(A/N) Hey guys, going to keep this short and sweet! This chapter is brought to you by the fantastic Casaric, and, you guessed it, features Killian Jay. For Grifball fans, we are currently looking for one or two writers for our Grifball fic, Grifball: Running Rampant, so if you're interested then get your ass on over to our forum and fill out an application. Now, I'm going to leave you and go to bed, because it is very late.
Enjoy!
Chapter Seventy-Two – The Last Stand
Killian Jay – Private First Class, Medic
Written by Casaric
"Do no harm. That is the founding principle of my practice. The cornerstone is you will. All doctors, nurses, field medics, etc. believe in this principle. ...I guess I'm not a doctor. ...And just between you and me...I'm perfectly fine with that." - Killian Jay
Killian was, for lack of a better term, mildly surprised. It's not often that the med-wing's blast doors are sealed by freelancer agents in an attempt to hold off alien invaders. Or perhaps it was the large amount of armed men and women in his presence that surprised him, it wasn't often that you had a battalion of troops milling around in the med-wing. Or maybe it was the magnum that was tossed towards him by the tan-armoured freelancer known as York, and the questions he asked. Mildly surprised indeed.
"York? What are you..." Killian asked, quite shocked at this, as well as the other couple dozen soldiers, including Massa, Florida and Cal's sudden decision that the med bay was the perfect place to stage their last stand. He then seemed to realize what York tossed to him, and nearly dropped the firearm to the floor in a mix of shock and fear.
"...York?" Killian said once more, his tone pensive.
"Killian, there's not a lot of time, so I need you to listen to me." This wasn't laid-back, 'let's have beer' York, this was leader York. He didn't have time to waste on Killian's questions, after all, he had his own, that he needed answered.
"R-right. Shoot." Something didn't feel right, Killian could feel it in his gut.
"How many medics are here, right now?"
"Uh, I'd guess about fifty or so. Why, did people start cutting their damn limbs off or something? Jesus..."
"Killian, focus."
"Right, sorry."
"What about entrances?"
"In total? Well, there's four wings total, each wing has its own entrance, including this one...which you just sealed off. So, four, total. Or three, not counting this one."
"Can we seal off those entrances?"
"Well, yeah, the entire ship has blast doors, and if it worked for this one should work for the other three." Killian said with a shrug.
"Ok, good. That should help buy some time."
"Buy us time from wh-...oh...fuck." Killian felt, simply put, pretty fucking stupid, but given the fact that he had just emerged from an open battlefield, with all of his limbs intact, he thought that he was allowed to be a little slow. After all, this was hardly what he had signed up for. "The aliens, right."
York had turned away from the medic for a moment, telling Massa, Florida and Cal to take some men and go secure the other three entrances with the blast doors. After the troops had been split up, the tan-armoured freelancer turned back to face Killian once more. "I'm hoping you guys no how to use a gun."
Killian crossed his arms over his chest, somewhat insulted. "York, I'm a doctor. I know more ways to kill a person that to help them, so yes, I know how to use a handgun."
"And everyone else?"
"I think you're making it seem harder that it really is. You point at the guy, you pull the trigger, he dies. A mentally retarded monkey could do it."
"But will they?"
"...The monkeys? How the hell am I supposed to know?"
"...The medics, Killian."
"Oh. Well, that's the question isn't it?...They won't shoot us." Killian, in all honestly, didn't know. Sure, they didn't want to die, but they took the oath. ...He on the other hand had his fingers crossed.
"...Good enough. Let's get these guys armed..."
As reluctant as they were, the doctors eventually agreed to take the various weapons offered to them, and dispersed to each of the four entrances.
"You sure they won't shoot us?" York asked, slightly concerned.
"...No."
"Great."
The next few minutes were tense, as everyone settled down into position staring at the large blast door with unblinking eyes, as if it would disappear if they looked away. York got occasional call ins from the other agents at the other entrances, reporting on the status of their blast door.
It seemed to go on for ages, a deep silence settling over everything, only broken by the occasional cough or the shifting of bodies.
And then...
thump
It was almost undetectable, but every tensed up. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl... and then the door exploded.
Four near simultaneous explosions ripped through each of the entrances, obliterating the blast doors. Either those were really high grade explosives, or really cheap blast doors. Killian didn't have time to dwell on the matter as a bolt of green plasma ripped through the air where he was just standing. The soldier who had tackled him to the ground, taking a moment to return fire from his prone position at the on-coming covenant force, blue blood splattering the walls of the med-bay.
From what he could see from his position, back to the floor, the air above him looked like it was on fire. Bolts of blue and green plasma flying across the room, along with the ripples in the air left by the many bullets being pumped into the opposing force.
Killian felt the soldier on top of him roll off of him, allowing him to get to his feet once more.
Everyone was behind a makeshift wall constructed out of medical equipment found in the wing, allowing for some cover during the fight. York and the soldiers were firing like madmen, and the medics were doing their best, but with every enemy downed, another simply took its place, it seemed to never end.
Killian, ducked to avoid another blast of plasma, and began to return fire, launching round after round until the magnum clicked empty. After ducking down, and struggling to reload for a moment he popped back up and started firing once more.
York had retreated to cover to check on the others, and they were, holding out just as well as they were, which was to say, poorly. Massa had taken a plasma bolt to the shoulder and Florida had nearly gotten maimed by a plasma grenade. What was with that man and explosives? Cal, for the most part seemed fine, well, as fine as someone who had just taken a plasma sword to the gut a few minutes earlier could be, but he was starting to get over-run. They really couldn't last much longer like this.
Killian's last clip clicked empty, and he felt, of all things, anger, fill him up. This was not how he was going to die...was it?
The Covenant had pushed through and all seemed lost. It was the end. The story of Killian Jay ends here... oh, wait, nevermind.
Killian watched in awe as the Covenant, with the advantage they held and victory assured...fled. The whole Covenant just up and left. York checked with the other Freelancers, and, to their confusion, the same thing was occurring.
"...Did we win?" Killian asked, slightly confused.
"...I'm...not sure...maybe?" York replied, removing his helmet and taking a deep breath. That had been too close for comfort.
"...Good enough for me."
"Ditto."
Killian took a moment to catch his breath, following York's lead and removing his helmet. The air tasted better when it wasn't filtered and stale. York contacted the other three freelancers, telling them to meet back up with whatever was left of the men they had.
Looking around Killian could tell that they would have lost. Nearly their entire force had been wiped out, with only a few luckily enough to remain unharmed, the rest had pretty bad injuries.
"Well, that sucked..."
"Tell me about it..." Cal murmured, limping into the wing, flanked by Florida and Massa on either side, and the few survivors following behind.
After taking a few minutes to swap stories as to what happened on each of their ends, everyone just sat down. Fighting a four-front battle is hard work, even if you were only on one of the fronts.
A couple of moments as silence passed before Killian spoke. "...And you're supposed to fight those guys? Like, that's your job?..."
"...Yeah." Massa said tiredly.
"And I thought my job was taxing." Killian forced a laugh.
"Trade you." Massa continued.
"Sorry, I can't, I'm allergic to dying. I'll just leave the Covenant slaying up to you."
"Yeah, I guess not everyone has what it takes to be one of us." Cal said, cocky as ever, but he flinched slightly as his plasma burns brushed off against the inside of his armour. That wound would need immediate treatment. Cal was one badass son of a bitch to have remained fighting after taking a knock like that. Killian couldn't help but feel some slight admiration for the freelancer in white and red.
"What, a bunch of loonies?"
