"Sixth Marine Unit is to withdraw," Grant ordered. "They're going to be cut off soon."
"Most of them are already dead," Alia pointed out. "I'll have the survivors reinforce Task Force East."
"Fine," said Grant. In hindsight, even hoping that the Sixth could slow down Repliforce's marine element was in vain. Now they'd taken a large chunk of losses to little avail.
"Repliforce Marines disengaging, sir. We believe they're low on ammunition."
"Which means they'll be back." And now they could strike anywhere along the coast. Could he commit the Seventh Air Cavalry against them? No, he needed them as his emergency reserve. If Repliforce's larger air units caught them and forced a fight, he'd lose them, too. Grant would learn from his mistake with the Sixth Squad—if he was going to lose the Seventh, he had to make sure it would be worth it.
Tentative motion caught his eye. Iris was waving him down to her console. No, dammit, he had to keep his eyes up. He shook his head and pointed to in front of him. She blanched, but could not refuse him. She stood before and below him, and slipped her headphones off of one ear. "Zero is awaiting orders, sir," she said.
Grant frowned at the phrasing. "Does that mean he's done killing Colonel?"
"N-no, sir. Colonel disengaged and escaped."
"What?!"
Iris buckled and turned away. "He got away, sir," she said.
"You and Zero are both so chummy with that traitor," Grant said venomously. "Are you sure Zero didn't let him get away?"
Iris just shook. It made Grant think she was hiding something, and that enraged him. "Did Zero let Colonel get away?" he demanded.
"Sir, please don't be angry at Zero!" Iris pleaded. "He did his best!"
Iris' eyes had been watery before she'd spoken; now they were streaming. The anger bled out of Grant, replaced with contempt. "GARRD took an Operator away from me to make you," he said, "so I took you back, as was my right. I almost regret it. Look at you! We're at war and every moment counts, and you are dragging us down."
"I'm sorry, sir," she said. It was all she could manage.
Grant shook his head. "Get back to your post," he said. "Zero is to go east to the coast. Repliforce's marine units are going to be rearming. He'll have a golden chance to catch them while they're vulnerable. Make sure you two don't screw this one up, too!"
"Yes, sir," she said, and scurried away from him in stumbling steps.
Grant was disgusted. He'd only taken Iris on to save a billet and screw Repliforce, not because she was valuable herself. Quite the opposite, in fact. Well, that problem would take care of itself soon enough: he'd be getting replacements after this war, and there would be no competing Repliforce to screw. The Hunters would be much better off with a real Operator in her place.
Motion on the map caught his eye. He frowned. "Alia, report on Seventh Squad."
"X wouldn't approve," she said.
Grant gave her a sharp look. "What was that?"
"Seventh Squad is moving to be ready to support Task Force Lynchpin," Alia said, as if her earlier words had never existed.
Grant looked up. "Task Force Lynchpin isn't in combat right now."
"No, sir, but they will be soon. And they're holding the most important position in the line."
She had a point. Lynchpin was the last unit in the original east-west line; to their right was a sharp, sharp drop to the next supporting unit. Lynchpin was exposed on three sides now, and the next unit to their east was over three kilometers away.
How many reploids could fit in a line three kilometers long?
"Fine," he said. "But I will give the order to release them, understood?"
"Yes sir," Alia replied. For a crazy moment, Grant wondered if she did.
"Sir, let me say this again..."
"No, Signas," said Clement. "I heard you the first time."
"Repliforce isn't your usual band of Mavericks," Signas said anyway. "That's why..."
"This will work," Clement said.
Signas looked through his scope at the three wounded Repliforce soldiers. All were badly damaged enough that they couldn't clear the street. They weren't moving much, to conserve power, but they were periodically signaling that they were still alive.
They held out hope of being rescued.
It would have been trivial for Signas to end that hope. One shot for each-their heads weren't moving much-would do it. "Finishing them would be standard practice for dealing with Mavericks," he pointed out.
"But Repliforce wants all their people to survive," Clement replied. "We'll be able to pick them off when they try to rescue these three."
"I think you're underestimating how strong that bond is," Signas said. "I don't think they'll try to be sneaky and pick them up in ones and twos. I think we're defining where Repliforce's next offensive will be."
Another nearby Hunter pointed. "There go the flyers again. If they haven't picked off all our scout mechaniloids yet, they deserve to lose this war."
"We need to not be here," said Signas.
"This is a strong position," Clement insisted. "We evacuated this building fully, and that let us dig in deep. We have clear lines of sight in three directions and an escape route in the fourth. Anyway, if we fall back, the Hunters to the east are out to dry."
"They're starting to fall back regardless," Signas pointed out.
"And they'll be cut off if we lose this position," Clement rebutted. "Signas, listen, I understand. You don't like this situation. But it'll work out-we've got the full Task Force here, and..."
"Movement."
The conversation stopped. Signas looked through his scope. "Some at ground level," he said. "I... think I see some in the building above." He trained his scope on other buildings nearby, scanning about.
"Making their initial deployments," said Clement. "Spread the word. We need everyone ready for a fight."
How many are there? Signas thought. No reports from Hunter Base-this is a surprise to them, too. We're practically blind. This is bad.
I know what Rekir meant about his survival instinct. We need to duck.
What would Rekir do in this situation?
"Sir," Signas said, "I have movement on three different axes. Recommend falling back."
"We're not going to get a better position than this one, Signas. Give it up-"
"Contact."
Again Signas looked. He did not see anything he'd expected.
"Sir, it's Colonel. And he's got a... a white flag?"
"What's a white flag for?" asked Clement. "I mean, he obviously thinks we'd know if he's using it."
Signas sighted on Colonel, but found there was no way he could pull the trigger. By all rights he should... and yet. Colonel was acting with such conviction. He knew he wouldn't be shot while he was like this. That conviction was overpowering. It froze Signas' trigger finger.
Colonel stopped not ten meters from the building the Hunters had fortified. "I would speak to your leader," he shouted.
Before Signas could warn off his superior, Clement had jumped out the already-knocked-out window and touched lightly down. "Nice day, Colonel," he said. "What's on your mind?"
"I've come to you under this flag of truce to discuss retrieving my wounded," Colonel said.
"Ah, so that's what that's for," Clement said.
Colonel's eyes narrowed dangerously. Signas' sense of danger spiked.
"It is customary in war," Colonel went on, "for both sides to have an opportunity to retrieve their wounded after a fight. These soldiers are no more threat to you. Killing them would accomplish nothing. Allow us to rescue them in peace."
"You can't ask for peace when you're at war," said Clement. "You guys are Mavericks, remember? You're all going to die anyway. So we can't make any provisions for the care of the wounded."
"This is a violation of the rules of war," said Colonel.
"I've been fighting for years," Clement retorted, "and I've never once met an enemy who played by the rules. Mavericks don't know any rules, they only know about killing and being killed. That's why I'm a Squad Leader, and my ex-boss- may he rust in peace- isn't.
"If you want your wounded, come and get them. But don't expect to get them without a fight."
Colonel's face twisted into a snarl. "Then you have no honor," he said. The words were a condemnation. He turned the flag to the side and, with a sharp crack, snapped the flagstaff over his knee.
Signas recognized on a level below thought that it was more than a symbolic gesture. "Duck!" he screamed.
A split-second before the first shots rang out.
From the buildings around the Hunters' position erupted waves of plasma and projectiles. And, on ground level, the part of the flagstaff in Colonel's right hand erupted-because it was his beam saber.
The Hunters had gotten to cover just in time, and soon they began to return fire. It quickly became obvious that the Hunters were grievously outnumbered and outgunned.
Especially without their leader. Because before Clement had recovered from the shock of the attack, Colonel was on him, beam saber flashing. Clement was able to keep ahead of Colonel, dodging and deflecting, for a full ten seconds. On the eleventh, Colonel's saber took a chunk out of Clement' right leg just as the Hunter bent to put weight on it. He crumpled to the ground.
Colonel planted a foot on Clement' back, pinning the Hunter down. "You left my wounded to die slowly," he said viciously. "I'm better than that. Better than you."
The beam saber probably didn't need righteous wrath backing it to do its work, but there was plenty of that anyway. A single full-strength stab slagged Clement's core. Colonel didn't give Clement a second look. Instead he retrieved the broken flag and hurled it high into the air in disgust.
And as a signal.
Twenty Repliforce soldiers broke into open ground, dashing for the Hunter position. Shots rang out, felling some, but the rest rushed on heedless of the danger, full of fervor.
"Get off the ground floor!" Signas hollered through the din. "Get the ground-floor station up and blow the stairs!"
The two Hunters on the ground floor took damage from stray, hasty shots as they escaped. Pre-placed charges blew out the stairs just ahead of a furious Colonel.
"Fire upwards," he commanded. "Take the floor out from underneath them!"
The Repliforce soldiers opened fire. Debris and clutter rained back down on them in ever-larger amounts, but no Hunters fell to their doom. Signas had them already up to the third floor.
"Fine," Colonel growled. "We'll burn them out."
The surviving Hunters went to the windows, firing nearly-blindly against the Repliforce soldiers outside. Plasma weapons had already started fires in their building. It wouldn't be long until their entire world was reduced to an inferno.
Which was why Signas had a plan ready ahead of time. He slapped the radio's transceiver so that he could transmit without holding the handset. "Signas to Hunter Base," he radioed. "Dunkirk, Dunkirk, Dunkirk."
"On the way," promised Alia.
A medium flyer lifted off, and the Seventh Air Cavalry Squad set out as its escort.
"No subtlety this time, huh?"
"Not this time," X said, unloading another charged shot into the hangar. An ordnance lifter was a far thing from a combat reploid; it erupted in flame. The automated fire alarm went off, and the sprinkler system tried to trigger. It was no use. X's first act had been to pierce the tank from the outside, dumping it uselessly on the ground outside the hangar.
X walked out of the hangar. He'd set three fires and disabled any firefighting response; the fires would take care of the rest. Soon only ash would remain.
As he moved to the next hangar, three reploids made a break for it. They were non-combat laborer models, decked out in Repliforce colors. X understood—they were part of Repliforce's support staff. They weren't fighters.
They did ensure the fighters could stay in the field. And, fighters or not, they were Mavericks. Be declaration. By association.
If they'd at least fight back…
X raised his buster as anger flowed through him. There had to be a way not to have to kill them all! There had to be. Had to!
They were Mavericks.
Upset, X jerked his buster arm to the side and fired into the next hangar in line. No sooner had his target exploded than the sprinklers kicked on. Sloppy of him. He'd lost focus, and now it would take him a lot of time to recover.
In the end, though, there would be nothing left of this hangar. X was nothing if not thorough.
"There he is!"
X detected the attack moments before weapons fire rang out. He dashed for the hangar—partly to take cover, partly because (for once) he wanted to increase collateral damage.
"Mega Man X!"
It was a loud voice, used to being obeyed, audible even over the pounding of the sprinkler systems. Repliforce's leaders, X reflected, were never very hard to find.
"I am Storm Owl, commander of Repliforce air units. I am prepared to offer you a deal."
Another deal. Repliforce's leaders were also insufferably reasonable for Mavericks. They really did think things were that easy, or could be resolved so non-lethally, even after they'd chosen a course that invoked capital punishment.
Like X used to think, he realized with despair. Maybe I still do, he promised himself, remembering the three worker reploids he'd let go. He had to hold on to that. It was a reminder that, destructive as he was, he was the good guy.
He peaked out at the front of the hangar. Storm Owl was obvious; he was flanked by guards in Repliforce colors. The sprinklers did not appear to faze him. "You're Hunting Magma Dragoon, aren't you?" he said.
That startled X—but he soon understood. Better to tease out the truth, though. "What if I am?"
The guards all looked in the direction of his voice. Several aimed their weapons at his cover. None approached, not without Owl's direction. "He requested asylum from Repliforce," Owl said, "but he was looking for safety. He didn't want to join our cause. So I sent him away to terrain more of his liking.
"I can't abide traitors," said Owl, voice becoming severe. "He will aid our cause in a different way. In the last hangar there's a light transport, with the flight path to Magma Dragoon pre-loaded. If you stop your attack, I will give you this transport and let you go. You'll be free to track down Magma Dragoon without interference."
X buried his face in his hand. Not just children, but amateur children. "Owl," he said, voice pained, "you've given away your whole bargaining position. Now what's to stop me from killing you, destroying this base, and then tracking down Magma Dragoon without interference?"
The stunned silence that followed told him everything he needed to know. Rust, this was the perfect teachable moment—an ideal learning experience—and it was all wasted because the student wouldn't survive the lesson.
Sighing, X fired off a Spinning Blade to his right. The fiendishly buzzing projectile was slow, but its recursive flight path took it back towards the Repliforce soldiers. While they were still reacting to it, X dove out of his cover to the left and unleashed a fully charged shot from his other arm.
When the plasma wash had passed the soldiers, one of them was missing its head.
And then X was amongst them at very close range, using explosives and his strongest short-range weapons.
X did not fear Cyber Peacock evaluating him and sharing that data. He was variable. He could let someone gather data on him, then adopt an entirely different style with the same degree of skill—adding in the extra advantage of surprise.
It was only seconds before Owl and his bodyguards were a collection of ruined corpses, cooling rapidly beneath the torrent of the sprinklers.
"Spare… my men…" Owl managed. Then a loud crack and a hiss of acrid smoke signaled the death of his brain.
"Too late," X whispered.
After copying Owl's weapon and stripping the dead of the fresh e-tanks they carried, he walked out of the hangar, dripping wet all over. At the end of the air base, just starting to pull away, was an overburdened bus.
If X really put effort into it, he might be able to draw within weapons range before it…
He hadn't the will for such a thing.
Instead, he frowned. "Double, Storm Owl's eliminated. I have a lead on Magma Dragoon, but I need to bounce something off of you first."
"Fire away."
"I'm picking up on a pattern. Web Spider's forces were minimal. He had a bare screening force with no more fighters than necessary. Peacock's computer base was almost abandoned when I got there. It was guarded only by mechaniloids and Peacock himself. And now, Owl's air base.
"The workers and soldiers here were ready to evacuate at any time. My fight with Storm Owl was over in moments, but it was still long enough to let most of the personnel escape. They didn't take any heavy equipment that I can tell. They just wanted to get the people out.
"What do you make of this, Double?"
"I don't know," said the junior Hunter uselessly.
X began to consume one of the e-tanks as he headed for the base of the control tower. "Well," he said, planting a mine, "they had to know we'd get their installation laydown. Had to. So they knew we'd attack any base of theirs we knew about."
"Yeah," agreed Double. "Which means they knew you'd destroy it. So... they couldn't plan on keeping it?"
"Hm," said X, planting a third mine and turning away. "Wherever they were planning to build their new utopia, it wasn't here."
He detonated the mines. The control tower tipped and fell with a calamitous crash.
X finished his e-tank and, for a moment, considered throwing it onto the rubble of the control tower. It wasn't like he could make it any messier than it already was.
After wrestling with himself, he thought better of it. War was awful, to be sure, but that didn't give you license to do any bad thing you could think of just because war was bad. Killing in war was unavoidable. The same was not true for littering.
All such a waste, X thought.
But maybe… maybe, if he could corner Magma Dragoon, he'd get answers.
The choking smoke filled the air. The building Lynchpin had fortified was now an inferno. Repliforce would kill and cremate the Hunters in the same effort. How… efficient.
Not that Signas intended to die there.
"Keep the south clear!" he called out, trying vainly to be heard over the din of the roaring fire and the blazing weapons all around him. "Keep the south clear, the transport's coming from there!"
Time to take his own advice. He saw a Repliforce soldier trying to skirt around, run around the edge of the block. Trying to get south. Signas sent a spike through his leg. He tumbled, writhed for a moment, then rolled to cover before he was shot at more.
Signas couldn't afford that. He was almost out of ammunition.
A cry of pain from behind him. Another Hunter hit. Signas took a shot at a too-bold enemy in an opposite building, then glanced back. His ally's right arm was nearly shot off, but, making a noise in lieu of gritting non-existent teeth, the Hunter gamely swapped his buster to his left arm and kept shooting.
"We're almost dry, sir!" came another voice.
"They don't know that," said Signas. "It's the only thing keeping them back! Keep it hot!"
"We're plenty hot as is!" came another voice.
It was true enough. They'd risen up to the third floor to seek protection from the Repliforce soldiers on the first. The fires had forced them to withdraw, but those fires kept on rising, and so the Hunters went to the fourth floor. There would be no retreating to the fifth floor, because the fires raging in the stairwells had made that impossible.
There was a huge crash—this time from beneath them. Signas had a guess as to that. Part of the third floor, he was sure, had just fallen through, burned clean down onto the first. It was a long fall to the ground that way.
Movement… Repliforce soldiers in the building across were pushing chairs towards the blown-open windows. Making their own cover. Signas took aim. A mag rifle was not concerned with chairs.
He squeezed the trigger and was rewarded by an arm that flailed above the chair for a moment before falling. The chairs stopped moving.
Four shots left.
Heat and force and sound washed over him. He rocked, even lying down. Looked to the side. Two big new holes had been blown in the north wall. The three Hunters that had been shooting there were knocked back, and knocked apart.
"Get back!" Signas shouted over the renewed flood of Repliforce plasma pouring through the breaches. "Get to the east and west!"
Two of them, shaken but alive, tried to crawl as he instructed. The third, missing a leg, wasn't as able to move.
Signas noted it. He'd have to come back for him. First things first—he lobbed a smoke grenade into the gap. With the wall blown out, the only protection was keeping the enemy from getting accurate shots. Hopefully that would buy them enough time…
"Dunkirk ahoy," squawked the radio.
"About time!" muttered Signas before grabbing the receiver. "You are fifteen seconds behind schedule."
"We took the scenic route. That ell-zee looks hot. Literally."
"We're on the fourth floor. Approach from the south. You'll have to nestle in tight."
"Roger that. Twenty seconds."
"Everything you've got!" Signas shouted, plunking off two more rounds. Two left. "Give Repliforce something to think about. We're almost clear!"
The Hunters sprayed fire with every weapon still available, a few going so far as to borrow weapons from the wounded. Accuracy wasn't nearly as essential as intensity. They weren't trying to kill Repliforce, just make them cover.
Signas heard the roar of the transport's hover mode engaging over even all of that.
The bulky form of the transport collapsed the south wall. The boarding ramp slammed down onto the floor. You couldn't "nestle in" much closer than that. "All aboard!" came the call.
"Evac, now!" cried Signas. He rose to retrieve his wounded comrade. Two shots went right past him—no time to wince, instead he popped off a return shot (one round left), then dropped his final smoke grenade at his feet.
He grabbed ahold of the Hunter and moved. Even with the smoke and confusion, his sense of direction was unerring. A few more steps to safety.
"No!" growled Colonel. A transport? They were going to get away? Those honorless fiends that had tormented his men?
He would not allow it.
He sprinted out towards the burning building with all his speed and power. A mighty leap put him straight through the second-floor windows. By sheer chance he landed on a part of the floor that hadn't collapsed yet. Looking up, heedless of the flames, he picked his spot, leapt through the gap in the ceiling, and landed on the third floor. It began to collapse under him almost immediately; he jumped to the wall, sprang off with a flash of boosters, and landed on solid ground.
He ignited his saber. They wouldn't get away.
"We're in," Signas said as he took the last step into the transport.
There was an eruption behind him. He turned to see a vision: a flame-wreathed Colonel, wrathful and armed, bursting through the floor like it was made of paper. He was an avatar of vengeance.
His eyes touched with Signas' for a fleeting second. Fear rippled through Signas' every circuit.
Hard training trumped it. Signas squeezed his trigger, instinctively shooting from the hip to ward the apparition away.
There was a crack as his last spike struck Colonel in the torso. Colonel's body jerked, but he didn't fall. And then the transport door slammed shut, and Signas was thrown from his feet as it boomed away. The acceleration caused even the intact reploids to tumble.
"Sorry for the rough ride," called the copilot, "but we'd be coming down with a severe case of death if we stayed."
"Don't worry about it," said Signas shakily. "The further away we get from that, the better."
"Roger," came the reply, and another surge of acceleration rocked the transport.
What was that? Signas wondered. Signas had seen plenty of aggression before, but this was… more. Anyone could attack when they had the upper hand; Signas' specialty was ensuring he had the upper hand before attacking. This… was a belief that you could tear the upper hand right out of its socket.
Colonel had genuinely believed he could destroy the whole transport, all by himself, using a burning building as his springboard. It was a degree of self-belief so powerful, so influential, that Signas found himself agreeing with it despite himself.
He settled himself, reset his thoughts. The key, he decided, was to remain balanced. Un-sympathetic. Focus on what was, don't allow your perception to be clouded by the other guy. Colonel's self-belief might carry him beyond what was normally possible, but it also might make him commit to the plainly impossible. Signas could use this.
So long as he could remain within himself.
Colonel watched the transport get away. He snarled at it in frustration. That last magrifle shot… it hadn't breached his armor, but it had—literally and figuratively—stung.
He walked to the edge of the building and dropped down, using controlled bursts from his boosters to keep his descent speed safe. Once he didn't have to worry about that, he called over his transmitter.
"Hunter cowards are running from battle. Repliforce air: wipe them out. Coordinates to follow."
Enough ruminating, Signas thought to himself. "Pass out e-tanks," he said, pointing to the supplies at the head of the transport. "After e-tanks it's ammunition. We'll need to be ready to go back in."
He expected some resistance, but he encountered none. Just nods, and one of the Hunters saying, "Yes, sir."
"Not you, Lewis," Signas said. "That arm of yours is ruined."
"Good thing I have a spare," Lewis replied.
"You have a spare arm?" said Signas, disbelieving. "Where, back at base?"
"No, I meant… er, I meant I had two arms, and I still have one."
Signas smiled. A small absurdity was an oasis in the desert. "Get fitted with a replacement arm and then rejoin us," he said.
"Yes, sir!"
Lewis, Signas remembered, had been Dragoon's Azzle. When all of this started (where was Dragoon, anyway?), he'd taken over as Squad Leader, just as Signas had taken over as Squad Leader when Clement became commander for Task Force Lynchpin. So, technically, he and Lewis were the same rank, with Lewis holding the time-in-service tiebreaker.
But Lewis was calling him sir—and, Signas realized, he'd been acting as the superior. He'd taken over Task Force Lynchpin automatically, without thinking twice about it.
Maybe Rekir had a point about those evals. Signas had just finished swearing to remain within himself… but maybe that meant growing to fit his own carapace.
"Is there a radio around? Ah, there it is." He reached for it, swapped frequencies. "Alia, Signas. Clement is dead. I'm assuming command of Task Force Lynchpin."
"Roger."
It was terse, even for Alia. "Request instructions…"
"Stand by, Signas. I'm getting yelled at."
"I told you that I would be the one to commit Seventh Squad," Grant fumed.
"There was no time, sir," Alia replied, holding her ground. "Lynchpin needed evac and every second counted."
"And now we'll lose one squad trying to save another one. Well done," Grant said caustically.
Alia didn't flinch. She pressed a button on her console. "Seventh Squad, repeat your report."
"Roger. Repliforce air is withdrawing."
"Withdrawing?" Grant said. "They outnumber us three to one."
"Well, they were tunnel-vision on the transport, so they didn't see us coming and we got a good jump on them. We tangled for a few minutes, roughed them up a little, and then they bugged out."
When Grant didn't immediately respond, Alia said, "Seventh, Base, roger. Well done." She pressed another button and the line went silent.
"So you got lucky," Grant said.
"Sir, luck had nothing to do with it," Alia said, her voice hardening slightly. "Signas and I independently calculated how much fuel those Repliforce fliers likely had left. Our assessments were close together. We knew that Repliforce had five minutes' combat time at most before they'd have to withdraw. This was the odds play."
Grant's eyes narrowed. "Are you going to have to give training again? On insubordination, this time?"
Alia's mouth opened as she rocked back. When she rallied, her expression was furious even as her voice was crisp. "We are at war, sir," she said, pointing at the main screen's map. "If we win and survive, I will give all the training you desire."
"Yes, the priority is to win," Grant said, unbowed. "All units, this is a reminder that we are fighting defensively. Avoid committing to decisive action. Avoid risk. Preserve our forces, protect Hunter Base, trade space for time."
"Time until what, sir?" Alia challenged.
"You'll know," Grant replied. "It'll be obvious."
"I was trying to do just that by saving Task Force Lynchpin," Alia objected. "It's almost like you wanted them destroyed. Clearly, I don't understand your intent. I can't give effective orders if your intent isn't clear."
"Then you're relieved," said Grant.
Alia's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her whole body went rigid as she came to attention. She didn't fight. She just exited without another word.
"Anyone else unable to give effective orders?" Grant asked.
The room was silent.
"Get another Operator in here to pick up her slack," he said.
"Sir, no one can pick up Alia's slack," an anonymous voice objected.
"Then bring in two bodies. And get back to work!"
Next time: Attire