/ CHAPTER II / DANGER CLOSE
/ Date / 43 days after the invasion of the Orbital Knights.
/ Subject / Red Squad, Dragoon Corps, Host of Count Aezenacht.
/ Location / Castle Aezenacht, Calgary.
As he stood on the deck of his lord's Landing Castle, Sir Yorvan Kraeyard watched the snow fall upon the ruins of the city of Calgary. The wind was silent, and so the snow fell in sluggish, frosted drops. Broken asphalt streets, strips of scrap and metal skewering the sky, scattered fields of shattered class, and the crumbled carcasses of skyscrapers filled his vision. The cityscape was coated in touches of white.
"The climate of this world…" he whispered to himself, in a low growl. He slowly raised out the palm of his gloved hand and watched as a snowflake fell to rest on it.
He stared at his hand for a while. He felt the still but crisp chill of the winter air biting at the pores of his skin.
"... Is truly beautiful."
And there was nothing alive in the city to hear his words.
Kraeyard's earpiece buzzed. He heard his lieutenant speaking. "Sir, we have been notified that the Count is to now begin a castle-wide broadcast. Please come back inside."
He sighed, and gave a wordless farewell to the snow. He turned around and pressed his hand against a white-glowing panel in the wall. A door folded down, and he walked from the observation deck back into the quarters of the Dragoon Corps. His men looked up from cleaning their equipment and relaxing to greet him. Kraeyard welcomed back the familiar hum of the artificial heating and the static, artificially filtered air.
A large projector screen switched on to cover the far wall. All turned to give it their attention; it soon displayed Count Aezenacht standing on the bridge of the Castle. He stood tall and straight, with an incredibly cold and dignified expression showing on his face. His eyes, though tired, shone in pale gray-blue, and gave off an air of supremacy and dominance. He began to address the camera.
"As of now, all the preparations for launch have been completed," he said sternly but with vigor. "And the coordinates for a new drop have been calculated. All hands, prepare for launch and re-entry. Batten down all hatches. Ready my Kataphrakt and muster the Dragoon Corps. Castle Aezenacht has acquired a new orbital drop target."
The Count's expression did not change, and the pace of his speech did not falter.
"The Terran city of Chicago."
/ Date / 43 days after the invasion of the Orbital Knights.
/ Subject / Task Force Mythic, Skymarine Regiment, Remnant United States Army.
/ Location / Skymarine Headquarters, Chicago, Sanctuary
"So, this Prometheus guy. He was a Titan and didn't like how Zeus had made mankind, but kept it in darkness and ignorance and all that shit?" asked Corporal Tassoni. He glanced back and forth between the cards in his hands as he was speaking. He was down, and just about to be eliminated from the game. He had to pull off something awfully amazing to make it through this next hand.
"Close enough," replied Master Sergeant Decroix.
"So he goes and gives the humans fire. And the humans learn how to cook their good, how to warm themselves, how to defeat monsters. And all that cool stuff?"
"That's how the myth goes, yes."
"And Zeus, he isn't a fan of all this? He gets mad at Prometheus, and wants to exact some sweet vengeance on him. So he goes and chains Prometheus to the top of a mountain, and has vultures rip at his flesh for the rest of time."
Corporal Tassoni fumbled around with his cards before tapping on the table. He was checking.
"Correct."
"And this is the same Zeus that everybody worships?"
"How do you mean?"
"I mean, they worship the people who went after the guy who gave them fire? Zeus, and all the other gods, too. If I'm getting this right, they didn't want to give humankind the ability to make fire. They wanted to keep mankind ignorant and stupid, drowned in darkness, for the rest of time. They want to keep them cold, tired, and undressed…"
Tassoni paused, stopping himself in thought. He shook his head after a bit.
"That's some bullshit, bro," he grunted. He continued.
"So, these gods, they didn't want to give humans the gift of fire. And so, when someone does, those gods go and torture that guy for eternity. And yet, these gods are the ones that all the humans worshipped?"
"What?" questioned Decroix.
"The fucking Greeks, I mean. They worshipped these same gods. These same gods that wanted to keep them cold and stupid, like animals, for the rest of time. The ones that chained the dude who helped the humans out to a fucking mountain. The humans knew all this happened, and they still worshipped these gods? Built shrines to them, prayed to them, praised their names, kissed their feet, all that?"
"Well… Yes, I suppose."
"That's bull. That's all bull. Why would you worship gods like that?"
"Sometimes, you don't get to choose who you worship," interjected a new voice. It was Staff Sergeant Anton Vonlanthen, who was seated across the table. He was studying the cards in his hand.
Corporal Tassoni was startled by Vonlanthen's entrance into the conversation. His voice sounded irritated. "Hm? And what do you mean by that?"
"Sometimes, you are forced into it," replied Vonlanthen. "It isn't about who you want to dedicate your prayers to, or who you feel deserves to be worshipped. That's not what religion is like; that's not what life is like. You don't worship those who deserve to be worshipped. That's not how things are done."
"In reality, worship is different," continued Vonlanthen. "It doesn't matter, not by any stretch of the imagination, who deserves to be praised as a god. All that matters is who is strong enough to become worshipped. Who is fearsome enough to scare the weaker to worship him, who is clever enough to trick them into it. Who is virtuous enough to indoctrinate others with his cause, who is strong enough to force others to align with it."
Vonlanthen glanced slowly at the pile of chips that laid across from him.
"That's the truth to being worshipped in this world. The only way to be worshipped, is to make yourself worshipped. To make yourself seem like something of another world. To appear to be a god."
Vonlanthen took a long look at the Corporal, who had gone breathless. This discussion had gone much deeper than he had wanted it to go, it seemed. The Corporal seemed to be in deep thought, brooding to himself. Vonlanthen glanced around at the other players crowded around the table, studying their cards while listening to idle conversation. He glanced at the other marines, leaning on the walls and sitting on the floor, either watching the card game or reading from old books or listening to music through earpieces.
"However," Vonlanthen said, though it was more to himself than to anyone else at this point. "There will always be people out there who will go against those who claim to be gods."
He studied the cards at the center of the table as he spoke. "No matter how powerless they may seem, how hopeless the situation may seem. When a man claims to be a god, there will always be other men who will resist. Who'll prove that he is nothing but mortal, even if they have to do so with their pained, dying breaths."
Without warning, Vonlanthen thrust his pile of chips forwards across the table, showing no emotion as he did so. "I'm going all in," he declared as he tossed down his cards and replaced them in his hand with a half-empty bottle of beer. He drained from it what liquid that remained.
"Oh-ho! Shit, man! Really!?" roared Corporal Tassoni. That seemed to have knocked him right out of his trance of thought. All traces of his attention returned immediately to the card game. In astonishment, he leapt out of his rickety old chair. "That's all of your rations for the next week and a half, Staff Sergeant! You're gonna lose all of it!"
Vonlanthen kicked his legs up to rest on the table. He continued to stare, with a forlorn expression decorating his tired eyes, at the moisture coating the freshly empty bottle. He replied plainly and simply.
"Am I?"
Just then, the shocks and sounds of a distant explosion rocked the walls of the bunker. Waves of dust crumbled down from the ceiling, illuminated by the dirty, swaying lamp.
Red beacons and lights began to appear, shrouding the bunker in tense crimson. A symphony of sirens and alarms began to roar. The control intercom switched on, a voice bursting out from speakers mounted all around the walls.
"A Martian Landing Castle has been detected breaching the atmosphere. Plummeting at a heightened speed, its target is Chicago."
There was a pause.
"The LZ is calculated to be just off Montrose Beach."
And another small pause.
"I say again. A Martian Landing Castle is en route to Montrose Beach. Sanctuary is under attack. Sortie all fighter squadrons and all Kataphrakt platoons. Skymarines and other infantry forces, muster and prepare for deployment.
"I repeat, target will be danger close imminently. All hands must prepare for battle. Code Zero is in effect. Code Zero is in effect."
For the Skymarines that'd been playing cards in a back room, all this came as a surprise. But they were anything but caught off guard. As they listened to the cacophony of sirens and the appearance of anti-aircraft fire blaring out in the background, they slipped on their equipment and prepared their rifles. They dropped whatever they were doing and poured out of the room.
Staff Sergeant Vonlanthen fastened a communicator to his ear as he lead the Skymarines down the narrow corridor. "Control, this is the Skymarine Regiment. We are oscar mike to the hangars now."
Another large explosion rocked the bunker, causing some of the marines to stumble. The intercom sounded once more.
"The Landing Castle has touched down. I repeat. The Landing Castle has touched down. Fighter squadrons engaging now."
The Skymarines raced up a staircase, and breached out of a cold, green-gray blast door. They stepped outside, where they were greeted by thick, winding spires of snow, and deathly freezing temperatures. The snow had picked up into a storm while they were underground.
This battle was to be fought in the midst of a blizzard.
/ Date / 43 days after the invasion of the Orbital Knights.
/ Subject / Red Squad, Dragoon Corps, Host of Count Aezenacht.
/ Location / Above the skies of Chicago, Sanctuary.
"The snow is too thick for optimal flight conditions, Sir," warned the pilot of the carrier. Yorvan Kraeyard heard him from his earpiece.
"That is alright. Just ensure that there will be no problems deploying the Dragoons. What is the status of the Count?"
"Count Aezenacht has advanced and is currently engaging the majority of the enemy Kataphrakt garrison. The Dragoon Corps should be able to drop behind the front line while it is focused on the Count."
"I see. The operation is going smoothly. Notify me once we have achieved deployment altitude."
"Yes, Sir Kraeyard."
Kraeyard nodded to himself and sat back down. He noticed some of the rookies in the carrier fidgeting with their equipment.
"Looking outside… This is intimidating," said a squire with rosy cheeks. "We were never trained for this. Not even told about it. Our dropgear won't malfunction in this Terran weather?" he timidly asked. Some of the other younger men around him were voicing similar concerns.
Kraeyard turned to face them. "Dragoon dropgear was designed to function in the most ferocious Martian sandstorms," he reassured. "This Terran weather is nothing."
Noticing that their commander had taken note of their conversation, the men all ceased their chatter.
"I will warn you all, however," continued Kraeyard. "Proceed with extreme caution during this assault. It will be much more dangerous than the last one, and the enemy will be much fiercer. Casualties were only so limited during the sacking of Calgary due to our posession of the element of surprise. The Terrans had not been expecting a war, and their forces were feeble, unprepared, and unacquainted with battle. Also, the majority of the combat was only ever seen by Count Aezenacht's own Kataphrakt.
"With the invasion of Chicago, things will be much more difficult. The war has served as a filter amongst the Terran forces; all the weak and unfit men are long dead, and only the competent remain. Only those who know how to kill, and who kill very well.
The enemy is better prepared this time. They know now the nature of Martian warfare. How we strategize, how our weapons work, how Aldnoah energy functions. What it is capable of doing. The soldiers of this 'Sanctuary' of theirs are not willing be so easily crushed a second time."
An explosion rocked the carrier from the outside, throwing many of the Dragoons off balance. Kraeyard touched his fingertips to a panel on the side of the cabin, and it slid away to reveal a small window. Through the countless plumes of raging snow, he could spot bright flashes of red and hot orange. The fire from the anti-aircraft batteries of the Terran garrison was growing either more accurate, or more desparate.
Within this snowstorm, there was another storm brewing. A fiercer one. Sir Kraeyard felt it causing his blood to boil. All hell was soon to be unleashed. Heavy looks of apprehension covered the faces of some of the Dragoons. Kraeyard felt his earpiece buzz.
"Sir Kraeyard," called the pilot. "We have reached sufficient altitude."
Green lights switched on within the cabin. They bathed the Dragoons in their sickly bright glow.
"The Dragoons may drop now."
Kraeyard nodded to himself and slammed his fist against another panel on the wall. The door of the cabin began to fold and fall down. Loud, white winds and tufts of snow began to to slip their way in. Sir Kraeyard took a very deep breath, without turning to face his men.
"All Dragoons, on me. For the glory of the Empire of Vers."
He gulped, but did not let it show.
"Drop now."
He leapt out of the carrier and into the sky. He heard his men following him. He plummeted into the midst of the raging storm. Silver air permeated around him in whistling torrents. He saw and felt legions of twisting snowflakes accompanying him in his descent.
With a mechanical blast and whir, Kraeyard felt his dropgear begin to activate. Polished, black metal wings emerged from his back. The gravity cores switched on with electronic tones, and his descent began to slightly slow. He took his rifle from his waist and readied it.
Chapter III, In the Sky with Dragons, will be out soon.