Chapter 8 - Spearhead
UZOK - UNKNOWN
"I don't understand why Bitil doesn't just send some Rahkshi and have it be done with," complained Korenn, huddled under the small shelter of a canvas roof. Uzok struggled to hear her over the sound of the boat, which was moving as fast as physically possible through the waves.
"You don't know why Bitil, of all the Makuta, isn't allowed to use Rahkshi for a mission?" replied Moke sarcastically. Each of the assembled honor guard couldn't help but remember Odina, and the stories they had heard.
"Still, it's aquamarine work. They could at least give us back our old weapons before sending us on a mission," commented Hakis, clinging to the standard-issue Microkanoka carbine that he had been given, while his other arm remained tucked in a sling.
With morning's light beginning to color the sky, the group was surprised at the approach of Marshal Koltari. The Skakdi of Gravity announced that he had a special mission for the group - spearheading the assault on a prisoner ship, and linking up with the bridge crew. Uzok was surprised that the fleet didn't just open fire on the ship and send it to the seafloor, but he figured the Makuta must have a good reason for sending him and his team out on such a limb.
Over the course of the evening, several damaged Vahki crawlers and half-sunken patrol boats were waded out into the shallows, where they would drop anchor. The resulting line of platforms made perhaps the universe's most unstable and precarious dock, but one that nonetheless would allow life rafts, gunboats, and patrol boats to move to and from the beach. Already, carrier ships floating as close to the shallows as possible were sending boats laden with supplies in order to establish a system more organized than that of the evening prior. Luckily for Uzok and his elite guard, one of those boats carried a shipment of Microkanoka carbines and compatible bayonets; weapons that were eagerly taken to by the group - save for Sokul, who preferred to use his hatchets.
Still, it felt unusual clutching a rifle instead of a sword. He had unfortunately lost his weapon during the crash - as most beings had. For some, lucky finds were made, with spears and axes washing up on the beach all night. For others, they would have to wait until the fleet could rearm them, which could take quite some time.
Presently, the group raced across the water at high speed, huddled underneath a canvas covering. Although the rain had ceased the night prior, for some reason the storm had turned around and returned to its original position, blanketing the area in thick sheets of downpour. Mata Nui sure is a funny guy, Uzok thought bitterly as a spray of water splashed across his body.
"Maybe the aquamarines are busy?" murmured Akres, carrying on the conversation at hand.
"With what?" questioned Hakis.
"There's supposed to be structures on the far side of the island - some kind of town. Probably gearing up for an invasion," replied Sokul, in his ever-cheerful tone. The group fixed a look of surprised confusion upon him, which he returned.
"What? People were talking about it," he continued.
"I didn't hear anything about that," replied Akres. Sokul merely shrugged, and continued smiling.
"Strange," he said, to nobody in particular, before fixing his gaze on the horizon. As he did so, Hakis and Uzok shared a brief glance. However, now was not the time for conspiracy. Now was the time to get ready - the Good Intent was not far off.
"Warbirds, at the ready!" hollered Uzok, before standing. Despite the rock of the boat underneath him, he kept his legs steady with the experience of a veteran sailor - which he was. The elite guard snapped upright, ready for further orders.
"Thirty seconds and closing, sir!" said a member of the crew, as the Good Intent grew closer by the second.
"We're the spearhead. Special orders - we push straight to the bridge, rendezvous with the slaves within. Secure the conn and the engine room. Our backup will do the rest. The ship is overrun with an unconfirmed count of hostiles. Count your ammunition carefully."
With a hum, the engine of the patrol boat died down, and it came to a stop alongside one of the starboard cargo access doors.
"Moke!" Uzok shouted, and the Po-Skakdi immediately scurried over. His eyes flashed orange for a moment, as he glanced at the side of the hull, using his X-ray vision.
"No hostiles inside immediate. Preparing to breach!"
Grabbing hold of a panel alongside the doorway, Moke pulled it open and examined the wiring within. Pulling at some and snipping at others, it took him only a few moments before the cargo door began to slide open with a loud squeal.
"Ready, sir!" he called, getting back into position among the guard.
"Warbirds, you are clear for assault," called the Oroha operator of the patrol boat. That was the signal Uzok needed.
"Charge!" he yelled, as the elite guard let out a cry, and clambered aboard the Good Intent.
A long and bloody hour later, the 65th Warbirds Honor Guard finally stepped into the hallway outside the bridge. Each had been beaten and harassed by freed slaves as they passed through the ship. Wonder why we're even bothering, thought Uzok, as he caught his breath, leaning against a wall. Not like there'll be many slaves left alive, he thought, wondering how the rest of the Lance had handled the slave population within. He hoped their Undermarshal was keeping them on a short leash, for the sake of the prisoners.
Covered in blood and dents, the 65th Honor Guard took an uneasy breath. It was time to finish the mission. Uzok stepped forward and called out to the bridge.
"This is the 65th Skakdi Lance's Honor Guard, making rendezvous with the slave crew aboard the bridge of the Good Intent. Are you armed?"
After a moment, a voice called out, with a distinct Ihidauri accent.
"Hapa (25), my Skakdi friend. We are indeed."
"Gonna have to ask you to relinquish your weapons."
"That is a…tall ask. I am hoping that me and my men do not exchange our weapons to you, only to be shot in the back."
Uzok looked at the bloodsplattered and tired forms of his team.
"You've got my word. You come out with your hands up, we take you to the boat, and take you to shore."
"Free men?"
"Free men."
"Then it is very simple. What did you say your name was again?"
"Undermarshal Uzok," the Skakdi replied, already growing tired of the conversation.
"Undermarshal Uzok, we are coming out with our hands up, with our weapons left aboard the bridge. We trust you to vouchsafe our fair treatment and survival until such time as we make landfall, and are granted full rights and protections as afforded to citizens of the Brotherhood."
Uzok cocked an eyebrow. Whoever he was talking to liked using big words.
"Yeah," he replied.
A moment later, an Ihidauri bowed through the doorway, hands raised above his head. He was clad in ivory and red armor, with a veil hanging over his eyes. Uzok tried to remember what little lessons on Ihidauri culture he could; he knew the veil meant something in their homeland. Unfortunately, he was a warrior, not a scholar - he hadn't the faintest idea what it meant.
Behind the Ihidauri followed several more of the same species, each wrapped in an identical cloak. They carried Rahkshi staves, leaning on them like walking sticks as they marched. Uzok's eyes widened, and he immediately drew his weapon.
"No weapons! We made a deal, no weapons!"
The Ihidauri at the head of the group nodded apologetically.
"My sincerest apologies, undermarshal. My men are not in the habit of giving up their weapons under any circumstances. I would ask that they be allowed to keep -"
"No deal. You've got five seconds to throw down the staves or we open fire," Uzok said, cocking his head towards the rest of the elite guard, who were similarly ready.
"You make a compelling argument. Drop them," the Ihidauri said to his men. Each threw down their weapon, bowing their heads in shame.
"Will that be sufficient?" the Ihidauri asked. Uzok sneered, nodding his head.
"Yeah, that'll work. Akres, Hakis. Get them to the boat, take them to shore."
"Yes sir," came two responses, as the Earth and Fire Skakdi moved forward, collecting the Ihidauri group. Uzok breathed a deep sigh as he slowly lowered his weapon, watching the group of prisoners being marched away. Keeping a wary eye on them, he could see the lead Ihidauri looking up into the sky at something - though glancing upwards himself, Uzok couldn't identify anything.
"What are you looking for?" he questioned idly. The Ihidauri was silent for a moment.
"Nothing," he said, returning his gaze to the deck. "Just a bird."
Uzok glanced back up and saw a small dot floating in the clouds. Scowling, he shoved the Ihidauri's shoulder.
"Well get a move on, then, why don't you? Plenty of time to birdwatch when we're not risking our necks to save you ingrates."
The Ihidauri nodded as Akres and Hakis led them along the deck. As Uzok watched them leave, a twinge of memory ran through his brain. That Ihidauri looks awfully familiar, he thought to himself. A moment later, the thought was dismissed as he turned his attention towards securing the bridge.
"Moke, get the Oroha, signal to Bitil that the ship is secure."
"Aye, sir."
KRIKA - UNKNOWN
Krika stood aboard the bridge of the Spectre, overlooking the burgeoning camps being constructed on the beach. Watching the workers and soldiers scurry about like Fikou building a nest was quite relaxing to him. He admired their diligence. His quiet contemplation was broken, however, with the intrusion of an announcement.
"Sir! Message from the Mountain, personnel manager Asmotek is hailing," called the ship's Oroha operator. Krika turned to answer.
"Connect us," the Makuta replied.
In an instant, the Makuta felt his mind bridge to the Dahkini overseer of the slaves. The Makuta was not overly impressed with his subordinate's management in recent hours, considering the several ships worth of prisoners that were sunk or needed to be recaptured.
"Make it quick," Krika said idly.
"Of course, sir. I was hoping to discuss the personnel issue."
"Personnel issue?"
"Yes sir. The slaves, sir... "
"Naturally."
"As you know, a number of supply ships are doubled as slave carriers to cut down on the number of required ships, and to reduce the need for providing supplies to the slaves."
"Indeed. This is relevant?"
"Yes, sir. The issue is that the fleet - given the current circumstances - has been pooling much of its resources. This means that most of the slave ships are hemorrhaging cargo for the rest of the fleet. This would not be an issue if we were resupplying at Metru Nui, or able to loot local areas, but…"
"As it stands, we are not," finished Krika, seeing the Dahkini's point of view.
"Yes, sir. As it stands, our operations on the nearby island will not be adequate to provide sustenance for the Brotherhood's forces. Which is why I felt it prudent to ask what our intentions are with this island?"
Krika waited for the Dahkini to continue.
"With all due respect, sir…are we taking on new slaves here? Because with our current supply levels, we cannot afford it."
"You propose we take no prisoners and give no quarter simply because it would inconvenience our supply lines?"
"Yes, sir," came the quick reply. Krika gave a wry and pained smile.
"You would make a good Makuta."
"Thank you, sir. So…are we?"
"Taking prisoners?"
"Yes, sir."
Krika thought for a moment. His gaze turned towards the Change of Heart, a Metruan ship making its way around the island. Antroz was likely in his element aboard the bridge, making orders and commanding his subordinates with skill. Antroz was always a more skilled military leader, though it occured to the icy Makuta that his brother had not mentioned his intentions for the population of the island.
"I haven't the faintest," said Krika, after several moments of contemplation.
"However," he continued, "your concerns are noted. I will speak with Antroz and ascertain his intentions. If we are taking on additional prisoners, you will be appraised. Does this satisfy?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Krika nodded towards the Oroha operator, who returned the gesture and disconnected the two beings' minds. Krika strained his neck, returning his gaze outwards towards the beach.
What a waste, he thought. Hundreds of lives are about to be snuffed out just because we have no food to spare. Or perhaps they'll survive just long enough to be worked and starved to death. Pity.
Krika sighed, losing himself in thought.
We need a reliable source of food, and fast. And slave camps - we can't just keep them on the ships forever. That means permanent establishment, which means worker lodgings. That means guards…equipment depots…factories...
A frown spread across Krika's face as the scale of issues continued to grow.
I'll have to talk to Icarax about it, he thought, already dreading the inevitable confrontation. The Seneschal of Makuta Teridax was neither merciful nor gifted with any sort of vision, and so issues regarding the well-being of the slave corps often were ignored or downplayed. Even matters of his own citizenry were often ignored in favor of more "engaging" issues such as battle tactics and fleet mobilizations.
Krika shook his head, clearing his mind. An problem for another time, he thought, returning his focus to the issue at hand. The Change of Heart was disappearing around the side of the island, with Antroz aboard it. Better to discuss the matter with him now, than later, Krika thought, before letting his teleportation powers activate as they had many times before.
Aboard the Change of Heart, the bridge was eerily quiet. For hours, urgent communiques had been dispatched between various beings, from ships moving into position to attack the settlement (which had been communally dictated as Target Main), to infantry forces preparing for ground assault. In the small hours of the morning, Antroz had overseen many Rahkshi of Chameleon make their way to the shore, sabotaging whatever enemy ships they could, and escaping into the night. The operation had been a resounding success - the population of Target Main was trapped, and soon the noose would tighten.
With a dark flash, Krika suddenly appeared aboard the bridge alongside Antroz. The icy Makuta bowed to his brother, who raised a surprised brow, and gestured for him to rise.
"Brother, this is an unexpected surprise. You picked a poor time for a courtesy call."
Through the viewport, Target Main was coming into view, as the Change of Heart's main guns drew to bear. Krika watched the seemingly microscopic buildings. They were quite unfamiliar to him, architecturally speaking. Most southern islands relied on huts or tents due to how easily they could be rebuilt or repaired. The structures of Target Main were seemingly made of wood or stone, and were permanent establishments with gabled rooftops. It surprised him, though he wasn't about to let some soon-to-be-destroyed enemy buildings distract him.
"My apologies for the suddenness of my arrival, Brother," began Krika, "but my staff have raised concerns over your intention regarding the locals of Target Main."
"Such as?" Antroz asked, idly.
"Are we taking prisoners?"
A call came from elsewhere aboard the bridge.
"Sir, cannons are in position and ready to fire at your command!"
Antroz looked outwards at the town, as Krika waited for a response. Hundreds of beings were about to have their day ruined.
"Open fire," said Antroz, as the cannons loosed.
The entire ship shook dramatically as the guns opened fire, raining fire and destruction upon Target Main. Entire streets were, in seconds, obliterated with the impact of massive Cordak rounds. Plasmatic lasers swept across buildings, cleaving them in half, sending billowing clouds of dust and smoke into the sky in a terrifying display.
"I think that answers your question," said Antroz, turning back towards Krika.
The icy Makuta looked at the unfolding destruction and nodded. A twinge of guilt plucked at his nerves before he quelled the feeling.
No, they are the enemy. We cannot afford to show mercy, lest we risk our own lives. They would not show such courtesy if they knew what plans we had in store for them.
As Krika steeled himself, Antroz took notice of his brother's disquieted nature.
"Is something the matter, brother?" Antroz asked, in a tone equally as sincere as it was mocking.
"No, brother. I simply find this somewhat…excessive."
Krika prepared for a rigorous verbal lashing from his brother, though after a moment of silence, Antroz's reply would surprise him.
"I entirely agree."
Krika looked up, confused. It was unlike Antroz to display such a peaceful nature. The red-armored Makuta continued.
"The locals were of little threat. We could have reliably eliminated them with a single destroyer. Ultimately, we are not here in the interest of destruction, though."
Antroz took Krika's hand within his clawed talon, and pointed back towards the far side of the island.
"We are here in the interest of whatever Icarax says we are. In this case, conquest. And conquest cannot survive on raw bloodshed alone. We must be decisive, brutal, and willing to crush the life and soul of our foes if we are to succeed -"
Krika nodded somberly. His brother was right.
"- which is why such displays are sometimes necessary. The Brotherhood needs a victory. We are in shambles. The beings under our command do not want to hear stories about how we were merciful and accepted surrender, they want stories of us achieving overwhelming and complete victory. We need to remind those underneath us just who we are."
The cloud of smoke and debris from Target Main was billowing into the already cloudy, stormy sky, mingling with the grey above. Landing craft made their way over to the island and began to spill troops onto the beach. Krika looked up at the dark sky, and accepted his brother's lesson.
"I hope you understand, Krika, why this was necessary. I really do."
Krika looked Antroz directly in the eye, and spoke.
"Yes, brother."
Krika could, for a moment, see the briefest inkling of something on Antroz's face. It was something he did not believe he had ever seen before, and it sent confusion through his mind. It was the smallest hint of a smile.
Instantly, the two Makuta turned as the sound of an urgent voice rang out. The communications officer rushed over towards Antroz.
"Sir, I've got a communique from the ground forces on the island!"
"Proceed."
"Yes, sir. There seems to be an issue with the enemy," the Ce-Toa began, though her brow immediately furrowed in confusion.
"The enemy? What sort of issue?" pressed the red Makuta, as Krika watched the scene unfold, puzzled.
"I…they say they lack the vocabulary to describe it. They're requesting your personal presence."
Antroz and Krika looked towards each other, confused. Antroz, after a second of deliberation, turned his gaze back towards the Ce-Toa.
"I will be landing shortly. Tell them to continue attack patterns as planned. No prisoners, no escapes. Understood?"
The Ce-Toa nodded, passing along the message as Antroz made his way towards the open deck beyond the bridge. Krika followed him out of morbid curiosity. What has them so worried? he wondered, forgetting any prior plans or obligations he had for the day.
"You wouldn't rather teleport to the island?" Krika asked, as the two Makuta exited into the open air, the light mist of rain still buffeting them. Their cloaks flapped wildly in the wind, and Antroz extended his wings to their full length. Krika shrugged.
"After you," Krika said, as the two took to the skies.
EHLEK - UNKNOWN
The rush of lukewarm tropical water made its way through Ehlek like a concentrated wave. With a glee that he had not felt in centuries, the once-mighty Barraki opened his eyes, and gazed upon the water around him.
A few hours prior, a group of heavily-armed guards had entered the slave ship Null Credit and violently separated all of the Ursare from the rest of the slaves, funneling them into a separate room. Briefly, Ehlek felt fear - was this some sort of species-targeted culling?
To his surprise, an official entered the room - clearly not a military member, from the looks of him. The nervous Augafi addressed the group, and stated that they were being given a choice: they would be given freedom and allowed to use their claws again in exchange for weekly quotas of fish. Those unwilling to comply would be returned to captivity, while those willing to comply would be treated as citizens - equal in rights to the rest of the Brotherhood's members.
Ehlek had been dumbfounded. It was such an unprecedented move, and seemed extremely suspicious. He was sure that it was some sort of entrapment by the Makuta, no doubt to weed out the Ursare most likely to seize escape. So confident was he that he did not offer himself immediately. However, when he saw the first Ursare stride to the front of the room, and the guards remove the massive heavy manacles that the being had worn for only Mata Nui knew how long, Ehlek immediately muscled his way to the front of the rapidly-forming line.
The sensation of feeling the shackles from his arms was nigh indescribable. For years, he had carried a heavy metal tube on each arm, which forcibly kept his protosteel claws retracted, and would deliver a lethal electric shock if improperly removed. Of course, he was one of the lucky ones. He was no stranger to Ursare that had been forced to learn how to use their feet for mundane tasks, as the Brotherhood had (in its early years of conquest) taken to cutting the arms from Ursare to harvest their Protosteel talons. Many members of its armed forces carried weapons and armor that had once been part of an Ursare's body without even knowing it.
As the heavy manacles fell to the floor, Ehlek rubbed his wrists and smiled for the first time he could remember.
Plunging into the water, his first instinct was escape. He was not alone - he could see a great deal of Ursare already swimming for the seafloor, making a break for the waters beyond. What surprised him, however, was the amount of beings that remained. Even freed of their shackles, they voluntarily stayed behind, rushing through the water in search of prey.
Fools, he thought, as he thrashed through the water as fast as he could. Like a pet Muaka, sitting content in its master's lap. He had bigger ambitions - dreams of escape - and he meant to make good on them.
Gliding through the water, the Ursare's eyes adjusted to the underwater seascape. In the distance, he could see the hulls of various battleships and cruisers. Along the seafloor, a sunken Steltian ship settled, wrapped in heavy vents and bristling with guns.
Sorry saps, he muttered silently as he swam past the ship. He could still see the captain of the ship - a Dahkini, floating on the bridge, clutching his throat. Ehlek had little sympathy for the surface-dwellers. It was their fault for trying to conquer the seas - they were his territory, and his alone.
As he swam along the underwater dunes, Ehlek spotted a peculiar sight. Unlike the wreckage of the nearby boat, and the various others he could see in the distance, this one was extremely different in form. It seemed like a large cross - like a sort of narrowed tube with strange flat spikes sticking out of both ends. Ehlek could see a small glass canopy in the center of the tube, and several large red circles at various points. The thing was clearly damaged - not just by the sea and natural wear, but intentionally. Large Microkanoka holes had punched through one of the flat spikes. A strange script was written on a small flat panel at one of the tube's ends, which Ehlek could tell was not Matoric.
For a brief moment, he paused to inspect the thing. It confused him greatly. Then he looked up at the Brotherhood's ships and cleared his head, swimming further and further away from the island.
How strange, he thought, as the last traces of the sunken craft left his mind in favor of more prescient matters.