Yep. Still don't own it. You know what I mean. If you don't, see the previous 30+ chapters of disclaimers.
Chapter 35: Ragnarok
Transmission of Logs: Explorer's Dream to ICA Control, Terra
Departed: Fleet departed 07/02/2163 under Oberst Weigand, 753 souls embarked for colonial duty
Arrived: 03/03/2170 Pandora
Current Date: 09/28/2170
Mission Status: Critical
Senior Staff Report: Oberst Eric Weigand: KIA, Hauptmann Johannes Adler: KIA
Captain Maria Thomes assuming command under emergency protocol.
92 survivors encircled at Site 01: CO Kapitán Nikolai Kozlov
153 survivors encircled within Tartarus: CO Captain Michael Jones
Current Objective: Attempt to remove wounded from complex and prepare for further native assault.
Success deemed unlikely.
Failure to send further messages by 09/30/2170 indicates Expedition Failure.
~ Captain Maria Thomes
Date: 00:10, May 28th, 2170
Location: Tartarus, Pandora, Alpha Centauri A System
Parker stared numbly at the conference table in front of him, dimly aware of Michael Jones doing something similar several chairs down.
Everyone had known that the odds of winning the battle had been slim. Knowing those facts, and facing them, were two different things.
Even after everything... part of me still thought that he'd manage to find some way to win the fight, stop it, something.
He had watched the insane charge of the three remaining exoskeletons with horror from his vantage point, unable to look away when the Oberst's AMP had caught fire, the image of the machine sprinting into a cluster of natives before its fuel lines detonated would be one that haunted him.
"Didn't think I'd outlast him." he heard Michael murmur.
"I didn't think anyone would." he replied, just as quietly.
"Dammit. I should have made him get out of that damn suit!" the other American snarled, "I should be dead, not him, he could handle this shit, find a way to get something done that would work out, all I can do is fucking kill them, make them pay for every room. That's all I fucking want to do, but I know that's not what he would have done."
"Depends on what Maria says," Parker reminded him, "She's the new commanding officer now."
The other man cooled down slightly, "Yeah. But I mean, fuck. What the hell are we going to do Selfridge?"
Gunfire from above cut off anything he was about to say. It was not the first time, or the last he guessed, that the natives tried to force their way into the command center.
Both men glanced up at the roof, not saying a word, simply listening until it died down a few moments later.
"No screams at least." It was either make light of the situation or vomit again, and he would rather not look like a weakling in front of the veteran engineer.
"Ain't that somethin'." Jones reached out, seemingly reassuring himself that his rifle was still the table next to him.
They sat in a strained silence for a while more, awaiting the call they knew was coming. Thankfully for his nerves, she did not make them wait long.
"This is Captain Thomes, Selfrdige? Jones? Acknowledge."
"This is Jones, the Administrator is here as well. Have a plan?"
"Not much of one, I'm afraid." her tone was frank, "How many wounded are there, forty?"
He replied, "Thirty-seven, last time I was in triage."
"Very well. I know Weigand didn't want me to bring down our last shuttle, but we're out of options. I'm not leaving anyone wounded down there for this final showdown."
Jones laughed quietly, "And how do you propose we cover the landing? They'll swarm the instant you touch down."
She briskly outlined her plan.
"That's not a plan. That's ritual suicide." he shook his head violently, "No way it will ever work."
"There's little chance that any plan we come up with will work," she shot back, "And unless I'm much mistaken, is it not better to move quickly with a good plan than wait for a perfect one?"
"Patton?" Jones laughed, "From a Canadian? Why the hell not, and it's not like I can come up with something better anyways."
He shook his head, "I still think it's insane... but you may be right, we don't really have anything else do we?" Suddenly feeling very tired, he nodded, "Only place we can coordinate this from is the command center. I can handle that."
Jones blinked at him, "You?"
Parker shrugged back at him, "I don't want to die. I really don't want to die. But if the option is curling up in a corner and waiting for the savages to tear my throat out, or at least trying to do something to help… I can't fight, but I can do the communications, free up a soldier to fight. Just make sure there's a solid guard up there, all right?"
Thomes laughed over the comms, "Let us get to work then. If the natives follow their usual routine, they'll attack you at dawn, we'll need to put our plan in motion first."
Date: 01:45, May 28th, 2170
Location: Outside Tawtute Encampment, Pandora, Alpha Centauri A System
Neytiri still had yet to wake up.
He had never realized just how fragile she looked until now. She had always been the strong one, the rough and tumble warrior, taunting him with cries of 'skxwang' as they flitted amongst the trees on some adventure or another. Jake had been far more worried about having children than she, much to the clan's amusement.
But now, with dried blood coated across her back, her tail limp and unmoving, several of her strong bones obviously broken, and her breathing ragged... he was more terrified than he had ever been in his life.
The memory simply would not stop replaying itself in his mind. The AMP suits making their final, futile charge. The pilots desperately trying to take as many of the people with them as they could. Neytiri struggling to fight the sole survivor, seeing her body hurled through the air even as he raced to her aid.
He closed his eyes, shuddering, preying to Eywa that that sight would not be how he remembered her.
The other Olo'eyktan were nearby, trying desperately to engage him in talks of how to finish the battle. They all looked exhausted, dejected. Their eyes had lost their shine of life, their faces aged as they furtively glanced about at the carnage around them. Part of him knew that he should be helping, directing, preparing to make the final assault... but he just could not bring himself to care anymore.
Despite all of his warnings, they had not been prepared. He had known they were not. He had also known that there was no chance that they were going to wait until they were. Patience had never truly been a strong suit of the Na'vi. The only thing he could do was get them to obey him as Toruk'makto once more, get them to use strategy and tactics instead of blindly attacking.
It did not seem to matter now...it seemed like the battle itself was a distant memory, already fading. All that mattered to him was that his love lay wounded, dying before him, and all he could do was clutch her hand.
"We must attack the sky people soon!" one of the clan leaders hissed urgently from nearby, "Our warriors are exhausted and saddened by the loss of so many! Their sacrifices in the name of Eywa must not go unsung! We must finish this!"
"But how?" an older female shot back, "They have retreated within their stone and metal halls, my tribe has lost almost all of our warriors, and who knows what traps the demons have prepared?"
They all glanced nervously at the two darkened structures, numerous warriors carefully moving around them, trying to find entrances beyond what their ikran had managed to tear open.
"The sky people are very cunning, it will cost the lives of many to root them from their very nest." the wiser Olo'ektan continued, waving at him, "And Toruk'makto, the only one with the wisdom to guide us, has withdrawn into himself with grief."
Several turned their stares to him once more, and he continued to ignore them. That did not matter anymore. They did not matter anymore.
The aggressive clan leader from the northern plains snorted softly, "Allow the warriors to rest. They are all weary. We shall press the sky people at dawn. We still have many of Jake'sully's 'fire-bombs' remaining to us; let us see if the sky people can withstand flames within their halls."
Jake'sully then. Not Toruk'makto. Not even Olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya. The message, imparted form a simple name, was very clear. He was no long in command here, or even a member of the war council.
Very gently scooping up his mate, he winced as she whimpered softly. Carefully clutching her to his chest, he began to make his way deeper into the jungle, towards where many healers struggled against the rising tide of wounds. They could do little for her, but perhaps they could stall her pain for a time. Maybe he could find a pa'li and a litter, so that she might rest beneath the branches of their kelutral.
The assembled Olo'eyktan watched him depart in silence before leaving in turn to spread the word, rest for a while, and with Eywa's grace and guidance, they would end the threat of the sky people once and for all with the rising sun.
Date: 04:20, May 28th, 2170
Location: Mining Site Zero-One, Pandora, Alpha Centauri A System
Nikolai Kozlov had no idea what the natives would make of his nation's anthem. They certainly did not speak Russian, so he had figured it would hold little meaning to them, beyond being noise. One of his lieutenants had come up with the idea after he had outlined Thomes' plan to his men, and everyone had laughed and figured, 'Why the hell not? We're dead anyway, might as well go out with style.'
They had all armed up with as much ammunition as everyone could carry, moved to the doors leading out, slammed them open, and charged to what they thought was certain death.
Needless to say, what actually happened left the situation feeling rather anti-climactic.
To be honest, I really did not expect them to run away. He thought, almost laughing, as he loped forwards along the road at the head of his people.
He was not sure if it was the singing that had caused it, or the fact that every human remaining within the bunker complex had surged outwards, firing as they came. Maybe both? Either way, most of the natives in sight had simply bolted at the sight of their charge, the few that tried to stand and fight, to rally their kin, were the first to die, picked off for their efforts.
The night was not yet turning to dawn, the twilight sky hanging over them as exopacks and ammunition banged against their bodies as they jogged as fast as they could without overly tiring themselves, heading towards the burning pyres marking Tartarus.
An arrow whistled by his head, and all of his soldiers threw themselves to the ground, the miners following suit more slowly behind them.
There! Movement flickered in a tree, betraying the camouflaged native.
He swung his rifle into line and fired a three round burst, watching the shape crumple and fall.
More arrows began to rain down; he could see numerous savages rushing down the road far ahead before bolting into the trees.
Two can play that game.
"Everyone left side, left side! Off the road! Take cover, but continue the advance!"
He suited action to word, leaping up and scrambling over the largely torn-down scrap barrier.
His people rushing behind him, they darted into the brush, turned north east once more, and began to move. The miners, most of whom spoke no Russian, once again lagged slightly behind before catching on and racing to catch up.
"Whatever happens do not stop advancing!" he bellowed, suiting actions to words.
A deadly game of fire and maneuver began, the more experienced soldiers bellowing orders to the miners. One fire team would open fire on the distant natives, dropping several, causing the rest to hurl themselves to the ground or dive behind trees, giving another group the time to sprint forwards, take cover, and open fire so the others could move up.
The natives, for all their recent combat experience, did not have centuries of warfare to teach them such tactics. They tried to hold their position, returning fire with their bows as best they could, but usually aiming at those firing at them, rather than at the more vulnerable moving fire-teams.
As they approached closer to the native lines, the burly lieutenant who had suggested singing broke out into song again, this time singing the naval hymn. All of the soldiers joined in, the miners laughing with a tinge of hysteria as they did their best to mimic the unfamiliar tune.
Skidding to halt after his team finished a maneuver phase, he realized just how close they had gotten to the natives. More of the blue-skins were rushing south, no doubt from Tartarus. A dire-horse rider or banshee must have raced back with word that the humans had gone insane and were attacking.
A little insanity can be a good thing. He chuckled, before screaming loud enough to tear his throat, "All squads, CHARGE!"
Singing at the top of their lungs once more, the humans broke into sprints, firing wildly as they raced towards the enemy.
Human soldiers often reached a 'breaking point' during severe battles, where their spirit simply could take more death and destruction, where the terror and panic of a single soldier could induce an entire army to flee. Evidently the Na'vi had a similar psychological breaking point, and after several days of battle unlike anything they had ever experienced, of watching entire clans destroyed, of listening to the screams of Na'vi and human alike, simply seeing the humans charging them, singing madly, firing their weapons with reckless abandon... it was too much for their spirits to take.
One turned tail, literally, and bolted north. Then another. Then two. Then ten. Like a wall breaking apart under the strain of a flood, it happened slowly at first… bits and pieces dashing away, before the sudden burst, as the rout carried along their lines.
"Pursue! Pursue north!" he shouted, ignoring the pain of exhaustion, firing a flare into the sky as he ran, signaling that they had reached the half-way point, well beyond ten times as far as anyone had actually expected them to reach.
Laughing with the sheer insanity of it all, his men gave chase to creatures twice their size through the jungle of a death world.
Date: 04:42, May 28th, 2170
Location: Tartarus, Pandora, Alpha Centauri A System
Parker felt his jaw drop as he saw the red flare streak into the sky to the south.
What the hell!? How did Kozlov make it that far!?
They had planned on Kozlov reaching that point, of course. But no one had expected it to happen. The plan was as much a glorified last stand as it was an actual attempt to remove the wounded to the safety of the Explorer's Dream.
Shaking himself, he slammed the buttons in the order the communications officer had told him to before she had raced down to the main airlock to await the signal.
Several things happened in rapid succession.
First, a small message stating Transmission Received appeared on the screen.
Second, The Imperial March began to blast from the still functioning sound system. Maria had wanted something Germanic to honor Weigand and Adler, but Jones had overridden her, quipping "They think we're conquering, evil, murdering bastards. If we're gonna die, I want to live up to that reputation on the way out."
Third, gunfire roared to life as every human still mobile and capable of fighting sprinted out of the airlocks, firing wildly at the stunned natives, screaming war-cries as they went.
The wounded soldiers left to guard the control center had been set up next to the damaged, and in some cases, open windows, but on hearing the gunfire they punched the buttons raising the remaining shutters and fired their own weapons at whatever they could see.
Even in the predawn light, it was easy to see the confusion of the natives. Most appeared to have been resting, relaxing, with only a few actually guarding the buildings. No doubt saving up their strength for the final fight that they expected to start in a few hours, and now taken by total surprise by the insane rush.
Then something happened he did not expect.
A group of them tossed their bows aside, and bolted into the trees.
He was still trying to process that image when several more fired a few arrows, and then ran as well.
The gunfire increased, and he saw Jones waving his men onwards, charging towards the largest enemy concentration.
Many routed, fleeing as fast as their long legs could take them. Many did not, the heavy twangs of their bows almost inaudible amidst the gunfire. Human and native alike dove for cover amongst rotting bodies and shattered equipment, arrows and bullets flinging through the air.
Though still massively outnumbering the humans attacking them, the blue-skins no longer rushed forwards, the deep, booming strings of the dark music and the unnatural courage of the still advancing humans seemed to have thrown them completely off.
Of course, he knew better than to expect that the advantage would last.
Several blue-skins, no doubt tribal leaders, began to rally their nearly panicking forces, and the fighting began to chance its tempo.
Sheer numbers soon began to tell, and Jones' charge began to falter as he reached the old Samson landing pad. Several men took up position in the bunker that once protected it, others leaping into the trench and surrounding fox-holes, providing what cover they could to those still stuck in the open.
Even from here he could hear the whooping of the natives as they began to advance, the familiarity of the situation seemingly reassuring them. Though still moving a bit more slowly, and cautiously, than they had in the prior stages of the battle, they began to force Jones' people back. Those humans who had not been quick enough to reach the trenches around the landing pad fell back into the closer network around the Ops-Center, providing what long-range cover they could to Jones those men who had reached the pad.
The natives looked as though they were preparing to rush the trenches when the Valkyrie roared in overhead, engines screaming as Maria Thomes personally guided the massive shuttle down over the again besieged forces.
Her shuttle had been around for several hours now, creeping slowly over the jungle and landing at the ruined fortress near the gravel mine to salvage what gear they could. It had, thankfully, been apparently abandoned by the natives after they had seized it, giving them time to work. They had then remained there, awaiting his signal to swoop in and provide what support they could before landing and evacuating the wounded.
Having arrived, and managing to thoroughly startle the attacking natives into temporary immobility, the Valkyire put her new gear to use. The rear landing ramp lowered, revealing a hastily mounted 40mm cannon that instantly started bellowing, high explosive rounds tearing into the blue-skins.
Their resolve wavered. One of them seemed to be bellowing something, orders perhaps. A round from the astronauts disintegrated his body, splattering what was left of him over his kin nearby.
The natives broke.
They gave no thought at all to cover, sprinting as fast as their long legs would take them away from the battlefield, what few banshees still survived began to take wing, flapping wildly away from the flying behemoth. Vaguely, he noticed a much larger knot of banshees rise from the trees in the distance, frantically streaming in every direction as quickly as their wings could take them.
Moments later, while he was still struggling to make sense of the bizarre situation, around a hundred blue skins burst into the area from near the road. They were almost on top of the engineers and miners, saw the shuttle, the further destruction, and tried to wheel away. Howling, Jones leaped from his foxhole and sprinted straight into them, his men and women letting go with their own war-cries and following their leader into the melee.
The natives were massive, strong, and fast. They were also tired, demoralized, and stunned. Many kept trying to flee even as others drew knives, struggling to defend themselves as humans leaped upon them, stabbing with combat knives, tripping them and bearing them down, firing at point-blank range.
Kozlov and his people emerged in the middle of the melee, took it in for a moment, and then resumed their own charge straight into the enemy's rear.
Ten minutes later, the Battle for Tartarus had ended.
Date: 0700, May 28th, 2170
Location: Tartarus, Pandora, Alpha Centauri A System
The three surviving staff officers all sat limply at the base of the Ops-Center, staring at the carnage around them.
Everyone else was doing much the same, the few lucky survivors simply gaped at the destruction that they had not had time to fully take in as they fought for their lives.
Captain Michael Jones had died in his final charge, leaping onto a native tribe leader, tearing out her throat with his knife even as her blade drove into his chest. His body lay shrouded under a white cloth nearby, blood already soaking through it. They were long out of American flags, though Parker was sure that the Captain would not have minded.
He died taking an enemy with him. Wherever the hell he is, I'm sure he's content.
A few men and women were trying to move the human dead into organized rows, almost all of them were from the shuttle's crew or from Kozlov's detail. Most of the surviving miners and engineers within Tartarus were too tired to do even that much. The medics were struggling to get everyone who was seriously wounded onto the landed Valkyrie to take them up to the Dream for treatment by the doctors anxiously awaiting them.
It was not an ideal solution, to be sure. The period of zero-g before they made it to the artificial gravity of the crew sections could kill many of them, but they quite simply did not have a choice. Moving all of the medical equipment and gear to the surface simply was not possible, not with one Valkyrie and far too few people to load and unload them.
Nikolai Kozlov sighed and leaned his head back against the stone wall behind him. "Going to be hard to live here now, much less mine."
He snorted, "Mine? With how few of us are left? It's going to take years to get enough personnel here to get back up to speed, and we'll still be behind, because those are supposed to be reinforcements to what we already had, not replacements."
"No help for it. We'll make it, one way or another." Thomes shrugged, stretching her body in a way he would have found distracting were he not so tired. "I seriously doubt that the natives will mess with us for quite some time now."
A snort from the Russian, "How would they? There must be five thousand dead around us now, it will take decades, if not a century, for them to rebuild, assuming their tribes survive the losses of so many warriors and hunters."
"That reminds me," he twisted his neck around to glance at Thomes, "Talk to Patel at all? Let him know we won?"
"Won? Pyrrhic victory is the term, I think. But no, I haven't." she yawned massively, "Yet another thing to do. You two get your asses inside and find an air-locked room to pass out in. I'll start handling clean up."
Both men shook their heads, Kozlov gesturing for him to speak first, "We'll help."
"We will rest when the dead lay in peace," The Russian rumbled in agreement.
She glanced between them, and then nodded.
Date: 07:45, May 28th, 2170
Location: Tree of Souls, Pandora, Alpha Centauri A System
Mo'at had been about to, once more, try to reason with her goddess when the radio chimed quietly.
They all turned to stare at it before Max rushed over to turn the speaker on, "Hello! Who's there?"
A bone-weary Thomes answered, "It's over. Natives retreated, routed at the end."
Everyone else sighed in relief, but he knew that that news was not good news. There had long since been no possibility of good news.
"How bad?" he asked quietly.
"Might be a hundred and fifty of us left. Weigand and two of our senior Captains are dead. Neither of Selfridge's mining foremen made it." she paused, "Native casualties… impossible to count at the moment. At least fifty-percent. Probably much higher, but I don't know if we'll ever get an accurate count."
Mo'at strode forwards at this, she did not know how the radio worked, but she knew that the other human could hear her, "Does Toruk'makto yet live?"
"I presume you're the native they've got helping them? And I'm assuming you mean Jake Sully?" Thomes did not wait for an answer to either question, "We think so. His Leo got killed last night, but Parker thinks he got away. Haven't seen his body at least, so I guess that's something."
"And his mate? The Omaticaya?" the tsahik pressed.
"Lady, I have no idea how to tell you apart. You want to know if they lived, head back to your tree." Her tired voice turned hard as she continued, "And tell your goddess, if she's real, that his is what happens when you fuck with the human race. We didn't want to fight you dammit, but the kid gloves are long off. You mess with us, we'll kill everything that fucking tries. She sends packs of animals to eat our people again, we'll raze that Tree. We'll raze every tree like it on this planet. We will fucking exterminate anything that dares harm our people until every Na'vi child on this planet screams in fear at the mention of the sky people."
The radio went silent.
Every stared at it.
"Well. That went well." John said with forced cheer.
"You think?" he snapped at him before turning to Katrina, "Get the Samson up and running. There's going to be a lot of wounded, we have to help as we can. Mo'at, could you please give Eywa the... message, then we'll go."
The elder matriarch continued to stare at the small radio box for a long moment before turning and heading back to the tree.
Max sat down heavily inside the Samson, and stared downwards, a stone dropping into his gut.
He had failed.
He left his head bowed for a while, soaking in that fact.
The knowledge was bitter.
He had never really failed at something before. Always had a plan. Always ready for any situation. Growing up had taught him that, to always be prepared, to never settle for anything but the best. Even when something went wrong, he fell back on a new idea. Always managing to keep things on the up and up. But now... thousands of sentient beings were dead, and it was because he had failed.
The analytical portion of him began to protest his logic.
You did everything humanly possible to stop the fight. You convinced Mo'at, got her to the Tree, used every argument you could think of. Only Eywa could have stopped the attack, and she refused to listen to reason. It's not your fault.
But it still was. If he had seen what was coming. If he had talked to Mo'at years ago, to Neytiri, to Jake, tried to convince them to try for peace when the humans inevitably returned.
He and the others had been too occupied just trying to survive to worry about is as much as he could. Too worried about living to the next day to consider the far off future.
And that's no excuse for letting thousands die.
The turbines began to spin, Norm and John climbing in carefully, avoiding looking at each other or him.
Mo'at slowly returned to the Samson, she looked far older than she had mere minutes before.
The knowledge that every warrior, including your daughter, in your tribe may be dead can do that to someone, he thought bitterly.
"Max." it was Norm.
"What?" it came out gruffer than he intended.
A long pause. "It wasn't your fault man."
He did not bother to answer. This time, the entire flight passed in silence as they raced south, out of the floating mountains, towards the kelutral to see if their friends yet lived.
Next up is Interlude: The Chosen
And the battle has ended, though in a way I hope wasn't quite expected. Hope everyone enjoyed the story's epic battle, we'll be heading into the aftermath now in Act V: Resolutions, also, expect a lot more focus to shift to Max now that the fighting has died off.
Glad to see the reviews still coming in, hope everyone is enjoying it. There's still Resolutions to go though, and then an Act VI after it before the story is complete, so don't go anywhere.
Review!
Please keep reviewing, it's awesome beyond words to turn my computer on and see 5 or 6 new reviews waiting for me.