.Chapter 9: Unyielding (3)
In a chain of command, responsibility and accountability are clearly assigned; each manager has their own ultimate oversight and responsibility for a group of employees performing a specific function.
Rest was important for recovery.
It didn't matter if it was fatigue, sickness or injury. Natural law was dictated such that if one in any of these three categories were related then the individual should by all accounts be given the time to recuperate in order to bring their full potential to bear once more.
Which was why the two men who found themselves standing at the entrance to then ConYard were rather reluctant to answer their most recent summons. Even if, the one calling for them had proven to be within the realm of respect, if barely.
"You got any idea why we're getting called?" One of the two asked.
"No," the other figure nodded. "Figured you'd know considering your recent promotion."
"Like it means anything to play bodyguard. It's punishment. Has to be."
The other individual mirthful chuckled. "Don't be so riled up. Pray hard and you may find yourself playing chaperone for our glorious leader."
"What happened to -and I quote- 'don't do something brash like that again'?"
"You say like it's going to stop His Enigmatic-ness from acting on his own whims."
"Whatever," the first one shrugged. "Let's get this over with."
The two were silent as they made their way up to the control room of the ConYard. Thankfully, it was a far less complicated journey than it would've been otherwise. Such was the wonders of prefab space and military pragmatism, even when applied to a giant city builder.
Generally speaking, there wasn't much grandeur when it came to meeting their leader within the confined spaces that was the brain of the ConYard. There were the two holographic projection tables along with additional monitors from extrusions right above each appliance. Operators quietly went about their tasks, offering little concern for who just entered.
Of course, there was also their commander. His back hunched over the table on the right overlooking a map. The details of which escaped either of the men as they came in.
Standing a short distance away, they both snapped to attention.
"Morning commander," the second individual greeted, taking the lead. "Squad Leader Sergiu and Militant Stana reporting as ordered."
Turning to address the new arrivals, the leader smiled. "Morning gentlemen. Sorry to disturb your sleep so early, but I figured I'd get this over with early, so you'll know what's expected."
"Not at all, sir. It's honour you'd entrust us with whatever you wish to say."
Their superior rolled his eyes. "Roll back on the fanciness, Sergiu. You too, Stana. I just want to let you both in our next move."
Both men gave a simple 'sir' in response. Taking it as their cue, the stiff poise of attention was slackened to a certain degree. However, they suddenly became alarmed due a sudden sneezing fit coming from their commander who brought a palm to his face and looked away in response.
"Ahcoo! Ah, shit…," he let out a strained curse.
"You alright, sir?" Sergiu asked, worryingly.
"Yeah," he waved off whilst clearing his throat. "Just need to get some rest after this. Ignore me."
He then clapped his hands together. "Anyways, the reason I asked you to come here, is to officially announce the new organisational structure I've spent planning out since yesterday."
Hearing this, both men perked up.
They watched as their leader turned to pick up something from the table behind him. It was revealed to be a box with a top lid. He held the thing close and just above his waistline.
"Now, before I open this, allow me to address something. First off, you're both relieved of your current duties."
"…. What?" both men spoke in unison.
A smile curved up the leader's face as he addressed the one to his left.
"Sergiu, for your continued service as my go-to liaison in the field, I hereby promote you to Militant-Captain. It's your full-time job now to lead the troops in the field as well as relay all info from soldier to superior. It is effective immediately."
He then addressed the man to his right.
"Stana, your bravery is noted; regardless how dangerous it can be both to you and those around you. I owe you big time for your service as my gunner. I like to see what you can do with improving that behaviour by making you, my bodyguard. Also, in place of the previous leader, I'm placing you as Militant-Sergeant of Squad 3. The entire unit will also be transferred to act as my personal guard."
Before they were given time to process their new stations. The commander opened the box to reveal two sets of medals.
In the hearts of both men, a sudden frost washed over them.
Sergiu was the first to speak up. "Sir? What is this?"
"Isn't it obvious?" He almost gushed. "These are a sign of your merits in the field."
The two men, still speechless, opted to take their time in appraising the two marks that were laid neatly within the box.
Each medal was a single bar with a set of two triangles arranged horizontally on each end. Both men recognised these as the Veteran's Rank. The lowest of three that could be earned on the field.
It was a high honour for anyone to receive such an award regardless. Such was its sacredness, that officer ranks above a certain threshold were banned from being granted it. Only those who survived over long periods out in a battlefield dominated by mass fabrication and patented armies were allowed to receive it. In practice, the rare trooper to reach Heroic can expect even those close to the Inner Circle to pay attention in their presence.
And here was not one, but two such medals being given out.
"No," Stana shook his head. "This has to be some sort of joke.
"No, it isn't soldier," the leader stressed, his face settling in a frown. "If anything, its overdue and I'm neither overselling it nor undermining its importance. So, take it."
Sensing the demand, both men were quick to pick up their respective medals. The underside had a simple pin to fashion on their fatigues. It was only after both men had their medals fastened securely did they noticed a third item within the box. That being, a chamfered triangle, but in place of a scorpion tail there was an upward arrow.
The symbol of Nod's officer corps.
Despite some hesitance, Sergiu reached for the badge. Unlike the medals, the badge had to be sewn on. Alas, such details mattered little for the moment.
Nodding in satisfaction, their commander closed the box and placed back on the table's edge with an audible thump of faux leather on metal.
"Now, that's done. Let's get to the real work," he motioned to the table. "You can gawk over your rewards after."
Both men wordlessly moved to his sides. Sergiu stood next to the length of the table whilst Stana occupied the breadth and had the light from the windows to his back. Together, they observed the map on display.
"I'll make this simple, men," he began. "We're going to continue with our original objectives. All that's left now is the fourth point, which is about a day's away."
"That's fine," Sergiu agreed. "How long before we move?"
"Three days, no less," came the curt reply. "Anymore, and we risk another incident like the night before."
Stana shook his head. "Sir, some of the guys are still in bad shape. If we move too soon, it's gonna be hell for them."
"There's no choice on the matter. This place is compromised, and we effectively will be wasting time and possibly more resources waiting for everyone to be combat ready. I'll see if medical can come up with a solution."
He then tapped commands on the map, causing to expand and show the current mapped region. On one end, was the main base located at the foot of the mountain range. On the other end, almost two-thirds across the table, was what the two assumed to be their current location as well as another marked point with the label 'P4' above it.
"I've an idea where we are, and, with that knowledge, I plan to act on it. Starting off, we need to take P4 in order to set up a forward staging area into inhabited territory."
"Inhabited sir?" Sergiu repeated.
"Yup," the leader confirmed. "Somewhere in these forests should be human settlements. I can't say how many or where since we don't have enough data yet. However, what I can say is that these settlements come and go all the time because of Grimm and otherwise. If you thought that Grimm attack we faced was the worst, then you have yet to see what's waiting for us in there."
Both men went quiet at the explanation. Their superior took this chance to tap another panel on the interactive surface.
"Once P4 has an outpost established, I plan to go back the way we came and see about establishing more outposts. These firebases will be the start of a logistics path. Until we improve our circumstances, assume that air support won't be a thing for now."
"Of course," Stana rolled his eyes. "Not like that was ever a thing back in the Old World anyways."
"…. There's something I need to ask though, Commander." Sergiu interjected.
"Go ahead."
"Where do I," he queried, whilst pointing to Stana. "And him, fit into all this?"
"Good question. Simple answer is that I need you both specifically to run additional work whilst the plan you see here is put into motion."
"And that is?"
The commander took a brief moment to ponder, eyes flickering into empty space before speaking. "Unit reorganisation, I suppose that's the term I'm looking for. That, and I need to run some special tests to see if the overall outcome works in our benefit."
"Care to clarify, boss?" Stana joined in.
"The first half would be your job, Sergiu," he addressed. "I need you to pick men who you think are best suited for long posting on these bases. Specifically, I need men who have nerves of steel and don't get easily stressed whilst being alone out there."
He then turned to the other man. "Stana, while your job technically means you're going to be next to me at all times. The real point of your position is to have it so your directly under my command without interfering with Sergiu's leadership. You answer straight to me unless otherwise."
"So, what, I'm sort of like your errand boy or something?"
"Poorly worded in a sense, but yeah," he admitted. "This isn't degrading you, mind you. Any orders I give you are absolutely vital for the future plans of the Brotherhood no matter how strange they may seem I need people I can rely on when the time comes. As my personal retinue, it's your job to make it happen."
Stana was still as a statue as he digested those words. Visibly swallowing his spit, he slowly nodded as the reality of his position sunk in.
Acknowledging this, the leader took a deep breath before continuing.
"Val, join us."
The two soldiers looked in the same direction as their commander. An operator seated in the corner on the right side of the room, next to the pilot stations stood up. She walked up to them and took her place opposite Sergiu on the other end of the table.
"You called, commander?"
"Yes, it's time to enlighten the men on our findings. I'm sure they'll appreciate the news we're about to bring them," the commander said with a smirk.
"Likewise," she returned the look with her own. "Anyways, this is a recording from the drones from the attack last night. Now pay attention as I switch between visual settings."
Three pairs of eyes looked up and watched the screens mounted on the stations above. Both militants winced when they saw the horde that had threatened to wipe them out the night before. Briefly, they could see the dust clouds from when the raiding group had left the compound to try and break the attack. Yet, there was another thing that became apparent.
Whenever the visuals switched to infrared or night vision, the screen barely showed anything. Granted there was movement, and the base was still clearly seen in a chaotic state, but then….
"Why can't we see the Grimm, sir?"
"Because, simply put, they apparently don't generate heat or reflect light well for that matter."
Stana began shaking his head before rubbing his eyes. "You gotta be fucking kidding."
"Language," reprimanded the leader.
"Whatever, sir," the militant rolled his eyes.
"Considering this phenomenon," continued the operator, unperturbed. "I've placed a request for our forces to be immediately refitted to better combat this threat."
She tapped a few panels, and in place of the map, there appeared the image of a set of monocular goggles.
"These visual goggles are equipped for low light environments as well as a motion perception setting. Their batteries allow them to function up to ten hours at a time before needing to be replaced."
"This alongside a partial rebuilding of our local forces are going to be integral for the upcoming engagements," interjected the commander. "This is also where both of you are going to commit to the integral roles I explained earlier."
Though it wasn't openly said, the looks in both men's eyes told that they were starting to grasp the exact nature of their newly anointed duties. Even so, their leader simply opted to continue on and give a briefing on their immediate tasks.
"Stana, you and your Squad are going to be given the first batch of the goggles along with a fatigue adjustment. I want you to do a long-ranged patrol and put the new equipment to use. In the meantime, Sergiu, I need you to establish an organisational structure amongst the militia. I also need you to gather the fresh troops that were produced by the Hand and start getting them up to speed on handling themselves out there."
Stepping back from the table, the commander regarded those present with a look of severity.
"Survival now rests on us getting our asses in gear and meeting our now familiar threats head-on. Dismissed!"
There was a loud thud, before all three Noddist saluted in synch, complete with a sharp 'Sir!'.
While technically speaking the conventional ranking system did exist and was used rather banally within the ranks of both Nod and GDI. Any member of the armed forces from the Old World (TibWorld as it can be referenced) would recognise that those ranks held very little in way of influence when compared to the Field Veterancy rank.
The advent of mass fabrication came at the expense of the common soldier. Whether intentional or not, the enlisted came to be seen as almost as expendable as the equipment they used. Almost, being a keyword.
Nod tried to overcome the limitation of the human factor through automation, but that led to the Firestorm Crisis. At the end of the day, it was still Nod's human army -even with GDI aid- that prevailed against the Threat of CABAL.
A common consensus reached by military analysts and some groups within the military was that a greater level of appreciation had to be shown for the men and women who survived these extremely dangerous scenarios. Hence, the Field Veterancy system.
While initially scoffed, it will later be held as sacrosanct amongst enlisted and field officers alike. Its presence meant a great deal of importance as by being awarded one, you were regarded highly and were expected to be held by utmost respect even by those a multitude of ranks above you. By the time one reached the legendary 'Heroic' Tier, they can expect even colonels to hold open doors for them, and generals were expected to listen to their words with utmost care.
Of course, that's if they ever reached that rank.
In reality, the estimate survival time of a GDI light infantry in the worst possible period of the Second Tiberium War was three days. Deaths are a possibility whether it be from some form of exposure to Tiberium, hazardous environment or simply the alien wildlife. Often, this was before they come into full-scale engagement with the enemy.
"This damn thing's itchy."
He spared an unamused glance to his right, noting the head covered by a shemagh. A hand had snaked up underneath it to scratch the sweat-drenched skin. With a sigh, he shook his head and resumed his watch through the binoculars.
Ahead of him was a large structure surrounded by a two-and-a-half-meter high wall. Both manmade constructs had definitely seen better days if the claw marks and pinions still embedded onto its surface. He ignored these in favour of observing the guards on the walls.
Many of which he noted were sporting injury, but clear attempt was made to hide it in the form of clothing of any kind. Unfortunately, he noted that the side effects were clear discomfort. Evident in how the guards kept reaching for their wounds and either rubbing or massaging them, which seemed to serve them no good if the scrunched-up faces were any indicator.
It was a clear day, but the winds were blowing which served their purpose in this case. They'd parked the bike a good distance away and climbed up the large sand dune under the cover of civil twilight. They'd dug themselves in and since then the sand had gradually veiled their forms save for their arms and heads.
It was a waiting game since then as the two scouts continued their observation.
"Do we really have to stay here all day? My ass is starting to fill up with sand." The man beside him whined.
"I can teach you a trick to solve that," he offered.
"Really?"
"Yeah. It's called 'shoving it up your ass'. If you're lucky, it'll clog your mouth as well."
"Alright, alright," he raised his palms. "Sheesh."
"Keep your hands down, fool!" the man snarled, despite it not matching his hushed tone. "You wanna give us away!"
Immediately, his partner lowered himself down as flat as he could into the dune. The man could only let out a low, frustrated sigh as he resumed observation. He noted a sudden influx of sentinels on the walls. One guard stood at the head of a troop and spoke to another. After that, those already present turned to leave the walls whilst the new arrivals took their place.
'Another change,' he noted. The event was jotted in a small notebook that he pulled from his sleeve.
"Hey," his partner spoke.
"Yeah?"
"You ever thought we'd get promoted?"
"We'd just did four days ago, numbnut."
"No!" his partner whispered harshly. "I mean, you'd ever thought that we'd actually survive long enough to actually get our own teeths?"
"I don't see your point, and what does it matter anyways? It's just a piece of metal pinned on your uniform. Not a goddamn reusable ticket for the TibFab," he rebuked.
His partner scoffed. "You kiddin' me, man? Tell you what, I'm gonna finish this op, and I'm gonna make it back to base somehow. Just watch, I'll flash every damn person my teeth and you'll get to see how much you love not being in the spotlight."
"Sure, sure," he rolled his eyes. "Just don't scare all the kids at the playground, alright? Wouldn't want you blacklisted for revival just because they mistook you for a harasser."
"Up yours, man!" The second man snapped.
The two went quiet for a while and more time passed. Until once again, the partner opened his rather chatty mouth.
"So how do you find the boss?"
"You mean the commander?"
"Yeah, him," the partner shifted his body, trying to be rid of discomfort. "What do you think of him?"
"He's our commander," he responded pointedly. "What else is there to say?"
The other man licked his lips. "Well, I actually found kinda lame at first, you know? Still do by the way. Just way less after that thing he did with the truck during that freak night."
"Surprised you know anything considering I remember you bleeding out on the grass," the first man snidely remarked.
"Hey, I didn't lose that much blood, alright!" he spoke indignantly, still mindful of his volume. "It wasn't that deep and most of the blood came from my soaked pants."
"Is that another way of saying you pissed yourself?"
"Yeah, real funny, ha-ha," his partner let out a snort. "Just answer the damn question."
He took a moment to ponder; his mind still mostly focused on observing the movements of the guards on the walls.
"The young lad has a lot of room to grow. I won't say he's the worst considering his circumstances. Afterall, an actual Nod Commander may not even have bothered addressing us as men."
The other man nodded slowly as he digested the words.
"True, true," he repeated. "Guess he does beat some of the guys I know from back then."
"Oh, do share."
"Well, there's that asshat of a major who led us on a while goose chase across the mountains in Bulgaria. Bastard actually wanted to cut his losses and run but he had this absolute unit of a captain whom I'm pretty sure was crushing on the poor man hard. I'm not even talking about a love kinda thing, but absolute hate…"
As his partner preoccupied himself with his retelling, the scout took the moment to zone him out entirely and focus on his main reason for sitting out an entire day cooking under the sun.
His superiors had zone him and his partner along with four other groups of two for this assignment. It was a straightforward stakeout where they were tasked with moving ahead of the MCV and its escorts to observe the enemy's activities. So far, the results of their work were rather mundane given what they've faced.
Deep down, he found it kind of morbid that he was looking forward to killing humans again. Then again, seeing a man torn apart alive maliciously by what amounted to an oversized dog wasn't something that can be considered mundane evil. It even surprised him, when he reflected on the deaths, he'd seen so far, that he felt unnerved by each one. Coming from a regular in Nod's forces and one involved in more than a few village burnings, not to mention the Tiberium Crisis he saw firsthand, it spoke a lot.
Eventually, the hour of dusk arrived. Whilst the guards began to move into the night shift, the two took their chances to slide down the face of the dune facing opposite the settlement. From there, it became a slow, mildly frustrating journey back to their hidden vehicle as they fought the cramps around their bodies that had built up over the course of the day.
Around fifteen minutes were spared for a quick meal and refreshments before they started the bike and rode off. His partner at the front whilst he rode passenger on the back, making do with what little spacing the modified mountain bike offered.
As they rode, the scout pondered on the inevitable battle that was to come. There was the straightforward assumption that it could play out like all the other ones they've faced until now. Yet, a part of him found itself thinking otherwise.
Wisely, he kept that part prushed to the far back of his mind.
"Looks like a Zoo Tower."
"A what?"
"A Zoo Tower. World History. Basically, they build these things to fight off air raids."
"Did they work?"
"Yes, but they didn't win the war if that's what you're hoping."
Sergiu let out an affirmative grunt as we observed the structure projected on the table. It was around fifteen meters high with a ten-meter base. Four blocks were linked at the base and linked by a rather thick column was a wide circular plane above that formed the top. Using drones, we confirmed that the top of the tower had fixed artillery with visible outriggers. Strangely, there was nothing to indicate that there was any form of communications station on the roof.
"Are we sure there isn't comms traffic out there?"
"Affirmative, sir," one of the operators responded. "We're picking up nothing but our own out there."
"Drone footages show nothing resembling electronics sir. There's basic electricity from what can be assumed to be a generator, but its only being used to power lights for the most part sir," Val interjected.
Sergiu breathed in, then he turned to me and asked, "How do you wish to do this, commander?"
Nibbling on the knuckle on my right index, I thought hard on what I wanted done. While the most obvious answer would be destruction, there was the equally enticing probability for diplomacy.
Currently, the ConYard was north of P4. We had both the Hand Of Nod mockery, and a VAF produced with a laser fencing around the perimeter with modified CIWS at the ready.
Our scouts had returned safely and right on schedule. Their initial reports complemented our own assessment. Bottom line is that the inhabitants of Point 4 were not in top shape and had suffered an attack same as we had days ago. However, unlike us, they knew that they were the last of their kind and wouldn't be expecting reinforcements anytime soon. At least, that was my best hope for the situation.
The more I thought about it, the more it bit into me. Due to the circumstances I'd led us into, we still knew very little on what we're facing. The disaster at the motor pool that was Point 3 failed to give us any information.
"I need to get inside."
"Sir?"
Ah, crap. Did I speak that one out loud? Screw me.
Blinking, I turned to face a rather visible perplexed look. My head of the armed forces was staring at me with visible confusion. His once shaved scalp was starting to be covered by growing light brown.
"… I-We need to get inside that compound," I addressed. "I don't want this place to be razed. I want to try diplomacy first."
"But what for, sir?"
"Answers," I clarified. "I need more info on our current whereabouts and the date of the current era. It's vital to know this early if we're to advance further beyond the desert."
"With all due respect, sir," Sergiu stared at me with a deadpanned look. "You're talking to the wrong person. Militants aren't exactly the kind of people renown for being sociable and friendly."
"I am aware," I nodded.
"So why tell me this?" the captain nudged. "What're we supposed to do?"
Teeth sank into the hard surface that was the joint of index. My mind sifting through chemical signals to correlate an appropriate response. Once again, whether deliberately or not, I allowed these thoughts to be let loose.
"Just be yourselves for now. I'll let you know when I have something in mind."
We'd deployed the new base at least eight kilometres out from the settlement. Frankly, we were abusing the high dunes of the desert way too much, but this was one sort of boon I wasn't shameful of using.
Sergiu had every right to doubt me. The militants spawned from the Hand were wonderful in the sense they provided cheap offensive force compounded by the fact we were facing technologically inferior defenders who lacked any form of command hierarchy. Alas, no advantage lasts forever, and I didn't want to see just how far we could push our luck.
In a private session, I had EVA give me a tally just how many men we'd lost. Much to my heartbreak, we'd already past the triple digits some time ago. We're at two hundred and thirty bodies and counting. Not counting those grievously wounded in the recent Grimm assault.
Yet, as much I wanted to mourn, I knew that it wasn't meant to be. The words of the dying militant from that night had nagged at me for some time during the aftermath of the assault. Was it any form of surprise anymore that those words would be proven true?
Indeed, I couldn't believe it myself when EVA revealed that there was a feature to bring back dead personnel. Fake resurrection if you will. The dogtags came with basic form of data record of each and every personnel. I'd ask why I wasn't informed of this, but EVA remained silent. I suspect there is still more for me to learn about these homunculi than meets the eye.
Speaking of homunculi, I do think Rain might know more, but the fact was we were too far away from the base now to maintain consistent radio contact. I do wonder if she's alright.
In any case, the sooner we finish our current business here, the sooner I can get back. My nerves are getting frayed from all this leading business. Not to mention, we were in no shape anyways to advance any further than we did now.
That leads me back to my current frustration. How were we supposed to get in without causing a ruckus? No, more accurately, I wanted answers to the current timeline and status. An isolated village may seem like a bad idea at first, but even a small glimpse may reveal more than we expect. Afterall, everything leading to this moment at least points to us being in RWBY's past, but how back were we was my question.
Without answers, I felt rather useless. Uselessness leads to frustration. Hence, I acted upon it.
I was in shock.
I laid on my back. The wind knocked out of me. My vision swam. Breathing was hard, but not something I could ignore.
I needed to get up.
Work through the pain. Work through the pain!
My back forwards. Upper chest rising up with my hands pressed to the ground, supporting my rise.
A black boot slammed against my torso and for a brief moment everything went black. Something warm filled my lips. I felt my top incisors sinking into something soft. A pull threatened to send me back on the ground.
No! I can't give in to it!
Both my hands reached out and I made to hug the offending appendage still planted on my stomach. One. Two. I found what I was searching for and pulled my upper half towards it as best I can. My new position was awkward, but I couldn't afford to give a damn.
Twist! Fighting the pain and the boot sinking further into my intestine, I made to roll. Through the dark, I could at least make out something falling over. It was hard to… just… discern, but I knew that the thing that had fallen was a good thing. It was opportunity to stand.
I breathed in. The action made me want to barf. Forcing past the pain though, I was rewarded with my vision returning.
Just in time to see my opponent beginning to stand.
Against my better judgement -or any for that matter- I launched myself at him. Kicking the ground, and with both arms raised wide open. The attempt was less than perfect, and I found myself just over the man's left ribs. Nonetheless, I grappled with his back until I found and clamped both arms around his neck.
If my action bore any effect, it was moot. My opponent simply rolled onto his back crushing. I was slow to register his hand on my ears as he pulled, gaining a scream as I was forced to release my grip. He took that moment of inaction to get up and turn. A hand lashed out for my forehead whilst the other-
"Halt!"
My opponent went stiff. Through ragged breaths, I studied the veins pulsating on each hand. I struggled to hold off the blood seeping from my lower lip. The thought of drinking it was revolting.
What passed for an agonising minute must've gone by before the victor released their grip and stood up. The same hand that had been poised to strike me before was now reached out to aid me. I gave it a brief stare before deciding that there was no harm in accepting the offer.
Rising to my full height, I quickly lifted my balaclava and spat out the blood accumulated in mouth. A rather large mixture of saliva and crimson stained the sand to my right. Ignoring this, I turned to look at my opponent.
His high cheek bones and fair skin was a common trait I found amongst those in his squad. His hair was styled into a neat crop top, but what separated him from the rest of his brethren was that he stood a head and a half taller than me. A stark contrast to the usual half a head or one head taller than me.
Also, unlike me, he barely appeared strained from our scuffle. Sporting an upward curve of his lips, he looked like a hound that had barely started to enjoy its latest toy. In response, I kept my shoulders tensed and poised. Ready to jump-
"Boss," a voice called. "Enough. Don't go starting a round you can't win."
I turned to look at the voice. Stana stood there, his shemag stuffed into the neck of his fatigue. Along with him, at least four others were flanking him.
Right. I wasn't fully alone.
Something slammed onto my right shoulder. I snapped my head forward, just in time to see the absolute unit of a man give me the most blood-freezing smile I'd ever seen.
"Enough kiddo," the man's deep voice reaching into my soul. "That was good fight. More, and you crumple like stick."
I sniffled but made no point to rebuke. It wouldn't make sense anyways. My point inciting this brawl wasn't to put me in Medical.
Spitting once more, I wiped what blood was still on my lips with my forearm. I took a moment to admire the thick line of crimson on my lower arm, before moving to the semitruck a short distance behind me. The backdoor was opened and on the flatbed was a simple steel box. Opening it, I took one of the canteens and took a nice long swig of its contents, but not before tearing off my head cover and throwing on the floor of the flatbed. A rough sigh escaping my lips after taking a long gulp.
Hydrated, I felt my awareness return to normal levels. I took stock of the ten men milling about around me. Some were keeping watch, but most were just relaxing and there was also the man I'd fought with who was nursing his own wounds, how little that was.
Something filled my peripheral, I had to do a double take and turned to see Stana to my right, a hand extended and holding a canteen.
"Drink," he offered. I showed him the one in my hand, but he only gestured me once more.
I had my doubts, but I decided to take him up on his offer and grabbed the offering. One sniff, and I made a guess that it at least wasn't entirely alcoholic. Glancing at the militant once more, I then proceeded to chug the down whatever drink I was handed.
Hot damn
My eyebrows shot up at the sizzling sensation in my mouth. Wound aside, the taste was straight up nectar, considering I'd lived on plain water months now.
"Like it?" the man next to me asked.
"What is this?" I asked, turning towards him and noting the blatant smirk on his face.
"Lagidze from Georgia," the militant answered. "Some of the guys weren't too happy with the booze restrictions, so Iosef got around to issuing something else for us."
"And I wasn't informed of this because…"
"Oh, you were technically informed," he defended. "We told the techs it was part of the privilege of being your bodyguards."
"Stana…"
"Kidding! Iosef just pulled favour. That lady in the ConYard was nice enough to approve the requisition."
I gave him a look, clearly displeased by their actions. Still, I guess for something like this. If it helps keep the men's mind off the stress from being out here for so long, who am I to complain. I'll probably still look into it with Val though.
"So," Stana spoke up, sitting himself on the floor of the truck. "What brings us out here, sir? Aside from getting to see you beaten to a piss that is."
"Just wanted to clear my head out. That, and figured a showing myself around more would help keep the men from getting the wrong ideas about me."
"I fail to see how losing a brawl helps that way, sir."
"It's a matter of presentation, Stana. Men follow men, no matter how twisted or weak their superior is. Occasionally, an honest to God superior breed emerges and men flock to them for guidance. Don't see myself as that, but damn if I don't prove a point of my own."
I chugged what remained of the special drink down my throat. Warm iron could still be tasted; mixed with the soda-like drink. The empty bottle was set aside between me and the militant.
"So, what now? We ride back to base?"
I was going to answer, before a scream interrupted the calm atmosphere.
"GRIMM!"
All eyes followed a hand that was pointed behind me. Hastily, I clambered across the flatbed, ignoring the alarmed shouts from the other. Fishing out a small pair of binocs from my pocket, I observed a dot on the horizon.
Sure enough, it was a Nevermore. Standard variant. Large avian. It didn't seem to be on the alert though. Strange.
"Orders sir?" I heard Stana next to me.
Lowering the binocs, I regarded him. "Get us back to base."
He nodded and yelled out my command. With the exception of bracing my hand on the roof, I directed most of my focus inwards.
All the Grimm up to this point had been travelling in huge groups. The only exception being the pair encountered months ago at the main base. It could be coincidence that we're encountering so many, but given what I did understand of these monsters, then it may have to do with the emotional negativity build up.
I deduced that it must've been a combination of our raids, and the already present despair from the slaves. The latter was just a powder keg we'd come to light.
Still, if the Grimms were going to appear in hordes… Then perhaps….
Yes, that could work!
"This is bloody stupid."
Flashes and thunder lit up the night sky. The moon was still nowhere to be seen. Not that it would've helped the men who waited anxiously within the depression. Ahead of him, the beleaguered settlement was bright with the constant firing of dozens of weapons as the inhabitants fought for their lives.
Sergiu flipped the NVG upwards. Sparing a look around him, he noted the faces of all of the men now formally under his command. In a twisted sense of nostalgia, he realised he now recognised too few of them. Wariness and a deep sense of disregard were plastered amongst a good number of them, with the exception of some who were fresh from the Hand.
Pulling a cigarette from his pocket, he lit the stick and took a long drag, relishing in the burning sensation. Three -or was it four? - inhales was all it took to finish the stick before he threw the remainder on the growing, not bothering to stomp the flicker.
Descending from the slope he used to watch the lightshow, he made his way down into the throng of men. Most gave him a wide berth, and occasionally a man would nod in his direction out of respect. He walked a good ten minutes and climbed over a dune before reaching the small base set up. The ConYard was mostly shrouded in darkness. Yet, this fact didn't bother as his real destination was a small light source a short distance down.
His leader stood behind a heavily modified technical. Unlike the others, this was openly sporting the Nod Scorpion Tail. Its grey exterior was also in contrast to the brown and tans used by the other trucks. The flatbed was taken up by a mix of electronics and also proper seating for what once was Squad 3, now turned bodyguards for the leader.
Like the rest of the militia, there weren't that many recognisable faces left, but he still knew at least four of them personally. Still, each gave him their own nod of respect as he passed their perimeter.
"Sir, Grimm have engaged the settlement," he spoke up whilst approaching.
The young man looked up from his WMT. "Already? Neat. Guess it's time to begin."
"You sure this is right, sir? It could end messily if we're not careful."
"Risks need to be taken, captain," came the reply as he watched him climb atop the back. "We can't learn if we don't take them. Besides, chances are those locals won't be willing to waste ammo once they realise that we're here aiding them. Otherwise, well, I guess you'll get to enjoy the artillery show."
With a single call, the men surrounding the technical began to gather and mount the vehicle. Stana spared him a glance before climbing up the back and taking his seat. With nothing else to do, Sergiu began walking back to the assembled men.
"Hey, Sergiu!" he heard his leader called.
He turned, and even through the dark, he caught the radiant smile on his face.
"Stay safe out there, alright!"
He hadn't an answer. Simply nodding to assurance, he resumed his walk back. The groan of an engine coming to life filled his ears as he crossed the dune.
'That trip back to base couldn't have come any sooner,' he thought.
"Commander to Control, come in."
"Control, standing by."
"Op is a go. Tell Archer to begin volley."
"Copy, standby."
…
"Archer firing."
"Confirm. I'm ordering Warrior to move out."
"Roger that. Permission to speak commander?"
"Go ahead, Control."
"You sure you want to be out there, sir? It's extremely risky."
"Confirm. Don't worry, this won't be a habit. Just let me have this."
"Understood. Control going silent. Will inform you if anything arises."
"Roger."
"Livi, come in! Livi!"
"Livi's dead! They got him!"
"… Who's left up there?"
"…"
"Hello? Amaz? Come on, speak to me. Anyone, PLEASE!"
"…"
Try as she might. There was no answer. A sinking realisation soon hit her. Everyone up top was dead.
"HAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
A loud crash and buzz filled the air as the radio equipment was pulled up from its place on the table before being smashed back down with enough force to cause the table to collapse. Raising it up again, the process was repeated again and again until the only thing left was the handles on the front panel with a few knobs that managed to survive the abuse.
Unable to vent her rage no more, Tulip broke down crying. Her voice reduced to soft whines and the occasional screech.
This was it.
This was happening.
Her people were finished and there was nothing that could be done. There would be no help coming. Not from home, or from their closest neighbour. The kingdom was an even bigger no, and it wasn't like they even knew this place existed to begin with.
Kuju going silent should've been a dead giveaway. By the time the first Grimm attacks started, they should've begun packing up and hauling it for the woods. Perhaps they may even get lucky and find their old home once more.
But no, of course not. Their leader Tenne of course had to make a stand. A stand and for what! What did they even have to lose leaving the desert?! The Dust mine? Screw that, there's Dust everywhere. Worse comes to worse, they can just try their luck with raiding again.
'Suppose it doesn't matter now, though,' she thought. 'Not when the old mutt is already dog bones now.'
Vivid images of their 'valorous' leader's remains still kept her awake at night. The fool had tried a noble charge with his closest companions to break one of the attacks, and it had backfired horribly for that matter.
Merely thinking about it now, that agonised look wasn't something she'd want plastered on her face. Broken in mind and body, the unholstering of her weapon -an old, rusted six shooter- was but a passing notice in her mind. The pointing of that weapon under-and-behind her chin was a bit harder, but doable.
She had to do this. She didn't want to die at the hands of those monsters. Her minds eye worked on overdrive replaying every story she heard of the brutality that was a Grimm getting their hands on a human. When complimented with what happened to Tenne, it made all the more easier to pull back the hammer.
"Ma'am!"
"GO AWAY! KEEP FIGHTING!"
"Ma'am, you need to see this!"
"I SAID GO! GO AND FIGHT!"
"THERE'S SOMETHING HAPPENING TO THE GRIMM! YOU'VE GOT TO SEE THIS!"
The man's roar was enough to jolt her from her self-euthanasia. Gripping the gun hard to avoid dropping it, she turned and stared blearily behind her. The man wore plate underneath a long trench coat. His exposed head bled from the right side of his temple, and there were stains on both of his sleeves. A rifle held by the forestock in his gloved right hand.
"What?"
"There's something out there and it's attracting the Grimm. You've gotta see this!"
Her murky mind was having a difficult time coming up with a response. Perhaps against her better judgement, she holstered her weapon once more and followed the man out.
Brown eyes darted to the sky as she exited the safety of the tower. Immediately, her mind noted the lack of projectiles raining down on them. Her heart hammered in her chest for the moment a giant pinion would strike either the ground, herself or the man beside her, but it never came.
Just as she was about to openly question, she saw something else.
A shooting star. Or perhaps something resembling it. While she never personally saw one even in her youth, she did know enough that the bright lights were supposed to fall down and not up.
Moreso, shooting stars don't move headlong to collide with a flying Grimm. She also doesn't remember them bursting into small, radiant stars.
The explosion in the air was something a tad more familiar, and she instinctively ducked. It was loud, she'll admit that, and apart of her was glad that whatever struck the Grimm wasn't aimed at her or the base.
A hand patted her shoulder as the man began to urge her to the walls. For the first time in the past few hours, she felt something other than fatigue and building despair filling her. It was a light feeling, but it still made her queasy.
Following the man up the ramps and onto the battlements, she had a vast view of the desert below. She and a half dozen of them watched the phenomenon happening below, sharing the same awe at what they were seeing.
From the peaks of several dunes, more of the strange stars shot out. Their light illuminating dark silhouettes too far to be discerned. Below, more shapes -much larger and more visible- sped across the sands. From their backs, great tongues of flames were spat and many a young Grimm panicked despite the presence of humans nearby; their animal instincts overriding their monstrous ones. Caught like animals on the trail, some went stiff, and were either rammed or killed by gunfire.
Gunfire…..
It clicked to her. There was a rapport of gunfire, and she was sure it wasn't her men shooting. For the most part, it sounded like machine guns, but she didn't know any that could fire with such a heavy rattle. The other rapports were also not happening her hearing.
That was when she heard a whistling in the air. A sharp, sudden whistling followed by the loudest explosion she'd heard in her life. The snap-boom bellowed across, but it was the flash that made everyone's heads turned left. Though they didn't catch the moment of detonation, they were able to see the consecutive shots.
Such was their power, the light served to turn night to dawn. She could see, for the briefest instances, the shapes of the other guards on the other side, closer to the explosions, all of which had ducked for cover.
It was too much. All of it. The horde. The strange shapes. All of it was too much.
So, she did the only thing she could do.
Curl up to her knees, lean against the wall… and began to mewl.
"Good hit! Good hit! Enemy's breaking!"
"Warrior 1-3, in need of support! We've got six of them on our asses!"
"Warrior 1-3, turn right on my mark. Warrior 2-2 will assist. Mark!"
"Archer is turning to fire. All units clear the east end. Warrior 1-4, 2-5 and 2-7 get out of the firing zone!"
Endless spiel of reports, requests and orders filled the radio as I watched the tempest of battle unfold below. To say I wasn't impressed and awed at how much improvement was being shown would be bad on my part.
Everything I saw was how I would exactly picture a Nod force being made to engage.
The new and improved Technicals served as proper fast moving fighting vehicles with armed and experienced men at the helms. The Browing machined gun was replaced with the much lighter, Russian-made Kord machine gun and was mounted on a turret above the passenger side of the driver's cabin. The flatbed now sported storage and was modifiable. The current loadout being two 'proper' flamethrowers on either side that spewed much hotter flame than the adhoc infantry-scale ones. On top of a reinforced front, the roaming vehicles were veritable rhinos with flaming wings.
Stinger teams were the most welcomed addition to the Militia. They used a modified version of the FIM-92K that used a datalink with ConYard drones to fire. Due to how manoeuvrable the Grimm fliers were, I decided to forego with the idea of RPGs and went straight for what's worth. Within the first half an hour, the Grimm had effectively lost their air support.
Bikes rode through the fires and much larger technicals. The basic design remained relatively the same, that being based off of a mountain bike. However, like the Stingers, the new warheads used sported a proximity fuse function. Dangerous, yes, but it was an overwhelming vote that convinced me to go through with the upgrade. The only real addition was the issuing of machetes for the riders along with special holsters for easier access to their sidearms.
Then, of course, there was the artillery. Destructive and morale breaking. The CAESARs were being put to full use in erasing the largest clumps of foes. 155mm cannons leaving nothing in their wake.
It wasn't just awe, but beauty incarnate!
"Quit gawking, sir. It making you look bad."
Lowering the binoculars, I turned to look at Stana to my left, not bothering to hide my glee.
"Come on, man. You gotta at least admit that we're looking at cool stuff out there!"
He snorted. "Believe me, it stops getting 'cool' once you've heard it enough times."
"Yeah, we'll see," I mumbled, whilst raising my WMT to look at the real progress in data form.
According to the device, we were doing far better when compared to the previous engagements. Out of two hundred and fifty men, we had two-fifths engaged in the valley below. A hundred in reserve while the rest were part of the off-map battlegroup. The experience of the men was showing in how they were able to systematically neutralise the Grimm by dividing and eradicating them piece by piece.
If things go well, then I was certain to get what I want out of this.
"Commander, be advised. Grimm sighting near your position. Seventy clicks out"
Blinking in surprise, I brought a hand up to my earpiece. "Repeat Control, Grimm sighting where?"
"South Fifty degrees East. Counting four, six. Wait, hold on."
My brows creased. "Control?"
"… Sir, we may have a situation."
"What's wrong?"
"If the drone visuals are right, then we have an unidentified species on our hands. Unknown estimate, but they appear to be a worm variant."
'Figures it couldn't be that easy,' I thought, mulling over the latest development.
"Control, get me four Bradley's from reserve."
"Confirm, sir."
"And tell them to bring as much flamethrower fuels as they can. Rendezvous at my position ASAP. Also, divert Archer Five and Six to my command."
"… Understood sir."
Removing my hand from the earpiece, I turned to address Stana.
"Let's get moving. Those boneheads won't wait themselves."
"So what sort of football bat you've got for us this time, boss?"
"… What?" I asked after a brief look. The leader of my bodyguards gave me a roll of the eyes whilst checking his AK. Around us, the rest of the squad were undergoing similar motions.
"Plan I mean," he inserted the magazine with a click before checking the safety. "You've got a weird ass plan, and I wanna know it before we hit enter whatever Charlie Foxtrot you're hoping for us to survive."
"Oh," I said, my mind still registering whatever slang was being used. "I was just gonna make a firewall so that we could let the artillery do the work."
"And if it doesn't work?" he pressed.
I shrugged. "We'll cross it when we get there."
The semi-truck came to life. A moment later we were off. The driver following a combination of my directions and information being shared to me from both operator and EVA.
"Fuel's been dumped, sir. We're un-assing from here."
"Got it. Head north and hold behind the line. Engage the enemy once within range."
Through the green filter of my binocs, I watched the last of the militia mounted the trucks and left. The only ones remained were the nine men all across the almost two-kilometre line of fuel on the sand. We would be cutting it close, but I didn't want to risk the flammables failing to ignite if we had poured them too early.
"Control to Commander, Grimm contact in three mikes."
"Confirmed. Everyone ready?"
"Warrior 3-1 to 3-4, standing by."
"Archer Five and Six, standing by."
"… This Stana, my squads ready. Let's just get this over with."
A part of me wondered why my bodyguard leader didn't use a term. Then I realised he didn't have one. Internally, I cursed at my blunder.
"Contact in one mike."
Decreasing the magnification, I was only barely able to make out the approaching shapes. Damn, those things were fast, whatever they were. I could only make out the dust cloud left in their wake.
"Sir!"
"Light it and run!"
From my place on a high rise a certain distance away, I watched as the members of the Stana's squad lit up the fuel on the ground. They were spread out across the line, each with their own lighter to ensure there was full guarantee the plan worked.
The night became so bright, I had to pull away from my binocs. The flames weren't necessarily high, but they were wide and that was what I was hoping for.
Stana's squad barely cleared the proximity of the line. My own command truck being their escape engine. At the same time, the Grimm worms that were on the other side of the flame wall either leapt or dove straight into the flames, only to come out on our end in agony. A few of the wolf variants that had been following them suffered a similar fate, except for those at the rear who managed to come to a halt.
"Archers, loose! Loose! Warriors, engage!"
The four IFV's from the reserve surged forward and engaged. Autocannon fire racked the sand and shredded the beasts still immobilised from the flames. Dismounted infantry joined the fray and added their own suppressive fire. Overall, the reserve group kept a good kilometre or so distance in case of a need to get away fast.
Soon after, a familiar whistling filled the air and the ground erupted with a deafening boom. The suddenness of the situation was what finally broke the Grimm and sent them running.
"Look at them run!"
"It's what they get for messing with Nod!"
"ALL HAIL THE FURY OF BROTHERHOOD!"
The sneers and jeers across the comms was a tempting thing to join. Alas, a commander had to know when to mingle and when to stay apart.
An audible rumble broke my reverie as I looked to see the approaching command vehicle. The headlights blinded me and I gradually began to shift to the side away from the glare. The sound of doors opening followed by a dull thud of boots striking the sand alerted me to the occupants' dismount.
"Sir," a very aggrieved voice sounded. "Remind me to expand your bodyguard detail."
"Oh, what for?" I asked.
"So that I can lump whatever stupid idea you have next time onto some other poor sod instead of me."
I rolled my eyes and shrugged. "I'll think about it."
"Do you realise how close we were cutting it there?! I swear, any longer and we'd be hauling a flaming tire with us!"
"Well, you can take it out on the next brawl then," smiling to myself, I returned to looking at the burning line. I was aware I was not alone as the other ten men joined me.
Someone whistled. "Quite the sight right there. How did you that was gonna work, sir?"
I shrugged. "Mystery, that's what it is."
"You know, there's definitely stragglers out there. Shouldn't we chase them?" someone else asked.
"Our forces are stretched as is, and I don't want to send men into the dark and where the drone range doesn't reach. Besides, by the time they rally, the main force would be finished, and we can coordinate the clean-up crew then."
"Commander, Control."
I pressed the earpiece. "Go ahead."
"Warrior Actual reports enemy eradication around P4. Mission objective achieved."
"Copy that. Let's proceed to next phase. I'm pulling back to pick up the Diplomat."
"Confirmed, Commander."
Breathing in the warm air, I turned around to face the semitruck.
"Time to head out guys," I beckoned. "Our duty awaits."
"Off we go into the next rathole," Stana grumbled.
Everything had become eerily still in the past half an hour.
Someone had forced her to gather her wits and give out orders. She did as ask with lifeless automation. Injured were treated whilst bodies were piled. Those few still capable maintained a form of vigilance along the walls.
Her worse fears were founded. The gunnery crew at the top of the tower were all dead. She and just about everyone else knew those on top had little chance of survival since the timed-fuse shells were depleted many moons ago. If anything, it was a testament to their ferocity that those groundside were spared for so long -up to an hour and a half- from being attacked by the flying Grimm.
Currently, she was hearing her new aide list out the casualties. His predecessor having lost his head from a pinion.
"….Krimm, Sinn, Reg, Aryl and Harl's squads are all dead. Taupher's dead, but two of his squad mates are alive. There is a note here that there's a survivor from Jas' squad, but the medics are still pending whether he'd survive. Men from the East wall are the only ones mostly spared."
The aide read line after line whilst occasionally flicking to the papers and bringing the clipboard closer to read hastily added memoirs. Only when he reached the end did he turned to look at her. Light brown eyes looking solemnly at unfocused green.
"Ma'am?"
It was gentle query. He only barely noticed the tilt of her head.
"With all due respect, I need clarification that you heard everything I said.
"….Yeah," came the faint whisper. "Yeah, I did. Good job."
He sighed. There would've been a follow-up remark, if not for the sudden shout of alarm.
"Movement! It's the whites! They're coming to the north gate!"
Immediately, all activity came to an almost grinding halt. It took a second for it too click to everyone just who was approaching. When it did, everyone either scrambled for a weapon, or began climbing up to the battlements once more to observe their suspicious saviours.
Both leader and aide were part of the two dozen or so still able-bodied men that gathered on the walls. They could see the brilliant white lights coming towards them from a hundred and fifty meters out and closing fast.
"Wonder what they want?" a gruff voice asked.
"Maybe they just want to say hello?" a meek voice replied.
"Bullshit! Why now? It's already been more than hour since they left!" a brash voice answered.
"Probably hunting stragglers," a fourth, wizened voice added. "Either that, or they had to double back and prepare their welcoming committee.
As the lights neared the base, the brilliance became too much and most of the men had to squint to avoid burning their eyes. The lead vehicle came to a stop some fifty meters from the gate. Then, suddenly, illumination died.
The darkness that appeared before them was like looking into a more. The few surviving senior fighters began to instinctively reach for the triggers of their firearms. Younger ones had their postures lowered, ready to duck behind the safety of the metal for protection.
Silence reigned. For a moment, it felt like the world beyond the settlement was lost altogether to a black void.
It was only then a figure emerged. Their robes seemed to blend perfectly with the background. The only slimmest of resemblance to a man can be said. Mainly, in terms of having feet and hands. One of which was holding a long pole. The upper half of which was a strange spiral that reached slightly pass halfway down the length.
The figure moved forward and became further illuminated in the light. Its cowled visage sported no befriending features. In fact, it hardly looked human with its overflowing robes giving it a ghostly appearance. It made many of the men begin to fidget.
"Whoever you are, what do you want with us?" A veteran asked loudly. "We ain't got nothing to offer you!"
'It' stopped moving immediately. The atmosphere became suffocating as the few inhabitants stared at the strange, robed figure. One young, unnerved fighter was ready and willing to pull the trigger. Until….
The figure used its free hand to reach up and pull the lips of its cowl down. Where there used to be black mass, there was now a identifiably human visage. One that had a natural frown placed on it. The effect was immediate as many relaxed ever so slightly that their apparent visitor was a fellow man.
An extra two steps forward were taken by the man. As he appraised the wall and its guardians, he suddenly began tapping his staff on the sand below him. Once. Twice. Thrice. Each and every sentinel stared curiously at the man's actions.
That was when a crimson glow began to bloom along the length of the spiral on his staff. A low, humming sound could be heard filling the air. The man's face was bathed in the red light emitted from his accessory.
"My brothers," a strange voice boomed. "Peace be unto you all this night."
The voice came from the man, who followed up with a bow. When he rose up once more, he seemed unfazed still by the many armaments bared at him. Carefully, he regarded those on the walls before speaking.
"Why would you threaten a fellow man? To what I have brought to be given this untoward reception?"
"You tell us!" barked the same veteran from earlier. "You guys were the ones who massacred the Grim with guns, flame and whatever the hell that did the explosion! What's to say we're not next, huh!"
The man on the ground regarded the veteran. "Oh, and, if what you say is true, then how come I was the one who was sent here rather than my more armed brethren?"
The veteran would've snapped back if his leader hadn't stepped up to the task.
"Well, whatever it is you offer, it ain't worth it! Just go and tell whoever your boss is that he can FUCK OFF! Else, I tell my boys up on the tower to blast you off!"
Loud roars erupted amongst the men as they began adding their own chant of insults at the strange man below. Yet, the individual did not seemed one bit fazed despite this.
"Even if I were to offer you food, water and medicinal aid? Does your senselessness know no bounds that you will turn away a helping hand?"
A new silence settled over the defenders. The proposition of the booming voice was heard clear and with no room for error.
As if on cue, new figures appeared behind the dark man. They carried crates that were placed to the side of each man. Once all of the new figures had retreated back into the blackness, the individual knelt and opened the closest crate with his free hand. He pulled something out from the within the crate and brandished it in the air.
It was a bottle. That much could be said. Without much room to give thought, the figure opened the cap and poured the contents down onto the sand. Even under the crimson light, the action was clear for all to see.
"I give you the gift of water," spoke the figure, extending a hand to the opened crate. "Food and medicinal. All for free and more."
The light from the staff died down, yet they could still see the silhouette of the man through the dark. Voices stirred amongst the defenders as they questioned what to do.
Some would want to ignore the offer and chase the man off.
Others would rather accept the gift and tell the man off.
A minority dared to see the full package the man was offering.
In the end, necessity won over and they decided to send a few brave souls to collect the crates. The northern gates were opened ever so slightly, and five men rushed out to collect a few of the crates. They passed the strange individual who still remained standing in the dark. Up close, they could see his face that seemed to blend into the dark. Unwilling to stay outside for long, they rushed back into the safety of the compound.
Behind the walls of crude metal, they opened the crates to inspect the contents. True to the man's words, there was food, water and basic medical supplies that were so desperately needed.
All sense of control was soon lost.
Having gone weeks in the heat with no resupply and strict rationing, many of the men began to forego their reasoning and scrambled for the supplies, especially the water. Pushing and shoving, bottles were snatched and either drank or simply poured over themselves, drenching their uniforms. Mumbles of blessings and miraculous gifts circulated the defenders.
She who had first confronted the mysterious individual along with her aide still standing there, and all three came to the same conclusion.
This needed to stop.
"Hey," she called out. "Hey, listen. You need to stop."
No response.
"Hey!" she called, harshly. "I said stop. I order you to stop!"
"Back off!" one of the men snapped back.
"Stop damn you! Get a grip!"
"Back off bitch or I blow your brains out!"
A rifle was jammed in her face. At the same time, a sharp whistle echoed in the air and a few more heads turned to see that the two remaining men on the wall aiming their own rifles at them.
"Step away from the crates," came the calm, sharp command from the veteran.
Some of the men began to slowly inch back, bewildered. However, there were some who stood their ground.
"What are you doing?" one asked.
"Ensuring everyone's safety. Now, step away from the crates and let the lady and her aide handle this."
Blinking at first, the man processed the order before shaking his head.
"No," he said. "No. You.. You want all of this for yourself, don't you! You want to hog whatever's here for you and chase the guy outside away!"
"That's not what we're trying, lad. Calm down an-"
"Shut up!" he lifted his rifle. "Just shut up! I'm sick of you, that brat and the whore!"
Others began to follow and soon all six had raised their own rifles at the three.
"It's all for nothing!" he continued seething. "NOTHING! All those months standing in the sun and for WHAT! Just for a little bit of Dust and a quick buck?! I'm tired of it all!"
"THEN SIT DOWN AND STAY OUT OF IT, BRAT!" roared the veteran.
"NO, YOU!" shrieked the guard in response. Caught as he was in his hysteria, he failed to realise that he had clenched the fingers holding his rifle. The index firmly in place over the trigger.
Bright flashes filled the air followed by the distinctive crack of rifles. There were screams heard and, if one had keen ears, they could hear the sounds of flesh being torn from the body. Panicked, enraged screams filled the air, adding to the cacophony of noise.
The violent orchestra lasted a mere six seconds. A finale in the form of a man falling over the edge of the walls heralded the end of the performance. Following a brief hush, an audible whine of metal was heard.
One half of the gates was opened. A man was seeing pushing it outwards away from the compound. He pushed it until the sand formed a wedge on the opposite side and halted his advance before collapsing on the ground. Behind him, others lumbered out, a few openly dragging their bodies.
From the dark, silhouettes emerged. They quickly rushed to the men who'd opened the gates. Said men showed no attempt at resistance as they were gently manhandled onto the ground. More and more silhouettes began rushing pass and entering the compound.
The robed individual was among those who stepped into the compound. Under the illumination of the compound's lights, one could make out his olive-toned skin and shaved hair. His expression was set neutral despite the state of disarray seen within settlement.
Bodies both alive and not were everywhere. He noted the ones lying next to his right, and assumed they were the source of the earlier shootout along with the one on the right. He could hear shouts as the militia began giving out orders and callouts in securing the sight. They were, of course, little concern to him.
Bringing a hand to his earpiece, he pressed it to call his master.
"Commander, this is Diplomat."
"Go ahead."
"Area is secured. We've gained entrance."
"Copy that, I'm on my way. Try and find some clues as to what the place is while you're at it."
"Understood. I'll see to it done."
Turning left, he opted to begin his search that way. He didn't make it pass a few steps when he felt something grasping his ankle below him. Looking down, he noted that the body on the ground was still barely alive.
"C-can't…. have it," she gargled out. His ability to understand wasn't hindered even with his staff inactive. It was a mere ploy afterall.
"Such heroic nonsense," he remarked apathetically in the local tongue.
Raising his staff, he sent the tip striking down.
I didn't think the sight would still unnerve me.
I was in the compound now. Stana had parked the vehicle just to the side of the east gate, which was still barred it seemed. I guess no one had bothered to open it. Stepping down, I beheld the destruction around me.
The death and destruction shouldn't have been this level of disturbing anymore. I've led this campaign for more than several months now. Months! So why did the scene before me now still make my stomach churn.
Bodies pinned to the walls and floors, blood seeping and forming pools on the ground or dripping over the edge. Damage in all manner from claw marks to more pinions. The clear sight of hastily erected tents meant to treat injured.
I didn't get why I was still so disturbed. I hated it.
"Sir?"
I looked at Stana, his face looked rather solemn.. tired.
"Diplomat Raziq awaits us within the tower."
"Yeah," I nodded. "Let's go."
We made to walk. The rest of my bodyguards following in line behind me.
"You don't look so well, sir," Stana remarked.
"Never been better, my friend. Never been better," I droned.
"I'll take that as a no."
We entered the base of the tower. I was quick to notice the simple architecture of the interior, with a single stairway that followed a spiral up to the top. Another thing I noticed was the Diplomat homunculi sifting through various parchments.
"Commander," he greeted.
"Raziq," I replied back cordially. Extending a hand, I was given a single book with a leather cover. How cliché, I thought as I spared a nod in gratitude for the man.
Within the book was mostly the alien language that I've yet to fully comprehend myself. Still, I recognised some pieces such as what appeared to be crudely drawn maps alongside torn pieces from authentic diagrams. There was also hastily scribbled ledgers and addendums in some pages. I felt a twitch in my chest when I noted that the last written page had a dark smear at its bottom.
"It would appear as if you were right about this being a slave mining operation of some sort."
"Oh, really? Do tell."
"The slaves were mostly those who had no means of escaping financial bankruptcy. A note we recovered from the office suggest that these people had to be desperate and signed for a life of manual labour thinking it'd pay off their debts."
"That didn't work as well as they'd hoped."
"Most certainly not indeed."
"And these guards?"
"Mostly ex-military looking for a job. There was a note of a different group working with them, but I have yet to identify or make certain as to this group's whereabouts."
Nodding, I handed the book back to the Diplomat.
"See to it that you do. I don't want loose ends on this op."
"Understood."
Satisfied. I left the Diplomat to his own works whilst I went back outside. I blinked to clear out the bright glare of the new morning. Apparently, dawn had arrived.
Someone cleared their throat next to me. Looking to my left, it was Sergiu. The man looked no worse for wear, with the exception of the bags under his eyes.
"Anything for me, captain?" I asked.
"Not much, sir," he replied with a shake of his head. "We've secured the settlement, and the Sisters are assisting the survivors."
"Am I sensing a 'but' in there?"
"Truth be told, I don't see how there's anything left here that could be off use. The tower is ready to fall apart at any moment. The walls are practically shredded -not that I find them particularly sturdy to begin. I say we just torch this place and set up a proper outpost elsewhere."
That was… sound. However, apart of me didn't feel like it was the best decision. Hence, I gave a counterproposition.
"For now, focus on cleaning this place up. I don't like bodies strewn about, and we still need to gather any and all clues so that I could formulate our next plan."
Sergiu gave me a stare, but I found no malice in it.
"Understood, sir," he turned to leave, but then looked at me once more.
Left to my own thoughts, my gaze fell to the surroundings. Apart of me ached seeing the destruction, and the sinking feeling of guilt soon began to strangle my heart once more.
Afterall, that horde wouldn't have struck the settlement if we hadn't goaded it to do so.
Through the exhaustion of a night's worth of excitement, I laughed hard at a revelation I learned later on.
According to the dates, slavery had only been made illegal some twenty years ago. For the sake of context in this journal, that means the Brotherhood was dropped no less than sixty years from canon.
My poor men must think their leader was insane now. Well, I guess that's as close to normal as is.
Still, I'd openly say that I'd had enough of this exhausting trip as is. I'm tired, and so are the men. I'll adjust accordingly and instead have fresh, carefully made troops assigned for outpost duty. It's the least I could do for the rest.
We'll stay here for a week at least. The walls will be repaired and replaced in sections with prefab ones. The antiair guns on the roof of the tower were to be thoroughly dismantled with missile teams will taking their place. As we'd be leaving this place for extended periods, I approved the construction of small scale TibReactors for powering the base and its new defences.
All in all, despite plenty of hurdles, this campaign can be considered a success somewhat. I'm sure hoping to get back to Rain soon. With the recent discovery, there was a lot that needed to be discussed.
A/N: This chapter went way longer than I expected it to. However, I don't regret it one bit!
Next one will reintroduce an old, reedited version of an old chap. I'll probably take a break before continuing this story. Once more I thank everyone who's stayed with me until now. No, this isn't a straightforward 'Nod' bashes the world story, but I have a clear goal of what I want to do. No worries fellow brothers, you'll get to see Nod's arsenal soon enough as we progress.
And to that one guest reviewer that asked.
Rain's physical appearance is based on an old Visual Novel called BaldrSky.
Another OC mentioned was Dr. White, and if you're still not familiar, try looking up the name Walther White.
Again, I do this strictly for fun and they have little to no tie in with their source material.
Until next chap!