“Demons, I want a status report!” Despite what the info screen told him, he managed to keep his voice level.

“This… Carthage. I am in section… Repeat… …tion 02-12A with Lucifer,” the voice was barely audible through the thundering of her mini-gun. “Made contact with the en.... peat, made… enemy.”

“Can you hold them, Carthage?”

“Sure thing, Puppeteer… They’d need… breathe fire if they… past me...” The rasping of Lucifer joined the feed; the man was clearly having fun.

“Damn it, Lucifer!” Another volley of fire underlined the curse from the heavy weapons specialist. “Stop yapping and…” Whatever she had to add was lost in static after a volume overload warning.

“Carthage, you need to extract to section 01-15. Multiple breaches detected around you. I repeat, extract to section 01-15.”

“Acknowledged.” He heard her voice before it was cut off by another of his Demons.

“This is Rage. Discharge and I have prepared the Red Carpet. Please advise on the ETA of friendlies.” Puppeteer heard the gruff voice of the assault trooper clearer than he had expected.

“Twelve minutes,” he repeated the words as soon as he heard Carthage’s voice over the feed. Wasting no time, he switched to the next feed.

“Helix, report.” Only static answered his order. “Helix, do you read me?” The silence was more terrifying than the sounds of intense combat he could hear from the other feeds of his Demons. “I repeat, Helix, report if you read me! That’s an order!”

“Busy…” He couldn’t determine if the medic was angry, frustrated or completely out of it. The feed was too disrupted, but he recognised the sound of multiple plasma discharges from a Mark 3 frame.

“Helix, repeat.” Again, only static. “Hornet, is Helix with you?”

“He is boss” The man tasked with assisting the team’s medic sounded angry for sure. “…ching me… Wall… blast…”

“Hornet, repeat. The feed is too cluttered.” He turned to the comm specialist standing next to him in the command centre. “Come on, Preacher, clear the damned signal.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Puppeteer might not have been able to see his face hidden behind the helmet, but he knew the glare he was receiving wasn’t a kind one.

“Got it.” The communications specialist’s voice boomed from his helmet’s speakers after a gruelling minute.

“Hornet, come in!”

“I hear you, Puppeteer.” The strained voice came clearly through the feed. “Boarding craft came through the wall. Got caught in the blast. Helix is patching me up. Need support.”

“What is your location?” He asked, knowing full well there was no one to send to them.

“Cryogenics…” The link was cut off by a noise that had overloaded it.

“Get a channel open to Nephilim’s teams 3 and 4.” He commanded at the comms specialist after a quick glance at the info screen.

“Negative,” Preacher grunted. “They’re in the jammer’s range. I don’t have the time to force a stable feed through.”

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He studied the screen for a second before speaking again, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer. “Seraphim, team 10?”

The comms specialist was silent for a second, listening to the tap he had placed on the group’s private channel.

“Team 10 is en route to section 01-25. Priority alpha.”

Puppeteer had hoped that the team was heading in that direction to prevent the enemy from establishing a proper foothold in that area. The chance of redirecting them was slim, to begin with, but after hearing what their orders were, that hope was utterly crashed. Worse, it forced him to make more changes to his plans. There were just too few people and too many places to cover.

“Carthage, do you copy?”

“Loud and clear, Puppeteer.” The nose of battle was sporadic but nonetheless present in the background.

“New orders. Change heading to section 01-20 – Cryogenics.”

“What?! How the hell are we supposed to get there? Going through the Hangar is going to be the death of us!”

“Lucifer is to proceed to section 01-25 to assist Seraphim 10. Extract or erase priority alpha targets, depending on the situation. Only you, Carthage. Hornet and Helix are pinned there.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Cannot comply, Puppeteer. Bogies are on our asses. We’re coming in hot to section 01-15. ETA ten minutes.” There was anger in her voice, understandable.

“Copy that, Carthage. Caution, Red Carpet is set and primed.” Rage’s voice joined the feed.

“We cannot lose Helix-”

“Then why did you station him there? You know he is the only one who can fix us and the suits. And to top it all, he is equipped with nothing but a Predator!” He was prepared for the accusation, but it stung him all the same.

“He cannot perform his duties in a Mark 3.”

“Don’t give me that pile of-” Her insult was cut off by Helix.

“I’ll see you on the other side.” They all knew the phrase. They had uttered it a hundred times before, and it froze their hearts each time.

“I’m under heavy fire. Hornet has expired. Cannot extract cortex.” Helix’s sombre voice returned a few seconds later, dominating the feed. “Puppeteer… you have to purge Cryogenics.”

“I cannot do that, Helix. The incendiaries will destroy only the specimens.” He took a deep breath and gave out his next command. “The enemy cannot get a hold of the Mark 3. You’ll have to overload the core.” Silence grasped the feed.

“Repeat the last command, Puppeteer. I thought you said I need to overload Hornet’s core?!” There was genuine confusion in the medic’s voice.

“That is correct, Helix.”

“I am pinned! Repeat, bloody pinned!”

“I know. Command stands. Overload Mark 3’s core.” Puppeteer felt every second like an hour. “I am sorry, my friend.”

“Puppeteer, you can’t….” He could hear both Lucifer and Discharge speak at the same time over the feed.

“Restrict the channel.”

He gave the command to the communications specialist next to him. He knew what he was asking of the medic. The loss of Hornet’s cortex was a heavy blow to the Demons. He knew he was dooming Carthage and himself to a slow death. And the others wouldn’t last long without Helix to patch them up, should some of them survive this fight. On top of that, two decades of field experience wasn’t something High Command could replace at the snap of the fingers. But he was their commander. He had to think of the larger picture. He saw Preacher hesitate for a moment, but he complied. As they all would, as long as he didn’t order the impossible. After all, they were conditioned to obey, and the chain of command was absolute.

“Helix, I’ll see you-”

“No! Don’t you dare say it! You can’t say it after that order!” The outburst was cut short by several controlled bursts from the medic’s combat rifle.

“Helix, this is a direct order from your commander. Overload the Mark 3’s core.” Somehow, he managed to keep his voice from shaking, glad his helmet hid the tears clouding his vision.

“Acknowledged, sir.” The voice that answered him was cold and level. “I hate you, Virgil. Julius died so I could retreat, and now you have killed me. Not the enemy. You.”

Puppeteer wanted to give some excuse. Admit that the order was imprinted in his thoughts, and there was no way around it. But everything that came to his mind sounded like meaningless propaganda. Thirty-nine seconds after Helix’s last word, the entirety of section 01 trembled from the detonation of the Mark 3 Battlesuit’s overloaded fusion core.

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