Vosjlaw slid to a halt, his assault carbine held high. He swept the street, left to right, staying close behind the heavily armoured APC that was rolling up alongside him. On the other side were three more soldiers doing the same. His second in command was staying with the second APC and constantly reminding him that the CO shouldn't be in the front. The man was right, but he ignored it. There was no danger here. Only dead men. High above a pair of gunships slowly advanced, their powerful headlights piercing the dark and the rain. There was no power in this segment. Not anymore. The Imperials had blown the lines. They always blew the lines.
"How long?" he asked, forcing the words out from between gritted teeth.
"Twelve minutes since we lost contact," his sergeant remarked. "Ten minutes since the last gunshot. Eight since the power went out."
"No word from the patrols?"
"Nothing, sir. They disappeared again. Like ghosts. Didn't touch anyone until they hit the target." The sergeant tilted his head as a new transmission came in. "Scratch that, sir, overhead lost contact with a patrol."
Vosjlaw let out a sigh. This confirmed it. The Imperials had struck another dozen targets since he had begun the hunt. He had seen the patrol schedules. They were well thought out, organised with plenty of overlap. That the enemy got in without an alarm wasn't a coincidence. That they got out hitting only the one patrol... He'd have to check the routes to be sure, but in his heart he already knew the outcome of that query. The Imperials knew the patrol routes. And that meant that there were traitors inside the military. It didn't surprise him, but after all the death and destruction, he had somehow hoped that his countrymen would have been better than this.
"They're gone. Tell Girli to cordon off the area and have her bring forensics in. Contact the local police and have them send us everything. We'll go through the data ourselves." He didn't trust them anymore. Even though he had told them what to look for, they were often incompetent, frightened, or otherwise incapable of getting the job done. As if it was that hard to trace a path through which cameras that went offline.
"Sir, Grevorich on the line."
The Captain supressed a groan. "Put him through." A moment of static and then he was connected to the one person he didn't want to hear. "Say your piece, Grevorich."
"Captain," came the cold response. The Commander had been growing increasingly intolerant of his actions. Accusations of "overstepping boundaries", "excessive force" and "sacrificing lives for no reason" had been tossed around. Not publicly. Not yet. "I heard they got away again."
"You got moles, Grevorich. There's no way they'd keep slipping out of the cordon unnoticed."
"They didn't do it unnoticed. We lost a patrol, Captain. Twelve men, dead."
"Yep," Vosjlaw retorted. "Only twelve. As clean an escape as they could wish for. Surprised you caught wind of that already." He didn't buy the line. Grevorich didn't care that much about the common man. It was the lack of results that was getting to him, and the constant harrying of other officers. A coup had already happened once, after all.
"And once again you have nothing to show for it, do you? Another successful Imperial raid. Another depot blown up. And once again we look the fool."
"Are you just here to whine or do you have anything useful to say?" His eyes coldly ran over the destruction on site, zoning out from his superior officer's shouts and curses. His men were already scouring the area for traces of the battle. It was the usual scene. Brute force, disruptor blade and kinetic impacts. Repulsor tech. The ballistic impacts and scorch marks were from allied units. Poor sods probably didn't even the time to prime grenades before they were slaughtered. The defenders simply didn't have the right equipment to deal with armoured hostiles. They were only supposed to buy time until reinforcements could get to the scene.
A sudden silence caught his attention. Apparently Grevorich had finally run out of things to shout. "If that's all then I'll get back to it, Commander." He heard the other man recoil from his desk, the condensed vitriol in his voice seeping through the speakers. He waited, expecting another acidic response. Perhaps a threat to revoke his permissions. A good, creative insult about his capabilities. All he got was a singular click as the line was cut. He shook his head, disgusted. Grevorich was a good staff officer, but his ideals disconnected him from the grim reality. Oh well, he thought as he recalled his units. Let him play politics.
He had gathered enough information. It was time to put some plans of his own in motion.
Nightmare waited, as she had been waiting for the past two days. She hadn't moved from her spot in all that time. It was a good spot. Well hidden. It was narrow too and she had to sit hunched over, her knees against her chest. Her legs had been numb for hours, but still she would not move. It would affect her reaction speed, but it was an acceptable trade off. It was suffer through that or risk being spotted by the soldiers below. They annoyed her. She was supposed to take out her target as swiftly as possible, then return, but these men were preventing her from doing so. She was unarmoured and an open confrontation would see her torn to shreds in a heartbeat. So she had to wait.
The hours slid by. Another dawn appeared. The soldiers milled about, seemingly relaxed, but she knew better than that. Her brothers had already killed too many. The men were frightened and that made them alert. They kept too close a watch on their surroundings and each other for her to act. Sneaking in was not an option, the house of her target was too separated from the surrounding apartments. She could not leap onto its roof from her current position either. She would make the jump, narrowly, but the subsequent crash would alert everyone. Her target would die, true, but so would she.
Not acceptable.
She waited. The sun began to descend again when a large pedestrian transport came by. School bus the letters on the side read. She turned her head slightly as her lenses overlapped and her vision zoomed in. This was new. Not part of the pattern she had discerned up till now. A young Novican came out and she analysed it. Female. No body armour. No visible weapons. Perhaps in that backpack? Unlikely. She waved at the soldiers, who loosened their guard slightly as they greeted her in turn. Her interest was piqued. Why did they drop their guard? Others within the bus waved at the soldiers and a number of them waved back, their attention slipping away from their surroundings. She regarded their relaxed postures and filed it away. This was critical information. Would it be the same tomorrow? She would have to watch.
It turned out she didn't have to wait that long. The newcomer came out of back of the house only a scant few minutes later, the target in tow. The soldiers in that area relaxed as well at the sight. The target spoke briefly with them, though she could not overhear them, nor read their lips accurately, then the target began to run around with the newcomer. It seemed to be a sort of training, with the target trying to chase down the younger Novican, who was laughing all the while. It puzzled her. The training looked so awfully inefficient. And it didn't last long. A call interrupted them and the target moved back indoors to respond to it.
Nightmare let her lenses drift apart again, tracking multiple targets at once. The newcomer tried to hide herself in the undergrowth, waiting for the soldiers to lose track of her. It did not take long for the men to resume their duties and the young one began climbing the trees, with great difficulty, the moment they had turned their backs on her. With unsteady footing she made her way up, fingers grasping onto branches as she hoisted herself higher. Nightmare watched on, confused, incapable of comprehending the purpose. Then a branch cracked and she fell down. Nightmare watched the Novican twist and turn, saw her mouth move in a scream and heard it a moment later. Then she hit the ground. Nightmare knew that nothing was broken, but the wail that came out of the young one's mouth would have hinted otherwise.
Then the soldiers moved. Those nearby abandoned their post and ran towards her, not with guns up and ready, but pointed firmly down. Others turned around, no longer regarding their surroundings but instead looking in the direction of the... wounded? one. The target came out a moment later, sprinting out of the house.
Nightmare looked on, her eyes impassive as her mind analysed the situation. The way everyone had reacted to the wail...
She slowly unfolded her legs and disappeared deeper into the apartment. Come tomorrow, she would strike.
The bus showed up again. Right on time. She was looking at it from the opposite direction, having circled around to enter a different apartment. This one was higher up. More inhabited, too. Noisier. Even so the shot would still draw attention. No silencer on the weapon, but it would serve. She had cleaned off the blood earlier. Test fired it as well to get used to its quirks. She had already discard its sights. Her own eyes were better. Now it was time for her to put her plan in motion. To act. She slowly stood up, taking care to remain hidden in the shadows. Keep the barrel from protruding out of the open window. Her senses sharpened as she entered a focused state. She steadied her breathing as her lenses began to overlap. The first slid behind the second. She closed her left eye, gently fingered the triggered. Ran through the plan a final time. She saw the bus. Saw its passengers. Some were already waving at the soldiers, signs of happiness and excitement on their diminutive faces.
The third lens slid into place and her vision was enhanced once more. Her finger encountered resistance. Shoulder felt the right pressure. Everything faded to black as she brought her target to her. Long shot. Difficult shot. She halted her breathing as her finger continued its pull. The resistance held for a brief instant, then collapsed. The next moment the bullet was sent on its path. Her eyes traced the flash. Followed it until it struck the target. She dropped the weapon and launched herself backwards, twisting around her axis to pick up more speed. Dug her hand into the linoleum floor to maintain her balance. Then she was out of the apartment. Into the hallway. She had a lot of ground to cover and already she could hear people moving around, inquiring as to the noise. They were irrelevant. The gunshot had undoubtedly set off sensors. Relevant. Dangerous. Had to reach target before it could be secured. Had to move.
She exited the building seventy-eight seconds later. Five seconds delay. Consequence of dodging the people in the hallways rather than running through them. Acceptable time loss, but it added to the risk. She slowed down, blended in with the crowd. Hunch over, appear less tall. Avoid direct eye contact. Narrow shoulder width. Trust in commandeered attire to not stand out. She pushed her way, very carefully, through the crowd that was forming. Chaos reigned. Proof of the plan working. She had shot the bus driver and the vehicle had collided with oncoming traffic. Passengers were screaming. Genuine pain and fear. Soldiers were leaving their post to help them. Defensive line became stretched then, then fell apart with numerous openings. One final look-over, then she broke cover and began to sprint. People noticed her. Shouted. Volume began to increase. Their reaction too slow, didn't supersede the noise of the "accident". Then she was in the hedge and out of sight. And behind four soldiers. Clustered together. They spotted her. Began to react. She was faster. They died. Pause. Use their knives. Hide evidence of superhuman strength. Act quick.
Next, open door. Unlocked? Unforeseen advantage. Inside the house. Overheard voices.
"Ma'am, you need to stay inside."
"That's my daughter out—"
Voices fell silent as she ran towards them, her heavy footsteps betraying her presence.
"Ma'am, get—" They came into view. One soldier pushing the woman back, raising his rifle. Other soldier already had his rifle raised. Finger on the trigger. She took another step, past where his muzzle was pointing. He fired. Missed. Tried to readjust his aim.
Too late. Grab rifle. Push aside. Soldier still fired. Hit his ally. Not fatal. The man fell down from the impact. She reached for the standing soldier's pistol. Pulled it. Flipped off the safety in the same movement. Aimed. Fired. Two shots in quick succession. Guards eliminated. She took another step and grabbed her target by the throat. The woman's scream died out as her airways were choked off.
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"The Empire gave you an out," she said, repeating the lines the Admiral had given her. "We never wanted to kill you. Any of you. You forced this on us. You refused to cooperate." The words came out without emotion, her voice closer to that of an automated machine than that of a human being. She did not know if the target heard her. She did not care either. The woman was desperately struggling against her iron grip, begging for a breath of air. Fingers and nails tried to dig into her arm, breaking on the tough surface. Feet uselessly kicked against her legs. Nightmare dropped the woman, allowing her to fall to the ground, gasping for breath. Before she could regain her bearing, Nightmare pinned her own using her own, heavier limbs to keep the woman's lighter ones from moving. She pulled out a small emitter and turned on the tiny disruptor blade. She toned out the woman's cries. This was the most delicate part of her mission. Human bodies were fragile and the target was not permitted to die yet. She set to work and the woman began to scream, in earnest this time.
At this stage, Grevorich had assumed he'd seen the worst of the Imperial infiltrators. Mass destruction, a death count in the tens of thousands— and still climbing— a complete disregard for human life irrelevant of age or gender, assaulting hospitals, demolishing sanitation plants, setting fire to food depots, levelling logistical hubs, sabotaging traffic networks, the list went on nearly endlessly. Had he tried to, he'd have been hard pressed to find anything that the Imperials could still do to make things worse.
He had been wrong. He hadn't expected the bastards to leave a message spelt with someone's guts. On one hand he was glad that it was only a picture. A still image. The dead soldiers looked almost peaceful, were it not for the holes in their bodies and the pool of blood underneath. In comparison the dead woman looked as if hell had come to her. Her face was frozen in a neverending scream of unimaginable pain. Despite that the image could convey no sound, he still felt his insides revolt at the sight of it. Especially her eyes. There was no fear in it. No terror. Only pain in its purest form.
He had heard of what disruptors did to the human body. Why the vast majority of nations had banned them, despite their incredible use. They were war crimes in a containment field. He had learned about it back in officer school. Everyone had to. Because there were still nations that used the damnable weapon. One simple scratch and your entire neural network got scrambled. He didn't recall the full details of the process, but he remembered the summary and that painted a rather gruesome picture; one of the brain demolishing itself while every neuron sent out nothing but alarm signals, on every level, in every way. It had, once upon a time, been considered as a method to make people talk under torture, as psychologists and neurologists agreed that nobody could withstand the pain, but coming into contact with a disruptor blade was utterly and invariably lethal. The victim would last a couple of minutes at most, before succumbing. He forced himself to think of something else, before he would remember the footage his tutor had made him watch.
He walked out of his office, trying to shake off the feeling of dread that threatened to overwhelm him. He was losing his grip on the situation. He hadn't thought a few Imperial infiltrators would be capable of that. As a matter of fact, he still held that belief. The Imperials were dealing tremendous damage to any location they hit, true, but at the end they were few in numbers. No more than a few thousand, stuck on a planet of billions. Sure the death toll was in the tens of thousands at this stage, hundreds of facilities had been damaged, crippled or simply wiped off the map and dozens of districts were cut off from power, water, medical aid or even food, but at the end of the day he could deal with all of that. It would give him migraines, sleepless nights and reinforce his burning hate for the Imperials, but he would have been able to deal with it.
The reinforced doors shut themselves behind him, the heavy metal plates making no more than a sigh as they were hermetically sealed. Instantly four bodyguards fell in around him, their eyes wary and alert, a stark contrast with the dark rings under his eyes. He hated their presence. Hated what they signified. Not that he had a say in the matter. Not with Lieutenant Gilgi still in the medbay recovering from a gutshot. Not with the entire command centre under lockdown. Not since some other officers had decided that he had urgently needed replacing.
No, it wasn't the Imperials that were his main concern at this stage. It was his own. Damned. Allies.
Word of Kolpovka's death had gotten out on all levels. The Parliament was pulling fleets back and only a scant few responded. The late Grand Admiral's faction had taken over more than a third of the navy and the vast majority who weren't in league with the so called "traitors" made little motion to stop them, despite the Grand Admiral's death.. The few "loyalists" were either running back to the core worlds, tail tucked between their legs, or picking suicidal fights with an enemy that still was coherent because they just couldn't wrap their heads around the fact that their posts were earned through connections and bribery rather than merit. Two things that counted for very little when the officers on the other end were no longer forced to fake a defeat to keep their rank.
The issue with that was that all the ships in the sector wouldn't help him a damn if he lost Nagalan. It was the supply depot on which the entire frontline depended. The importance of that lynchpin was impossible to overstate. If Nagalan fell, so would their ability to resupply. And any officer worth his stars knew damn well that while tactics won battles, logistics always won the war.
"Lieutenant," he called out as he entered the command room. He made a point of ignoring the blood stains and the damaged walls.
"Sir," came Nayasi's absentminded response. She no longer jumped to when he came into the room, nor did she bother to apply make up. Exhaustion had left dark bags beneath her eyes, visible despite the gauze that covered the left one. She had grown. Remarkably much in a short time. All of his officers had. It was one of the things that kept him going.
"How is damage control going?" He didn't ask her if she and her team had kept the footage of the murder from going out.
She rubbed her good eye. "Horrible." She kept her gaze locked on the screen in front of her. "Could be worse, though," she muttered. "Could be disastrous."
He let out a dry chuckle. It was amazing how much the poster pin-up girl had transformed into a battle hardened officer in so little time. Gone was the insecurity, the doubt, the fear of saying something wrong. Instead she was now confident, clear-headed and courageous enough to personally drag him out of bed if she felt something required his personal attention. One soldier had joked that the whore of the command staff had finally entered a rebellious phase. She'd nearly shot the stupid sod.
Grevorich took his usual place and winced as eighty-three new messages showed up in his inbox. I only slept for two hours, dammit. "I got word of Novgo News. They'll send three dozen experts to reinforce your team. Reckon that ought to give you some reprieve."
She snorted. "Those assholes? And how much did we need to pay them for it?" There was a hint of reproach in her voice for resorting to the same tactics they all fought against. He couldn't hold it against her. He had felt physically sick authorising the transfer. Bribery. Forced to resort to the very thing he fought against. He'd relish slaughtering the Imperials just for that crime alone.
"Needs must, Lieutenant. And at this point I find it a cheap price to buy you some sleep."
She muttered something decidedly unladylike under her breath. "Could've saved yourself the trouble, sir. Won't need sleep for a good while. Have you seen the actual footage of that murder?"
"Only the transcript."
She shivered. "Wish I'd done the same. Those screams go straight to the marrow. Luckily that's been playing in our favour. Not a lot of people are willing to download the footage, let alone share it. We narrowed down the spread vectors pretty well and we're taking it offline almost as fast as it pops up." There was pride in her voice.
"Almost," he sighed, picking up on the unspoken implication.
She deflated, her shoulders sagging deeply and for a moment her strength seemed to leave her, revealing her for the exhausted, nearly broken young woman that she was. "Yeah. What got out is bad. The entire district she lived in is cordoned off. Forget protests, they jumped straight onto full scale riots. Saying we need to lay down arms." Then she stood up straighter, her anger giving her strength. "The Imps have packed in their message really cleanly.," she hissed. "As if us surrendering would make a damned difference." When she turned to look at the Commander, her eye all but spat fire. "Luckily this is all limited in scale. There's a fair bit of protesting going on, but that's the extent of it. People are scared, but stepping up military presence keeps them from taking to the streets. For now. The Imps running around bragging about their destruction and mocking our inability to catch them isn't doing us any favour. Luckily the districts that suffered the most and are the most vocal about us having to roll on our backs and present our belly like sheep for the slaughter are also the first to pipe down when a military convoy rolls in with supplies. And luckily the murder was horrifying enough that nobody's pointed out the fact that the psychopath who killed her broke through a full company of useless guards to get to her."
Grevorich raised a hand as he adapted his most stern look. He was relieved when it still proved to work as Nayasi halted her tirade and began to stare at the ground, mumbling out the rest of her rant. "I know you are frustrated, Lieutenant, —" He paused when her face shot up again, her single visible eye aflame with unclad fury. "Frustrated being an understatement," he amended, "but it is imperative that we focus on the things that are going right as well." He saw the anger dim somewhat, replaced by curiosity and a faint glimmer of hope. He gave her a grin as he replied to one of the messages in his inbox with an acknowledgement. "Admiral Listranoi, after having run dark for the last week, has dropped out of hyperspace this morning. When his fleet reaches orbit in two, three days at most, he'll resupply, escort as many freighters as he can, and will transfer the Nineteenth Armoured Corps planetside. Reckon forty thousand battle-hardened troops in power armour and support vehicles might make a difference?"
He could see her running the calculations. She wasn't a field officer, but she was one of the sharpest tools in the shed. And she knew her tactics. They'd finally be able to fully envelop the infiltrators. And having that many troops at their beck and call, people they could trust, they would see a massive decrease in infighting as well. It wasn't as easy to be cocky if you ran the risk of power armoured troops breaking down your front door. And if both of those issues could be addressed, then they'd be capable of halting the growing civil unrest before it could consume the entire planet.
Her lips twitched, then began to curl upwards. At first it was a smile, but then it rapidly expanded into a full on grin, pulling her skin taut. It highlighted the network of ugly, red lines that crisscrossed her face where shrapnel had sliced open her skin only a scant few days before. Yet to Grevorich it suited her more than any make up.
"Why yes, Commander. I believe it just might." Her screen began to beep urgently at her, but she allowed herself to luxuriate in the warm, secure sensation that the promise of reinforcements caused within her for a full ten seconds, before shifting her attention to the newest problem.
"Speaking of, sir, there's still been no contact of Captain Vosjlaw. Or his unit. Want me to revoke his permits?"
"No," Grevorich gruffly replied. He still held no love for the man. His constant demeaning, borderline insubordinate behaviour was infuriating and in any normal situation he would have had the man executed. The Captain was an arrogant, overconfident, abrasive, upstart grunt, but he was no fool. "But keep an eye out for him. I somehow can't quite convince myself that he's gone on a vacation."