates. The centre part elongated and ended in a tail not dissimilar to a whale's, where two engines sat. Two wings extended horizontally from the main cabin like the bony appendages of some nightmarish creature. Everything about the ship was sharp and cold, as if it were designed to slice through the air as it flew. Looking at it, Phil couldn't help but marvel and shudder at the calculated fear such a vehicle was designed to strike into the hearts of its enemies.
The airships hovered overhead, then began to descend on the landing zone like the fist of a judgmental god. The Atlesian soldiers hurriedly barked orders at them to move off the stone slab, and soon the metal monster had settled itself down. The cargo door screeched open, morphing itself into a ramp and giving Phil his first look at the people inside.
Or more accurately, the things inside.
Because walking down the ramp, each step taken in perfect unison, were five robots.
Phil's breath hitched in his throat slightly as he beheld their gleaming armour, blindingly white in the glare of the sun, like liquid steel/molten silver; their sharp, rigid movements, so similar to a human's, and yet so different because of it; their too spherical heads as they stared soullessly at Phil, stripping him of every defence and decency as they took him apart with their eyeless gaze right the way down to his very essence. In an instant, that inhuman visage shifted to take the form of every faceless terror Phil had ever woken in the night from in a feverish, cold sweat.
This wasn't what a robot should be. Phil could appreciate the beauty of even the simplest of machines. Of even a single wire or fuse laid by the deft fingers of a loving creator. Machines were an embodiment of their inventor's ideas, their designer's craftmanship, their engineer's skill. Machines were a culmination of hundreds of hours of time spent carefully designing, creating, and crafting, and each one carried a piece of their makers.
But these… these had been born with the sole intention to kill. To take human life when it was ordered of them. These weren't beautiful or stunning or awe-inspiring. These weren't a marvel of human persistence and ingenuity. These weren't even machines.
These were Death in shining armour.
'Elite troops' indeed.
"Now what," said a voice as rich as velvet, "do we have here?" Phil finally dragged his eyes away from the robots and onto one of only two humans from the ship.
It was a man, smartly dressed – far too smartly for a warzone Phil thought – with unblemished grey trousers and a suit jacket, an expensive-looking maroon waistcoat, a yellow shirt, and a tie. On his hands were fingerless brown gloves and on his feet were polished brown loafers, entirely out of place in the field. His hair, neatly trimmed and with a certain elegance about it, was a grey-black colour. His expertly maintained moustache was the picture of pristine perfection; a prized possession put on display for the whole world to praise.
The façade did little to hide his cruel, envy-green eyes, Phil noted.
"We caught them sniffing around nearby," explained one of the guards. "We figured you'd want to ask them a few questions, General Watts."
Wait, a general? Phil's eyes widened as realisation dawned, and he whispered, almost inaudibly, "Black Bishop." Not inaudibly enough, apparently, because immediately General Watts' head snapped to Phil and his eyes narrowed down to pinpricks of suspicion.
Oh crud.
Unhurriedly, General Watts approached Phil, and all the while Phil struggled not to squirm under that gaze. Eventually he reached him and, still looking down at Phil, reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder.
If Phil had expected the hand on his shoulder to feel putrid and repulsive, he was sorely mistaken. Instead it felt… comfortable. Relaxing. It almost felt as if that hand was calming his racing heartbeat and soothing his tense muscles. Like it was sending anaesthetic through his veins.
"How did you know my codename?" he asked. Not demanded, just asked, as if genuinely curious of the answer. It was such a simple question. So harmless. So meaningless. Phil could almost feel a little part of him tugging on his emotions. Telling him to trust. To answer. To not resist. It would be so easy to tell the man everything he asked. And why not? What bad could come of it?
"I intercepted an Atlas transmission," Phil was half surprised to hear himself say, "and heard it there."
"Is that also how you knew about this place?" Again, such a simple question, and so pleasantly asked.
That little presence tugged a little harder, and almost unintentionally the answer slipped out. "Yes."
"Intriguing," replied General Watts, at last removing the hand and warming presence from Phil's shoulder. It was only once he'd done that that Phil suddenly became aware of the glares he was receiving from the others.
"You have a military breach," rumbled Watts' companion, his voice resembling that of a grizzly bear. Phil studied the dark-skinned giant for the first time, noticing his grey-green jacket rolled up at the sleeves to reveal hairy arms as thick as tree trunks, the thick, practical boots and the black-bearded, chiselled face of a man all too familiar with violence. From the man's position just behind and to the right of Watts, as well as the way his brown eyes scanned the surroundings as if constantly on the lookout for threats, Phil guessed this man was the General's bodyguard.
"Yes, I can see that, thank you Hazel," snapped Watts. He turned to stare critically at one of the soldiers.
"My apologies, sir. I'll make sure it's patched."
"Ensure that you do, soldier," replied Watts. "Or next time I may not be so forgiving." Then he turned back to Beta section. "Tell me: which one of you is in charge of this section?" Phil clamped his mouth shut. He wasn't about to let slip that Jaune was still out there. Not when he might be their only chance of escape. Not when it would mean betraying his friend. Around him, his could see his squad mates sealing their lips as well.
"No one?" asked Watts. When no one answered, he sighed theatrically. "How very disappointing." He began pacing along the line of kneeling soldiers. "Why must you insist on being obstinate? Can you not see that I am a reasonable man? I wish only to talk to your commanding officer. Where is he?" Still he was met with only silence. His gaze darkened dangerously. "I am running out of patience. Surely you can see that talking to me is the best course of action you can take. I will not ask this again. Where. Is. Your. CO?"
A beat passed in silence. Then, "I'm the i/c," said Terry, pronouncing the acronym of in command as 'I see'. Phil just about managed to not gasp, but he couldn't stop himself from stealing a furtive glance at Terry in shock.
The general lowered himself so that he was eye-level with Terry. His green eyes gave a critical assessment as they took in Terry's gangly limbs, his narrow stature and his greasy blond curtains. His voice was dismissive as he declared, "You are not the CO. You are nothing but a private."
"Our original sergeant was killed, along with the only corporal," Terry replied stiffly. "There was no one else but me to take charge."
Watts stared deep into Terry's eyes, and somehow, Terry held his disconcerting gaze. Then, without warning, Watts grabbed Terry's shoulder, yanking him forward. Terry gasped, his eyes going as wide as cogs, as if cold water had been thrown over his head.
"Where is your sergeant?" demanded Watts, his voice as calm as Death itself.
"Dead," whispered Terry immediately, his face frozen in that state of shock.
"Then who leads you?"
Terry opened his mouth, then clenched it shut. His face contorted into a mask of agony, and he suddenly developed a twitch. His body began writhing, as if he were fighting for control of himself. He clenched his eyes shut, then flung them wide open, panting like a rabid animal.
"What are you doing to him?!" demanded Cat, only to get a rifle butt slammed into her face for her troubles.
"Who leads you," Watts interrogated Terry again.
"Me," he gasped.
"You are lying," hissed Watts, anger flashing through his calm façade. "Tell me who leads you!"
"M…me," Terry gritted out, his body jerking again, as if resisting his lies.
"Fine then!" spat Watts, stepping back. Terry's spasms at last ceased, and he slump over his knees, as if all the energy had been drained from him in an effort to resist whatever Watts had done to him. Watts took a moment to compose himself, losing that flush of frustration from his face and regaining his mask of calm superiority. "If you will not tell me who leads you, then I have no use for you. Perhaps your friends will be more compliant when they see what happens to those who resist me. Shoot him," he ordered.
Immediately the closest robot raised its weapons, swinging it around to point at Terry. Naomi gasped. Cat swore.
Phil acted.
It was now or never. He activated his semblance, throwing out his mind—
—and jumped into the Machine.
But not to his weapon.
Into the Atlesian robot.
Phillip was in two places at once. He was there in the Macro, kneeling on the unyielding ground, watching the rifle that would end his friend swing around, seemingly in slow motion. But he was also here in the Machine, inside the mess of crisscrossing connections and circuits that made up the Atlesian robot's motherboard. He was both the human man, and… something else. Something not even he fully understood. He was in the digital; he was digital. And yet, not. His brain compensated for his analogue mind, transforming the ones and zeros that would have been meaningless to a normal person into something he could comprehend. Something he could interact with. Phil didn't quite know what he was.
But he didn't need to in order to achieve his goal.
He moved, jumping down metal alleyways and squirming through copper tunnels, leaving only a string of his consciousness tying him to his body as he devoted the majority of his mind to his task. He slipped past gates and skipped over transistors as he searched for the core, feeling the thrill of being in the machine course through him like a drug. This was what he was meant to do. Not just tinker with bits of broken hardware, but actually interact with the software, with the code underneath. This was what he loved.
He stumbled briefly, catching himself as he found his first firewall. A measly thing for a robot so advanced. He smashed through it with barely a pause, waiting for—there—the trickle of code sent to warn the CU, the control unit, of the invader. Phil squashed it, excitement coursing through him as he tracked where it had been heading. He followed the new route towards the core, weaving through the intricate circuitry so lovingly placed by an Atlesian engineer.
Close. He was close to the CPU—the central processing unit. That little rectangle of silicon: the heart of the robot. If Phil could get into that, he could hijack the bot, reprogramming it to his wil—
He mentally cursed, backtracking as he raced to silence the secret alarm he'd unintentionally set off. It had been hidden well. Very well. He only just caught up to it and smashed it into oblivion before it got any further. But then—another! The alarm was setting off multiple copies of its silent message, each racing down the circuitry in different directions. Phil pounced on those he could, but there were too many, a chain reaction exploding throughout the machine. Phil temporarily reeled, suddenly finding himself in very deep water.
And then he felt It, and the water just got deeper.
Another.
A presence Phil had rarely felt before thrummed through the machine, the very copper tracers seeming to hum in response to its appearance. Its coding was more complex than anything Phil had ever seen before: a latticework of billions—trillions of ones and zeros built up and up and up into a monstrous beast, impossibly fast and unbeatably intelligent, able to outperform the human mind in just about every task set to it. The pinnacle of human creation, so advanced it befuddled even its own creators. An AI.
Somewhere, tied to that impossibly thin string of consciousness, Phillip smiled.
A worthy opponent.
It sensed Phil the same time he sensed it, and they both moved. The AI instantly set about trying to destroy him, roaring down on Phil whilst simultaneously releasing a stream of feelers: a net intended to catch him like a drowning rat.
Phil lunged aside and slipped through its crackling trap, slick as an eel. He instantly moved to block the AI, cutting off its potential pursuit, but the thing simply bypassed Phil's walls. They moved again, each one trying to out manoeuvre the other as they dropped firewall after firewall in the other's path.
Phil had no idea what would happen if it caught him here. If it tore his mind apart, one line of code at a time. Would it be painful? Would it take long? Would his broken mind be snapped back to his body when it was done, or would Phillip Blitz die in the machine? He didn't care to find out.
He sent out a burst of charge one way with the same electromagnetic signature as him, then turned the other. The AI spent a full nanosecond at the crossroads before simply splitting itself down both routes. Phil turned again, snapping a block behind him, then diverted an attack to flank the AI, but the thing simply slipped away yet again. Now it was the AI's turn to attack, sending a surge of electricity that had Phil diving away, almost straight into the jaws of the other copy of the AI. How had it finished with his projectile so fast? Phil barely managed to wriggle free, but he knew the AI—now recombined and fully operational—would be after him. He had to do something. Fast.
By all rights the AI should have trapped him by now. It had the home advantage, had schematics of every crook and cranny of circuitry where it could corner and capture Phil. If that happened, he knew it was game over. What's more, it was fast. Really fast. But then again, in this form, so was Phil. And even though he'd never been in this particular android before, he'd spent a lifetime sneaking into electronic places he shouldn't be. He knew the best ways to dodge a trap, the fastest method to get through a fire wall, the way AI like this one thought and acted. He knew every dirty trick and unfair advantage that there was in the Machine. And he had one crucial advantage that his adversary would never have.
He was human.
And he didn't play by the rules.
He moved, faster and faster, leading his enemy on a merry goose chase as he searched for what he was looking for. He ducked left and right, weaving back and forth as he fought to stay ahead of his pursuer. There had to be one somewhere. There had to, there had to, there ha—
There! He spun, soaring past the bulk that was the AI by a nanometre, leading his unwitting prey down his intended route.
He could hear the system behind him, practically feel its excitement as it hunted him down. It knew where Phil was leading it. It thought it had him trapped.
It thought wrong.
Phil reached the end of the wire, the AI snapping at his heels with flicks of electricity. He reached the port—
—and jumped out of the Machine.
In an instant he was back in his body, back in the Macro, little more than a second having passed in real time. The robot's rifle finally swung around fully and locked onto Terry.
The next moment he had jumped again, back into the Machine.
Behind the AI.
It had paused for less than a second, confused by the move that shouldn't have been possible for lines of code. Practically no time at all for a human. Not so for Phil.
He instantly threw up a block, cutting off the AI in the trap it had willingly walked into. The thing did the closest thing a string of electricity could do to a shriek and threw itself at his wall, but Phil threw himself back at it equally hard, sealing the cracks in it as fast as they appeared. At the same time, he fed worms through his defence, coding them with basic instructions to destroy and kill. The AI tore them apart immediately, but Phil was persistent, sending more and more through holes he allowed to exist momentarily in his barricade before closing them up again. One finally got through to the AI, taking a bite out of its code before dissolving into nothing. An insubstantial attack, barely a bother to the matrix that was his enemy. But then another followed it. And another. And another. And soon a continuous stream of Phil's creations was poking, tearing, slicing into the AI bit by bit. With nowhere to go, the AI was slowly blasted apart under the hailstorm of tiny worms eating away at it. Before long, it was nothing but a shredded pile of corrupted data, and Phil stood victorious.
Phil smiled as best as a line of code could. His plan had worked. For reasons that he still couldn't figure out, he could only leave the Machine through an access point: a USB port, an antenna, even a charging socket—as if he needed something to reassemble his analogue mind on the way out. Almost all electrical appliances had at least a few, and the more complicated the device, the more they tended to have. This robot must have had something able to receive signals from another location—maybe an airship—to allow Atlas to control it remotely if necessary. It was this connection to the external world, the Macro, as Phil called it, which allowed Phil to get away from the AI.
Finally satisfied, Phil turned his attention away from his fallen foe and back to his initial target: the CPU. It was time to take control of this robot.
The robot froze. Simply stopped moving as Phil counteracted the order to kill Terry. Watts frowned. "Shoot him," he repeated, pointing to the terrified young man, currently whimpering to himself. Still the robot didn't move.
Phil gritted his teeth. He'd taken control of one robot, but even that might not be enough. Not when there were seven other robots who he didn't have the skill to take control of at the same time. Not when there were still the eight human guards watching over them as well. He needed something else. Something to turn the tide. Something like—
A screech tore through the scene, shattering the temporary serenity. Phil felt his blood turn to ice in his veins at the sound. Watts paused, turning to assess the new threat. For a surreal moment, there was nothing but silence as everyone stared into the darkened undergrowth with bated breath.
Slowly, Phil took his hand off the back of his head. When no one yelled at him to put it back, he lowered it to the ground. Through his open palm he could feel a slight thumping resonating through the earth. Like some distant pounding of the ground was occurring. Or like sounding big was walking on it. No, not walking.
Running.
"Something," Phil decided, "like that."
Then all hell broke loose.
With a shriek straight from the pits of hell, an enormous Death Stalker tore its way out of the forest, several tonnes of unchecked death scuttling across the shrub-littered ground. Phil had an instant to take in its two, monstrous pincers, its hideous mandibles clicking away, as if it were laughing in murderous delight, its ten beady eyes burning a baleful red as they tracked a lone human sprinting straight towards them. A lone, blond human.
Jaune.
Somehow, for whatever maddening, insane, suicidal plan, Jaune was luring a Death Stalker to their location.
Talk about desperate measures.
Watts took one look at the gargantuan Grimm bearing down on them and made a snap decision. Correctly assessing the oversized arachnid as the biggest threat, he barked a set of orders to his men, sending all the humans scurrying off to engage the Grimm before it reached them. It was a wise move tactically; if they were all in the same location when the tank hit, its sheer weight alone would crush anything unfortunate enough to be in its path. Spreading out would not only distract it but would allow multiple points of attack on the creature.
Unfortunately for Watts, that left just five robots, plus him and Hazel to guard Beta section. And whilst that may have normally been more than enough to look after six unarmed, kneeling people, three things prevented that from being the case. One; Watts had just tried to kill one of them, proving that they had nothing to lose. Two; they'd just seen their sergeant, their friend, now ducking and weaving to avoid getting impaled by a massive stinger, get chased for goodness knew how long by a giant scorpion to buy them a chance. They weren't going to waste it. And three; Phil had just acquired a new toy robot.
Phil threw one last furtive glance at the others. His eyes locked onto Cat's, and the determination in them—the sheer fire—had something equally hot spark inside of him. Cat nodded once, and Phil knew it was time.
Apparently, Hazel realised this too.
"Watts, look ou—" He didn't get the chance to finish.
Four.
Phil's robot suddenly snapped into action, spinning its weapon on its allies. Two shots rang out before anyone had even moved, and two robots fell with smoking holes burnt through their faces.
Two.
Phil wasn't so lucky with the third one. Before its companions' bodies had even hit the ground, it had correctly assessed the new threat and swung its weapon around. Phil just managed to spin his own robot's head to the side, reducing what should have been an instant kill to a glancing blow as the glowing hot bullet skimmed past the curved robot's faceplate. The force was still enough to spin Phil's android to the ground, and for a moment, Phil just sat there, dumbfounded at the speed the enemy robot had reacted with. It raised its weapon to finish off the kill, but just as it aimed something black haired and possessing the ferocity of a mountain cat launched itself at its chest and threw it off its feet. Cat and the robot went rolling across the ground, losing themselves in the shrubbery.
"Cat!" screamed Naomi, leaping after the clawing, seething tangle that were Cat and the robot.
One.
The last robot raised its weapon. Phil was too far away to reach it. Terry, Bounty and Finn still hadn't moved. Phil's own robot was still recovering from its hit. Phil watched the android point its weapon at the unprotected Terry…
And watched its hand erupt.
The robot's weapon went flying, along with half its arm, both clattering across the ground away from the android. The thing stared at its jagged stump, broken wires spitting sparks. So did Beta section, equally surprised.
A second shot rang out, and the robot flipped onto its back, its head flying off from its severed neck.
Zero.
Phil was graced with a single moment of stunned awe at their miraculous save, blissfully uninterrupted. Then pain erupted across the side of his face and he went flying. Stars exploded around him as he suddenly found himself chewing grass. Instincts, drilled into him for endless hours with Ralph, had him rolling away even before his vision had stopped spinning, saving him from the receiving end of a brutal stomp. He rose into a crouch and came face to face with the enraged Watts, his calm demeanour shattered as he stared at Phil with unbridled hatred.
"You did this," he seethed, whether because he'd correctly connected Phil's suspicious behaviour to what had happened to his robot or simply because Phil was a member of the section that had destroyed his elite troops, Phil couldn't tell. "I will kill you!"
Phil raised his arms, tensing for a fight, every inch of the other man's face giving absolute credence to his threat. But before he could find out just how the smartly dressed man intended to carry out his promise, a hairy hand clamped down on Watts' shoulder, jerking him backwards. An instant later a bullet slammed past, missing Watts by inches.
"We need to go," growled the bear of a man, Hazel, as he dragged Watts down lower to the ground so they'd be harder to hit. "They have a sniper."
"Not before I kill them," spat Watts.
"This is not our mission," replied Hazel. "We do not need to fight them."
"No, but I want to," snapped Watts, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Let go. I can kill this soldier."
"My instructions from her were to keep you safe. We have more important things than satisfying your bloodlust. Besides, that's no soldier." Phil felt a shiver of fear as Hazel somehow guessed, "That's a Huntsman."
"I don't care," snapped Watts. "I will—"
"No," growled Hazel, his voice like a rasp of steel. "I'm not taking the risk. Not when he poses no threat to us yet." His eyes snapped to Phil's, and Phil realised that it wasn't mercy that had Hazel holding back Watts but cold practicality as he said, "Do not make me have to put you down."
"Wasn't planning on it," Phil managed to get out through teeth that wanted to chatter and quake in fear.
"Good." Hazel's hand was like iron as he dragged Watts back step by step, keeping a wary eye on Phil, Terry, Bounty and Finn as he retreated towards their soldiers, barely straining to keep the slighter man firmly in his grasp despite his struggling. Cat and Naomi soon re-emerged and joined the others in watching Watts and Hazel retreat, Cat now boasting a split lip but still managing to stare down their adversaries with a gaze that was both defiant and triumphant.
Another shot split the air, landing directly between Phil and Hazel, the message clear as daylight: don't come closer. Hazel nodded at this, and suddenly hauled Watts over his gargantuan shoulder and broke for their soldiers. Watts initially resisted, but when it became evident he wasn't going to be put down, he changed tactics, bellowing to his soldiers to kill the prisoners. The first soldier finally turned away from the Death Stalker, spotting Phil and the others.
"Errr, time to move guys," said Naomi as the first tracer of dust sliced in their direction. "Get to the airship!" To Phil at that moment, that sounded like the best idea he'd ever heard. Summoning his damaged robot from the heap where it lay, Phil gave one final order to it as he began sprinting towards the ship. Protect them. He just hoped it would be enough.
Jaune sidestepped another stinger attack and leapt back as a claw sliced at him. He stumbled backwards, gasping down gulps of air as the massive Grimm mercifully turned to engage a different target. Jaune's legs shook precariously. His breathing tore its ragged way out of his chest in great heaves. His fingers had gripped his weapon so tightly and for so long he doubted he'd be able to peel them off even if he tried. He was exhausted. Shattered. Running on pure adrenaline alone. He'd never been the fittest, of that he'd freely admit, but after having just run all the way from the Grimm's cave back here with the Death Stalker hot on his tail he was fit to collapse. Worse, when he'd reached the shrub covered ground near the landing zone he'd been forced to slow down or risk tripping over a low-lying bush. The giant scorpion had had no such problems and had actually sped up now that it didn't have to smash its way through any trees. Jaune had had no option but to turn and face it, or risk being trampled as it inevitably overtook him.
His only comfort was that his plan had partially worked. Bringing the giant Grimm had successfully drawn at least most of the guards away to deal with it, but there were still some guarding his friends, and Jaune couldn't risk bringing the scorpion any closer to his unarmed section.
The Grimm turned again, spotted him, and scurried over to attack. Jaune wearily rallied his strength once more, barely able to even raise his shield. The soldiers had done their best to weaken the beast; at least three of its eight legs had been knocked out and it had more scorch marks on its body than Jaune could count. But the thing was armoured like a bullhead, its thick carapace armour easily absorbing the shots, and only a handful finding their way through the cracks between its plates.
The scorpion scuttled closer. Jaune braced himself for the impact, knowing he couldn't keep this up for much longer.
"Kill them! Kill them all now!"
Jaune's head snapped up from his foe long enough to see a man build like a tree trunk carrying another, well-dressed man over his shoulder. The neater man was screaming orders at the soldiers and waving frantically behind him. Jaune followed his gaze and spotted his friends, now free, sprinting towards the airship even as bullets began to whizz in their direction. Jaune felt a moment of elation at the realisation that they were getting out of there. All Jaune had to do now was meet them on the airship and they'd be on the home run. Except for one problem.
There was still a Death Stalker in the way.
And it was coming right for him.
The Grimm closed the distance horrifyingly fast. In an instant it was upon him. Jaune couldn't go around it with those colossal snapping pincers, nor could he go over the clicking mandibles. So he did the only thing he could think of.
He went under it.
Taking a short run up, he slid to the ground just as the creature reached him, his momentum taking him under the oversized insect. He finally came to a stop and immediately threw himself into a frantic crawl for the back of the Grimm. The thing shrieked in frustration at having missed its prey, then attempted to back up to continue its harassment of Jaune. Jaune crawled even faster, desperately attempting to reach the ray of light at the back of the scorpion.
The thing hissed, then the roof above Jaune shuddered and began to descend. It was going to crush him! In desperation, Jaune buried the pommel of his sword into the ground just as the scorpion's belly reached the blade. Crocea Mors slid off the armoured carapace with a shrink, but then found a gap between its plates. The monster's own weight was all it took to skewer the damn thing. It screeched in pain, lifting its body and causing Jaune's sword to fall out. Jaune snatched it up in an instant, ignoring the slick blackish-red Grimm blood that coated it. He took his chance whilst the Grimm was still screaming in pain to drag himself the last few meters to the back of the scorpion, pulling himself out below its tail.
What followed next was the maddest dash for freedom Jaune had ever taken. His lungs blazed inside his chest. His feet slapped against the ground in an uneven rhythm. His knees shuddered and came close to buckling as he stumbled his way towards salvation. At any moment he expected to hear the screeching Grimm give chase, but down to whatever lucky stars that watched over him the Grimm seemed to have lost track of him.
Then the shots started, and Jaune could have sworn those stars were laughing at him.
He pounded closer to the airship as bullets skimmed past, dirt and grass giving way to hard stone under his tired feet as he reached the edge of the landing zone and tore across it. He spotted Cat and Bounty crouching just inside the ship, guarding the ramp as they desperately watched Jaune sprint closer, unable to do anything but will him speed; they didn't even have their rifles. Behind them Jaune spotted a gleaming white… was that a robot? Jaune's heart almost stopped dead when he saw it, but then he noticed that it wasn't attacking Cat or Bounty. In fact, it seemed to take no interest in them at all as it raised its rifle and fired behind Jaune at its own allies. Jaune was too busy struggling to not collapse to figure it out now. He'd just take whatever break the universe was willing to throw his way.
Jaune closed the gap. Shots slammed into the ground by his feet, scorching the rock. Closer. Closer. Cat held out her arm, as if pulling Jaune towards safety. Closer. Closer. A shot rammed into Jaune's back, shattering his pace. He went down on one knee, feeling his aura splintering and cracking around him. So close. He ground his teeth together, scouring his empty tank for just one more burst of strength. He dragged himself back onto two dead feet, his vision swimming with exhaustion, begging his body to give him more. He saw the beckoning ramp ahead and knew that he wanted to be there. He had to be there. If not for the clattering, banging rifles behind him, then for the people in front. His squad. His friends. He poured everything he possessed into his legs, praying to whoever was listening for strength, and moved, launching himself through the open ramp and straight into Cat's open arms. There.
Distantly, he noticed Cat dragging him away from the opening in the airship, shouting something deeper into the ship. Jaune's mind was as sluggish as his body, but he still had the frame of mind of ask, "Where are the others?"
"Naomi and Terry are in the cockpit helping Phil get this thing started," she answered, patting Jaune down for injuries. When she found none her face burst into a grin. "Damn nice thing, this aura."
"It's out," mumbled Jaune, feeling for that familiar well of power inside of him and finding nothing. He must have lost more than he'd realised fighting the Death Stalker. Its absence was like having a warm and protective cloak stripped away on a cold day, and now he felt naked and bare.
Cat nodded solemnly. "No more catching bullets, eh?" she tried to quip. Jaune was too tired to reply. He noticed Cat glance back to the open, and Jaune blearily turned his head to follow her gaze.
"Why isn't the ramp closed," he started, realising Bounty and the robot were still crouched by the opening, ducking back whenever a shot pinged off the metal ramp. Cat winced, and when she turned back to him her eyes were filled with poorly-concealed worry. And that's when Jaune realised Cat had only accounted for five members of his section. "Where's Finn and Aiden?"
"We don't know," admitted Cat. "Flea decided to run off looking for Aiden instead of sticking with us. We're trying to wait for them."
"We have to go after them," cried Jaune, trying to sit up, only to almost blackout when he did.
"Woah, you're not going anywhere, Superman. You said it yourself, you're out of aura. You'll just get yourself killed."
"They'll die out there," he mumbled, feeling so, so tired. Cat's creased brow told him that she knew that.
"They're advancing!" bellowed Bounty, cringing back as a shot made it through the opening and sizzled into the floor by his foot. Jaune turned his head from where he lay on the ground to look through the ramp, and to his horror he noticed the Death Stalker curled on its side, slowly fading into nothing. With the Grimm at last dead, the Atlesian soldiers were now hopscotching their way towards the airship, the rate of fire pouring towards them increasing exponentially. Before long they'd be upon them, and it'd be too late to flee.
As if reading Jaune's thoughts, the ground under him suddenly trembled and shuddered, a slumbering beast awakening at last. With a shock he realised the airship's engines had turned on and were now building in pitch. Jaune heard a whoop of celebration from Phil in what he assumed was the cockpit.
"Not yet!" he tried to shout. "We can't leave ye—"
"There!" yelled Bounty, pointing outside. Jaune followed his finger to see Aiden and Finn come crashing into view, dodging and weaving towards the airship. Aiden, the wolf Faunus the nimbler one of the two men, was racing ahead, whilst Finn struggled to keep up the desperate pace. Jaune's heart went out to them, willing them onwards, closer and closer to safety.
Some of the Atlas soldiers had seen the two men make their mad break and were racing towards them in an attempt to cut them off. Their own robot fired at them in return but could do little against the rapidly increasing tide of white-clad soldiers. Their window of escape wouldn't be open for much longer.
Aiden at last reached the ramp, leaping aboard. Finn had fallen behind, but he put one last burst of strength in—
And tripped.
His foot hit an awkward patch of the ground, twisting under him in a way Jaune knew it shouldn't. Jaune could only cry out as Finn went down, utterly helpless. Aiden tried to drag himself to his feet, but he was as exhausted as Jaune. The airship juddered and moved several feet away from Finn, the open ramp screeching against rock as it pulled away. Cat screamed at the cockpit to wait. And Bounty—
"Cover me," he yelled, leaping from the safety of the airship and scrambling towards Finn. Aiden and the robot, the only ones with weapons, emptied their clips at the enemy soldiers. Jaune watched as Bounty reached Finn and in one swift movement hoisted the dark-skinned man over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. The bearded man grunted with the added weight but charged back towards the airship. Bullets came shooting by, impossibly close, but the hunched form of Bounty didn't slow a tad as he barrelled towards salvation.
The ship moved again, and Terry's head poked out of the cockpit. "We can't wait any longer!" he cried. "We need to go!"
"We're not leaving," commanded Jaune.
"Sarge, we might not—"
"We're not leaving!" he yelled, silencing Terry. He turned back to watch Bounty struggle the further distance, his face turning scarlet as he huffed and puffed his way closer. Ten meters. Five meters. Two meters.
On!
"Go! Go! Go!" Jaune bellowed. Cat fell onto the ramp lever, sealing the swarm of enemies outside. The ship lurched forwards, a dog finally free of its leash.
"Hold on!" yelled Phil from up front. No, not a dog, Jaune realised. A dragon. The ship rocketed forward, knocking everyone standing off their feet. The hail of bullets slamming into the back of the ship slowly petered out, until the only sounds in the dim interior of the ship were the harsh wheezing of fatigued soldiers and the whirr of the engines.
"Did… did we escape?" asked Terry. A wild laugh bubbled up from Jaune's chest. Then another. Then some more. And soon Jaune was beside himself in mirth, the bursting of the tension that had suffocated his body too much to contain.
"I think… I think…" Jaune gasped between chuckles, "I think we did."
Jaune watched as the realisation that they'd done it—really, actually done it—hit each member of his squad. Watched as their eyes lit up in delight and their faces morphed into mad, uncontrolled grins.
"What took you so long?" Cat huffed at Aiden, trying and failing to sound stern as she scanned him for injuries like she'd done for Jaune. Aiden just gave her a sheepish look, then held up the small device Jaune hadn't noticed in the previous rush. It was long, thin, and distinctly yellow.
"I thought Phil would want this to be saved," answered Aiden as he held up Aeron Wasp.
Jaune's ensuing laugh rang loud and clear throughout the entire airship. And for a glorious, unspoilt moment, Jaune really thought everything would be alright from then on.
He was to be proven wrong even before the end of the flight.
Man, I just cannot leave Jaune on a good note, can I? The universe always has to rain on his parade just as he's feeling good about himself. But at least he's in the clear from Watts for now. Speaking of... haha! No one saw my twist coming! No one could have possibly predicted that Watts would show up! No one—
Ok, yeah, you probably all guessed Black Bishop would be Watts. Salem and her cronies love their chess metaphors, and if you remember, General Ironwood's code name in Watts' text at the end of chapter 4 was White Bishop. It's just like Watts, egotistical maniac that he is, to consider himself equal and opposite to one of the most influential men on Remnant.
On a more serious note, sorry if this chapter feels a little rushed (because it was). I normally use the first week to write a chapter, then the second one to proofread, rewrite it, tie it together better etc. For this one I was literally finishing the ending, rewriting the beginning, and connecting the middle in that order just yesterday. Also I gave up trying to write to a set amount of words after the first week, hence why this is such a stupendously long chapter, which is also partially why it took so long. If the chapter suffered because of it, then I'm sorry, and I'll try to stick to a better schedule for next time. Until then, stay awesome everybody!