16 - Callous
- To our own
There is a deafening silence lingering over the battlefield. Only broken by the periodical beeping of the sentry guns. Three to be exact. One carrying that starship-class laser pointed straight at the tunnel and two with rotary cannons further down into the jaws of the battle line. The one on Peter's side is also meant for the stairs. In case any of them are coming in from above ground like Nelson had said.
There is still some banter between the three. But it is kept to a minimum. Even with the anticipation and sometimes even boredom admittedly. Also being stached far away in the back means that social interaction is not really possible. A great spot for a sniper, on top of several wrecked train cars that stacked themselves high and sturdy. But it is a total killer for small talk.
But Trevor knows that complaining about the oncoming storm not coming fast enough is practically asking to be killed. Then again, so is the soldier's lot. Plopped onto the battlefield to kill or be killed. Most of the time it is more gray but it boils down to it in essence. Hold your ground. The only other options are to push, retreat, flee or die. Fleeing will only result in punishment but if times are desperate enough…
Thoughts and philosophy have to wait as action is on the horizon. Peter had earlier sent out a drone with a camera. A teacup-sized thing with two rotors spinning really fast. But it does stream crystal-clear footage to Silva's repurposed tablet. With the help of local IT geek turned quasi war correspondent Quinn, the system works brilliantly. It even connects to the turrets.
The camera has spotted movement further up in the tunnel. And soon enough there is a flood of purple visible coming towards it. After being alerted of this fact, Trevor orders the drone to be returned and everyone to get their positions.
The flood tries to reach out for the drone but the nifty little thing can evade the attempts with some skillful control on Peter's part and is returned safely to his hands. After putting it away, those hands now rack the bolt of the heavy machine gun he had planted. It is time for violence.
"Final radio check, Nova 7."
"Ready." states Peter.
"Ditto." Patches states just as clearly.
"Then everyone, I would suggest keeping your head down because I do believe the mines will be the first to taste Aparoid blood."
Trevor is not lying, because as soon as the purple flood of critters and creatures are pouring into view, surging and whirling like whitewater, they are to soon meet the high-pitched and strangely satisfying set of beeps of the proximity mines.
And after only a few moments, they detonate underneath their swarming legs. The various sets of other mines that lie spread ahead of them, follow suit. Some are going off because of the others exploding and some because their sensors are tripped. Either uncontained or focused in a specific direction, fire and shrapnel is erupting from the ground. Taking with them all of those foolish enough to stand close enough to them in a blaze of glory and a cacophony of ear splitting sonic terror.
What is left is a burning floor and a purple haze with bits flung far and wide. It is borderline cartoonishly gory. When Trevor looks up, the flood has subsided.
"A lake of fire and purple rain before us." he states with pride and cheekiness while moving away from the mic to breathe in.
"Everyone still got their heads and tails?" he asks ironically, given how he has none.
He gets two positive responses and after they too witness the carnage that has unfolded before them, they are audibly glad that those shields are working properly.
"How many did we just... remove?" Patches wonders in amazement.
"Dozens. Easily 100+ I'd gather." answers Trevor, looking through the scope at the scene.
"I have to disagree with you on that one, Corporal." goes Peter.
"Much more than that. Otherwise those buggers would not have retreated."
"I thought these things were supposed to be relentless? Why would they retreat?" Patches again wonders.
"If the hivemind tells them to pull back, then it either means that this is more to test the waters or they do not have that many forces left." Trevor reasons.
"Remember, we took back the entire south of the city. That is effectively 25%."
"So they are hurting badly... on top of the ones we killed. And we have that Aparoid core which contains vital information!" adds Patches exponentially excited.
"I would say that at least 30%."
"Ah, my dear friend of lil' faith! 35% at least." counters Peter while hanging over the shielding.
The mood could not be more informal and joyous. But the good things never last long. A sudden shot of a blaster rifle is heard in the tunnel. And then another coming from outside, at the top of the stairs. With it, are faint groans and hollow wailing. And sadly halloween is still months away.
Instantly cordial and cozy has to be set aside for carnage and callousness. Patches states she will take care of whatever comes out of the tunnel so that Peter can focus on the stairs. Trevor is quite happy that the sentry gun is positioned there too.
However, he has to turn his attention back to the tunnel as the zombie-like noises are coming closer. His radio starts picking up vague chatter on various military channels. Checking in on them really quickly gives him only shivers; smothered cries for help and crying in pain. Whatever is coming through, was not Aparoid before.
Then one comes into view. It is a male dog soldier from the Corneria Defense Force. Essentially the territorial defense force for the planet and in particular the city. And this soldier is no longer doing things of his own volition. The poor guy has been severely infected by the Aparoids. It has a green hue surrounding him like he was recently dipped in nuclear waste. His visor is faintly glowing red and where once his heart was, is now a purple and pink colored orb visible through the skin. It is still carrying its weapon but has little control over it.
Before more eyes can see it in this state, Trevor pulls the trigger on it and puts it out of the misery it was put in. The orb is popped and the soldier drops lifelessly onto the floor. The green hue vanishes shortly after.
"CDF... completely consumed by Aparoidation… probably just a cadet too. Damn it." he sighs heavily.
"Gents, they are sending our own at us. Complete and utter bastards! Put them out of their misery. Aim for the heart. They'll go down in one shot."
His voice is wavering and full of anger. He is barely keeping himself from grinding his teeth. Those poor newbies. Initiation went completely wrong for these bright-eyed new recruits.
"It... it's the least we can do for them." he finishes sour.
At that moment the sentry gun near Peter beeps and snaps itself towards the target. Another infected CDF soldier. His orb is also popped after a small burst of blaster bolts from the gun before it reverts back to its original position.
But it will not have to wait for long; as from the tunnel and at the top of the stairs, the song of the damned souls is being sung. More and more are coming. It is almost like the entire academy got infected.
- To others
The massive explosion from the mines can be felt throughout the common room. It almost feels like an earthquake. Luckily for them, both ladies and the baby were sitting and nothing was above their heads that could drop. And as violent as it started, as harmless it went away.
"Whew!" chirps Sarah.
"That was exciting. I didn't know we had earthquakes here." she states, gormless as ever.
Then she turns to the crying Hope who got very scared from the shaking and loud noises. Sarah goes on the charm offensive immediately much to Jane's dislike. She was this close to getting through to her. But anything she tries to stick onto her just slides off. As if she is a wall covered in slippery soap.
Once Hope has stopped crying, the door of the common room opens. Silva enters and he sees that Jane tried but did not succeed. Not exactly going according to plan but no matter. He knows how to get through to people.
He poses himself as the valiant and honorable Sheriff he sees himself as. He straightens his belt and adjusts his hat over his eyes. With his thumbs behind the belt, he approaches Sarah.
"Good day Sarah." he greets with his bassy yet smooth voice.
It catches her attention. And also Jane's as a neat side effect. Using a different form of smooth, he lifts his hat from covering his eyes with his index finger as a sign of respect. Then he squats down to meet her at eye level.
"I heard from this lady next to you that someone touched you in a way that you did not like." he points out while pointing at Jane.
"Is this true?"
Sarah nods with a bit of starstruck mixed in with her obtuseness.
"Yes. Corporal Trevor. He did. He touched me on the shoulder."
"And why did he do that?"
"Because he told me something. About Peter, my husband. He said that I should let Peter be with Hope more. That it would help him somehow."
"So he forced you?"
"No no." she waves off.
"I didn't like it at first but I tried it and he was right. Peter really cheered up a lot. He is even helping the Corporal now! I believe that he has really found himself again."
There is no way around the denseness of that. Silva has to drop the forcing part. But he still got the touch.
"I am glad that you've found it worked well. But still, he did touch you in a way you didn't like, correct?"
Sarah bobs her head from side to side in dubio.
"Not really that bad. But I could have done without." she admits.
That is all he needed to hear. Making a mountain out of a molehill as they say. Despite an uneasy start, they are back on schedule. He can already see it playing out in his head.
"It's good that you admit it. Touching you in a way you didn't like is never a good thing. I will have a talk with the Corporal about it." he says graciously before standing back up.
"Oh but Sheriff, that is not necessary."
But Silva is having none of it.
"I insist, Sarah. The Corporal is a brave man for defending us but he lacks finesse. I'll make sure he gets what's coming to him."
Sarah's face lights up.
"You are such a gentleman, Sheriff."
Silva chuckles pompously.
"Now, now. I just do what I can. So, after I have a talk with the Corporal so he knows what he did wrong, what will you say?"
"That he touched me in a way I didn't like?"
"Exactly."
He cannot help but slip a smirk.
"Keep that in mind well and all will be right as rain. Good morning."
The hat goes back down as he turns around and walks away back towards the door.
"If you are going out there, be careful. I heard a massive explosion coming from there." Jane calls after him.
To which Sarah wishes that same to him before going back to her business with Hope. Now the smirk comes out in full. He feels so re-energized and excited. Now all he has to do is bide his time. Wait for the gunshots to end and for Trevor to triumphantly stride back into the room. Then grab him once Sarah is out of the picture.
No better place to ride out the time than in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet while watching something on your mobile device. First he has to rinse his mouth for he complimented Trevor. It felt so sour and bitter in his mouth to say those things. Oh, the sacrifices he must make.
Once that round of self-pity is over, he tries to remember which bathroom stall he dropped Darwin in. He picks the middle of the three and it is empty. Either one of them beside him must house him and that is fine enough. Not that anyone would hear him in here. It would be just him. And if he made too much noise, the handle on his pistol is still in one piece so what is one more blow to the head?
- To our enemies
The former members of the CDF are strewn and scattered about. Either stacked at the end of the tunnel or cluttering the stairs up to the outside world. None are moving nor breathing. Not that they were doing that of their own volition anyway. The freshest ones still have that weird hue around them but that is steadily disappearing.
In place of those zombie-like pawns more actual Aparoid-looking creatures have shown up. It is like they opened up their toy box when it comes to interesting design choices. Or grotesque, depending on who you ask. The creatures have come in all shapes and sizes.
From the smallest critter with two long back legs and two short front legs, all the way to something that resembled a mishmash of unfortunate souls stuffed and mangled together into a living pulp. Some even have barriers protecting themselves but a swift volley of the sentry gun equipped with the starship-class lasers makes short work of those.
Those who were overconfident or sticking their head out too much, would swiftly find themselves decapitated by a silent cough of laser-infused cordite from the far side of the platform. Anything that got too close for comfort was soon turned to various flavors of Swiss cheese by the machine gun fire coming from both Patches and Peter. The belts are long, still feeding and the guns are hungry for more. The only thing they need to watch out for is to not overheat their barrels.
To keep it from being tedious, the occasional grenade or other explosive is tossed into the moshpit of dead and alive Aparoids to make some room or for entertainment purposes. Aside from those light-hearted moments however, the fight is taking its toll.
From muscle cramps to sensory deprivation and exhaustion from having to evade wildly swinging limbs, flying debris and projectiles. It is turning into a battle of attrition. Are sheer numbers and continuous pushing enough to break the defense or would the tenacity of those literally fighting for their lives be enough?
As a thrown explosive wipes the slate clean at the start of the killzone, there is a moment of reprieve. A few moments for them to catch their breath. Trevor can finally reload his rifle as it had been without a fresh magazine for a minute, having to resort to his revolver to keep up the volume of fire. Patches can uncramp her index finger from holding down the trigger so much. And Peter can return circulation to his legs as standing upright for a long time and barely moving has caused them to fall asleep.
"Everyone still in one piece?" asks Trevor as he racks the bolt.
"In one piece? Yes. For the rest? Not entirely sure." comments Peter dry.
"I think it could be worse."
Patches audibly cracks her fingers after saying that, something which Trevor does not like hearing very much.
"We could be one of those corpses down there."
"Good point. If we aren't careful tho..."
"Check your ammo and barrel, Peter. Then I think it'll go well." she answers as if it is the most normal thing in the world.
And Peter takes her word for it.
"You are getting into the spirit rather quickly, Patch. What gives?"
"I don't know, Corporal, Sir. Must be the adrenaline. That, or I've gotten a taste for Aparoid blood."
"I knew you were infected. I should have left you down there to mutate."
"Tut tut. That is no way to address your female subordinates. Be a little more respectful with your words."
"My fair Lady then. Wouldest thou please shut thy carrot cake hole before I come over there and do it myself?"
Patches starts laughing.
"I like that one. Gotcha Corporal."
"You two done being a married couple?" Peter hooks into the dialogue while inspecting the barrel of his gun.
"Don't act like an old spoilsport Peter." counters Trevor humorously.
"Then again, it might be a good thing. I think we are getting company."
As silence falls in the air and on the airwaves, a familiar rumbling can be heard coming from the tunnel. But it differs from before. Not a stampede of hundreds nor it is the continuous rolling of that circular snail-house creature. It is stomping closer, shaking the ground with each step. And it is rather in a hurry.
When it finally reveals itself, it is quite an imposing sight to see. It is bipedal in comparison to all the more insect-like Aparoids. It looks like a mixture of a golem and a gorilla. With a bloated belly. Cursed by quite stumpy, thick legs like those of an elephant and graced with very and wavy long arms that give the impression that it is multi-jointed. It has no hands, instead having slabs of what can assumed is concrete for flattening things. Presumably. And regardless of its exterior, it is very mad.
It readies its right arm to swing at the defenders but the ever watchful sentry guns are already peppering its body with projectiles. The one with the laser however seems to spot the immediate threat however and it fires right at the shoulder joint, giving the creature a permanently dislocated shoulder.
The creature shrieks in assumed pain but has little time to mourn. It goes straight for revenge as the other arm readies itself and swings towards Patches. Instinctively, she leaves her position and dives away. The slab hand smashes into the shield and the machine gun, crushing both utterly.
She has little time to process what has just happened. In a bout of sheer panic and survival instinct, she pulls out her pistols and starts firing right at the creature. Furthermore, she gets back on her feet and scurries behind a barricade set up further back. Trevor tells her to do so but she already reacted faster than he could command.
She vaults it and resumes firing from her new position. The loss of her machine gun is a shame but her priorities lay somewhere else now. Keeping that thing from turning her into a bunny pancake. Then a projectile impacts its eye and it starts stumbling back in pain, taking away the threat it posed for her for the moment.
"Patch, you good?" Trevor asks.
"Yeah." she pants.
"I'm still in one piece."
Then Trevor hears a sound he has begun to like a lot. The laser sentry gun has rechambered another shot and after signaling it has a target acquisition, it unleashes another burst of superheated plasma. It strikes the creature right into its stomach and exists out the back.
It stops moving, aside from some shuddering and twitching. The massive hole in its chest shows a fleshy interior with some purple sparks going back and forth. Acting like synapses in the brain. Then it loses balance but makes no attempt to compensate. It topples over and slams down on the ground back first. The sparking however does not stop. It starts to intensify. To the point where it starts erupting from the chest itself like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
Trevor calls everyone to "get down!" as the golem-gorilla creature begins to deflate and therefore letting more energy loose. Bolts of pure electricity start discharging all around. From close to the corpse to all the way in the back of the train station as well as hitting the roof. Its power is immense, leaving scorch marks in its wake. Not that he can see much of it for long, because a bright light starts emerging from the hole. It expands and finally shines bright enough to bathe everyone and everything in a blue light.
Keeping their eyes closed, they feel a mighty gust of wind blowing towards them. Then a faint thud, followed by a low hum. Then it is silent for just a few moments. However, it is not long until another low hum follows which suddenly unfolds into an eardrum-shatteringly loud explosion. The shockwave it creates would throw down those not standing strong on their feet. A mighty gust of wind ensues, forcing him to hold on to the foundation he was standing on before.
- To ourselves
His ears are still ringing when the vision returns. First blurry, then double before it gradually resets back to normal. Like a badly focusing camera, he can barely make out that his two comrades have already recovered from the blast. Frantically firing and beating off the resumed invasion of purple beasts.
As his vision is restored all the way, he realizes he is lying down prone with his fingers almost dug into the surface of the traincar. The pain signal has not reached the brain yet.
"Good." he mutters.
"I can still be useful then..."
He wants to call the other two on the radio but then he notices that they are already up and running. Proving a very effective team and defense against the continuous pouring of new enemies. Even with one machine gun out of commission.
"I say useful… those two seem to be able to handle it perfectly without me." he mutters lamenting to himself as he looks over to his trusty rifle.
Powerful and accurate but too slow to effectively slow the flood of Aparoids. And since there is no need for specialization anymore, given how all those Aparoids are now stronger and bigger than those little bastards, what use does he have except moral support and the occasional one-shot-one-kill?
Then he notices something more alarming than pitying himself; the laser sentry is not working. In the sense that is not firing. Targeting it does fine but that is all it does. But he can already guess the problem: the internal magazine is empty. Knowing that he and his sniper will never compare to that one in raw damage output and practical usefulness, he leaves the rather large and for this situation cumbersome sniper behind for now and he focuses on his next target; the stairs leading back to the ammunition pile.
He slides down from his position and makes a beeline for his goal. With a small deviation he takes off his radio and puts it in the care of Quinn. Who is amazed and completely terrified at the battle taking place right in front of him. The rat promises to take good care of it so Trevor bolts. And while he is running in the right direction, he turns on the transmitter on his earpiece. Seemingly that was knocked out of commission before but it still works.
"Patch. Peter. I'm back. Glad you are all alright. Now, I wanna hear no questions for what I'm about to do. I'm going out there to get more ammo for that sentry gun. Without it, I'm certain we will fail."
Both of them are stunned to hear Trevor's voice but even more by the contents of his words. And while Peter can stomach a decision like that as a veteran, Patches cannot.
"But... that is suicide. They are out there too!" she warns while at the same time focusing on blasting the bugs.
"I know. I'm not completely unarmed. But that sentry holds more value than I do right now for this battle. You two are too vital as well. Hence why I have to do this. It may be our only hope." he reasons, a little cold to himself.
"That sentry can't replace you though..." she whispers just loud enough for Trevor to hear.
"Fine, get that ammo, but don't you dare die out there."
"I won't. Hold this position. That is an order. And good luck. I'll be right back."
After getting confirmation that both of them will do so, he takes his first step up the stairs. He is a rush so he is skipping steps as much as possible. Of course, careful enough not to trip over them. That would just be awkward.
He reaches the bend and turns to find a still moving body of an infected female CDF cadet lying against the wall. It has been hit multiple times in the stomach but it is not bleeding. Like the infection is holding back the life force to keep the woman alive. The visor of the poor soul is blinking pink in a code-like pattern. She is receiving orders from those bugs but is unable to perform them.
The cadet reaches out her arm towards him. Not to grab but to plead. There is still something of herself remaining. Clearly suffering, Trevor hesitates not one moment and pulls the trigger on the boil that is the source of the curse keeping this poor soul locked in her own body. The cadet stops moving and the light flickers more, dims and then goes out.
"I'm sorry..."
He then turns back to running up the stairs. He is definitely itching for revenge now. On top of already being ticked off, feeling useless, rushed and now having served himself up as a potential dinner for those Aparoids topside. It is a brew of emotions and thoughts he would definitely wish on his worst enemy so he could watch them writhe in agony.
When he reaches the top of the stairs, he sees that his shot has garnered some unwanted attention. Either those things were already there or he just brought everyone to the yard. Regardless, there is a variety show of Aparoids now filling the previously empty courtyard. The ammo pile and the tarp it has over it remains untouched, All those beady little bug eyes are now squarely looking at him. And the dinner bell has been rung.
But this prey is not going out easy. The hammer on his revolver is pulled back. Trevor takes a deep breath and considers what might happen in the next minute or so. He briefly thinks about sending one last message. To either Nelson, Patches or heck, maybe even to his partner in the blind like he had done already before. But no, that would do neither party any good. So he decides to keep his mouth shut and let his gun do the talking. He aims the revolver at a target of his choosing and he pulls on the trigger.
The Aparoids start dropping en masse. They are either finished with one shot or torn to shreds by a multitude of them. No matter if they are close or far, they are dropping like flies. A complete extermination that a cloud of insecticide could not even dream of causing. But… no shot has left Trevor's barrel.
Instead, the bellowing of a spaceship engine is heard coming from his high left. And he sees it just unload green lasers at the Aparoids on the plaza. Effortlessly mopping them up like crumbs to a vacuum cleaner. And the spaceship has a particular shape too: a feather-like ship boasting four G-diffusers and performing a barrel roll, is barreling towards the plaza before pulling up just before crashing into the ground. It tilts to the right as he flies past Trevor. And he can, for a moment that felt longer than it actually was, see the pilot of this particular ship. None other than Peppy Hare of the Star Fox team is now flying by him. He seems to be in a hurry, judging from the tense way he is sitting inside the cockpit of that thing.
No matter what his emotional state was, he appeared as quickly as he disappeared from view. Leaving Trevor only to deal with the after effects of such a close flyby. After weathering a gust of wind, he can faintly see the engine trail as the ship itself is already long gone. His revolver was still pointed forwards, on a target that is no longer alive. It now moves in the direction where the ship went.
"Come by again, I dare you..." Trevor says through gritted teeth.
"I'll show you who the professional is here."
But regardless of how he feels about Star Fox, his opportunity is already gone. And so is his shooting gallery. On the one hand he appreciates the help. On the other, he feels rather put in his place by some old merc in an overpriced kit-ship.
"Stupid mercenaries." he mutters more before he realizes that the courtyard is now clear.
He resumes his beeline and sees that those big projectiles are still on their way. Their size is now more clearly visible. He soon after reaches the pile. It looked untouched before and it indeed is. After rummaging through it, he finds what he needs. A power cell for the turret. Just to be sure, he takes a few extra. But then he also notices something very interesting. A black painted apparatus that resembles his radio in terms of size and blockiness. However, a hose is attached to it. And attached to that hose is a trigger system with a nozzle at the end of said trigger system. His smile could not be any wider than it is right now. Like a kid let loose in a candy store.
Trevor puts it on and while cradling the cores with his left arm with the revolver in his left hand, he has his right hand firmly grasping his new toy and he starts legging it back to the metro station. A little awkwardly, he managed to tap his earpiece.
"Gents, I got the power cells and more. Running back now, hold on just a little longer."
"Gotcha Sir. Glad to hear. Please hurry though, we got something big here and..."
Before Patch can finish her sentence, she is rudely cut off by loud buzzing. It is loud enough for Trevor to seriously consider tossing his earpiece out but the communication ceases. Which is good for his ears but not for the state of the defense. Let alone their lives.
Clenching his held weapons tighter, he sprints faster than he has ever done before. The weight of all that he is carrying does not bother him very much. The emotional burden is way heavier. Once again he is away while he left his subordinates to do the difficult tasks. And this time it was because he felt useless. How idiotic and egotistical…
Flashes of the carnage are playing in his head. When he first came into the city. The slaughter he was hiding from. For what else can a sniper do when your sidearm has run out of ammo and you are in a CQB situation?
Guilt. That is the correct and oppressive word. Insecurity is another. Weighing a ton each. The baggage he is forced to carry. Forced by himself and no one else. How callous can one be to oneself? And as much as he would allow himself some relief, he cannot. Not yet. There is work to be done.
He almost dives down the stairs back into the metro station. Still careful enough to keep his balance and not step on the leg of the CDF corpse, he arrives back down. And there he sees what Patch had tried to describe. A big purple volcano that is shaped and moving like a gelatinous pudding. It acts like it is bobbing on water and is continuously spewing out flying Aparoids, the source of the loud buzzing, which act like very annoying blue bottle flies.
Both Patch and Peter are still alive however but any projectiles seem to be useless against the Aparoid creature. The bullet would penetrate and then become lodged in the mass before being dissolved. But Trevor might know a way to get rid of it.
Much to his dislike, he has to put the nozzle of his new toy away for a moment. Then he unloads his revolver and hopes that the throw from before was no fluke. Once it reaches that temperature threshold, he tosses it. With a nice arc, it lands precisely where he wanted it: right on top of the spewing volcano. It rims the edge for a little bit before going right down the hole. If this was a basketball game, that would be three points.
The Aparoid now realizes something is wrong. It acts like someone who only now realized how spicy the food is they have in their mouth. Then it starts panicking, wildly moving its body and trying to maneuver back into the tunnel. The spicy pill however is going down further into its body and any attempt to have it dissolved, causes the mass itself to dissolve. If it could scream, it would be easy to assume that one would need earplugs.
The creature then stops moving and like a draining blow-up swimming pool starts vacating its liquid insides. But what comes out does not flow far as it catches fire. Evaporating as quickly as it pours out. The heated slug has started to become like a thick oil that has infested the liquid itself. The living volcano is turned inside out and burning the whole way through.
It twitches and sputters on for a few bleak moments but receives no sympathy from those still alive before it stops moving all together. Trevor wants to make some snarky remark but those buzzy bees are still up in the air. Both Peter and Patches are doing a great job at thinning their numbers and Trevor is very eager to have a chance at filling the air with an all-consuming flame.
However, before he can do that, he sees that Patches is tackled by one of those things and pinned to the ground. As quick as he can, he puts the nozzle device back in his hand but he realizes the safety is still on. While he is struggling with that, he hears multiple gunshots. Looking up, he sees that the back of the creature has been blown out and its corpse is tossed aside by a very ticked off bunny.
"Get off! I'm done being knocked down." she bites off before picking herself back up, looking no worse for wear.
She then notices Trevor standing on the other side of the platform. She can see that he is alive and actually wanted to assist her. She cannot help but smile. Especially when Trevor finally manages to get that safety off. Their gazes meet and no words need to be said. With glee, both will witness what will unfold.
"Flame on!" Trevor calls out as he raises the nozzle up in the air and pulls the trigger.
A brief sigh of gas puffs out before the actual flammable mixture is ignited. The Corporal unleashed a mighty and bright spray of fire and black smoke, bathing the whole front half of the station in a faint orange glow. The grin from ear to ear on his face can be seen from Katina. The jet of uncompromising fiery death has the wanted effect. The bugs caught in it are burned to crisp and the rest are starting to fly for their lives.
Much like the fire has no mercy, Trevor has little to give as well. Now he can be useful. He lets go of the trigger and gives chase. He ends up back on the rails, back in the P2 position. And in no hurry to miss any more chances to barbecue more flying annoyances, he takes the slow and methodical approach. Like a serial killer in a slasher movie stalking its next victim.
"Everyone behind me lest you wish to burn with them!" Trevor warns only once before the fire is let loose once more.
Both Patches and Peter agree and move one piece of cover back but do not let up their own fire. Because the flying creatures might have fled, out of the tunnel another attempt by the land forces is made to break the defense. But a flamethrower was not accounted for.
And Trevor has another unfortunate surprise for them: This is not the hottest this flamethrower can go. He spins a valve near the trigger device until it makes a hissing sound. A few extra spins cause the hissing to reverse as it literally now starts sucking air in. The pressure builds up until Trevor thinks it is enough. The valve is turned shut again and the pressure is allowed out with a pull fo the trigger.
"Burn!" Trevor screams as now a thicker and blue flame is projectile-vomited forth and scorches all caught in its path.
Even the railway lines itself are affected as their surfaces start to melt and deform from the scorching heat. He is unrelenting; screaming for their deaths while almost glassing the ground in front of him and vaporizing the Aparoids. No matter their size, composition or shape. They all fall before and melt in the wake of the flame.
It feels like holding the power of a supernova in his hands. He wields it with control but no composure or mercy. He cannot see them directly but whatever is ahead of him will be cleansed in fire and flame.
At the edge of the tunnel's entrance, he stops walking but continues pouring it on. No spec of tunnel surface will remain untouched by the heat. Nothing is allowed to have any other color than black or it will be eradicated. Once he made several rounds of painting the walls with fire, he lets go of the trigger. Almost reluctantly so.
He is sweating like never before. His muscles are aching and his head hurts. His eyes are bloodshot from not blinking and the excess heat and smoke. No longer able to stand, he falls to his knees. His smile is not gone however, just more relieved and gratified.
"We did it..." Trevor calls out over the radio.
Maybe a tad premature but it feels so good to say that. Those weights are falling off so he can feel something that is actually physically heavy.
He receives an answer on the radio, but it is not who he expects.
"Nova 7? Come in Nova 7!"
"Nelson, this is Nova 7-2. 7-1 is currently unavailable. No bad news though; just having a moment." Patches answers in his stead.
"Then I have good news, he can keep doing that. U-GPS footage is reporting that the Aparoids are panicking! They are pulling out and moving back North. Furthermore, the Star Fox team has managed to cut their front in half and completely wipe out their forces in the center. They are cut off and their retreat is in complete disarray. Your mission is accomplished, I repeat your mission is accomplished!"
Trevor slowly leans his head back to the sky after hearing that. He could cry, he is that relieved. And so he does. He could not care who sees it or not. He held back the tears for long enough. Whether they were meant for anger, sadness or joy, they are out now. It is over. It is done. All that rests now is packing up and getting out of here.
"There will be an extraction unit with you within an hour. For the civilians, we'll rearrange a second transport but it will take an additional hour..."
"No." Trevor interrupts a little hoarse.
"Either we all leave here together or none of us do. We're not leaving them behind."
"Got it, 7-1. We're sending your pick-up along with the medivac and the transport for the civilians. Any new casualties to report?"
"7-3 here. Does battered count?" sighs Peter, leaning on his equally exhausted machine gun but not having lost his sarcastic touch.
Nelson is heard chuckling.
"Sorry 7-3, feeling like hammered shit is unfortunately the norm nowadays. But we'll accommodate some warm water and soap for you."
"Would appreciate it."
"Don't mention it. Now, Nova 7. You've got about an hour or two to collect your things and get your affairs in order. Once again, superb work delivered. Compliments from the Captain to all of you."
"Pleasure." Trevor sighs.
"Would do it again."
"Same." Patches adds as she plonks down on the ground of her own volition.
"But after some rest… if it's not too much to ask."
"Come on, 7-2. Show some backbone." Trevor teases.
"Says my superior, currently on his knees being all dramatic."
The cheeky smile Trevor had turns into faint contempt as he is unable to think of a quick comeback. Instead, he rolls his eyes and gets back up. He moves to the back of the station where the ruins of the kiosk are. In order to trade one heavy backpack for the other. And of course to check on the rat boy that has been hopefully hiding behind cover like a good boy. And to his delight, he did exactly that.
His eyes are peering straight ahead. Like a thousand-mile stare he has unfortunately seen so many times before. Good thing that this is nothing like that and he was simply frozen in the moment. Moving his hand in front of the rat's eyes wakes him right up.
"Is... is it over?" Quinn asks, still adjusting to being back in the world of the living.
"So many creatures. So much fire and explosions. If only my campaigns were even slightly like that..."
"Glad you are okay, bud. And that you enjoyed the show. Did you write anything down?"
Quinn's eyes widen, like a student that just heard that the very important exam was yesterday instead of today. He looks down at the notebook and notices he only wrote like a sentence.
"There were explosions."
That was all the pen had managed to write before it fell out of his hand and onto the open pages of the notebook.
"There was an attempt...?" he tries saving his sloppy attempt.
But Trevor is not judging.
"Was a lot, wasn't it?"
Quinn nods.
"Is this what happens to you on the daily?"
"Since the start of this war, yes. You do not get used to it. Because no battle is the same."
"Brave. Thank you. For, you know. Saving us. And stuff..." Quinn tries to continue but finds that he gets softer and softer over time as a blush is overtaking his face's natural hue at an alarming rate.
Touching his index fingers together and finally uttering words that only a megaphone could turn into whispering. Trevor shakes his head, entertained.
"You are welcome. You can thank me by writing me up in a positive light in that report of yours." he suggests totally not suggestive or manipulative as he finishes it off with a wink.
"Oh... Oh! Sure sure! Was already planning to." Quinn replies in earnest.
"Especially that flamethrower action!"
"I pride myself on my subtlety. Now, you mind me exchanging the flamethrower for my radio?"
"No no, not at all! I kept it safe for you after all."
"Appreciate it. Now, get back into the common room. I'm expecting extraction in about two hours. Get your rat's ass moving."
Quinn gives a quick, fumbled salute and follows Trevor's advice. The flamethrower is exchanged for his trusty radio. Once that's back on his back, he sees Peter carrying his machine gun approach him.
"Sir." he greets.
"Permission to join Quinn in the common room."
"No problem, Peter. But keep your weapon outside the door."
"I will, Sir. Thank you."
Peter starts walking away but Trevor has one more thing to say first.
"One more thing Peter."
Peter stops and turns his head around.
"Thanks for your sacrifice. I cannot imagine the stress you chose to put yourself through. Considering your RDJ levels were not on point..."
"And thrust into conflict against my will?"
"Ever so dry still. Yes, that too. So I do appreciate it. We wouldn't have done it without you."
Peter smiles with gratitude. Something he might not have thought he wanted to hear but needed right now. Sometimes words do speak louder than actions.
"It was a pleasure, Sir. If I'm honest, I feel like your continued leadership helped in keeping it together. And if I look to my right, I do believe there's another vital cog in your machine that might need some oiling."
"Then I'll stop greasing your gears, Peter. Join your wife and daughter. In two hours you'll be out of conflict once again. For hopefully the last time."
Peter gives a salute and excuses himself. Once he's halfway into the hallway, Trevor turns his attention to Patches.
The lady is sitting on the floor still. Looking flabbergasted in terms of impression. The down after an adrenaline high. She is toying with a spent cartridge. Probably one she fired. It must be older because it feels cold to the touch. When she flicks it away onto the railway, it is when she can feel a presence sit down next to her.
"Hello, Sir. You come here often?"
"Only when I'm inclined to meet badass girls."
"Found any so far?"
"One. And I do believe she might be a big one."
"Really now? What did she do then?"
"Oh, you know. Hold her own against an Aparoid onslaught."
"That's it? Sounds like she's a rather small one."
Trevor is silent for a moment.
"Are you still talking about the same thing here?"
Realizing the innuendo she has inadvertently alluded to, Patches starts to laugh. And Trevor adds oil to that fire by suggesting that "no, it's not small at all." while most definitely not having a sneaky look to state that with absolute certainty.
"Oi!" she utters, still halfway laughing while lightly slapping in his vague direction.
"Keep your male gaze away from my behind. Save that filth for your girlfriend."
Trevor holds up his hands and cannot resist chuckling along with her. She then puts her head on his shoulder and leans against it.
"Thanks for showing this grumpy ex-cop a good time, Corporal."
"Don't mention it. Thanks for accepting my old lazy bone ass, Private."
She chuckles again before getting more serious.
"Could you do me one favor, Trevor?"
"Whatever you can think of."
"Stop being so callous to yourself. You are useful. Before, during and after as well. And if you need any help mellowing out..."
She puts her hand on his knee.
"I'm right there with you."
Trevor cannot put into words how much he appreciates that. And for a moment, just a brief one, he gets a similar feeling on his other knee. That phantom feeling of thinking your phone just went off. For that split-second, it almost seemed that another important female sat to his left and put a hand on his knee too. Not his girlfriend however, but his partner. Miss Starnova herself.
He's not alone in a cold and careless world ripped to shreds because of this war. Regardless if they are with him in person or not. He sighs in satisfied and appreciative relief. Having heard and said "thanks" so many times already, the meaning feels deluded. Instead, just sitting here with his +1 and relaxing will do.