[3/6/2056]
Over Red Zone 1
In the hangar deck of the Madrid, Rodriguez stood at the edge of the precipice. The bodies of the GDI deck crew lay scattered and broken around him. The few survivors were bound hand and foot. A militiaman was in the process of securing them to the rails that ran overhead. The bulbous shapes of Orca Drones hung from them in orderly rows. The might of the transport's air wing was blind and deaf, waiting for a signal to attack that would never come, assuming Gideon's team had done their part.
"Yo, I think that's them!" one of the infiltrators called out. The militia rushed to the open hangar door, peering through the mid-morning glare.
Three faint dots had appeared through the clouds, growing closer by the second. They resolved into the quad-rotored forms of Carryall aircraft. Heavy troop compartments were slung between the whirring rotors, giving them the look of fat-bellied flying beetles.
Rodriguez looked over his shoulder at the racks of Orca Drones, but they didn't stir. Gideon must have been successful in cutting off the carrier's sensor array.
The three craft soared through the open doors of the hangar, their rotors pivoting to apply reverse thrust. Before they had even touched down, smooth metal ramps extended and armoured soldiers rushed the deck like swarming ants.
While the insectoid infantry fanned out to secure the shadowed corners of the hangar, one split off from the swarm, making a beeline for Rodriguez. From the figure's self-important stride, he supposed it must be Stefan.
"Where is Gideon?" Stefan asked as he came toe to toe with Rodriguez.
"Pinned down in the sensor array," Rodriguez replied. "I don't know who sounded the alarm, but they must have been spotted, 'cos half the troops on the ship have them pinned down."
Stefan nodded sagely, black mask impassive. He pondered for several moments before replying;
"We proceed as planned. The rest of your team will accompany us to secure the bridge."
"Are you serious?" Rodriguez said through clenched teeth. "If we don't relieve him they're all gonna die!"
"If we don't take the bridge, all of this will be for nothing," Stefan snapped back, his voice harsh and robotic through the filter. "He's done his part; the rest is in Kane's hands."
—
The members of Gideon's strike force shared worried glances as the pounding from the other side of the hatch grew louder and more insistent. Whatever the Engineer had done to seal the door was holding the enemy at bay for now, but it wouldn't last forever.
"We need to find a way out," Gideon announced to the room at large. He was met with nods and expectant glances. Pushing down the urge to scream, he squeezed through the narrow doorway into the room where the Cyborg Engineer was still plugged into the ship's systems.
"Is there another way out of here?" Gideon asked.
"Scanning internal schematics," the Cyborg replied. A strange chittering sound issued from its helmeted head as it worked.
"There is a service conduit, running beneath the wall panels of the previous room," it declared. "But its diameter is insufficient to allow passage of-"
"It'll have to do," Gideon interrupted. He gestured to his trapped followers, who began prying insulation from the walls.
"This unit will not be able to pass," the Engineer continued, its monotone voice rising in volume. "Remove its cranial processing unit. The hacking subroutines will allow access to the Madrid's systems."
Gideon grimaced as the armour plates of the Engineer's helmet separated with a hiss. A thick tar-like substance seeped through the gaps. Glimpses of pallid flesh could be seen beneath, along with a wide, panicked eye that looked desperately at him from its sunken socket. A wedge of circuitry protruded from the pathetic creature's temple, caked in a mixture of pus and oil.
Gideon was grateful for his gloves as he pulled the unit free with a squelch. The Engineer collapsed, hanging limply from its mechanical arms, which were still embedded in the walls.
While the infiltrators tore at the paneling, Gideon knelt before the Kid, who was hunched in a corner. The young soldier's face was pale, and his trembling lips had turned grey. His eyes flickered in their sockets, seemingly unable to focus on anything.
Gideon grasped the Kid's hand. It was cold, and clammy.
"You holding in there?" he asked gently.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm good to fight," the Kid replied in a voice barely above a whisper. He squared his shoulders and attempted to rise, but only succeeded in hacking up a fresh wad of bloody phlegm over his already stained uniform.
Gideon laid a hand on the Kid's chest, and pushed him back to the floor.
A triumphant shout indicated the soldiers had torn away the right panel, and found the service tunnel.
"Don't worry about fighting; we've got a way out," Gideon reassured the Kid, and rose to inspect their escape route.
The conduit was narrow all right. Barely a foot wide, it was packed with a tangle of cables, and bore very little in the way of handholds.
"We're not getting out this way," Gideon sighed, despairingly.
A militaman in grey fatigues frowned at him. "Not with a dead man on our backs," he growled, and squeezed his way between the metal brackets at the front of the conduit. Others quickly followed suit, shoving their backpacks and weapons into the hole, kicking them ahead as they squirmed into the darkness.
A flash of light burned itself into his retinas, and thick black smoke spilled into the corridor.
"Move, now!" Gideon shouted at the few stragglers. They dove into the conduit, wrestling with the snake's nest of cables as gloved hands shoved through the cracks in the door.
"I'm sorry," he muttered to the Kid. "We'll come back for you."
They both knew it was a lie.
"Go, finish the mission, sir," the Kid replied, blood dribbling across his lips.
Damn the mission! Gideon wanted to scream. It had all been about providing a future outside of the wastelands for people like the Kid. What was the point if all their young warriors died fulfilling that mission?
"Kane's hand guide you," he replied, and pressed a small black cylinder into the Kid's trembling hands. The Kid took it, and nodded a silent farewell to his commander.
Gideon was a hundred feet deep in the bowels of the ship when the grenade went off.
—
Running the corridors of the GDI Transport behind a squad of Black Hand was like following in the wake of Death itself. Blistering rays of crimson light raked the corridors, incinerating rank after rank of infantry. The corpse-ash clung to Rodriguez' boots, staining them mottled grey.
Bulkheads were slammed shut in vain attempts to bar their passage, but Stefan and his ilk melted through them with concentrated bursts from their laser rifles. The soldiers guarding the doors fell just as quickly.
Unsurprisingly, the Madrid's bridge was barred to them. The warriors of the Black Hand began scything through the metal with beams of crimson light, carving away great chunks of the bulkhead. Answering gunfire rattled through the gaps in the slagged metal.
Beside Rodriguez, a grey-clad figure twisted and fell, their head shredded by automatic fire. Rodriguez dived for the cover of an alcove, shielding his head.
Stefan kicked at the twisted door. It buckled beneath his armoured boot, and he strode into the withering stream of gunfire.
The bridge crew hunkered behind consoles, taking pot-shots at the intruders. The Captain stood proud in his pressed blue uniform, silhouetted before the blinding glare that shone through a wide window that ran the width of the bridge.
The Captain's handgun barked, his aim true. Round after round sparked off Stefan's armour, but the Shadow advanced undeterred. He closed the distance in several long strides and struck the Captain with his laser rifle. The man's pistol flew from his grip as he was sent sprawling across the room.
Stefan stood triumphantly over the Captain with his boot on the man's chest. Rodriguez and the others fanned out around the bridge, rounding up the crew and putting bullets in those who wouldn't surrender.
A tumult from the corridor outside the bridge drew Rodriguez' attention. He raised his rifle and strode swiftly towards the source of the sound. A grate had fallen from the ceiling with a crash, and a pair of black combat boots was sticking through the hole it had left. Rodriguez leveled his rifle at the wiggling feet.
"Stop! Don't come any further!" he shouted.
"Rodriguez? That you?" a muffled voice replied. "Hold your fire you damn fool!"
The dangling feet kicked as the trapped figure squirmed free, and dropped to the deck, followed by a backpack and a rifle. The militiaman rose to his feet, grinning, and slapped the stunned Rodriguez on the shoulder. A procession of soldiers emerged from the duct, landing with as much grace as they could muster.
To Rodriguez' surprise, Gideon landed deftly in front of him. The two men embraced like brothers.
"We've captured the bridge," Rodriguez informed his superior, who clapped him on the back.
"Well done," Gideon replied, though he didn't smile. Blood stained his gloved hands, and the front of his uniform, though he had apparently suffered no wounds himself.
"You've lost some men," Rodriguez remarked. Gideon offered no reply.
They strode back to the bridge, accompanied by the scant remnants of Gideon's force.
"Gideon, it's good to see you're still alive," Stefan greeted them warmly. "Kane is merciful."
"Not as merciful as I'd hoped," Gideon replied. He handed Stefan the processing unit he'd taken from the Cyborg Engineer. "You'll be needing this." Stefan accepted the gift, and passed it to one of his acolytes, who plugged it into the least damaged of the bridge consoles. Screens flickered with lines of code as the subroutine that had puppetered the Engineer's body leapt into the computers - a digital ghost in search of a new host.
The bridge lights went out. Moments later, the emergency lights flicked on, bathing them, fittingly, in Brotherhood red. A whirring whine built from deep within the superstructure of the ship, as the engines began the laborious task of wheeling the unwieldy vessel around.
Gideon allowed himself a grim smile as he crossed the bridge, and put a foot on the Captain's chair with its commanding view of the clouds outside. It was beautiful from up here. The morning sun's light gilded the edges of the clouds, and they became a shining tunnel through which the Madrid soared. Only the faintest hints of green through gaps in the cloud cover betrayed the hellscape below. Gideon steeled himself, drawing a deep breath, before he turned and addressed his comrades.
"The infidels-"
"GST Madrid, this is the GDS Fortitude, you're drifting off course. Everything okay over there, over?" a crackling voice interrupted over the radio.
Gideon and Rodriguez exchanged a panicked look. Rodriguez flapped his arms, silently gesturing at a headset which lay abandoned on a nearby console. Gideon picked it up and spoke into its protruding microphone.
"Fortitude, this is the Madrid," he replied, fighting to keep the trembling from his voice. "We're having slight trouble with the starboard engine, so we're taking her in for repairs, over."
The voice at the other end waited several moments before responding, no doubt conferring with a bridge's worth of officers.
"Copy, Madrid," the voice replied after an agonising wait. "Will you be needing an escort back to Polaris Station, in case of further engine trouble, over?"
Gideon gritted his teeth. The last thing they needed was a GDI vessel keeping its nose in their business.
"Negative, Fortitude, it's not that serious. We're going to, uh…" he muted the headset. "Where's the nearest GDI shipyard?" he hissed at the Captain. The tall, balding man said nothing. Stefan stepped forward, and struck the Captain in the small of his back with the butt of a laser rifle. He doubled over, coughing.
"Refit station in Vik," the captive spat. Gideon nodded, and unmuted the microphone.
"We're taking her in for refit at Vik Shipyard. Over." His heartbeat was pounding in his temples.
"Uh, please repeat last, Madrid. You're 80 degrees off course for Vik, over," the voice said.
Gideon gripped the headset in his fist, and resisted the urge to hurl it across the bridge. He took a deep breath to settle himself.
"Like I said, engine troubles," he replied in a deliberately light voice, hoping to diffuse the suspicion he could hear in the radio operator's voice.
"Copy. Is Captain Collins there? Over," the operator responded after another long pause. Gideon looked to Stefan for guidance. He shook his helmeted head slowly.
"Didn't hear that, Madrid; is Captain Collins there?"
Gideon gritted his teeth and tried to wordlessly implore Stefan. He might be the enemy, but Collins was their only hope of maintaining this facade. The masked man bowed his head, but shoved Collins forward just the same. The Captain staggered across the deck, and picked up the headset.
"This is Captain Collins of the GST Madrid, over," he said, his voice strained by pain.
"Captain Collins, this is Commander Larsen of the Fortitude," a new, gruffer voice interrupted. "Sky's cloudy today, don't you think?"
Footsteps thundered across the deck as a dozen armed fighters lunged forward. Gideon drew his sidearm, and pressed it under the Captain's chin. To his credit, Collins' expression stayed neutral.
"Do. Not. Fuck. Us," Gideon hissed. Collins swallowed before giving the countersign.
"Seems clear to me." He spoke evenly.
Everyone on the bridge held their breath, waiting for the other vessel's response. The Madrid sailed implacably onwards, through the sea of clouds.
"Copy, Madrid," the radio operator of the Fortitude said after an eternity. "Good luck with the repairs. Over and out."
The Brotherhood released their breath as one. Gideon lowered his sidearm, and addressed Captain Collins gratefully.
"Thank you for seeing-"
The strident howling of a siren cut him off.
Gideon looked at the console beside him. The symbols on the screen were indecipherable, a mess of blinking numbers and contracting circles.
"What does that mean?" he asked the room at large.
"It sounds like a missile lock to me," Collins replied, with a hint of a smirk. Stefan responded by clubbing his captive with the butt of his laser rifle. The man grunted and bent over in pain, but his smile didn't fade. On the screen, a storm of red dots raced towards them, their contrails crisscrossing.
"Do we have access to the weapons systems?" Gideon demanded. The wafer of circuitry that had been the Engineer was still embedded in the console, but without its meat puppet to act as an intermediary, it was mute and useless.
"You!" Rodriguez had vaulted a console, and was accosting the uniformed officer that had been standing by it. "Activate the weapons! Missile countermeasures!"
The terrified woman backed away, stumbling into the implacable barrier of a Black Hand's armour.
"I can't activate them!" she protested. "You need - the Captain needs to… there's a code, a, a key!"
Gideon rounded on Collins again. The man raised his chin in resolute defiance.
"What's the code?" Gideon bellowed. Collins remained infuriatingly silent. Gideon snarled, and whipped the man across the face with his sidearm. The Captain's head snapped to the side as he was sent flying, and a streak of blood spattered across the deck.
"What's the damn code?"
"You think I'm going to give control of our weapons systems to you?" The Captain scoffed. "To the enemy?"
Gideon's pulse was pounding in time with the incessant beeping of the missile lock, but he forced his breathing to slow.
"Think of it as an investment in your crew's future. How many folk are aboard? Four thousand? Five? If that ship shoots us down, then they're all dead!"
Collins wiped the blood from his mouth, and scowled, silently cursing Gideon. Gingerly, he picked himself up, and crossed to the console. A dozen weapons were trained on him as he input the code. The emergency lights flickered off as the bridge was illuminated once more. A sudden chattering reverberated through the deck as the Madrid's point defense cannons whirred to life. A chain of explosions followed, as the railgun-propelled rounds tore through the missiles.
Gideon grabbed the headset, and held down the transmit button, not knowing if anyone on the other end was listening.
"We've taken control of this vessel for the Brotherhood," he proclaimed. "We have full control of its weapons, and will not hesitate to blow you out of the sky if you continue to pursue us."
No response came from the other vessel. Gideon turned to face his followers, heart pounding.
"The infidels reign from the sky with terror, impervious in their war machines. They rain down destruction indiscriminately over us without fear of retribution. Well today, we have captured one of their most powerful weapons, and tomorrow, we shall take their cities!"
A triumphant cheer rang out in answer, but the voice Gideon most wanted to hear was not among it.