The following is a piece of fan fiction based on Biker Mice From Mars. All characters were created by Rick Ungar, original story by Tom Tataranowicz, and are not my property.
This is an AU retelling of BMFM and explores mature subject matter including death, violence, abuse, sex (con and noncon), torture, and mutilation. Reader's discretion is advised. Some character history has been altered from their original source but like I said, this is an AU.
Chapter 9-
The freedom fighters made their way to the city centre. The buildings here were less decrepit than the outskirts. There was still the sickeningly sweet stench of death, but it was less prominent and overpowered by other smells: ozone from the discharge of plasma weapons, and the smell of iron rich dust and debris from collapsed and burning buildings.
In an open plaza, Rats tried to carry on a semblance of normalcy. The war continued, but that didn't mean life stopped completely. Life just looked different now. Under a large tent with a red banner and two silver crescent moons, four women, two of whom were cave mice, were handing out rations to queued up rats. Beside their tent, rats and mice under the same banner were acting as a triage for a tent hospital. In the north-west corner of the plaza stood the remnants of a bar which was now being used as base command for the Rat Militia.
Vinnie, Modo and Throttle were selected to accompany Stoker inside to meet with commanding officers inside, the rest of the party would stay outside and wait for orders. The saloon doors to the bar swung open. The four mice stood passed through the threshold, silhouetted by the dusky red glow of twilight. If anyone took any interest in their grand entrance, they did not show it. At a table near the centre of the room, three rats and two mice looked over a map of the city. One of the mice looked up at the freedom fighters and waved them over with a smile. Carbine.
"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Throttle said as he gave Carbine a quick embrace.
"We weren't expecting you for another day," Carbine replied. She waved at an attending rat to bring drinks for their company. "Stoker, you know Muskat, right? He is leading the Rat Militia."
"We've spoken over radio, but we never met in person," said Stoker. "It is an honor to meet you."
Muskat responded without lifting his head. "I wish I could say the same thing about you, old friend." His voice was hoarse, as if speaking was difficult, but his tone still managed to convey a sense of humor. Vinnie looked at Muskat. An older rat, older than Stoker at least, tawny fur peppered with grey and white. Half of his right ear was missing. His face was scarred to the point where no fur was growing back, just white flesh. His eyelids were missing and his eyes themselves were glazed over in a milky fog. "These days I've taken on more of an advisory position than actually fighting."
"No one can blame you for that," said Carbine. Vinnie never heard of this rat before. It was strange to him to see two mice who he respected hold a rat in such high regard. Modo seemed as uncomfortable as him; Throttle, as always, took everything in strides. Throttle was built different than other mice though, he was more like Stoker and his girlfriend; a natural born leader able to exist outside of his own comfort zone and see the bigger picture.
Vinnie was knocked out of his train of thought when a small rat, around the same age as Rimfire, handed him and his friends a glass of seadrink: diluted seawater, carbonated and flavoured with citrus bitters. It was the most popular drink in Marineris and was used to replenish essential vitamins minerals. Vinnie drank it quickly while it was still chilled.
"My men are still tunneling under the lighthouse," said Muskat. "If we keep up our pace, everything should be reinforced in two days."
"How are we going to approach without drawing attention?" asked Stoker.
"We've been knocking out walls in the rowhouses. Nothing that compromises the structures. So far, we have been moving through three miles of the city without being spotted. Civilian population has helped keep sentry."
Carbine pointed to the lighthouse on the map and looked at Stoker. "Plutarkians and their supporters have barricaded themselves in the lighthouse, they are using it as their last holdout. If we try a frontal assault, they will just transport off planet. So, we want to catch them off guard before they can escape."
"And where do we come into play?" asked Stoker.
Muskat had to cough to clear his throat, and then took a sip of seadrink. "While the mouse army keeps the Plutarkian's attention to the south, your Freedom Fighters will go through the tunnels to the northern end of the lighthouse. We have twelve IEDs. If six are planted under the lighthouse, and the other six drilled into the stone face of at a depth of one foot, and spaced apart six feet, it will be enough to topple the structure without destroying the surrounding area."
Muskat laughed again, "and who better to handle Plutarkian demolition than the very best of the best?"
"It is important that we draw enough fire to keep them engaged," said Carbine. "If we ease up, they might become suspicious; if we press too hard, they might just retreat entirely. Right now, they are under the impression that they might be able to retake the city."
"Why do they think they can still win?" asked Stoker.
"They are being fed information that are supply chain is running low, and that if they hold Porty Cydon, Plutark might reinvest in the occupation. As of now they consider Mars to be a financial loss."
"And just who is feeding these fish?" Vinnie asked. He knew it wasn't his place to speak up but that had never stopped him before.
Muskat turned his head to face Vinnie. The old rat was not intimidated by the rash young mouse. "I have my informants; they have been loyal to the Martian cause for the past five years."
"Yeah, and how do we know we can trust them?" Vinnie muttered through gritted teeth. Modo jabbed him with his elbow and Stoker shot him a very unimpressive glare.
"You can trust them because I am a very good judge of character, son. You are in a rat city now; this is our home, our lives we are trying to save. If you don't feel up to this battle you are free to ride back to your little mouse hole. I don't think you will though. I think you want vengeance just as much as we do. This is your chance to show the planet, show the galaxy, what Martians are made of. So, I am asking for your help."
"This war is over Vinnie," Carbine added. "Right now, you need to decide if we let the last of the Plutarkians get away on their last transporter, or do we destroy their last chance to get off planet and hold these aliens and traitors accountable for their actions."
Throttle placed a hand on Vinnie's shoulder. "She's right bro. If we take these fish heads down before they scurry off planet, we'll be able to get justice for you, for everyone, and for Harley. But, if they escape, they are just going to do the same thing to the next planet."
"Nothing is going to be done right now anyway," said Muskat. "The tunnels won't be ready for a few more days. In the meantime, we need everyone to keep a low profile. We have the element of surprise, and we cannot afford to lose that. There are Free Unified Republic workers outside. They will help set you up with food and lodging for the next few days. Our resources are stretched too thin as it is so we cannot provide you with anything other than manpower. But once this is over, I have ten crates of hard-wine to celebrate. It's good stuff, from before the wars."
Stoker took Muskat's hand and gave it a firm squeeze. Carbine cupped Throttle's jaw in her hand and promised to see him after she spoke with Muskat about battle plans involving her soldiers.
When the stepped outside, the other Freedom Fighters had parked all the bikes under a large tent camouflaged the blend in with the open plaza. Two were flirting with the female mice providing FUR rations. Another was pretending to keep his eyes closed as three young rats tried to see which one of them was brave enough to touch the bikes. Whenever one got close, the mouse would open his eyes and turn his head; the rats would scream and run away; the mouse would close his eyes again; and the game continued on.
The work was one day behind schedule. Vinnie had spent the last three nights with his comraded sleeping on cots in what was once a maritime museum. No bedding, limited rations, and no electricity; but they were acquiring a taste for seadrink. In the grand scheme of a decade long battle to save their home, being one day behind was nothing. The mice had gained a respect for the work ethic of the rats who worked around-the-clock shifts slowly digging the tunnel and reinforcing it so that it wouldn't collapse; all done with non-mechanical hand tools so as not to draw any attention from Plutarkian scanners.
The foreman in charge of the tunneling project was a brown and white rat named Jeremy. Around the same age as Modo if Vinnie had to guess. He did a good job of standing firm when orders from above said to hurry up. Do you want this done fast or do you want this done right? Vinnie recalled Jermery on the day they were supposed to attack. Martian soil had become so eroded that it crumbled to dust over the slightest of touches, so they had to spend more time than originally anticipated reinforcing the roof of the tunnels. The rat made a good argument as to why a collapsed tunnel with dead rats and mice might actually persuade the Plutarkian Chairman that Mars can still be plundered.
Unfortunately for Jeremy, Muskat and Carbine were out of time to spare. They were concerns with the supply chain. More importantly, there were worries that the Plutarkians might get emboldened enough to send out attackers from the lighthouse, which would compromise the entire tunnel attack.
The two commanding officers, along with Stoker, conferred inside Muskats headquarters, while Vinnie and the other freedom fighters stood outside and waited for orders. Stoker came out grinning and he told his men the plan:
He needed five mice with him, the bros and two others, who will handle the lighthouse; the rest were going to join up with Carbine to provide relief and put more heat on the Plutarkians. Stokers team would have to walk their bikes until the last half mile. In addition to the IEDs that were to be set in the lighthouse, six more would be dropped in the tunnel below. Each IED was programmed to go off half of a millisecond after the first one goes off, which Stoker would be handling. Stokers IED was set with a 30 second timer so he would take the north-west position on the lighthouse and not set the bomb until after the others were ready to retreat.
Jeremy wasn't happy with the plan and negotiated with Stoker to not let the mice ride their bikes until a quarter of a mile. He accompanied the mice as the walked single file into the tunnel. Throttle took first position, followed by Vinnie, Modo, twins Renzo and Vitto, and Stoker took up the rear. "I've set up a flag system as well to monitor the integrity of the tunnels," Jeremy explained to Throttle. "Green means go-"
"And red means stop?" Throttle interrupted.
"No, yellow means stop and turn back. Red means the cave has collapsed and we're probably all going to die. You may not believe me when I say this but, I don't want to die with you in this tunnel."
"I don't want to die with you in this tunnel either," Throttle said as his smiled at the rat.
"I trust you mice to save my family, I hope you trust me to keep you alive." Jeremy looked back at Vinnie when he said this.
"At least until we get above ground," Modo said from behind Vinnie. "Then we're on our own."
Vinnie stayed quiet, which was unusual for him. He found himself mulling on the fact that the more time he spent surrounded by Rats, the harder it was for him to find reasons to hate them. Sure, he hated Mace, but that was just one rat. There were thousands still living here, fighting for their home, showing them what little hospitality they could offer. When Jeremy offered them a final good luck, he shook the rat's hand and thanked him. The mice mounted their bikes and readied themselves for the ride ahead.
As soon as the first engine roared, the tunnel around them began to quiver. Riding at the highest speed they could in the tunnel, they would have 10 seconds to get out if the walls above them started to collapse. The mice wasted no time wondering if the tunnel would stand and simply took off. The rat's work stood, a testament to Jeremy's expertise. It wouldn't stand much longer though as Stoker dropped six of the IEDs around the curving tunnel exit.
The mice emerged one by one out of the ground, on the north-west side of the light house. The tower, once made of solid cobbled stone, once the envy of all Mars, had been butchered and built upon by grotesque and soulless Plutarkian engineers to suit their own needs. Throttle, Vinnie and Modo headed right to the western side of the lighthouse, the twins took the eastern end, and Stoker would stay to the north.
Fire from Carbine's army provided cover for the sounds of their bikes and the cutting away of stone to place the explosives. Ballistic missiles whistled in the air above. Plasma weapons crackled and flashed like tiny bolts of lighting. Meanwhile, the mice worked quick and methodically to carve out enough stone to get their weapons to fit in position.
Minutes felt like hours and Vinnie's could feel his body twitching from the boost of adrenalin in his system. His ears began to burn as blood rushed throughout his body. He bit down on his lower lip and grinned as he cut away at the stone with a small laser saw. His thoughts went to Harley, how any chance of their budding relationship was stolen from him. He thought about what it might feel like to have Harley hold on to him as the two of them might have ridden together, maybe even come here to see the seaside. He wondered if it would feel the same as when Charley pressed her cold body against his when they first rode to Ascraeus.
Cutting away at the stone was done, the bombs were set in place, and the Mice regrouped with Stoker. Stoker gave the signal for the mice to take off, and shot off a flare, signalling to the Martian army that the bombs were set and ready to blow. As the mice sped away from the demolition site, echoes of cheers could be heard from above the lighthouse. Plutarkians were celebrating what they saw as a Martian retreat. Their victory was short-lived. Cheers turned screams as a cascade of explosions destroyed the foundation of their stronghold causing the lighthouse to collapse in on itself, and then silence.