"Reaper, we really need to take it easy," Nomad tried to reason with his commander, "We're all worn the fuck out. Everyone's tired. We don't even have time to take care of our own wounds. Not to mention losing Chief a couple weeks ago. We keep on like this, how are we supposed to push this invasion back?"
"We keep going as long as we can. We can rest when they finally decide to pull us out." Tha replied, weary herself.
"If they decide to pull us out."
Despite Nomad's pessimism, a familiar voice soon came over the line. "All Ohnmatu teams, do you copy?" Gantas'Zharic, their commander, hopefully some good news for once.
"Athka Team, solid copy, sir, ready to receive your message." There was a hint of relief in Tha's voice in her reply.
"Bazmir Team, reading you five by five, sir." The Lieutenant Commander was still in this? Good.
"Char Team receiving, sir," Reeshara's voice, good, at least she was still in this.
The last voice wasn't Rub's, but a hushed whisper from their third, "Dyrkas team, in active hunt, but reading you, sir."
"Good to hear none of you are completely wiped out yet. Stand by, we have an incoming direct line from high command."
A pause, and then in came a new voice, "Ohnmatu, this is Admiral Lard'Narr. First, I want to thank all of you personally for your hard work in stalling the Irken invasion as long as you have. Second, I've made a command decision that the continued fight for Vort is going to cripple our ability to continue fighting the Empire. I've received intelligence recently on the success of Ervaus Team, and I believe we have a better chance in switching tactics. That said, I'm dispatching a fleet with dropships to evacuate as many as we can to secondary locations and continue the fight. It's time to go, and whoever is left on Vort can lead the resistance. We'll need one of your teams to assist in evacuating the remnants of the civilian government."
There was a pause...abandoning the homeworld...a necessity for now, but they'd be back soon enough, and the Irkens will be made to pay. "Major Ahko, I take it you're on the line?"
"Yes, sir."
"Given this evacuation, we're scrubbing all operations as we pull as many as we can out of this meat grinder. The only mission left on the table is going to be yours. Think you can handle it?"
Tha looked to her team, who all nodded to her, they were all up for one more now that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. She smirked behind her mask, "Yes, Admiral Narr, time to earn that combat pay."
"Excellent. Good luck, Major, looking forward to seeing you all at the fall back point. Out."
Rub remained in his roost. Unmoving. Silent. He and Ruk were on the hunt within what had become known as "No Man's Land" - the buffer just beyond the edge of the phasic barrier's perimeter...where the Irken Empire continually hurled their legions against it like an angry sea. Wave after wave of Imperial Troopers, Irken Elite, and the occasional Spec Ops unit attempting to enter the barrier and turn the tide of the battle. They were yet to be successful and the churned-up mess of rubble, mud, and blood from both sides became a grave for all that fell and were promptly forgotten.
Even the state-of-the-art suit of armor and cybernetic enhancements had taken a beating throughout the steady walk-back of the front as the noose the Empire tightened around the remaining holdouts drew tighter. Even for a man so reserved to his fate and unshaken resolve, this was almost overbearing at times. To see all of Vort with the exception of a single enclave of citizens and their leadership behind a barrier beaten like a drum all hours of the day.
Morale was at an all-time low. The futility of it all was beginning to set in for the rank-and-file troopers that remained in the capital. Even if the barrier held, even if the maintained air superiority over the city, even if their artillery firing non-stop halted the Empire's advance...it still wasn't enough. Food and water was beginning to enter dangerously-low levels and the Armada was uncontested beyond the barrier. Any attempts to ferry supplies in would be met with withering AA fire and more fighters any expert pilot could hope to shake off.
Fires raged, the skies blackened with apocalyptic forbearance as embers, dust, and debris from battle were carried with howling winds. Rub remained steadfast despite his case of cracked ribs hindering his breathing. It was nothing. Every Irken officer they took out bought them just a little more time. The taller ones were harder to replace, he noticed. Much like a traditional military, the mantle was being passed down the chain of command. Impossibly short Irken were now holding positions often seen by their taller counterparts...not unlike that Commander who risked life and limb to save Saro of all people. Something that still made no sense to him to this day.
"Phantom," Rub's low, gravely voice managed before wince. Hopefully the fractures hadn't worsened. Last thing he needed was an exterior puncture from a shard of broken rib. "Status."
Ruk had camouflage cloth wrapped around his left hand and wrist, extending down his forearm, a way to stabilize his wrist, strained rather hard in a previous bout with a Spec Ops soldier. The Doc said he was lucky it wasn't broken. He couldn't stay out of the field, so he had to deal with it, hoping that it wouldn't truly break any time soon. He could probably shoot one handed all the same using a rest, but such a pain would only throw off his aim and make him less effective.
"Still here, Spectre," he responded quietly, looking down the scope of his trusty hunting rifle, having since reverted to it to preserve ammo rather than using that select-fire weapon Reesh gave to him. He was tracking his own target, another officer rather short for his rank. They really were running out of the taller ones. Interesting.
Rub watched from his nestled perch among the rubble. Across the twisted landscape of ruined urban sprawl, collapsed buildings filled the streets creating artificial hills of steel and masonry with a sprinkling of shattered glass. Just outside of the artillery batteries range was the bulk of the Irken's encampments. If intel was to be believed, it was the same all the way around the phasic barrier. The Irken were just outside of their weapons' range and holding, unable to break through. Yet.
More out of frustration over their current state of affairs, Rub lined up an unsuspecting Imperial Trooper manning an emplaced heavy plasma cannon. A lowly foot soldier whom was unfortunate to draw the short straw of being in the Spectre's line-of-sight. His jaw set tight, he squeezed the round off, another shot to join the cacophony of fire around them. The Trooper's head burst in a spectacular display of dark green blood, bone fragments, and brain matter as he collapsed backwards, out of view. He hurriedly actuated the bolt, stopping himself from just using up the rest of his ammunition and taking out as many Irken as he could then and there.
Ruk had to adjust as he watched the officer look around in shock after seeing the gunner's head explode, but he squeezed off his own shot, a direct hit in the chest sending him to the ground flat on his face. As he reloaded, he used his goggles' built in binocular feature to zoom in as Rub's target hurried to cover, leaving a barely possible shot for Ruk and fully protected from Rub. "Bruvka, vhat vas that?"
"Nothing," he grunted. "Static. Confirm that last transmission. Vas it actually Admiral 'Narr or an Irken ploy?"
Static ran his various checks before responding, "Confirmed, sir, that was indeed Admiral 'Narr routed to us by 'Zharic."
Ruk blinked as he scanned the area for any possible targets before they moved on. "So, vhat do ve do now?"
Rub didn't immediately respond. What did they do? Just...run away? Abandon their home and the millennia of society, culture, and all that made their people what they were? What was even left to preserve? What were they even fighting for now? The past several months of fighting only proved the inevitable they were acutely aware of: The Empire could not be stopped. They quite literally threw bodies at the problem until it went away and the remnants of resistance the Federation had to call a military was running out of ammunition to stave them off.
"...Phant-...just go." Rub, frustrated, abandoned callsigns. The Empire was probably listening in anyway. It didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore. "...fall back. All of you."
"I'm not leaving you here, bruvka." Ruk came off as stubborn as usual
"Spec-Rub," It was Reesh coming through, "I don't want to leave as much as you do. This is a losing battle. We're all wounded in some way, I've got one missing, one dead. We're running out of ammunition, food, you name it. We need to leave if we want to keep fighting. I'm not leaving until Tha's mission is done."
Lieutenant Commander Vorken came over next "We just completed the mission we had before we received the message. If we're really pulling out, we should do it."
Tha followed, "You sure you want to head off, sir?"
"You heard the Admiral. It's time to withdraw. Save for your team."
"Well, seeing as how we're the same rank," Reesh started on her side of the comms, "I'm staying until all our teams are off world. Rub, Ruk, that includes you. I'm not going to let either of you stay here and throw your life away if I can help it."
Rub continued to watch out of his magnified optic through his goggles, ensuring the Irken weren't actively tracing their communications. Giving his position away now would be disastrous.
"Yes, evacuate through the only means of defense keeping everyone alive into the Irken's defenses...brilliant strategy," He scoffed angrily. "Admiral 'Narr is not here. He does not know the situation. Following orders blindly vill get everyone killed."
"There's some sort of plan, Lieutenant," Vorken responded to Rub over the line.
Before Rub could get a word in, Gantas came back through, "Actually, there is," he paused a few seconds to make sure he had everyone's attention before continuing. "There's an SIS group codenamed Ghost Scribe out there. I just received a transmission from their Section Chief that they have operatives willing to see this through, and they know it's a suicide mission. There's also some of the VDF and our special forces who are willing to put their lives on the line for this evacuation to go off. It's just a matter of when we say go."
Vorken came back on, "If they fail, sir?"
There was silence from Gantas before an audible sigh came through, "If they fail, or we miss our window...I'm going to give all of you freedom to operate how you see fit, because this world will become our grave."
Tha replied after a few minutes, "Then those intelligence bastards better not fail."
Rub's brow furrowed in a mixture of agitation and confusion.
"SIS? There's additional assets out here vith us and ve had no knowledge of it?"
"I didn't know about them until just now, Ahko," Gantas seemed just as frustrated as him in the reply, "Would've been nice to know about these guys so we could've coordinated with them. Their Section Chief had other reasons for keeping things quiet." In the distance, there was a series of explosions as one of them finished a mission and destroyed a battery of Irken anti-air and their plasma ammunition to go along with it. "What in the blazes was that?"
Before Rub could respond, the radio squaked with a burst of static before another deeper, modulated voice came through.
"Need-to-know basis, Gantas," The voice abruptly cut to the heart of the matter. "We'll talk more in person. Get off the radio before the next orbital strike vaporizes the rest of your teams."
He may have been fine behind the barrier, but that was a good point...the more his teams transmitted, the greater the chance the Irkens had of triangulating their positions. At least they couldn't triangulate on receiving messages. "Bazmir team, fall back as planned. Athka team, move into position. Char and Dyrkas, best be ready to go. Hold any transmissions unless critical. I'll keep you updated."
Ruk heaved a sigh, not saying anything, using a mirror to signal to Rub asking what their next move was.
"Vhy are you still here?" Rub shortly spoke, glancing in the direction he knew Ruk to be posted up at. "I told you and the others to fall back."
"And I said I am not leaving vithout you."
"Sir-" Static interjected before being cut off by Ruk,
"You heard him, fall back vith the others and be ready to go." Ruk started packing up his equipment to make his way over to Rub's position. There was no way he was going to leave him behind, not after everything they've endured lately.
"Spectre." The SIS Section Leader cut in again. "Get your ass back to Zharic. Now."
"Under vhat authority?"
"My own. Argue with me and see what happens. Move. Now."
"He did not sound happy." Ruk muttered to himself as he jumped through ruined buildings to make his way back to Rub, making sure to keep out of sight of potential watching Irken as he moved. The last thing the pair of hunters needed was to be confronted by their prey.
The Vortian marksman let out an annoyed sigh, fully debating should he defy whoever this SIS unit leader was and remain at his post or fall back as-ordered. The chain-of-command had many broken links in it now. Units were operating independently of one another with the gaps in communications coverage or the means of logistics to wave a defensive war effectively. They were hanging on by threads away from every man for themselves.
Growling, but begrudgingly accepting, Rub picked his rifle up and slung it across his back. Were it not for his suit, he'd be down and incapacitated for certain with the broken ribs. That still didn't make it hurt any less as he maneuvered over rubble. He heard stone shifting and glass skittering, making him immediately draw the pistol at his right hip and take aim. Only when he saw Ruk did he relax, moving his point of aim away from his twin brother.
"Idiot...I almost shot you," He huffed, making his way down the pile. "Come. Let's go before they start shelling again, chasing phantom signals."
"I didn't expect you to move." Ruk had his own pistol in hand, resorting to his revolver so Rub and Static had extra ammo for their sidearm. As they moved back to rejoin Static, he dug in a pouch and dug out a handful of plasma cartridges and held them out for Rub. "You can take these if you're short. I still have plenty." At least his hunting rifle and Rub's family heirloom could share ammo.
Rub accepted the offered charges. A blessing as far as he was concerned. Ammunition was beginning to get scarce among the regulars, let alone old-tech. Static was smart, he converted power cells found into recharging the saved cartridges. Nevertheless, the three of them successfully navigated No Man's Land unseen. The evening hours, smoke-choked skies, and billowing flames masked their movements well enough.
The checkpoint stood ahead of them at the edge of the phasic barrier. A shimmering, semi-translucent sheet casting a half-globe over the remainder of the capital city, protecting all within from anything the Empire could muster. Not even their grandest warships and their armaments could pierce the veil from high orbit. If only they still had mass accelerators that could reach them...the story would have been different.
Spotlights ignited with a flurry of hurried activity. Orders were relayed as Federation regulars rushed to their battered defensive positions.
"There's movement!"
"Hold!"
"I-It's the Irken! I know it!"
"I said HOLD!"
"Friendly!" Rub yelled out, walking up with Ruk and Static in tow. He didn't even tense up at the possibility of being gunned down by his own people by accident. He was beyond the threshold of caring.
"Friendlies! Stand down!" Their commanding officer ordered; the exhausted soldiers appeared relieved as they saw familiar faces returning from the field to pass through the threshold to join them on the occupied side.
"Sergeant," Rub addressed, bringing the man to attention before him.
"Yes, Sir!"
"..."
"...Something wrong, Sir?"
"Just...ve need transport to the citadel," Rub sighed, not ready to break this man's morale further than it already was. "Top priority."
"Right away, Sir!"
Ruk holstered his revolver once they were back, withdrawing his canteen and removing his suit's mask to take a drink now that they were in friendly territory. A commandeered civilian vehicle made its way over and came to a stop several minutes later. A Corporal hopped out of the passenger seat and came over. "This vehicle will take you three over. We don't have any military vehicles to spare, so you'll have to take this commandeered civvie. Hope you don't mind, sir."
"Better than valking," Rub begrudgingly accepted as he climbed in with the rest of his team. "Colonel Zharic is vaiting for us." He added, a subtle "make it quick".
He settled into the back of the vehicle, wincing as his side flared up. He, like others between the teams, were slowly coming apart at the seams. Figuratively and literally in some cases. Everyone was nursing injuries of varying severity. The fight had dragged on for so long, days had lost meaning. The past several weeks compared to nothing of the past several months. The fighting had intensified tenfold. Ever since he and Ruk made their attempt on the Empire's command staff planetside. He had long since left it lie, knowing the guilt alone troubled his twin brother that this was all because of a single missed chance of putting an end to an organized ground campaign on Vort. They only served to make it worse. Worse for them. Worse for the untold legions of Irken laying dead across Vort forcing their backs against the wall.
Ruk sat next to his brother while Static took the passenger seat, eyes open, trying not to think on how things could've gone differently...the reports on Irkens lining up civilians against the wall in reprisals when attacked behind their lines, destroying entire buildings because a resistance fighter or two might still be inside, the brutality of the advancing Elites and Troopers. There were many times inwardly he blamed himself. Every officer he took out was just one piece of trying to make up for that massive miss.
If only he hit…