Do I really have to say that I don't own Avatar at this point?

Chapter 34: Lucifer's Fall

Date: 19:55, May 27th, 2170

Location: Ops Center, Tartarus, Pandora, Alpha Centauri A System

The surviving humans, civilians and soldiers alike, had not been idle in the past seven hours. Though their progress was slow, under the supervision of Jones and the few engineers who had made it back to the inner defenses, they were digging, welding, and in general doing everything possible to further fortify the small strip of land they defended.

Parker nodded as, next to him, Weigand began to outline what he expected to happen in the next phase of the battle.

"We've established heavy defenses around both the Apartment Complex and the Ops-Center, both are critical. Trench-lines here and here connect our two bastions, and another runs to our last bunker, the one covering the airfield." the Oberst manipulated the holoimage, and markers representing the various units appeared in the defenses, "What is left of Kampfgruppe Präriewolf will hold the area around the Apartment Complex, while your miners and my AMP team will hold in position around the Ops-Center. The trenches connecting the two will have a skeleton guard, if they're rushed, the troops will fall back to our two defensive points."

He pointed to the Ops-Center, "The buildings themselves should be largely immune to burning, right? Are you going to fall back in here if you have to?"

"Only if we have to." Weigand nodded, "Our last line of defense will be retreating into the structures and fighting room to room." The older man paused, peering at him, "You look far less pale than you did when I arrived inside, Administrator."

"I do?" he blinked slowly, and then thought about it. He had been a wreck in the morning, after the outer defenses crumbled. After that, he had been forced to deal with the aftermath of that struggle, trying to organize a triage for the medics on one hand while managing where his mining crews were on the other. It was rapidly becoming a nightmare for him to keep any kind of order amidst his people, including telling who was left, and who was doing what. All he was really doing was trying to make sure everyone who was alive had the ammo they needed and was positioned where they might do some good.

Now that he thought about it again, however, he felt that dreaded feeling again. The cold terror moving through his body at the idea, no, the knowledge that he would most likely be dead before the local sun rose again.

Shaking his head, almost violently, he replied, "Just staying busy, keeps my mind off of… things."

The Oberst continued to gaze piercingly at him before nodding once more, "You are not the only one afraid of what may come, Parker. What's important is not allowing that fear to control you. Though you are not terribly well suited to combat and living with the fear of imminent death, you loathe being controlled, do you not?"

He halfheartedly glared at him, "After Quaritch, wouldn't anyone be?"

That brought a laugh, "I can well imagine." Weigand glanced around the Ops-Center, apparently making sure everyone was quite occupied, before he continued, "There is something I never did ask you before, that I probably should have, in hindsight."

Parker blinked at him in confusion.

The Oberst leaned onto the holotable, "Strictly between us, did you authorize the bulldozing of that sacred site, the one that set everything off last time?"

It took him a moment to realize what was being asked, "Isn't that a little late to be wondering about? I mean, shouldn't we be talking about what's happening now?"

"If we're going to die tonight, I would like to know."

He thought about it for a while. Thought about telling the truth. Thought about lying. Thought about why he had done what he did. Thought about the consequences of what had happened.

I did what I did, for the company's best interest. The old line seemed... stale somehow. Something he had said to himself so often that, instead of believing it, he had slowly realized just how pathetic it really was.

It had not seemed like a big deal at the time. It was simply the fastest route for the dozers to reach the giant tree, and the mountain of precious ore beneath it. Miles had been the one to point it out to him, saying that it could possibly demoralize the natives, give them one less attachment to the area, and maybe give them the break they needed to resolve everything quickly and quietly.

He had been so… sick of it then. Sick of the 'responsibility' of being in charge, of being the one who had to handle everything that happened at Hell's Gate. Sick of Augustine and her cronies' superiority complex. Sick of Quaritch and the Sec-Ops trying to find ways to supersede his authority. Just sick of it all.

The natives, and their continuous attacks on his mining teams, had simply been one problem too many. He did not want to kill them, despite the fact that they had no qualms about killing his people, had not wanted them inside the tree when it went down, had not wanted to watch Quaritch fire missiles into the crowd. He just wanted them gone, moved, somewhere else, somewhere where he would have one less problem to deal with.

So why had he really done it?

He still did not know. Following orders? Pursuing the most efficient path? Trying to get it over with sooner rather than later?

All were true, but all were not quite why he had gone ahead and done it.

Shrugging, he replied to the patiently waiting Oberst, "Yes. I ordered it. You want a reason? I don't know. A dozen different things all played their part. I don't regret it, it was my job. Only things I regret were having Quaritch in charge of security, and accepting Jake Sully as an Avatar driver after his brother died. Without them, maybe it would have worked out without everyone dying, both sides."

The other man seemed to consider that. "An honest set of answers, at least." The German turned his gaze to the table once more, "I cannot pass judgment upon what happened. That is not my place. You acted, as I believe, most humans in your position would have done." A slight chuckle, "Did you know, I did not understand Quartich's loathing of the Na'vi before I came here. Even yesterday, I still did not. But now... after fighting them, watching the beasts devour the wounded and the dying. Watching my friends, the people who depend upon me for survival, being slain by the blue-skinned hypocrites out there, I begin to understand."

"What do you-" the alarm cut him off mid-sentence, the rising and falling shrieks piercing the twilight sky.

The Oberst blew out a breath slowly, nodded, and held out his hand to Parker, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Herr Selfridge. With luck we may continue our talk in the morgen."

He blinked slowly, nodded, and shook his hand. Weigand pumped it once, turned, and strode rapidly from the room, heading for the waiting AMP suit outside.

The calm from his discussion with the Oberst began to fade as he turned his eyes back to the glowing image before him.

Why in the world did he want to talk about that right before the fight? He chewed it over in his head as he watched the small icons representing the remaining soldiers available to defend Tartarus racing into their positions.

The cold fear began to slither through him again, and he blinked a bit as he noticed its return.

That's what he was doing. Distracting me from fear. He felt a slight rush of gratitude towards the older man, and began to glance around the Ops-Center, looking for something he could help manage.

He had just reached the station where the dispatcher for the medic teams sat, to see how well the triage was stocked and set up, when the heavy forty-millimeter weapon on the roof opened fire, and the holotable showed a swarm of heat signatures moving in from every direction.

Date: 20:15, May 27th, 2170

Location: Apartment Complex Trenchline, Tartarus, Pandora, Alpha Centauri A System

Michael Jones felt a savage glee as he pulled the trigger, assault rifle pushing back against his shoulder, and watched a native fall screaming to the ground as it attempted to raise its bow.

Learning to hate the people you fought against came naturally with war. After all, if the enemy had just left them alone or not done whatever it was they had done to piss your country off, there would not be a reason for you to be risking your life, would there?

But like everything else, it was different on Pandora. He had not learned to hate the natives, as he had expected to. He had learned to loathe them. The peculiar kind of battlefield respect that could so often creep into existence between human foes was totally lacking on this god-forsaken moon, leaving only rage him, watching people die from bullet wounds and explosions was one thing. It was brutal, and often messy, but it was expected. Watching people die from being impaled by massive arrows, left to scream and twitch from the poison, watching them be eaten by massive beasts, that… that was something else entirely.

He did not care if he survived the night. All he cared about was killing the enemy that had so brutally slain his friends.

From the grim wolf howls his men and women began to let out as the battle renewed, they felt the same.

Most of their heavier weapons were gone now, lost with the bunkers and unfinished buildings that held them. Only the roof mounted turrets on the Ops-Center and Apartment Complex remained. Fortunately, most of the native fauna already lay slain. More unfortunately, the blue-skins were not being utterly moronic in their tactics anymore. Apparently getting slaughtered in their full frontal attacks had convinced them to listen to someone with brains, probably that bastard Sully, and now they were trying to act more intelligently, using the burnt corpses of half-finished buildings as cover as they approached.

Few beasts were left to support them. The super-fauna had drawn heavy weapons fire every time they approached, and as far as he could see, none were participating in the renewed struggle. The smaller beasts had been largely wiped out in the brutal morning battle, and what few were left weren't smart enough to try and follow the blue-skins' approach, instead choosing to rush straight towards them and be obligingly slaughtered.

A pair of natives bolted across his vision, firing their bows as they ran. Squeezing the trigger gently, he felt that hot glee again as he watched both tumble to the ground. His fourth kill was female, something that did not matter to him at all, blowing her brains out as she wound up to through a fire-bomb.

Slamming a new clip into his rifle, he never let his eyes stop moving, scanning the battleground.

His eyes jerked skywards when he heard a shout from his left, "Enemies above!"

What had to be every last Banshee rider their enemy had left was airborne, a massive Leo in the lead, diving from the clouds straight towards them.

Son of a bitch! There must be a thousand of them!

He frantically finished reloading and took aim as the forty-mil on the building behind him began to boom, anti-air rounds exploding amongst the swarm, and everyone who didn't have a ground target in their sights aimed up and let go with everything they had.

The Ops-Center and the AMP suits around it must have realized the peril facing their southern brethren, as they shifted their aim from their own problems to hurling death towards the still diving blue-skins.

Arrows hurled down like rain, fire-bombs following, as the natives returned the fire with interest. Human screams quickly became interspersed with the eerie shrieks of dying banshees and wounded natives.

None of that mattered; his entire focus was on the sights of his weapon, lining them up with the massive beast leading the assault, and the rider on its back.

He opened fire as soon as he lined up the shot, and promptly swore as the beast frantically tried to level out from its dive, his rounds tearing into its chest rather than the leader of their enemies.

The bullets from his rifle were not the only ones hitting the beast. It was huge, terrifying, and drew fire like a magnet. It roared in agony as its life blood poured from its body, struggling to remain in the air on torn wings, before slamming into the ground, the traitor guiding it tumbling off the dying beast's back and onto the ground.

Snarling as the thrashing creature's bulk obscured his target, he swore more violently when his eyes turned to the ground. Using the aerial attack as a distraction, the ground-pounding blue-skins were trying to rush them again.

"Ignore the banshees, kill the warriors!" he shouted the order, suiting actions to words as he began to fire careful bursts of fire down range once more.

The banshees did not linger long, making one or two passes apiece before winging away from the base, circling for altitude in preparation for another mass-strike.

Someone with authority is still alive up there then. He thought grumpily, though the reprieve from the aerial attack was not something to give away, especially with the natives rushing once more on the ground.

Screams and shouts began as first a few, then several, and then many natives made it to the trenches. The area just to the north, the thinly manned line between the darkened buildings, seemed to be the most overwhelmed.

His headset crackled, "All forces defending the airfield and communications lines fall back to the primary defensive positions!" Weigand's voice bellowed over the roar of an AMP suit cannon.

The roar of gunfire seemed to increase as the few soldiers in those trenches sprinted back towards the safety of the darkened buildings.

Many did not make it, arrows piercing them from behind as the blue-skins pursued. They were avenged, however, when they tried to follow the trenches into main concentration of humans. Jones had stationed his few remaining men armed with flamethrowers at the junctions, and the harsh glare of orange flames could be seen as natives started screaming.

But he could hear far more human screaming to his right.

"Mining Team C," he bellowed, the tiny troop of a dozen men were his only reserves, "Get your asses over there and shore up the line, now!"

The engineer leading the conscripted men acknowledged, and a few moments later the screams and shouts were joined by the sharp barks of pistols and shotguns as they frantically tried to restore the line.

Thankfully, the natives seemed to have given up on rushing his position, instead opting to resume their long range fight, arrows falling from the night sky as the battle slowly wound down to a skirmish once more.

Moving along the trench, he occasionally returned fire as he headed to inspect where the natives had breached his line.

It was not a pretty sight. Then again, what was on this hellhole?

Most of a platoon was down, including half the mining team he had sent in. Bodies, both blue-skin and human carpeted the ground. The reports beginning to filter in did not paint a good picture either. The short but brutal fight had cost him nearly a quarter of his remaining people, and his men were beginning to run low on ammunition.

"Oberst, this is Jones. Enemy repulsed with heavy losses, their tactics were improved but their timing sucked ass. Running low on ammunition and I am down to less than seventy-percent defectives. Request orders, over."

"Hold your position, the enemy still pressing hard to the north. If ammunition or numbers become critical withdraw into interior of complex." An explosion punctuated Weigand's statement.

Swearing, he turned north, seeing the blue skins swarming forwards, his men firing in short, ammunition conserving bursts as they tried to provide what support they could.

Before he could order more aid sent to the northern line, the renewed cry of "Enemies above!" sent his gaze and rifle sights to the sky, and the battle resumed.

Date: 20:39, May 27th, 2170

Location: Ops-Center Trenchline, Tartarus, Pandora, Alpha Centauri A System

Oberst Eric Weigand's face was set in stony concentration as he carefully fired at the charging enemy. With ammunition running low, it would not do to waste a single round, and it was important to set the example. One could not ask his men to fire carefully if he did not as well.

"Drei, shore up the left!" he barked, keeping an eye on the shifting battlefield even as he carefully executed any native that moved into his sight.

"Jawhol Oberst." the AMP directly to his left shifted its footing, twisted its torso, and resumed firing, a pair of natives falling amongst the gore of their torn bodies as 20mm rounds ripped their flesh apart.

Only five of the massive machines remained now, they drew fire-bombs like flames drew moths. The conscripted miners manning the trenches were not in much better shape. Ammunition was running low, and he had been forced to commit his only reserve platoon when the natives used what had to be their last dire-horses to rush his eastern line.

To compound matters, the original perimeter line was far closer to the Ops-Center than it was to the Apartment Complex, and that natives were using it for shelter as they fired their arrows. More had crept into the junkyard, launching strikes from there.

Ammunition was plentiful in the interior armories, but their personnel shortage had become so acute that he did not dare send men to get it while the battle raged. He had already drawn most of the interior staff into the positions, Selfridge was aiding the communications officer coordinate the frantically working medical teams, and beyond the two of them only the roof gunners and doctors remained inside the building.

The natives who had been attempting to breach the line began to fall back to the cover offered by the previous human defenses, arrow firing slackening, if not ceasing.

They surge. Then retreat. Surge. Retreat. He nodded to himself slightly. Perhaps they are trying to draw us out of the trenches and into the open, but have no idea how to properly go about such a strategy. Sully must be in the southern region, an ex-marine would not have allowed the repetitive tactics.

Studying the computer displays within his exoskeleton furiously, he nodded as he established a new plan. He had to solve the ammunition problem as well as get them some time to catch their breath, as well as to allow the natives to realize just how many of their dead now carpeted the grounds of Tartarus.

"All forces, we will hold against the enemy's next rush. As soon as they slacken once more, the AMP teams will make for the southern defenses, the infantry will withdraw inside. The 3rd platoon will use the tunnel to reinforce the south; the remainder will continue to defend the Ops-Center."

A chorus of affirmatives answered his orders, and he nodded as the thermals showed the natives beginning to rush forwards once more.

Carefully aiming the massive weapon, the computer guided sights settled on the head of a native woman before the gun roared, blood and brains exploding as she died instantly.

Date: 2101, May 27th, 2170

Location: Ops-Center, Tartarus, Pandora, Alpha Centauri A System

Parker watched, sweating, as the engineers and miners sprinted indoors even as the five remaining AMPs pounded south. The natives, startled by the sudden change, hesitated a few critical moments before trying to sprint forwards and catch their prey.

He watched anxiously as the outer airlock was slammed shut by the last engineer in, native arrows rebounding off the metal moments later.

He breathed a sigh of relief, only to nearly jump out of his skin as more pounding arrows ricocheted off the exterior windows. Gulping, he raced over and slammed down the button that dropped the armored shutters over them.

The communications officer had drawn her sidearm and was staring at the glass and metal, "That probably won't stop them for long. Banshees will probably tear right through it."

Nodding shakily, he agreed, "Long enough for people to get up here. It's the only point where they can probably get in, right?'

It was her turn to nod, "You should probably get out of her sir, unless you have a sidearm somewhere."

He laughed shakily, "Never took the fire-arms course. I'll head over to the triage center; see if I can do anything to help."

The officer took cover behind one of the thicker consoles as several engineers raced into the room, nodded to her, and took up their own positions, watching the windows.

He was to the door heading out when she called him back, "Sir?"

Turning and blinking, he responded, "Yes?"

She looked utterly serious. "You should probably find a sidearm."

Parker stared at her for a moment, just as something much stronger than an arrow slammed into one of the armored sheets, denting it inwards.

Gulping, he again nodded shakily before running for the underground tunnel. More men and women raced paced him into the control room, others began to set up barricades made out of tables and seats along the thin hallways, the more experienced soldiers instructing his miners to remain and man them before moving on.

Making a short stop at the armory, he grabbed one of the very few pistols still remaining, awkwardly attached the holster to his belt, and resumed his trek to the Apartment Complex.

Muted gunfire started up behind him, and he ran faster. Changing his destination, instead of rushing into the cafeteria turned triage facility; he instead let his pounding feet carry him to the staircases, bolting up them as rapidly as his out of shape body allowed.

Arriving, panting, in the lounge near the roof of the complex, he stared out the expansive windows into a portrait of hell.

Fires were raging everywhere, tracer rounds streaming out from the trenches at the base of the complex, but that was not anything new, or even noteworthy at this point.

What was truly stunning were the bodies. They were everywhere. Viper-wolves, dire-horses, fallen banshees, all manner of beasts carpeted the soil and tarmac. And the natives… their corpses were everywhere. He could not even begin to count them.

How the hell are they attacking us across that! I mean, how the hell do they stomach it!?

The native's 'charge' was more of a loping jog, as sprinting invited tripping over something, someone, or a part of something. However slow it was, dozens had reached the trenches, he could see that much of the firing was taking place within them, rather than being aimed outwards.

The fire began to slacken below even as he watched, and he furiously re-activated his headset, forgetting that he had even turned it off.

"-critical! Withdraw inside immediately, we'll cover you!" Jone's voice barked.

"AMP suits cover the airlock!" Weigand sounded off a second later.

Only three of the metal walkers remained now, they and a scant dozen engineers fighting furiously as the miners sprinted inside.

He watched helplessly as the natives rushed the tiny group with everything they had left, trying to stop the humans from reaching the relative safety of the building.

Date: 21:17, May 27th, 2170

Location: Apartment Complex Trenchline, Tartarus, Pandora, Alpha Centauri A System

His ammunition counter was flashing a warning red, the readout informing him that he had only two-dozen rounds left. One of the others had already run out, the pilot using its bulk to shelter the retreating men as best she could, the leering demon's face of her AMP horribly scratched from claws and arrow strikes.

The last miner streaked inside, leaving only eleven engineers and three AMP suits to stand against the savage horde.

"Sir!" It was Jones, shouting even as he fired his weapon from a firing step a meter away, "Get out of that suit! We'll cover you!"

He smiled softly, glancing at the thermal screen. Getting into an out of the AMP was not a quick process, the additional cockpit armor complicating matters immensely compared to the older Mitsubishi models. Truthfully it had been an oversight on his part, something he should have noticed during their training period.

He and his two remaining people were not going to be making it inside.

"Negative. Get inside Jones, we'll cover you." he spoke even as he sent a precious round into a diving banshee.

The AMP to his right stepped up and out of its firing pit, a laughing dragon covering its torso as it carefully picked off several natives trying to flank them.

"We're not leaving you sir!"

"Get inside," he turned his metal body so that he could glower at the man below him, "That's an order. We're not getting out of these suits and you know it, stop wasting time and ammunition!"

The American appeared to wrestle with something in his mind for a moment.

"God dammit! Engineers! Fall back, on the double!"

The younger man came to attention, saluted him, and then sprinted inside with his people, the door slamming shut.

The other two AMP pilots did not say a word. Nothing needed to be said. The woman in Vier to his left simply threw her useless weapon into a native before bellowing a war-cry and charging forwards. Acht, to his left, burst into laughter and raced after her, expending his last ammunition as he did so.

Still smiling softly, he moved forwards, accelerating after them, and firing as he went.

Acht had already run out of ammunition by the time he cleared the trench-line, the pilot slamming a leaping savage away from him. Vier was struggling to clear a native off her back as it tried to find a way to break into the machine.

His last round tore the creature off, sending its broken carcass to the ground. Tossing the weapon aside, he kept his forward momentum going, simply barreling over another native and crushing another with one of his fists.

He did not know how long the brutal brawl went on. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Time seemed to dilate as the three Deutsche Krieger fought for their lives.

Acht died first. A fire-bomb slammed into the rear of his suit, the fuel line detonating almost instantly.

Vier fought more fiercely at his death, screaming her warcry again as she thrashed and fought. They fought, back-to-back at times, apart at others, for a longer time.

She died when a diving banshee rider was able to hit the thin vision slit with an arrow, ending her final scream of defiance.

Then he was alone. At least one of the heavy guns mounted on both buildings was still firing, struggling to hit the remaining swirling riders above, doing what it could to help him fight on for a few moments longer.

A native leaped onto his machines back shortly after he crushed a wounded dire-horse and its rider beneath a mechanical foot.

Snarling, he thrashed his arms backwards, knocking it off and spinning to face it.

It was a female, striking like many of them were, yellow and white paint decorating her face as she hissed at him.

He said nothing, letting the grinning skull decorating his cockpit do the talking, and lunged for her. The female hurled herself to the ground, rolled, and came up with a broken piece of Acht's weapon, desperately using it to parry aside the left-handed punch he threw next.

She was unprepared, however, for the strength of the punch, the blow knocking her off balance. She had no time to parry again or try to avoid his right fist before it slammed into her lithe body, hurling her up and away from him, her limp body flying through the air to land a good fifteen meters away.

Turning to engage the enemies racing towards him from the left, he heard a bellow of rage unlike anything he had heard before, followed by the shattering of pottery and sudden warmth inside his suit.

Einse.

He sprinted towards the oncoming natives, counting in his head, idly wondering how high he would get.

Zwei.

They skidded to halts, knowing what was coming, trying to turn around.

Drei.

He was almost there, almost amongst them now.

Vier.

He could see their terrified faces as a demon from their worst nightmares bore down upon them.

Funf.

There was a flash of light, a roar of noise, and for the briefest moment, he thought he could see something, a woman's shape, and the smell of mead drifted through his nose before the curtain of darkness fell.

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