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Chapter 10 - To be a Hero - Part 3
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Everything is so loud, so very loud. Gunshots keep echoing on and on. Every movement of those mechs outside is agonising, every sparking clash of swords excruciating.
Tears well in my eyes. I just want to scream. Johnny hasn't moved since she collapsed, Gros's chest is barely going up and down. What the hell am I meant to do?
“Kris, up on your feet,” a voice suddenly says straight to me. I turn woodenly to see the tall figure of Lt. Vitka. He has a few new injuries of his own, and Shane's sword in his hands is blood-red and chipped, dripping viscous drops of crimson to the floor every couple of seconds.
“Kris, the generator has tripped out, and you are the only one left who can fix it.”
I'd forgotten Vitka and others were also fighting down the corridor. I'm guessing those positions are lost now. I look over to the wall that is the generator's outer face. A few pieces of shrapnel that aren't in Gros have pierced its surface. It’s not nearly enough to actually damage the beast of a machine, but it is enough to trip the safety.
Shane is in the barracks fighting for his life, Gros is bleeding out on my lap, Johnny is silent on the floor behind me. Who even knows what's become of all the other mechanics and engineers? There's just me, the only one here with any know-how left.
I start to shake my head, tears streaming down my sweat-ridden, blood-stained face.
Vitka flinches and then kneels down, still taller than me even then. He does his best to smile, slowly pushing Gros off me; he lays a hand on my shoulder, “This has been quite the first adventure for you, hey, Crewmen? It's nearly over now Kris, the dome can't take another hit like that. Templar will make us an opening, but we can't take it without our engines, right? They’re not dead yet, Kris. Do you understand that? If we can get out of here, Gros, Shane, Johnny, they may all yet live, but we have to get out of here.
I will buy you the needed time; Templar will get us an opening, and the Captain will hold the bridge. And I know that you, Kris, will fix our generator. I trust you.”
Vitka stands back up, taking my SMG in one hand, he steps over to the final barricade. Its two defenders were hit by the shrapnel, too; one is simply holding his shield up, his other hand limp – The other is writhing loudly on the floor in pain. Vitka stands behind that raised shield, sword in one hand and gun in the other.
But I can't do it, I can't move. I-- I'm not a hero, or a villain. I'm barely a soldier, only an apprentice mechanic.
This is selfish! Gros should’ve used me as a shield; that’s what a monster would do!
He's vastly more valuable than me. He could’ve fixed it easily, I’m just a cog, an expendable piece! Why did he have to go and do that?!
'Even good decisions have a cost.'
Outside, past the man screaming on the floor, past Vitka and the shield bearer; Templar lobs another grey knight's head off with his flaming sword. Another enemy swings for him. He ducks the Crusade underneath the swing and thursts; the calabar blade is blocked by the enemy’s forearm and Templar pushes.
The blade inches closer to the enemy’s chest, grinding brutally through the arm, so close that the blade's heat causes the enemy's helmet visor-camera to shatter. But the Crusade doesn't quite make contact.
A rifle blast forces it to step backwards, the platinum shot whizzing past and creating a massive crater in the ground where it stops, dirt flying sky high like a muddy brown firework.
In stepping backwards, Templar has just let go of his sword. One of the six immediately rushes him.
'It’s over' are the words that run through my mind.
The severed cable that had once joined the Crusade’s lance to its left arm shoots out like a viper – wrapping around the incoming foe’s leg, the mecha holy knight yanks hard, and the enemy falls over hard – now it’s Templar's turn to rush forward, grabbing the tripped-up knight's own rifle; he presses it against their chest before they can stand back up.
A rifle disconnected from its mech only has a shot or two. That is all he needs. The grey knight buckles like an electric shock has just gone through it; the stolen rifle bores straight into it, killing the pilot.
The Crusade stands back up, bathed in hydraulic fluids. Its whites are now overshadowed by a rusty brown coating. It tosses aside the spent rifle. Still, five mechs stand around it, perhaps hesitating but no less raring to go. The Crusade is in bits; loose cables hang from its limbs, oil seeps from every joint, and its shoulder still has that massive crater wound.
It holds nothing but a whip-like severed cable to attack and defend with – but still, it stands there – it doesn't back down. It doesn't even seem capable of running away. The man Gros described as a heretical monster, refuses to back down for the sake of his comrades.
A hard, dry choke emits from my mouth. It is a pathetic, useless sound, but I can't hold it in any longer, “AhahahahHAhhhhhahhhahahahgh!”
I know not if it's a wail of anguish or a distorted laugh at our imminent deaths.
“OI! Don't you dare forget about me!!” A madman suddenly screams over his loudspeaker. My view of Templar is again gone, replaced by a silver, insect-like mech leg. A leg I painted myself.
“Sorry I'm late. It took ages to cut through that airlock,” Birgit Kazats says proudly.
I simply blink. The innermost door to a settlement is the strongest, by far. To cut a mech-sized hole through one with a regular arc-staff, well, it's amazing Birgit did so this fast and insane that he would even attempt such a thing. The absurdity is enough to briefly break me from my hysterics.
Vitka taps his communicator, a very clear smile on his face; “Your timing is superb young Petty Officer. Templar needs a weapon. It will be dangerous, but you’re the only one who can do it.”
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“Heh, Captain, Lt. Vitka, you both just gave me the same order on two different frequencies. Anyone would swear you are twins or something! I'll get it done, then come right back to seal this hole. Keep safe until then!”
And just like that, the leg disappears.
I want to call out. I want to tell my friend Birgit not to go, to run away and save himself. If any of those grey knights spot him, they’ll probably eviscerate him. He’s just like me, a grunt, a cog, an ordinary guy; he shouldn’t be trying something so reckless – But I can’t, my voice won’t obey me.
Almost involuntarily, I find myself crawling across the floor, inching closer and closer to the generator's face.
I can't do this, I'm not like him or them or-- Or?
Or what? I didn't think Brigit was a hero a week ago, but now, he's about to paint a massive target on his back just to give Templar an extra weapon.
Lt. Vitka and the Captain are still fighting, holding out against the endless supply of enemy borders. Johnny may well be dead even though she’d already done plenty by getting us that data. Shane didn't even get to see his attacker, Gros took a blast that should have killed me.
How many others today? How many people who I hadn't met yet or had the chance to talk to?
“Here!!” Birgit’s voice shouts, and I see a mace of all things tumble through the air. Templar catches it; one of the grey knights tries to as well, but is too slow, and its punishment is being immediately smashed hard by the new weapon.
It’s something that would suit the grey knights better, really – a white shaft, light-black head with glowing red spikes – a spare weapon Templar seldom uses. It hits with power enough to buckle the grey knight’s armoured head; it stumbles backwards, only for Templar to smash it again, this time with an uppercutting swing of the mace that sends grey metal fragments scattering.
One of the other Cansels fires a rifle shot. There is a massive explosion out of my view, and even where we are, I feel a wave of heat enter the breach. Was that Birgit, I wonder? Has his mech just been destroyed?
There is a toolbox permanently in this room. I open it and grab a powered drill. Fix in a socket and begin unbolting the generator's damaged panel. With the bolts gone, I have to yank it, the shrapnel causing it to hold firm. Once it gives, I simply let it clatter to the floor, too weak to move it myself.
The damage inside is minor; a few cables are cut, causing the safety to activate. That's all.
I have everything I need to reconnect the cables, it is hardly a question of ability. Anyone could as long as they knew what they were looking at; it’s honestly work that is borderline beneath a mechanic.
Another Casnel just fell outside, and one more gets a nasty wire swipe to the face before the Crusade smashes down on it with the red glowing mace. The field they're fighting on has no grass anymore, the torn-up dirt covered in fluids, fallen mechs and discarded weapons. It's little more than a brawl now, wild mace swings, arc-staff slashes, even some punches.
The paladin in my childhood book had already long since fallen at this point in the story. No one could or came to help him; sword after sword slowly filled his body and broke his armour until he lay dead on the ground beside his shattered blade.
To be a hero is not something you are born into, nor an accolade you can gain – It simply comes from making the decisions you feel are right? To do the best you can with every choice, big or small, trivial or life-threatening – Is it really that simple?
Have I really been that blind? Can a monster genuinely choose to stop being a monster? Can an ordinary kid decide to be a hero?
What even is a cog in the machine, a grunt pilot, a cannon fodder soldier? Are those who’ve died on both sides today just that? Nobodies simply because they weren’t chosen to be the story's heroes? Or did every one of them fight with all they had, do everything they could, and die not a part of some greater machine or organisation – But as heroes of their own lives, doing what they felt was right, even if that means others must mourn you?
When did I decide I was ordinary? When did I choose to become ‘incapable’ of so much?
The wires are reconnected quickly. I rush to a control screen, stumbling off my knees, tap a few buttons and bam – The generator starts to hum again, that same hum that petrified me just weeks ago.
All strength leaves me in that moment. I collapse and slowly turn my head to the breech one last time. Just three of the grey knights are still standing, incredible.
Has a lone Vijiak ever beaten back five Casnels before? Of course, those five can be repaired; the damage to most of them is simply a dead or unconscious pilot. These warmachines will no doubt be remade and sent for us again – But even so.
Three are still standing. One is headless, another dented all over, and one more has a proud calabre blade running through its forearm.
The Crusade stands once more in the middle, its left arm falls off, and tears stream down my face as I watch the much-abused limb tumble the short distance through the air before slamming into the mushed-up ground beneath. Its other hand slowly rises and points straight up with another freshly stolen rifle in its palm. I realise this is it, one more shot to break the dome like Vitka said.
Although that means it's the end for us, the air will get dragged out along with the dome shattering, and there isn't time to return to and unseal the barracks.
Still, we left the memory drives with Shane and the other injured. The generator is working again, and from the sounds it's making, someone on the bridge is getting us ready to leave. We in here may not make it, but I can't help but smile exhaustedly, knowing the rest of the crew and the precious data this has all been for will escape.
Bonk
It is a silly sound that interrupts my quiet reverie. The room is suddenly dark, then a bright red glow appears where the breach was just moments prior.
“Sorry guys, they blew off my legs. I had to crawl back here. Don't worry, sealing ya up now.”
“Ha-haaa-whhha, HAhhhahahaha, AHAHAHAHAHAAHH!” I can't stop myself from bursting into a complete fit of laughter. I swear I see Gros’s unconscious face break a smile, too. Vitka is definitely grinning.
“Everyone out, we can't be sure this weld will seal the air in properly--” Vitka begins, and then his voice is utterly drowned out as above us, a dome of glass miles wide shatters all at once, a noise somehow louder than all the others this day and it last but a single moment before space comes flooding in.
I keep laughing as we drag the injured to the barracks and hurriedly seal ourselves in – as we desperately wait on the bridge to tell us what is going on outside – as the doctor begins treating my comrades. I just keep laughing until I utterly blackout.
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