While the turmoil unfolding behind C217 had finally calmed down, the situation onboard its lower level remained in full tilt. One particularly large raider, a rarity for Voltigeurs as it made navigating a Crusader's narrow corridors more cumbersome, ripped the damaged body armor off an incapacitated comrade and heaved it in the direction of a lone security officer steadfast in his defense of the cargo bay. He promptly slung them over his broad shoulder as a third Volt made preparations for their retreat nearby.
This Volt, a young woman with tightly bound platinum hair, was struggling with a head injury that caused a small but steady stream of blood to spill down the right side of her face. It forced her to continuously wipe the blood away before it could coat her eye and obstruct her vision. The irksome repetition of which combined with the reality of their current situation causing her to lose track of the canister types in her possession. What she needed was the canister containing smoke to help cover their escape. But which of the two was it?
Settling for the canister on her dominant side, she waited for her companion to squeeze by before dropping the canister in the corridor. She didn't wait around to confirm the contents of the canister, more concerned about joining the others on the platform. As luck would have it the Crusader began decelerating back into its original position just as she emerged from the corridor. This would allow them to be picked up by another approach or preferably a Demen casting their net. With no cargo to collect there’d be plenty of space to accommodate the three Volts. Either way they’d need to find a way to deal with the deck officers above in the process of retreating.
She’d only just begun scanning the railings for threats when the sounds of boots approaching from the corridor of C384 alerted put them on alert. Two security officers proceeded to appear on C384’s strong side platform and took aim on impulse. Eager to take advantage of C217’s current proximity before it pulled back to the rear entirely. Acting fast, the raider reached for her remaining canister and aimed for the two officers. The throw would prove difficult with only one serviceable eye but the distance the canister would have to travel was short. A godsend since she’d also have to shorten her throwing motion to account for the three bodies currently crammed on the platform.
Adjusting one's throwing motion was actually a common teaching point among raiding party's and routinely put into practice during practices and mock raids. As taking too long to reach your release point gave skilled officers a chance to shoot the projectile before it left the raiders hand or immediately after. While she wasn't yet experienced enough to determine the skill level of the present officers, the woman leaned on the fact they'd been dispatched to the lower level to counter this approach. The more proficient shots will have remained on deck where they'd be most effective.
By this point she'd also figured out which canister she’d thrown earlier, as smoke had begun to billow from the doorway behind them. Fortunate her body had remembered the contents of each when her mind hadn’t been able to keep up in the moment. Now to use that indistinct appearance to hold the officers from acting. As they would have no way of confirming the contents of the canister until it detonated. She expected they'd be especially wary of the camouflaged stun grenades that had fooled them beforehand. This played into their favor because the canister leaving her hand wasn't a stun grenade, but Pipe Down.
And the deciding factor for whether the Volt and her companions lived long enough to be saved now hinged on both officers mistaking the canister for a stun grenade and moving off the platform. The woman liked their odds. Guessing incorrectly in this scenario and standing firm against the effects of a stun grenade at such a range was deadly, or at least disorienting enough to risk a fall from the platform. Therefore, the better play would be airing on the side of caution and fleeing the detonation area. Affording the raiders the time needed to flag down the closest bike in the process.
As expected both security officers' attention shifted to the airborne canister and its current trajectory. One officer reacted by reaching for the other's shoulder, causing the Volt’s breath to catch in response. Was he telling his buddy to stay put? Called her bluff? But to her visible relief the officer opted to pull his colleague in the direction of the doorway. He complied and both fled the platform, hoping to minimize the effects of what could be a stun grenade.
The raider looked to her large companion with a wicked smile eager to celebrate the small victory but saw something that both surprised her and filled her with warmth. For she’d been met by the sight of his broad back in place of his face. As he’d turned away from the canister and covered the ears of their unconscious comrade in place of his own. All in anticipation for the detonation of a stun grenade.
THAT was what must have convinced the officer they needed to head for cover. She couldn't say whether this was clever acting on his part or he actually thought she'd thrown a stun grenade, but she was grateful either way. She tapped him to get his attention and using her other arm to flag down a group of converging party members in the distance. They formed up in response and began to head over. Meanwhile off to the side the canister reached the opposing doorway, ricocheting off the corridor wall as it began releasing gas.
Noticing that the approaching group had gained the full attention of the deck officers, the woman turned her attention the remaining locks of the bay door. She motioned for the big guy to hand over their third wheel and wordlessly motioned towards the locks. He glanced up at the distracted officers before looking back over to her and nodding. Reaching for the hatchet on his person, he sought out spikes that had been planted beforehand. Upon finding one he realized reaching it would be no simple task, requiring both a moving start and every inch of his impressive wingspan. A smile found its way onto his face, like hell he'd waste a chance to take advantage of this size of his. Not when it usually served as such a hinderance to his job.
"My time to shine."
"Pull if off and you can have my share..."
He briefly placed the hatchet’s handle in his mouth and ripped a strip of cloth from the hem of his top.
"Stem that blood flow. This is something you'll want to see with both eyes."
*
Having regained some semblance of his usual composure, Youn collected Preece and headed for the strong side platform. Word from the speaking tube being that C217 had pulled forward for assistance with their Demen problem. A measure that would simultaneously invite raiders to challenge the gap integrity of the convoy. Give that up and they’d run the risk of being assaulted on two fronts. But shorthanded as ever, Youn had seen to it that Everage, C384’s lower-level engineer, had been armed with the weapons scrounged from the deceased boarding party. He then tasked him with watch over the weak side platform and warn them if anything or anyone else came up.
Emerging in the inner sanctum of the convoy the two security officers watched as a pair of raiders, one being exceptionally large, exited from the bowels of C217 out onto the platform across from them. Scratch that, three raiders. An incapacitated third was being carried. As they both raised their rifles for what would be considered easy shots, the raider closest to the doorway saw them and reacted by grabbing a canister from behind her person. Youn had to give the woman props, as despite the awkward angle and lack of space she'd managed to launch the canister quick enough that he couldn't intercept her at the point of release. Instinctively his rifle followed his eyes away from the raiders to the lobbed canister. It'd been thrown in a high arc and with its current trajectory would land somewhere behind them if left undisturbed. In that moment some part of his psyche reminded Youn that he, and likely Preece, had both just taken their eyes off the sentient threats in front of them and urged him to ignore the canister. But he couldn't. Because he had no idea what type of canister it was.
The threat of the stun grenades loomed large in his mind, and for good reason. Not long ago Laud had fallen victim to the projectile in this very spot. Sustaining enough external and internal damage to officially rule him out for the remainder of the convoy. And they couldn't afford to lose another member of their ranks at such a pivotal moment of the route. Alternatively the throw could be a bluff intended to buy time in what would have been an otherwise hopeless situation for the trio. As none of the other canister options would warrant holding one’s fire in favor if fleeing the area of effect.
Youn grabbed Preece by the shoulder, all the while maintaining his gaze on the airborne canister. His mind calculating the risks involved in staying put. Watching the canister grow closer he cast a momentary glance in the direction of the raiders across the way. His eyes landing on the largest, who’d happened to turn away from them in order to assume a protective posture over his unconscious comrade. That settled it. If Youn was wrong so be it, the risks outweighed all else.
Using the hold he had on Preece's, he pushed his junior towards the doorway with conviction. Following closely behind, the pair covered their ears and screwed their eyes shut. Sheltering at the junction of the corridor in anticipation of the detonation. Even through gloved hands Youn could make out the sound of a canister bouncing along the platform before rolling over the threshold. Detonate already, we’re losing precious seconds! He debated moving them deeper into the corridor, but recalled from the first round of stun grenade detonations that they wouldn't have that kind of time. And it wasn't like he could check visually to see how close it had ended up to them. Leaving them no choice but to wait it out.
"..."
Nothing. There had been no detonation, and Youn couldn't smell smoke. Leaving only the gas they’d heard about from Reefe. Opening his eyes and turning around, Youn heard the faint sound of gas escaping the canister along with a faint nutty odor spreading throughout the corridor. Everage cast an inquisitive look from the other end of the corridor and attempted to ask the two what had happened, but found he couldn't. Preece similarly failed to express his thoughts as Youn pounded a fist against the wall in frustration. Both raiders had fooled him completely. Confirming the throw had been a last ditch effort to buy time for their retrieval.
Shooting back up, he rushed back onto the platform just in time to see C217 assume its prior position in the rear of the formation. What really drew his attention however was the physical feat put on display by the large raider as he leapt all the way from the platform to one of the spikes planted on the rear of the Crusader. Clearing the considerable distance with room to spare thanks to his incredible reach. Realizing the raider’s intent, Youn took aim and made to fire when a call from above urged him to clear the platform. He proceeded to dive out of the way of incoming cover fire, provided by none other than the approaching retrieval squad.
In his place, the deck officers tried their utmost to stop the raider’s plan but failed to get a clear shot due to the continued interference from other party members. Youn had no choice but to silently watch as the raider, with only a single spike to offer him support, reached a hand back and produced a hatchet from his belt. And with a roar of exertion brought it down on the first of the remaining locks, cleaving it in two. The force of the blow nearly causing the hatchet to become embedded in the door.
Rather than wait around for the last lock's felling, Youn changed his target to the woman from before who was now in the process of transferring her incapacitated comrade onto a bike with assistance from its driver. Better to thin the herd while the officers with an actual shot handled the lock debacle. He fired off a shot that found its way into the woman's right shoulder, provoking a strangled cry as she used what little strength she had left to heave her associate fully onto one of the bike's passenger seats. All before slumping over the platform's railing for support.
Another war cry even more impressive than the first sounded then, as the last remaining lock was utterly annihilated by the beast of a raider and his hatchet. The man’s attention shifted sharply in Youn's direction, closely followed by his impromptu lock pick. Flung end over end at a worrying speed towards his person.
Youn wanted to roll his eyes. No way could the man throw the hatchet with enough force or accuracy to strike him down from this distance. All while moving nonetheless. Or so he thought, but the hatchet ended up coming dangerously close to creating a new cavity in his chest if not for gravity influencing its path enough to send it into the railing.
Still in awe of the throw, the sounds of clapping behind him drew his attention to Preece who was pointing frantically in the direction of C217's platform and raising his rifle. His way of relaying to Youn the injured raiders from before we're getting away. Sure enough the woman had used the distraction to jump on another bike which along with the others was already peeling away from the convoy. They faced no resistance as the deck officers refocused their efforts on the raiders approaching from rear once more. No doubt eager to gain access to the cargo bay and win glory now that the locks had been destroyed.
Youn tossed an empty magazine from his pouch at Preece to get his attention and signaled for him to hold his fire. Silently relaying the message, they got away and C217’s cargo is lost, save your ammo. Preece looked frustrated but abided, understanding the futility of wasting shots on an enemy leaving the battlefield. Youn turned his attention back to the bay door and looked for what had become of the raider responsible for the party's minor victory. He couldn't find him. But what he did find was a fresh blood splatter coating the rear of C217, right above the location of the embedded spike. Seems one of the deck officers had found their mark.
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Youn would have probably said the following words out loud if not for the continued effects of the gas, regardless of how Preece or anyone else chose to interpret it.
Rest easy big guy, your pals made it. All through your efforts no less. And that was one hell of a throw, had me just about shitting myself.
Putting that string of events behind him, Youn re-entered the corridor and headed back to the weak side platform. He was happy to see the canister had been discarded and patted Everage on the shoulder as he passed him by. All sorts of close call today. So much to be thankful for.
*
Based on Leora's current grasp of the ongoing visit, things were progressing better than expected. The crews had taken the stun grenades on the chin to be sure, but they'd managed to weather and push back the boarding parties all the same. And Quiet Murn suffered noteworthy casualties as a result. But even if they'd fared well so far, things were developing in a way that favored the opposition.
Putting the debacle that was C217 aside, the issue of ammunition had finally begun to rear its ugly head as the attacks on the convoy piled up. A stark reminder that raids were battles of attrition. And primed to get worse as they still had to contend with at least one more terrorist group of unknown size before reaching Belveer.
Usually in such situations the LCF would be inclined to send some form of relief in the form of a Crusader or two, to dissuade raiders from dragging out the onslaught. But with them already so close to the station of arrival, such moves would be written off as a waste of resources. It was no easy task scrounging up the Crusaders and personnel necessary for a relief force after all.
Then again Leora was so caught up in her own predicament that none of the other stuff bothered her all that much. For one thing she was the ONLY deck officer on hand onboard C384. Needless to say having a single security officer keeping tabs on both the front and back decks was foolhardy at best. Especially when the officer in question was assigned to the front deck so she could deal with a rocketeer slated to arrive any minute.
Preece had been in charge of the back deck but had since scrambled downstairs to assist Youn after Laud fell victim to poor judgement. So, when the order went out to assist C217 with protection of its bay door, it had been Leora who had to temporarily abandon her current post to help cover the rear. She’d just barely made it in time to assist via a shortcut that involved leaping from halfway up either stairway onto the railing of back deck. Even then the last-ditch effort of a single Volt had won C217, swinging momentum into the raiding party's favor. Something worth celebrating in the afterlife she supposed.
Bringing things to now. In which Leora had decided to forgo the rear in favor of returning to her prior defensive assignment. Because handling the rocketeer, which threatened the entire convoy, took precedent over a single Crusader who’d many chalk up as a lost cause. She also couldn't afford to spend any more ammo carelessly. Confident in her sharpshooting skills as she was, more ammo meant more options going forward.
"Oi, Scholz! Where the hell are you going?!"
[Leora Scholz, 22, Security Division]
Leora recognized the voice as Youn, although she had to lean on the way she'd been addressed to be sure. His voice sounding more hoarse than usual. Smoke or gas inhalation most likely. Not that she planned on stopping to ask, more focused on bypassing the corridor. Something made more difficult by the assortment of bodies littering the floor. Those of which she was being forced to step over, irking her further. They should have been thrown or rolled from the platforms by now.
"What's it look like, the front deck. I don’t intend to waste more time and ammo on a lost cause."
Youn cast an angry glare her direction as she passed him by and even reached for her arm in an attempt to stop her. Only to be thwarted as one of her hands came up and slapped his own away hard.
"Point that frustration of yours somewhere else, I don't care for it. And while you're at it get rid of these bodies already. I expect you two will be going back and forth quite a bit and the last thing we need are any more stumbles."
Preece looked on helplessly at the exchange and said nothing as Leora passed him by on the platform. Ascending the stairs and returning to the front deck, she turned towards the bridge and signaled to Reefe regarding any updates during her absence. He replied in the negative before resuming his search with the binoculars. At least someone was doing their job. Settling in, she scrutinized her surroundings, noting the status of their command center and formation leader C326.
So far it hadn't been targeted by any approach, seeing limited action in the form of the earlier hit and runs. As a result Leora expected a redistribution of ammo starting from C326 to take place in the very near future, so as to shore up the rest of the convoy's reserves. The sooner the better. No point in waiting for a lull in the fighting that would never come. No, when it came to strenuous situations like these a convoy was better off throwing everything but the kitchen sink at ‘em. But that too would go once they found a way to rip it out of the wall.
Boy did it aggravate her though. The citizenry’s gross misunderstanding of the nature of raids, because in reality they began long before a convoy departed and sometimes persisted long after its arrival. The latter referring to the mental rather than the physical. But the crews understood this, and invented new and unique ways to stretch personnel and resources to the extremes. A delicate balance to be sure, especially among the surplus of understaffed crews dotting the Expanse.
Amid this impassioned personal rant of hers a familiar tapping sound made itself known, drawing Leora's attention to the speaking tube connecting the bridge and front deck. She answered the summons without removing her gaze from the horizon.
"Go ahead."
"Just got word from the CC, he wants eyes on an unidentified flock due West from our current position. On a possibly related note, C248 is reporting a condensing of Quiet Murn’s forces to the east. Basically, we need to figure out whether the two groups are operating independently or coordinating. I don't think I need explain to why."
"West, on it."
Leora moved over to the weak side of the front deck and scanned for the flock in question. To aide her she pulled a variable scope from a cylindrical container tucked inside her jacket. Equipping it to her rifle, she settled into a stable stance and adjusted the magnification level to an appropriate distance. Sweeping from left to right Leora searched for traces of kicked up debris or other signs of bike activity. It took her longer than expected but she did finally the group, although since the initial report they’d moved to a position to the North West of the convoy.
At first glance they didn't appear to be in any sort of formation, nor did any of the rider's apparel match that of Quiet Murn’s attempt at casual clergy. Both signs pointed to this being the other anti-faith faction they were on the lookout for. A sense of validation for returning to the front deck when she did tickled her slightly, but Leora still needed to confirm the presence of an RED before making any surefire reports to command. Should be easy enough, a shoulder-fired RED wasn't exactly something a rider could conceal. More so if they intended on using it anytime soon.
Going down the line of bikes her eyes stopped at the profile of a very conspicuous individual nestled among the otherwise unremarkable group. The rider’s stature was exceptionally long as opposed to the size of his bike which appeared rather small, although she’d wager it was around standard size. This made for an unusual if not ridiculous combination, one that looked poised to crash at the slightest miscalculation in weight distribution or balance. And yet the longer Leora observed the figure the more certain she became of the rider's skill. Their steady, relaxed but deliberate posture making the rest of the group look like amateurs.
A sense of foreboding struck Leora in that moment, her instincts telling her to pull the trigger until the rifle’s magazine emptied. But her rational mind couldn't justify it. The group wasn't approaching and remained well outside of the critical distance area. There was ammo to consider as well. Ammo she’d need to reserve for the rocketeer.
Leora would wait. Wait until they begin their approach. However, so as not to completely ignore her instincts she would place the oversized figure ahead of the gunner in her fire order. No, wait. The rider wielding the RED took precedent over both, but where were they? None of riders sighted had been carrying it. Was this not the faction after all? Either way Reefe would be expecting some manner of report soon. Best make it succinct so she could minimize the time the mysterious group operated without surveillance.
Leora would later come to regret this decision in her report. Albeit she expressed it in a roundabout kind of way. Something about having both hands on the kitchen sink but lacking the resolve to throw it. Not before exhausting the options she believed available.
*
It was shortly after command confirmed another approach from the East that Cade made his way up the strong side stairway and joined Lux on the front deck. This time armed with a spare rifle from the bridge's gun safe. As a fixed precaution he surveyed the front deck, only to see the relocated bodies of the boarding party positioned ahead of the opposite stairway.
"Arranged for guests I see."
Lux didn't respond, too absorbed in picking apart the composition of the incoming approach. During such exercises officers prioritized searching for candidates to assume the role of gunner. And since approaches always waited until the absolute last second to show their hand, it was a worthwhile challenge. One that rewarded handsomely when conquered, because taking the gunner out swiftly disrupted the timing and formation of the incoming approach. Often times to the point of collapse.
Not to mention a raiding party only had so many members willing or skilled enough to fill the gunner position. Theoretically the more you took out, the less effective subsequent approaches would be. A significant advantage for later stretches of the route when resources grew scarce and nerves stretched thin.
"Bored of piloting already?"
The fact Lux felt comfortable enough to hold conversation boded well for the handling of the incoming approach, not so much for the unsuspecting gunner who’d no doubt been marked.
"A waste of time more like, though I can’t argue how much more exciting things are out here."
"Says you. I was having a blast driving earlier."
"Talk to me again after you've managed any form of operating license. That aside, I'll handle spotting duties until Belveer."
"Works for me."
Relative silence permeated the front deck of C248, sounds of the prolonged clash at the rear steadily making their way over. To Cade the situation in the rear might as well be forfeit. Unfortunate but not something they couldn’t bounce back from. And strategically it just made more sense to reallocate bodies and resources to battles taking place around other parts of the convoy.
There was also another angle to consider here, one most CCs and COs knew better than to disclose to their crews or the unsuspecting public. And that was conceding a Crusader’s cargo intentionally for the sake of stabilizing the mental state of their accosters. This became necessary in situations like the current one where the loss of life skewed sharply to one side. Ideally this would force a retreat, putting an end to the visit. But it could also do the opposite as surviving party members started to place revenge for their fallen comrades over the original objective of stealing the cargo. In other words, it became a matter of pride.
"What's the situation in the rear?"
Funny she would ask.
"Worse by the second, I expect we'll forfeit the cargo shortly."
"..."
No response. One might think Cade was alone on the front deck talking to himself. Something he was wont to do on occasion. But there was reason behind the silence. And while it took a trained eye to discern it, it was clear to Cade that his take on the situation vexed Lux in some way. Like it or not the take was accurate, and it was in everyone's best interest for someone to have an objective view of the convoy's transit status. As for the source of her discontent, he could make a few educated guesses stemming from—
"Drop it."
Cade did. Far too willingly at that. It was something he'd been wrestling with of late, whether it was ok to bend to the will of someone so versed in his inner workings. According to the way he'd done things since joining the LCF, no. Perhaps it centered on the fact she held the advantage in the unspoken race of understanding one another. Something he could forgive if not for the ease in which she managed it. He still wasn’t convinced figuring out her thought was necessary to begin with? Every time he tried Lux supplied the answer faster than he could—
"I'll explain why I’m pissed later, in private. Refocus up, there’s a good chance I’ll be passing some target of interest to you."
There it was, denied the chance to work it out yet again. It made Cade feel disgusted with himself every time. How could it not when he struggled to recall a single instance in which he'd reciprocated that sentiment. Hadn't she noticed? Would it even bother her if she did? A harsh reminder of which of them was set in their ways, while the other possessed the freedom to come as go as they pleased.
In sudden need of a distraction Cade directed his attention towards the bridge where he spied their new CO alternating between scanning the surroundings and casting small worried glances in the direction of the rear. Perhaps something over the headset was making her anxious. Recalling the answer was hanging around his neck, Cade lifted one of speakers to his ear and listened in on the chatter.
"All present officers are advised to concentrate remaining security forces on the interception of incoming approaches. The cargo onboard C217 will be labeled as compromised going forward."
A sound decision, compromised being a nicer way of reporting destroyed cargo. It also wasn't a designation one could take back on a whim. After all, cargo didn't suddenly become un-destroyed. Cade imagined the remaining officers onboard C217 would take issue with the order since the cargo wasn't actually destroyed yet. Either way the concession of the cargo amounted to a failure on the part of the security officers onboard and would in fact go down as such on their official work history.
Cade remembered a convoy from some time ago when the Crusader he and Lux were working suffered a similar fate. Had he and an unnamed security officer not held her back at the station of arrival, Lux would have assaulted that CC. In front of plenty of witnesses no less. Fortunately the outburst had been chalked up to her being an overzealous rookie and no suspension had been handed down.
If such a situation repeated itself Cade couldn't imagine Lux directing her frustration at the CC though. She'd glare and offer a few choice words, but the person she'd be most upset with would be herself. For Cade's part he and other colleagues would be stuck dealing with a tetchy blonde for a few days.
For whatever reason reminiscing on that time brought about the mental fatigue he’d been accumulating over the course of the day. The solution to this unwelcome distraction, story time. As luck would have it there existed a tale from the distant past that played a small role in their current predicament. Topical wasn’t it. And so, he sought the attention of the presence sharing the front deck with him. Not that she’d asked for it.
"Do you know the story of Quiet Murn?"