by Aer-ki Jyr
Another small explosion in the debris pile flashed, followed by a wash of tiny pieces scattering out onto the hangar deck. Soon after one of the rolling spheres pushed its way through and was immediately hit by more than a dozen plasma orbs, melting it on contact and sending its broken form careening off towards the thors. One of them stepped aside, shooting it again as it slid past, then it retook its guardian position, waiting for the next one to come through.
Instead it was a swath of infantry, most of whom were hit by the plasma, which had thoroughly chewed up the floor around the entry point. Those few that survived flew off high and tried to escape into the cavernous ceiling. Several of them were downed by Archon snipers with lachar rifles, but a few managed to get free.
Those were tracked down by another team of Archons circling overhead in a falcon dropship, which flew nearby with gunners in its open doors, either shooting the enemy out of the sky or pursuing them to the ground wherever they chose to land and dealing with them there. The Protovic were handling most of the infantry resistance on the ground, scurrying about all over the hangar deck, insistent on making sure not one of the treasonous Nestafar made it to any of the base entry points.
The rest of the Alliance personnel in the hangar were waiting around the bay doors, ready to back up the mechs if/when the enemy walkers broke through. So far nothing larger than the protomechs had gotten in, but the debris pile was getting thinner and thinner and soon the highest holes would be open, which would let in an unending stream of infantry that would be much harder to target.
Then the incursions abruptly stopped. The explosions on the exterior of the debris pile cut out, the protomechs squeezing through ceased, and the infantry sneaking their way in disappeared. The Canderians dutifully stayed at their posts, weapons trained on the holes for nearly two hours before the skeets came back in, half as many as there were that had gone out.
The Canderians received new orders from the Archons, indicating that two mechs go on guard duty and the others begin cycling through rest cycles. As those that were recalled walked back over to the Star Force column they saw several dropships lift off and depart out of the northern hangar doors, to where they weren’t told. The mechwarriors were simply instructed to get back to the Star Force complex and get some food and sleep, for they didn’t know when the assault would begin again.
Vikar climbed out of his thor and down to the deck as an additional pair of skeets came back, both battle scarred in numerous places, almost so much so that he didn’t know how the aircraft were still flying. They set down on the hangar deck close to the entry airlock and their cockpits opened just as the Canderian was passing by. Both pilots, Archons judging by their armor, looked exhausted and neither one bothered to put on a breath mask or their helmets as they walked over to the column.
Vikar waited until the air had recycled inside before he asked them to speak, but he was very curious as to what was going on.
“Is the enemy defeated or have they withdrawn?”
“Withdrawn,” Kara told him, her voice dark and angry. “But not far. They’re holding position just outside the debris field.”
Vikar frowned. “Why did they stop?”
Boen kicked the control terminal in the airlock out of frustration just before the inner doors opened. “Because we killed almost every walker they sent up to the base and now they’re rethinking their game plan.”
“You don’t sound pleased,” the Canderian said respectfully as the Archons bumped elbows and began to walk out side by side with Vikar trailing.
“We lost Mark,” Kara said, half glancing over her shoulder.
“The trailblazer?”
“No, the other Mark,” Boen growled sarcastically until Kara put a warning hand on his shoulder. His demeanor softened, but the pain he was feeling still lingered on his features. “He went down on the wrong side of the wreckage, right where the Nestafar have camped out. We can’t get to him, and two more of us got shot down trying.”
“Ground op recovery then?”
“It’d be suicide,” Kara said, frustration coloring her voice. “If he even survived the crash.”
“I know he did,” Boen said forcefully. “It’s afterward that concerns me.”
“If he’s alive we cannot leave him there,” the Canderian said, a bit more forcefully.
“If he survived,” Kara said before Boen could snap, “then he was most likely killed shortly thereafter. I’d give Mark the benefit of the doubt regardless, but with so many walkers and protomechs around he wouldn’t stand much of a chance.”
Vikar thought that over as he followed the Archons further into the base that he’d never set foot in before. “Where are we to report to?”
Kara stopped walking and turned around, glancing over him once. “Next hallway, turn right. Staircase on your left. Three floors up. You’ll find food and supplies there, and there are plenty of empty quarters on the upper levels.”
“Thank you,” Vikar said, respectfully breaking off from the group and leading the handful of other mechwarriors that had been trailing behind him at a distance.
“Are you coming with me or not?” Boen whispered as the Archons walked off another direction.
“To do what?”
“Confirmation at the minimum.”
“It’s not worth the risk. You know he’d say that.”
“At this point I’m starting not to care.”
Kara swung so fast Boen barely saw the elbow coming. He reacted instinctively, shrugging his right shoulder up and ducking his head to deflect the blow but it was too late. Her elbow nailed him in the head and spun him around as he fell to the ground.
“Snap out of it!” she yelled down at him. “He’s not the only one missing out there.”
Boen shook the stars from his vision, but the pain was useful in clearing the head. He focused on it and bled away his panic, then looked up at Kara’s bleary eyes that were barely holding back tears. His armor scraped on the floor as he repositioned himself and slid up onto his feet, standing up in front of her and staring directly into her face.
“If it was Greg, or Jason, or Sara, or one of the other trailblazers out there Mark would go,” he said softly, containing the anger within. “And I’m going for him. I won’t get myself killed recklessly, but I have to try and at least get eyes on his crash site.”
Kara bit into her lower lip, trying to keep her voice and nerve steady. “Then you’d better knock me out first, because I won’t let you.”
Boen stared into her eyes, moving a few inches closer, daring her to do so…then his expression softened and he stepped up on the tips of his toes and kissed her on the forehead before nudging past her on the way to the armory.
Kara didn’t move for nearly 30 seconds, simply standing in place as she knew what he was doing was right…but that it would probably also get him killed. Finally the tears broke through and began streaming down her face, which she just let run, bleeding off the emotional overload and recalming her mind, then she walked off to the control room, knowing that without Mark someone else had to take command and find a way to keep the rest of them alive.
3
Boen slipped out of the gap in the southern doors just before the dropships inside the hangar began to reposition and add to the stack, shoring up the makeshift barrier with extra material gathered from around the base, including some large panels that the Calavari were welding into place over the uppermost holes. They knew they wouldn’t stand up to even a single plasma blast from one of the Nestafar walkers, but they would slow down the infantry when they came back.
Boen knew he wouldn’t be able to get back inside that way again, but it didn’t matter. He had to get out to where Mark had gone down. Fortunately his acolyte armor blended in well with the pieces of walkers laying around, but he was unsure of how well he could hide against the Nestafar sensors and the eyes of their infantry. His armor would reduce his infrared signature to almost nothing, but he still wasn’t very hopeful. Jogging off
through one of the mini-canyons in the debris field he began watching and listening intently to pick up any sign of the enemy, hopefully before they spotted him.
They shouldn’t have been anywhere near the doors if they were holding position, but there was no guarantee how long they were going to stay put. Boen also wondered how many of the walkers’ crews were still alive and meandering about. They’d had enough time to find their way out of the graveyard he was picking his way through now, but he had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t alone as he stooped down and slid underneath a giant spider’s leg and onto the charred ground on the other side.
Ash was everywhere from the nuke and starship impact. The grass was completely gone, vaporized in one or the other, and giant furrows had been dug out from the various pieces of cargo ship debris, making for a series of mini mountains for Boen to huff his way across…all of which were loaded down with debris. The pathways that had existed through the field were now cluttered with dead walkers, so much so that even an individual Human had trouble finding a way through without having to climb up and over each dead piece of military machinery, and as the hours stretched on Boen was beginning to envy the Nestafar’s ability to fly, which gave their infantry a huge advantage in this type of terrain.
But he wasn’t out here to fight, he was our here to skulk, and as the day gradually transitioned into night he finally began to approach the largest piece of the gargantuan, which was buried in the ground and sticking up at a 45 degree angle, forming an impromptu mountain on the other side of which Mark’s skeet had gone down…which was where the remaining units of the Nestafar army were also camped out, including the super dragon.
The walkers had been coming around the massive heap on the east side, so Boen felt he had the best chance by going west and hiding in the debris as he moved, but he didn’t get very far into the junk yard before he heard a flap of wings and ducked under cover. A few moments later a rifle-toting Nestafar soldier flew by a few meters off the ground, weaving its way through the debris canyons, obviously on patrol…meaning Boen had to be extra careful from here on out.
It took him another 2 hours just to get to the edge of the debris mountain where he could see down onto the Nestafar camp…which was, in fact, a camp. Somehow the enemy had brought portable buildings with them and had several set up in a ring around which the walkers were parked. The big one was on the south side of the camp and facing north, looking down on all the smaller ones, and Boen could barely make out a slew of protomechs parked around their feet, but the infantry were too small to see, even with his helmet vision enhancements.
The infantry patrolling the debris field were another matter. Those he could see clearly, the trick was in keeping them from seeing him. Fortunately there were many places to hide, but there wasn’t many where he could advance more than a few dozen meters at a time before he’d have to backtrack or go laterally to maneuver around a piece of junk he couldn’t climb over, or couldn’t risk climbing over and being seen.
Partway through his trek he began to think Kara was right, that he was just wasting his time and recklessly putting himself at risk, but a part of him just couldn’t let go. He had to see this through for Mark’s sake, even if there wasn’t anything he could do other than confirm that he was, in fact, dead.
Suddenly there were wing flaps over top of him and he glanced up just in time to see the feet of a Nestafar appear a meter over his head from behind a piece of debris. The enemy didn’t move on, but rather tipped its rifle down after a moment of shocked realization and fired.
Boen moved reflexively, equally surprised, and got a hand on its foot by the time it pulled the trigger. The plasma blast hit him in the right shoulder, melting away the top layer of armor as he yanked the flying soldier out of the air and pulled it down to the ground, bringing around his right fist and imbedding it in its torso twice before yanking away the rifle and turning it back on its owner.
He buried the muzzle in its chest and fired, hoping to diminish the sound of the shot, then he scurried off, leaving both the corpse and weapon behind as he tried to find a new hole to hide in in case the weaponsfire drew others.
Which it did a few minutes later. Tucked under a piece of flat hull that had half imbedded into the ground forming a lean-to with other debris piled on top, Boen waited and listened as several other Nestafar flew in and around the area. He had only a narrow line of sight, but he could hear them moving about, searching for the target that had downed the patrol, of which they had to have found by now.
Boen waited for a very long time, well past the last audible wing flap, before he slowly crawled out of his hiding place and further into the debris field. He kept low and moved very slowly, hoping to keep his visual movement down so he could blend in with the rest of the random junk lying all over the place. With the cover of night he hoped that tactic would be successful, essentially ‘playing rock’ as he crept in towards the giant mountain of refuse.
When he could he kept an eye on the enemy camp, but most of the time it was obscured from view. Twice he had to lay flat and play dead when patrols flew by, both of which missed him, fortunately, because there were no available holes to jump into had he wanted to. When he finally got to the crash site he was able to slip inside what was left of the ship’s corridors and crawl through the crumpled passageways, taking him out of sight of the aerial patrols.
The portion of the ship he was climbing through, however, was totally torqued out of proportion. The hallways were twisted, bent, smashed, and every other word imaginable that was an antonym for ‘straight.’ Boen found himself doubling back multiple times as he tried to make his way forward, not so much ‘up’ the mountain but through it, hoping to find a hole on the other side to climb out of or at least look through. Mark’s skeet had impacted near the bottom of the pile, yet inside several ringing pieces of debris. It had disappeared down inside the trash heap, but at the time Boen couldn’t get a good view as to exactly where, for he was dodging a mass of anti-air fire.
The grey skeet Mark had been piloting at the time was going to be difficult to find, as opposed to the normal gold/chrome version of his personal craft. In the chaos of the battle and Mark’s absence, his own skeet had been taken by another pilot, one that had not fared so well, shot down by the Nestafar fighters early on. After that there had been a swapping of pilots and everyone grabbing what available craft there were without regards to the previous owners or Clan colors.
The grey one he had been flying was one of the spares/basic models that hadn’t been assigned to any one pilot, and unfortunately the coloration was nearly identical to the wreckage of the cargo ship. Boen had mentally tagged the location he’d seen him go down in, but the more hours that passed and the more he thought it over the fuzzier the memory got.
The various creaks and moans coming from the remains of the ship also worried him. He wasn’t walking/climbing through a stable structure and the pit of his stomach kept falling out every time he heard a tremor above, thinking that the whole thing was going to smash down on top of him. He also wondered if Mark had been crushed under debris, or maybe was still trapped inside his cockpit cocoon, unable to pop the hatch because he was buried underneath tons of rubble.
Every possible scenario flashed through Boen’s mind multiple times as he searched for a way through the crashed ship. By the time he finally saw a beam of light coming down into his current area he realized that it must be morning already and was grateful for even a small sign that he was near the other side.
The hole was only fist-sized and punctured through by a beam from outside, but it did give him a view down the slope. He pushed his head up against the hole and tried to look down to where he thought the skeet had hit, but he didn’t have the right angle.
Another tremor shook the structure, this one much louder and stronger with the epicenter close by. Boen walked off from the hole and kept moving, knowing that the sooner he found a way out onto the southern slope the better he’d feel about potentia
l cave-ins, but then he’d be exposed to virtually every gun in the Nestafar camp…which appeared to still be holding defensive positions. Why they hadn’t hit the base again he didn’t know, but he was glad Kara and the others were getting a breather to reestablish their defenses.
A second tremor shook the structure and Boen could clearly hear a piece fall down with a crash, as well as several Nestafar voices off in the distance. The Archon pulled his plasma rifle off his back, then thought better of it. He switched it out for his stinger pistol, knowing that raising an alarm was probably the worst thing he could do right now, so if he had to shoot one or more of them, quiet was definitely the way to go.
Boen followed the occasional sounds through the remains, again having to double back several times to eventually end up traveling in a straight line. He knew he was getting close when he could hear the whine of a walker’s joints, then a giant limb thrust through a wall two sections over from where he was standing. There was a bit of a clear airway through the broken walls, enough for him to see the sunlight shoot in around the tip of the walker’s chrome leg, then the limb bent and dragged a huge chunk of the structure out with it, exposing the interior to more daylight.
Boen backtracked immediately, then tried to flank the breach point, having to move through the labyrinth at its pace and continually reminding himself not to get flustered. Flustered Archons were dead Archons, as the old saying went, so he forced himself to focus on the task at hand and eventually found a way around.
Just as he was walking through the last section before it opened up onto a partially sunlit, cockeyed room, his feet were lassoed together and he fell forward onto his knees…suddenly finding the tip of a plasma rifle in his face.