"That is true, Director," Trautmann stated.
"Good." Sparrow stood from her egg chair at once. "Then we have nothing more to discuss today, gentlemen. If I were you, I would be preparing my shelter under the city for the upcoming assault. Nevertheless, it has been a pleasure seeing you all again..."
~
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sunday, 12 June.
VERACITY – THE SOLAR SYSTEM'S MOST RELIABLE NEWS NETWORK
Locke makes big gains in recent U.S. electoral poll as Tureau stumbles in debate
American presidential candidate Anthony Locke has seen an upsurge in popular support against incumbent Michael Tureau, according to a recent poll conducted by the Veracity News Network.
His resurgence comes in the wake of last week's holovised debate, where Locke grilled an increasingly frustrated Tureau about reports of an Iron Knight fleet moving across the Asteroid Belt towards Ceres, owned by the independent Occator Conglomerate.
"What the heck is going on?" he asked millions of viewers; "The Hound of Sokolova is moving a fleet of warships, including reportedly a dreadnought, gifted to him by the Martian government so he can lay waste to Port Royal – again! Tureau just sits on his keister all day signing paperwork while the citizens of Ceres live in constant panic! We've got a carrier strike group sitting in orbit around Pallas which could have intercepted these marauders before they set sail! What the heck are they doing?!"
Tureau was quick to dismiss the presidential candidate. "Locke is a bloviating liar," he claimed. "He doesn't know the first thing about leading men to war! Just look at how he handled Vesta ten years ago! How can he be expected to know anything about this?!"
The mention of the infamous Battle of Vesta, a sore subject for Locke, prompted a furious shouting match between the two candidates, compelling the m...der...or ...f t... d....e to...
Those watching the newscast in Port Royal would be treated to a sudden outburst of static as a powerful outside broadcast suddenly irrupted onto the airwaves. The static subsided, the depiction of a political debate turned sour supplanted by a fluttering purple banner, bearing the gilded emblem of the worst organisation that could have turned up here.
"Inhabitants of Port Royal!" The transmitting voice could be instantly recognised as belonging to the Hound of Sokolova bearing his armoured helm. "We are the Order of Iron. We have returned with a vengeance, not to despoil your corporate Gomorrah, but to exact retribution against those who have wronged us, as all who take the Iron Banner must! We come to claim Edward Frost, Elena White, Magdalena Morgenstern and Philip Wilkins, agents of your governing corporation's security force! They have been accused of murdering brothers of the Order, obstructing our grand mission of liberation, and aiding in the oppression of ordinary citizens of the solar system – charges for which they have been tried in absentia, and of which they have been found guilty! You will hand them over to our brothers within two hours so that justice may be served. Resist us, and we will blast your city to molten slag. Cooperate, and we will leave without further quarrel. Those who remember the first time we made ourselves known here will know to make the right decision!"
~
Within the confines of his home in District Two Edward Frost sat on his couch and stared at the holovision with a mortal look on his face. Having attended many a secret conference with Kane and Sparrow and spent the past two weeks and three days drilling the OCCS troopers in preparation for the incoming battle, he knew that the inevitability of this moment was as certain as the existence of moon dust. Yet for reasons that not even he could divine, the manifestation of his son Ryan and the Iron Knights in orbit with a warfleet still struck him like a jet of frigid water.
"Dad," Jason, who had joined his father in the living room after a hard day's work, began to enquire. "What did he mean when he said you'd wronged him?"
To which Frost responded, after gritting his teeth hard as diamonds, by turning to Jason with a look of such steel one could have forged armour from it. "Listen to me," he started, "Whatever happens, you keep yourself safe. You promise?"
"What's happening?" Jason's confusion was all but palpable.
"Look at me!" Frost shouted softly. "Promise me you'll stay safe!"
"I promise..." "What's going on?"
"If I come back, I'll be bringing Ryan home," Frost answered as he made his way towards the door. "When I do, we'll be leaving this place. Forever."
"What if Ryan doesn't come home?" asked Jason.
Frost stopped to clench his fists. "I'll do what I can, alright?" he answered. "Just stay safe."
"Alright," Jason finally understood the gravity of the scenario and relented his questioning.
~
Upon stepping forth from his front door, the first sound to enter his ears was the cacophony of panic. Terrified voices shouted, some screamed – no gunfire could be heard. So Frost turned his head upward. Offending his eye was an entire fleet, hovering over the horizon like a sea of arrowheads; the telltale wedge shapes of Martian-built warships, only the orange-gold stripes rolling from wing tip to bow to wing tip receiving a different colouration of imperial purple. Thirty three warships could be counted in the daylight sky looming just below the sun, with the smallest corvette-sized vessels positioned on the exterior of the fleet. At the dead centre of the armada came a shape that Frost sincerely hoped he would never have to see again after his escapade at the Deimos shipyard.
To dimensions of one thousand two hundred and fifty metres in length, three hundred in width and fifty-two in height did this spacefaring giant, an Indominus-class light dreadnought, stretch. On the top side were two triple heavy plasma cannon turrets tailored specially for engaging enemy warships; eight twin-barrel railgun turrets dotted around the top and eight more on the lower side, the underside battery tailored for anti-ground operations both in and out of an atmosphere. Vertical-launch missile cells wrapped around the top of the dreadnought like belts, no doubt primed to unleash guided death upon the immense vessel's foes.
At the dreadnought's side stood a pair of battlecruisers, Horatio Nelson-class if Frost's memory was as reliable as ever. Their identification as such was found vindicated when he observed the sleeker design of the cruiser, four hundred and twenty five metres in length and some eighty eight in width, plus two massive orbital bombardment rail-cannons appended to the keel of each. The fleet was further composed of seven destroyers, eleven frigates, and nine point-defence corvettes; all ships bore the same purple livery as the comparatively massive dreadnought looming in space overhead.
Frost's attention was drawn from the cosmos back to the surface, where he heard a vehicle pulling up. It was one of the MRAPs in OCCS livery, with Kane and Frost's two subordinates White and Morgenstern following him out.
"Frost," Kane introduced himself with a stern look. "It's time."
"So it is," said Frost. His own look was hard as steel.
"Boss, you can't seriously face the Hound alone," Morgenstern almost begged. "He'll kill you! And we can't fight against that! They have a fucking dreadnought!"
"I hope we won't need to," Frost tried to reassure her, before turning over to White. "Where are your pirates?"
"They're not here yet," White informed him. "The Ghoul's due to arrive today, but it could be hours before he gets here."
"Fashionably late, that Ghoul..." Frost sighed.
"I've already ordered a dropship to depart from the nearest hangar here with you aboard," Kane stated. "Rest assured that the Hound won't be getting away with his victory so easily, even if he does make sure to kill you beforehand."
"I don't care if I die," said Frost. "What matters is that Jason's safe."
"Jason will be safe," Kane assured. "He won't come to any harm if I have anything to say about it."
"I'm coming with you," White declared as she made her way to the front.
"Don't be stupid," Frost attempted to brush her aside. "Stay here where you're needed."
"Ed, if you die, where am I going to go?" queried W
hite. "I won't have anywhere to go but the gutter."
"Oh please..." Frost scoffed. "Are you telling me you can't take care of yourself?"
White was about to speak again when she caught herself.
"Okay, that's not strictly speaking true..." she shrugged. "But you still mean more to me than anybody here. You took me in when I had nowhere else to go after I ran off from the Ghoul. I like to think I've served you faithfully since then. Besides, I like to be at the forefront of history."
"So basically the reason you want to come along with me isn't out of any sentimental value whatsoever, but rather because you want the experience?" asked Frost with a raised eyebrow.
"The sentimental value is there, boss, but the experience outweighs it..." White shrugged again.
"Come on, Elena, you've fought alongside me for long enough," Frost shook his head. "You think you can bullshit your way past me with flowery nonsense? I'd only be more disappointed if you said you loved me."
"Don't go down that path, boss," White stated with a grin. "If I really wanted to I could be so flowery, you could blow my brains out and a meadow would blossom from the viscera. I'm still coming with you though."
"Fine, but only because it'd look more convincing to the levies on the dreadnought!" Frost declared.
White turned to Kane, who nodded in approval of her scheme. Her eyes lit up with delight.
"Now come on," Frost gestured to his companion as he made his way to the MRAP. "Let's go make history, or get ourselves killed trying."
~
As the dropship drew closer to the Iron Fleet, Frost only barely avoided scoffing aloud as he witnessed the ships' formations. The Order of Iron's laughable inexperience with naval combat was all of a sudden brought into the limelight as Frost noticed that precisely none of the corvettes were positioned below the three capital vessels. He recalled a design flaw with the pre-war Harrier model regarding the situation of their laser repeaters and plasma flak guns; all of them were situated on the corvette's top side. Every time the fleet moved to orbital bombardment position, the entire ship would have to roll itself upside down in order to provide an adequate shield against incoming ground fire. Evidently the arrogant Iron Fleet sailors had neglected to even account for that flaw. If Frost knew anything of Kane, it was that whatever trump card he had up his sleeve, the ignorance of the commanders would prove nothing short of fatal.
According to a proclamation written down in bus-sized lettering, this particular Indominus dreadnought had been christened as Martian Naval Vessel Resurgent. Frost recalled how supercapital sized vessels commissioned and built for the Martian Navy were named for qualities, the only exception being the four recent Apocalypse-class superdreadnoughts. The two Indomini that Frost had destroyed back in his heyday were both titled Invincible and Dauntless, titles bearing a wondrous irony to them. Naming conventions remained on his mind as his dropship passed the other vessels in Ryan's warfleet. Two corvettes named Huntress and Terminator, a frigate christened as Gladius, one destroyer named Fáfnir, and a battlecruiser going by the name of Franz Hipper.
The dropship travelled into one of the Resurgent's two side hangars, landing next to a group of assault craft. From there Frost and White were taken under armed escort through the corridors of the dreadnought; they had both noticed how shoddily the levies had conducted their search, failing to find the handgun hidden in Frost's coat and the knife in White's boot. If I so wanted to I could flick out my knife right now and kill these four knuckleheads before one even realised the other three were dead, White thought, choosing to keep this idea to herself only because of Frost's intentions and to preserve their own lives. No doubt they would be swarmed by the thousand and something crew members aboard this warship should they succeed in slaughtering their guard detail.
Frost himself found memories flooding back into his head from the war. Were it not for the lavish decorations affixed to the walls and metal decorative buttresses propping up the ceiling, he could recount exact details of his adventure aboard two dreadnoughts alike this one by simply pointing around to whoever had the patience to listen.
Before long he and White were introduced to a chamber at the centre of the ship, where the vessel's conference room was supposed to be if Frost knew correctly. Instead of a table and rows of chairs, however, Frost and White were presented with a railed gangway over a second chamber below, a trophy room containing hundreds of weapons, suits of armour, containers and pieces of artwork. Ahead of the gangway stood a frugal, sparsely decorated steel throne, with small leather cushions on the seat and armrests, flanked by two grey armoured knights carrying large assault rifles. The platinum armoured shape of Ryan Frost himself, sans the toothed helmet lying at his feet, slumped into the throne with both arms on their rests.
"Welcome aboard my warship, Father," Ryan introduced himself, his face revealing him to be in an uncommonly good mood. "Beautiful vessel, is it not? A small gift courtesy of General Strasser back on Mars for my efforts in ridding this solar system of the profligate, narcissistic scum who think they can lord over the misfortunate with impunity."
"Profligate, huh..." White almost laughed.
"While we're on that particular topic, I do believe the last time we met was under significantly less than favourable circumstances," Ryan continued ignorant of White's remark. "I see you've brought White here with you, very good to see. And where are the other two? What are their names..."
"Magdalena Morgenstern and Philip Wilkins, my lord," one of the Knights informed him, his microphone augmented voice rolling through the chamber.
"Yes, Morgenstern and ... whoever the other one was," said Ryan. "I've already forgotten. Are they lagging behind or-?"
"They're not coming," Frost announced.
Ryan glowered at the pair of them from his seat, and shifted forward.
"I thought I made my demands clear in my broadcast. Have them brought here, or we'll destroy the city."
"Not happening," Frost shook his head.
Ryan blinked to verify the sight before his pyrescent eyes.
"Just once, Frost, I thought you might think of someone other than your wretched fucking self," he spat, shaking his head and narrowing his optics. "Just bloody well once! Are you really going to condemn five million people to die just to save a little bit of face?!"
"If you think that's why I came back up here, Ryan, you're horribly mistaken," said Frost.
"Then why are you here?" queried Ryan. "Why did you, Edward Frost, bother to bring yourself and your companion up here to confront me? Did you seriously expect to stand any chance of finishing the job you started four years ago? Did you think you could kill me here?"
"No," said Frost. "I thought I could bring you home."
"You threw me aside and left me to die when I was weak," Ryan growled. "Now that I'm strong enough to threaten every little thing and everyone you hold dear, now all of a sudden you expect me to come crawling back to your side?! It's so pathetic that it's painful. I should honestly have killed you on Hygiea!"
"What I did was wrong!" stated Frost. "I should never have taken my anger out on you. It was never your fault – it was mine! I know that now, I've known it since you left!"
"That doesn't change the fact that you did what you did," Ryan countered. "It doesn't change the fact I had to steal to survive. Nor does it change the months of hell I went through on Vesta. The pain was terrible, but the realisation that it was all done to me because of the one man in this wretched fucking solar system I thought I could trust to keep me safe? Words do not change facts, Father."
"No, and nothing I'll say will change what happened to you," Frost said. "But do you think I spent those six years after you left smiling and drinking myself silly with a happy face? No. I regretted it. After I learned you'd been captured I tried to seek you out, but they told me you were dead!"
"You must have known it was nonsense."
"Do you think there was anything I could have done about it?! If there was, don't you th
ink I would have come back?"
"Honestly, no, I don't," Ryan stated.
"Well you're wrong!" shouted Frost. "I thought wrong that day I disowned you. I should have listened to Jason, but instead I let my anger and my grief take over."
A modest pause of silence came to command the throne room.
"Look at me running my mouth," Frost's sad voice enunciated, "thinking words will ever come back to match my actions. I just want you to know one thing, Ryan, or Hound, or whatever name it is you go by. I won't stand by while you hurt Elena, Magda, Wilkins, or Jason. I will fight to the death if it means protecting them, and so will my friends and allies. And if I win that fight, then I'm never going to live with myself, having the knowledge that I failed to save you and bring you home."
Entered another brief intermission. Ryan sat atop the chair and brooded, his diabolical expression ebbing into thoughtful serenity, as if considering everything that Frost had to say in his humble defence. And, of course, what to do with him and his companion, this White woman. What else but the inevitable?
A thunderous chuckle burst from Ryan's mouth to crack open the sombre atmosphere with a hammer-like blow.
"Save me?" he stated with a grin, before the smile vanished as fast as a breath. "No, father, you misunderstand. I've already been saved."
With that he hauled himself forth from the chair, his boots landing on the floor with a mechanised thud.
"I learned everything I needed to know about Mum from the vaults down there," he announced. "But I was redeemed long before that. Were she alive today, my mother would be proud to know that her son has become so enlightened as I..."
"Please don't bring her into this," Frost asked.
"I have become far greater than her, greater than you, and that is all she would have ever wanted!" Ryan's voice rolled across the chamber. "If there is a Heaven, she will take pride in knowing that her sacrifice was not for naught! Thus Sokolova has absolved me of all my past sins, all wretched heresies for which you condemned me to die. Do you honestly think I brought you here to fight me? No..."
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