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Chapter 10 - To be a Hero - Part 1
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The Crusade doesn't stay long, quickly charging further into the field.
The eight of us are on the move again too. The place we were headed may be blocked off, but we can squeeze past the fallen Mleue and use the tunnel's new door to reach our destination.
This area, over a kilometre wide in diameter, is probably intended as a recreational park of sorts, plus serving as an ample space for testing the mechs made here. In theory, it should be the nicest place in this base, a large open green field, the clear glass of the dome above letting in a gorgeous view of the stars above. But it's not.
What we have just entered is a downright hellscape. Ten more Mleue lie slain and tossed about around the field, a final standing one is doing its best to face off against Templar.
Craters and corpses litter everywhere; we spot the Caravel hugged tight against one wall of the space. A sea of death surrounds it, the bodies of enemy troops trying to board, I guess. The ship itself has suffered. Its main cannon and most of the lesser aircraft cannons have been blown to smithereens. Smoke rises from the fallen across the whole field; a massacre of mechs and men is what we now sprint through.
We weave past the wrecked giants and step over soldiers still groaning in the last throes of death. The Caravel is ahead, its hanger bay is pointed towards us, the doors are half open, and a large enemy force is trying to bust its way in. They spot us and begin to split in half to handle our approach, but that proves fatal. A machine gun rings out from inside the Caravel, cutting down the soldiers foolish enough to turn their backs.
The others panic and try to use the doorway as cover – Before they can adequately regroup, Vitka and the rest of our assault team have stopped running and taken aim with their rifles. Within moments, the enemy collapses one by one. Vitka's group are clearly all marksmen in their own right.
The way cleared, we finally enter through the doors and back into our home. The hangar isn't its usual self. Crates have been piled up in multiple lines and over one hops Shane. I'm about to call out to him in relief, but he charges right past us all.
A sudden chill runs down my spine. Shane isn’t ignoring us, something is behind our group. Realising an enemy has risen from the pile of corpses we so carelessly ran past. I turn to see them raising their own weapon. There’s no time to dodge. They have a clear shot of our whole team; which of us will fall before someone gets the single enemy?
A brief glint and it's over – The lone soldier's head rolls off his shoulder and thuds dully to the ground, soon followed by the rest of the body.
“T-t-t-t-the sword!?” I screech.
Shane just grins warmly as he sheaths the bloodied weapon, having handily saved us. I had thought that the sword he always carries was nothing more than an ornamental decoration from his family.
Vitka smiles, too, “You didn't think that story about him being raised in a family of knights was just for show, did you, Crewmen?”
Before I can compose myself, the Lieutenant has already turned his attention back to Shane.
“Excellent work. Are you in charge here, Warrant Officer?”
Shane shrugs before saluting, “I guess so, sir. Thanks for disorganising those last few guys. We'd been in a stalemate for some time.”
Vitka nods, “Indeed, let's get those doors sealed, shall we.”
A couple more guys hop over the barricade and head for the manual door controls. Soon the mech-sized gateway is creaking to a firm and reassuring close.
An incredible sense of relief comes over me. It's suddenly all over, just like that. Templar will finish off that last Seeker outside with ease; those doors will shut, protecting us from any more borders. The Caravel's guns may be out, but now that we're back, the Crusade can blow a hole in the dome's ceiling, and we'll be away, data in hand.
It's not ‘over’, of course; those Cansels will still get finished, and we've still gotta get home in one piece, not to mention my own head, swimming in all directions right now. But at least I can finally lay down this gun and wash my blood-red hands, maybe take a shower even!
It’s all been a blur this last hour. My own insomnia hasn’t helped.
Seeing the manufacturing plant seems almost like a dream, all the shooting, all the dead, just a series of more and more extreme nightmares – but that's over now – I really did get back to the safety of the Caravel, our cosy little spaceship. It was hard and the road ahead is long, but we’re here, alive.
I turn to Shane, feeling calmer now. I'm about to compliment him on using a sword the way he did; it was the first time I’ve ever seen a swordsman in action, never mind in such a spectacular way.
The doors are loudly dragging over the floor, and the gap is just a metre wide now. They are louder than I imagined they’d be; they rubble along, almost like the storm clouds before a thunder strike.
A single glint of light, a resounding 'boom'.
“Shane!!” I roar as my naive delusion of calm rightfully shatters as the large bullet smashes into his chest – his eyes instantly lose a little light, his wry smile falls – the impact alone flings my friend back, but I just barely manage to catch him before his head hits the ground, thought the size difference throws me beneath him in the process.
“Sniper!” Gros yells. Everyone begins to move over the barricade. Another shot, this one scrapes off by me, an inch away from my face. I feel the heated air brush across my cheek as the bullet passes by faster than I can possibly follow.
“Carry him now!” Vitka shouts at me, grabbing Shane's legs. I manage to drag his torso over the metal crate wall just in time for another bullet to whiz off the crates with a terrible screech.
CLUNK
The doors finally close fully, but I barely pay that heed. Layed on the floor, I do my best to apply pressure to Shane's wound.
My gloves are so thoroughly drenched in blood now that the fabric's given way, and I can feel it on my skin. The smell of iron, the way his chest is barely moving. The ship's doctor and an aide push me out of the way and begin properly treating Shane.
I try to ask if he'll be okay but they just shoo me away.
“Start moving the barricades back, move all wounded to the barracks, then seal off the back of the ship. Mechanics with me, we defend the generator room to the last man,” Vitka issues in his usual concise and clear manner; but even he looks furious, his face twisted in anger.
He has no reason to be – a ranged attack is as valid as a close-quarters one – both sides have taken losses today, and ultimately, we invaded this place; we're the intruders here...
And yet, I too, feel a raw, fiery anger when I look at Shane on the brink of death, an indignation that far outweighs logic or reason. Maybe it's wrong, unethical that the sight of one friend fighting for their life hurts me more than the deaths of dozens of TSU soldiers at our own hands. But such moralising does nothing to soothe my indignation and pain. Is that the power of a name and uniform? Is that what we came here for, is the enemy feeling this way about a hundred ‘Shanes’ of their own right now? I don’t know.
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Gros and I carry Shane to the barracks; the room is packed with our comrades. Gros steps forward once we've laid Shane down. The doc' tries to shoo him away too, but the Chief Mechanic has none of it.
Going to Shane's waist, he unbuckles the sword and then salutes to our unconscious friend. We leave, and the barrack’s door is shut.
Nothing is over, I see that now. The ship is in a state of lockdown. One of Shane's men explains that the borders also broke in on the second floor by climbing onto the ship's deck and cutting their way in. From there, they made it to and nearly overran the bridge. A full lockdown was put in place after that, and having now sealed the barracks and abandoned the hangar, our small remaining force is holed up in just the corridors surrounding the generator.
Me, Gros, Johnny and Vitka are gathered in the generator room itself, Vitka using one of the handful of wired telephones aboard the ship to speak with the Captain two floors above us:
“Glad you made it back and got that door sealed. For now, you must hold the generator while we hold the bridge. We simply have to keep waiting for an opening.”
“What about the route you used to get in here?” Vitka replies.
“Nope, a long tunnel from the exterior all the way to here, they trapped us inside it. Luckily, Birgit was able to use the manual release on the inside door; it's a good thing his mech still has one good hand. But it was a dead man's switch; he's stuck inside that tunnel – He could let us back in, but the outer door has no such manual switch, so we’re as well off here.
With Birgit trapped inside and the Caravel’s own guns destroyed... Well, little bro, all we can do is wait for Templar to make us a hole in the ceiling,” the Captain explains, her voice lacking its usual vigour.
“Understood, ma'am. With the breaches to the bridge and hangar sealed, we should be able to hold--”
“Holy shit, Vit, brace--” The Captain's words are cut off as suddenly the entire ship wobbles.
“Ma'am?!!” Vitka calls into the phone.
“Tanks, three of them just came through a doorway. Templar has taken down one already, but they have a clear shot--”
The sound, like many others today, is almighty as the entire ship rocks again. The pounding noise is terrifyingly close to us, in fact.
Vitka's eyes go wide, but even he doesn't have time to issue any orders. A third shot hits the ship's exterior with the greatest crashing noise of all, as we are all nearly thrown off our feet by the tremor of the impact.
Light, there is suddenly natural light in front of me. The generator room is a warship’s heart, its armour the strongest of the whole vessel and yet, in front of me, three thick layers of armour plating, two corridors, the wall to the room we're in – Have disappeared. A hole large enough for three or four to walk abreast stands before me instead.
I can see it. About half a kilometre away is a tank of some kind, probably a specially made armour-piercing type. Its barrel is smoking gently; it's ready to shoot again no doubt. The armour is gone, it will hit the generator directly.
In a manner of speaking, I suppose it's only fair that we got through TSU’s base so fast because of documentation of its layout: It figures that they in turn, would know precisely where to hit to take down a decade-old ship like ours.
There is nothing we can do now – we already tried our best – but there is something he can do.
Dirt is thrown into the air with each impact, an array of light yellow energy bolts streak across the grassy ground before smashing into the tank. This time, it explodes in a fiery red plum. A true display of the difference between a mech and a conventional tank, a single spray from the Crusades cannons utterly eviscerating the vehicle.
I'm frozen still. For the second time in my life, I was just convinced without question that I was staring death down the barrel of an oversized gun – And for a second time, Templar waylaid that fate.
“Move the barricades now!” Vitka yells, breaking the airy mood of the room. He turns to us, “Chief you’re in charge of this room, last line of defence. I'm going to go reorganise the others. This hole is now the greatest weak point we've ever had.”
Gros reaches out and grabs Vitka by the arm before he leaves. He holds out Shane's sword. Vitka looks perplexed, “I can’t--”
“No buts, Lieutenant, we're all low on ammo and I know for a fact special-ops officers get basic training in the sword. Our boy Shane would want it this way.”
Slowly, Vitka nods, taking the archaic weapon and leaving down the corridor. Gros turns to us next, “Johnny, stay on the phone; the bridge might be able to spot enemies coming at us from up there. Kris, over here with me, steady your feet and get ready.”
We do as we're told, and soon others Vitka has sent back form three barricades in front of us, one in place of each ruined layer of armour, two people standing behind each and all at slightly different elevations. A final stand, should a single enemy get through, the generator is wide open.
A fragile female voice, Miss Sue I think, has taken over on the phone and speaks now, “Th-there’s a whole wave of enemies coming from the west, over fifty armed men heading for the breach,” she reports gravely.
“This is it fellas. If they push too hard, abandon the front two barricades, I'd rather we all stand at this last one, got it? No heroics,” Gros bellows, his voice easily carrying to the six in front of us.
I clutch my submachine gun, its stock stiff against my shoulder, the trigger and body somewhat wet from my blood-saturated gloves.
“Oh, oh god,” Sue says over the phone, “The door, behind the door, eight of them!” She squeals in a way completely at odds with the snarky woman I met on my first day aboard, only heightening my personal fear of what has her so shaken.
I can see it, the same door that tank which nearly got us came from – But this time, it is rising much higher. The Crusade steps into my line of sight again; I can see past it the door opening and, behind it, sixteen giant's legs, each in the same grey shade as the knights we fought with yesterday. All eight of the other prototype Casnels.
“FIRE!” Gros yells. I pull my trigger, as do seven others. The first wave of enemy soldiers to cross into the breach are gunned mercilessly down. A second wave, five more guys in bland uniform. On I fire.
I let an emptied clip fall to the ground, grabbing another from my waist, and pulling back the gun’s slide.
Six more guys, quickly growing more wary now they realise we've sealed the breech in our ship with our very bodies. The roller door a half kilometre away keeps rising. The Crusade has taken a stance. Its back is to us; I can see it raising its lance.
Sue has regained her composure a little, “Casnel signatures on the other side of that door. Another fifty borders are approaching your positions. Pl-please hold a little longer, Master Templar can, he can win, right?”
I pull the trigger again, feeling the pain in my shoulder from the rebound. One of the guys in the barricade furthest out, falls, a bullet between his eyes he topples backwards.
Pull the trigger, clean hit, I fell someone. Three more fall to the others, the impromptu window is once more open and the air quiet for just a few merciful seconds.
The door has reached chest height, the grey knights will enter any second. Templar doesn't wait. The Crusade jumps forward, its feet digging trenches in the soft dirt beneath with every step. The machine guns on his lance flip backwards, and the whole weapon shoots forward like a missile, colliding violently into the lead Casnel.
The fight, just like in that book I had as a kid, the Templar against the eight grey knights, has begun.
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