Yep. Still don't own Avatar, only my OC's.
Chapter 22: A God's Might
Date: May 12th, 2170
Location: Explorer's Dream, High Pandoran Orbit, Alpha Centauri A System
Whenever he was in space, looking down on a world he felt... different. It was not the lack of gravity, he knew that stomach churning feeling all too well. It was not the comforting surroundings of technology, relieving to his psyche after far too long on a jungle death world. It was something else.. the view perhaps.
He could not even describe what was different about it. He had felt the same above Terra, back home, gazing at the brown and blue world as he had left for this mad mission. Even his glimpses of the Moon had stirred the feeling. Now here, staring at the deceptive Pandora as it crossed before Polyphemus, he felt it once more.
Maybe it was the sight of single, small orb amongst the stars that reminded him of how alone they all were, in the end. Or maybe accentuated that, in the end, the universe was a desolate place, where the strong conquered to survive, and the weak perished in the cold void..
It doesn't matter, Parker slowly tore himself from the view, forcing his thoughts back to his reason for heading up to the Explorer's Dream.
Weigand had been hammering the importance of morale on their people, especially as isolated as they were, so far from home. Though the football tournament helped, and the recent building-craze to get their rust-barrier in place had also done well in bringing their people together, the old German liked to make sure that morale was always at its peak.
And so Thomes had come up with the idea of occasionally having the high-level staff travel up to visit the wounded taken to the Dream for care. They had drawn lottery to see who would go up when, and today was Parker's turn to visit the four wounded miners still aboard. That it meant an, effective, day off of reading boring reports and the ability to leave the loathed world below was an additional perk for himself.
Resuming his path along the interior of the ship, he carefully hauled himself along the bulkheads until he reached the first of the spinning crew compartments. In an improbable stroke of logic, the 'hospital' on board was located as near to the airlocks as possible to ensure rapid treatment.
Feeling much more comfortable in the low gravity, he descended the long ladder into the main compartment.
The smell of anti-septic and overly strong cleaning supplies hit his nose immediately, along with the very faint coppery taste of blood.
He winced at the last, stomach churning a bit more. His memory played several clips of both Na'vi and humans being slain before his eyes.
Controlling his gorge, he nodded to the on-duty nurse and headed into the forward recovery section. A solid dozen beds had been carefully crammed in the small area, but thankfully, only half of the beds were currently filled, two of their occupants apparently asleep. The rest were watching what looked like re-runs of an old comedy on a screen mounted on the walls.
"Administrator!" One of his miners noticed him first, and he vaguely recognized the man from the unobtanium mine.
Lawrence, his memory poked at him, His first name is Lawrence... was a veteran of Hell's Gate. Got wounded in the raid, still being treated for burns.
"Lawrence," he nodded and gave the man a polite smile, "How is the leg? Burns healing all right?"
The man seemed stunned that Parker knew his name, and it took him a few moments to collect himself, "Y-yes sir!" he managed to stammer out, "Should be good to work in another week or so, at least, that's what the doc says."
"There is no rush," he assured him, "Let it heal. We need everyone back at full health."
"Sir?" a female voice asked from one of the other beds. "Did we win the last game?"
Brittany Phelps. Truck driver. A viper wolf tried to tear the cabin apart. Being treated for atmosphere exposure and lacerations on her left arm. It was always helpful to know the people you were meeting. Not only did it make you look good, it made them like you more, which, to him, was a massive double-bonus. Being a jerk-ass boss got you nowhere in life, whereas being a sympathetic boss made people want to do their best for you, which made him happy, them happy, and the stockholders happy. Everybody won that way.
Parker beamed at her, "We did indeed Ms. Phelps, 3-2 in overtime. Our mining crews have the distinction of having won the first Tartarus football season."
She laughed a bit at that, as did Lawrence. The two wounded soldiers grumbled good-naturedlly, and Lawrence introduced them.
"The skinny pale guy is Rodriquez, and the big pale guy is Wolfgang. They got wounded last week with Brittany, when the wolves got through the perimeter." the young miner explained.
"Pleased to meet you," he smiled his professional smile at them, "I trust that Captain Thomes has been treating you all well?"
Wolfgang laughed, "Sie ist der Todd nach einem fussballspiel." he said, and seeing Parker blink, translated, his accent thick, "She is death after a football game, her men have not won enough to suit her."
Everyone laughed a bit at that. Parker glad-handed and made polite chatter for a while more, discussing the construction still going on on base, as well as the plans for the next football 'season'.
"They've pushed back the start date from next week to two weeks from now, and I keep hearing rumors that instead of teams by our profession, they're going to try and organize it more like the clubs back on Terra," he was telling them the latest gossip as a nurse brought in food, "But personally, I think that Thomes and Kozlov are just trying to find a way to break up my mining team and find a way to avoid us stomping Jones in the first round."
After maybe another hour, he bade his goodbyes and told them to give his greetings and well wishes to the two unconscious miners before he headed back up the long ladder leading to the ship's core.
He was smiling a bit as he paused once more to gaze down on the world he had to return to. He knew that he had done what Weigand would call a 'good service' to his men. Cheering them, reminding them that he was human, not some faceless bureaucrat. He really was not quite sure why he was smiling though.
Maybe Weigand's right. Maybe I am getting a bit more attached to my species, to the people working for me. Or maybe.. maybe it's just because I figured it out.
He knew what felt different, hanging in the void above the world. He imagined it was the same feeling as the first aviators had possessed, as they had turned their gazes to the world below and the sky around. For all the chatter the natives had about the 'beauty of nature' and life and all that hippie-nonsense. This... the ability to gaze at a world from the stars, to know that you had the power to go anywhere in existence that you desired.. this was beauty mixed with power, a drug so potent he could almost taste it, and it was something for humanity alone to covet. Something that those pathetic natives would never be able truly experience.
Feeling immensely cheered by his own thoughts, he headed back into the Valkyrie, ready to get back to work.
Date: May 13th, 2170
Location: Tartarus, Pandora, Alpha Centauri A
He was still looking at the hostile planet through rose-colored glasses the next day. His subordinates had picked up on their boss's better than average mood, and were using it as an excuse to relax a bit. That as not to say that they were neglecting their jobs, but the ratio of non-work to work conversation was massively skewed compared to normal.
Let them have some time, he told himself, We don't have to stress out every day over staying on schedule.
Making his rounds, he chatted about golf with Augustus, lamented over the loss of his favorite clubs after their exile from Hell's Gate, talked football with some of the on-duty communications officers, and generally relaxed as well.
He even shared his snack food with some of them.
By lunchtime though, things had calmed down a bit, and everyone had slowly gotten back to work. As regretfully as everyone else, Parker resumed working with Augustus on how to position their main excavator when it arrived, and later called up Jones to argue the proper set up for the refinery.
"I'm telling you Administrator, a set-up like Hell's Gate is going to be too impractical here, the sheer size of that facility blocks too many of our existing defensive guns. A primarily underground facility is what we need." the American Captain argued.
"Captain," he countered, "There's no way we could get that done in any reasonable amount of time, and from the message we received at the start of the month, we need to get it done as soon as possible."
A frustrated sound came over the comm system, followed by "All right, here's what we do. You draw up your plans and I'll draw up mine, we give them to the Oberst at the staff meeting tomorrow and we see which one he approves of."
"Fine." he cut the communications and immediately pulled up the old blueprints. Gathering his staff, they started working over the design on the main holotable.
Some part of his mind was dimly aware of time passing, while the rest was far too concerned with finding a way to shrink the massive facility's size into something more compact. And so it was with a great deal of surprise when chaos erupted around him. The communications officer had shouted something that he had not caught, then the command center had become overwhelmed with shouted questions and barked orders.
Parker blinked and looked around. Daylight had turned to dusk outside, and he could the rapid movement of soldiers moving into positions outside.
He felt his throat ache as he shouted to be heard, "A drill?"
"No sir!" the primary communications officer likewise bellowed back, "Blue-skins at Site zero-two!"
It took several seconds for that message to sink into his brain. Which then erupted in diverging streams of thought.
Fuck! Not again! Was immediately followed by, At least I'm not there this time!, which, in turn, was followed by Shit! The equipment!
Calling up his own communications protocol, he activated his link to the gravel mine, "Site 01, come in! We have a native attack at Site zero-two! Get your asses and your gear back here!"
Haskos, the taciturn foreman on-duty there, could probably hear the alarms through the link, "On it Administrator!" he shouted, and promptly hung-up.
Even as he did, Augustus minimized the blue-prints and brought up the image of the unobtanium mine. Yellow icons for several mining trucks, each noting that numerous miners were taking refuge inside, were headed down the road. The red icons marking Kozlov and his security detail were clustered around one of the kill-zones, and the system was drawing thin lines from their position to the jungle as they and the sentry turrets fired. He didn't see any markers representing natives, but there were small icons representing incoming fire flashing from the jungle to the entrenched Russians.
The foreman brought up the communications chatter, which was useless. Everyone was speaking and shouting in Russian, which he did not understand in the slightest. In sounded bad though. Or at least, the occasional scream, usually coinciding with a red icon vanishing, certainly did.
Weigand's voice broke across the master channel, causing a temporary silence, "Kozlov! Report!"
"Mass native attack!" the Kapitan's voice was broken up by the heavy gunfire of an AMP suit. "I've got four men down, three wounded, several dozen blue-skins at least!"
"I'm scrambling the Samsons and Brunhilde now, hold fast!"
"Affirmative!"
Parker could already see Samsons starting up, the running lights of their monstrous Valkryie flicking on as she was brought to life, the lights slowly rising as her bulk heaved off.
Part of him hated the powerlessness he felt staring at the holo-image of men fighting and dying. He hated not being in control, and to watch the small icons vanish, knowing that a mere two kilometers away, men and women were dying nauseated him. The rest of him was damned glad he was not there, and was fully appreciative of the fact that he was safe in the mixed stone and concrete Ops Center.
The battle, meanwhile, continued. Flying blue icons had arrived, and fire warning markers began to spread over the mining equipment.
God dammed savages! He screamed mentally, punching his fist against the table's rail, It's another god-dammed raid!
Though it was just a gut-reaction on his part, it seemed true enough. The natives in the jungle continued their harassing fire, while the banshee-riders had swooped in around the kill-zones, avoiding the bulk of the sentry turrets, and dropped more of their copy-cat molotovs onto the mining equipment. This time, though, instead of all of them winging away at high speed, some of them lingered, firing arrows from on high down at the ground at the vulnerable soldiers below.
It cost the morons their lives.
Suddenly the icons shifted, the mounted warriors attempting to flee. He barely had time to blink before the massive icon labeled 'Gunship-01 Brunhilde' appeared above a tiny representation of the massive shuttle. Cheering erupted around the table as the blue-skin fliers simply vanished when the Valkyrie opened fire. Samsons swooped in behind her, their darting shapes depositing reinforcements to the ground before rising and assuming escort positions around her.
Cheers could now also be heard over the comm system as the massive ships slowly banked over the jungle, and the computer struggled to accurately depict the explosions on the ground as all three of her heavy 40mm cannon began firing high-explosive rounds as fast as they could load and fire.
Five minutes later, it was over, and yet another battle was replaced with its ugly aftermath.
Date: May 13th, 2170
Location: Tartarus, Pandora, Alpha Centauri A System
"Total count, seven of my men are down and out. Eight more are wounded, one might not make it." Kozlov reported, covered in sweat and grime.
Though it was now well past midnight, that had not stopped Weigand from immediately calling a full-staff meeting once the battleground had been secured. Thomes and Jones were missing, the latter had taken a fresh group of his men to the mining site to guard against a possible second attack, and the former was at her usual home in orbit.
"Native casualties are harder to analyze. Brunhilde got half-a dozen fliers right at the start, and we think we've found the pieces for a dozen or so more on the ground. Optimistically, between the gunfire and her heavy ordnance, maybe thirty dead, unknown wounded." he finished.
"And since we didn't pick up anything leaving the area save for the smarter banshee riders," Adler put in, "I'm think we can assume we annihilated their ground force."
Parker spoke up, "Which is good. But we did lose several men, and the did burn up two of our excavators real bad, as well as our prefab command building out there. It'll take a week just to get the equipment fixed, and the building is a total loss."
"Agreed." Thomes' irritated voice came from the speaker in the center of the table, "Unfortunately, seven for thirty is a trade the natives can make."
"Perhaps." their commander appeared pensive at the head of the table. "Assuming they're willing to win, at literally any cost, yes they can make that trade. But if reports from the Tree of Souls battle are accurate, then the enemy did break and run in the face of superior firepower."
He frowned, "You think this will scare them away?"
The Oberst shook his head, "Not a chance. But it will knock them back on their heels. Brunhilde is something they could not have expected, and it will take the blue-skins time to come up with a new plan. There is also the matter of their behavior during the battle itself."
A burst of German caused a momentary pause of confusion, before an embarrassed looking Adler spoke again, "Ja. That some fled, rather sensibly, after torching the equipment, but the rest stayed."
"The locals have called in support, and tried to train them. But it wasn't complete." Kozlov rumbled, his thick brow furrowed in thought.
"But why?" Parker blinked, frowning. "Why attack us if they're not ready? That doesn't make any sense, and as much as I loathe him, Sully never struck me as a complete military idiot."
"Maybe.. maybe something else is pushing them." Thomes' disembodied voice spoke once more, "Maybe they think their god is pressuring them to act? Perhaps Dr. Patel might know more on that, didn't the information he gave us mention something that their 'god' could be an actual organism of some kind?"
"Augustine ranted about that," he waved a hand dismissively, "It was psychedelic nonsense, and confusing nonsense at that."
"Probably," Weigand agreed, "But still, perhaps it does bear investigating. Thomes, I need to be on site to handle things here. I'll need you to contact Dr. Patel come morning. Feel no need to be discreet in your questioning, and remind him what species he is a member of."
"I will." the speaker clicked as the line went dead.
"Everyone else, get some sleep. Hauptmann Jones and I will handle the remainder of aftermath, and tomorrow we can begin the unhappy affair of laying our dead to rest once more."
With that, the Oberst left the room, no doubt headed for the Ops Center to oversee the remainder of the mop up.
Stretching and yawning, he rose far more slowly and began to make his way to the finished tunnel connecting the apartment complex to their command center.
Figures. A day that started out well, cannot end well, he thought bitterly as he made his way to his room.
Several minutes later, collapsing into bed, he dreaded awakening the next morning. For the hectic chaos of a massive increase in his workload would be there waiting for him, and standing on its coat-tails would be the depression of watching yet more flags slowly consumed in funeral pyres.
Next up is Chapter 23: A Cold Dish
Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter and the resuming of the heavy action, there's still more to come.
Please, please, please with sugar-cookies on top review! I really like hearing what everyone has to say about my work, and it inspires me to write more, and write better.
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Robby Cartwight: STG plant is the Stereolithography Plant (should actually be abbreviated SL, will probably change that), used to manufacture the parts to make just about anything (save advanced computer systems), as long you had the raw materials to feed it. Why Eywa is pissed about the rust-barrier will be gone over in the next chapter, when John makes his report to Max.